THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 EDWIN CORLE 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 JEAN CORLE

 
 THE 
 
 SHAKESPEAREAN PLAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 EDWIN BOOTH 
 
 Edited by 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 189?
 
 Copyright 1899 by The Penn Publishing Company 
 
 VOL. I
 
 preface* 
 
 //V /<?//, in a conversation with Edwin Booth,! expressed 
 to him a regret, which, doubtless, is felt by many vota- 
 ries of the drama, that little of the stage business of 
 the famous old actors, such as Burbagc, Betterton, Quin, 
 Wilks, Garrick, Barry, Henderson, Kemble, Edmund Kean, 
 Macready, etc. , has been recorded, and that it should be diffi- 
 cult for a student of acting to ascertain the exact manner in 
 which those actors played the parts with which, historically, 
 their names are associated ; and I siiggested that the time 
 would come when students of acting might find it as hard to 
 learn material facts about his Hamlet and Richelieu, as 
 we had found it to learn material facts about Burbage in 
 Shylock, or Henderson in lago. We talked long and ear- 
 nestly on this subject, and the result of our colloquy was a 
 resolve to print the EDWIN BOOTH PROMPT BOOK, to com- 
 prise the sixteen plays which were included in Booths 
 regular and customary repertory. That collection of plays, 
 with all the original prefaces and notes, and with additional 
 embellishments, the whole material revised and corrected, 
 is now presented in a Library Edition. 
 
 Edwin Booth said that twenty years earlier, in 1857, he 
 had begun to make stage versions of some of the stock plays 
 then in use by him, and he referred to books of several of 
 them which he had caused to be printed, in the time of his 
 management of the Winter Garden Theatre, iS6j to 1867, 
 under the supervision of a member of his theatrical company : 
 those books, being dissatisfied with them, he said that he had 
 discarded. It was planned that the new Prompt Book should 
 give the text of the several plays only as actually used in his 
 VOL. i v
 
 VI FREFACE. 
 
 representations of them, and shonld preserve as much as 
 possible of his stage business. A feiv days later he sent to 
 me the tragedy of "Richard ///," cut and arranged for the 
 stage, and the book of that tragedy was the first of the series 
 that went to the press. Booth had previously, in 1876, re- 
 verted to the original text of that play, discarding Cibber 
 and restoring Shakespeare. We had many discussions about 
 the text, not only of "Richard III" but of the other 
 Shakespearean dramas, and I found my belief amply con- 
 firmed, that, in every case, he had studied his subject with 
 scrupulous attention and deep insight, and was thoroughly 
 and minutely acquainted with every part of it. 
 
 The series was completed and published within the years 
 1877 and 1878. ft included ''Hamlet," "Macbeth," "Othello," 
 "King Lear," "Richard //," "Richard III? "Henry VIII" 
 " The Merchant of Venice" "Much Ado About Nothing" 
 "Katharine and Petruchio" "Richelieu" " The Fool's Re- 
 venge," "Brutus," "Ruy Bias," and "Don Casar de Bazan" 
 The last play published was "Henry VIII" The tragedy of 
 "Julius Ctzsar" was cut and arranged for publication, but it 
 was not printed until after the formation of the Booth and 
 Barrett alliance, in 1886-87, an d ^ was then hurriedly sent 
 to press, without either preface or notes, That lack I have 
 supplied in the present edition. Booth's stage version of 
 " The Merchant of Venice" as originally made, did not 
 include the fifth act, but after Booth and Lawrence Barrett 
 joined their dramatic forces they thought it wise to follow 
 the example of Henry Irving (that great actor having, in the 
 meantime, 1883, come to America and presented " The Mer- 
 chant of Venice " in a magnificent manner, ivith the full text 
 of Shakespeare, and with the incomparable Ellen Terry as 
 Portia), and so the last act of the comedy was restored to its 
 rightful place. Booth's prompt-copy originally ended with 
 Shylock's exit, after the Trial. 
 

 
 PREFACE. VII 
 
 Booth did not write into the plays as much of his stage 
 business as I wished him to give, for the capricious reason 
 that he fancied it would be tedious, but he furnished many 
 directions, and he approved of many that were supplied by 
 me from recollection of his performances : it was in conse- 
 quence of a comment of mine upon Hamlet's demeanor in the 
 rehearsal scene that he discontinued the use of that singular 
 phrase, "the mobled queen," and put the folio reading, " in- 
 noble d queen" meaning degraded queen, in its place ; that 
 reading lie ever afterwards retained and used. The plays 
 were printed in the regular prompt-book form, with a blank 
 page facing each page of the text. The intention was to in- 
 clude, within a brief compass, all the information absolutely 
 essential for actors, as to each play, and to make every detail 
 of the representation clear, so that the stage mechanics could 
 set each play by merely following the directions in each book. 
 It was Booth's desire, furthermore, that the Prompt Book 
 should, -ultimately, be extended, so as to comprise not only the 
 plays included in his personal repertory, but many others, 
 in short, (ha! it should be made a compendium of the Standard 
 Acting Drama. This work and also a History of the Rise 
 and Progress of the TJieatre in America were literary pro- 
 jects that we had planned to fulfill in collaboration. Various 
 obstacles, however, delayed the accomplishment of our plans, 
 and Booth's untimely death put an end to them. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
 New York, February p, 
 
 VOL. I
 
 Seconfc preface 
 
 rHE customs of the old actors, in the dressing of Shakes- 
 peare's characters, were scarcely less remarkable 
 than their mutilations of his plays. Macklin appears to 
 have been first in the appropriate regulation of theatrical 
 dressing; he dressed Shy lock, 2741, in a loose black gown, a 
 peaked beard, and a red hat, and he dressed Macbeth, 1772, 
 in Scottish garments whereas, prior to that time, Macbeth 
 had been arrayed in a suit of scarlet and gold, with a tail 
 wig. Garrick, Barry, and Smith, as Macbeth, wore the 
 uniform of a British military officer. Singing-wile he s were 
 introduced into that tragedy, and Mrs. Anna Maria Crouch, 
 1763-1805, as the first and most important of those warblers, 
 assumed an elaborate raiment, including a fancy hat, point 
 lace, and powdered hair. The apparel -usually worn for 
 Othello was a coat, waistcoat, and trousers of white cloth 
 the coat and waistcoat being profusely decorated with silver 
 lace a black wig with long hair, the appendage called a 
 ramillies, about three feet in length, white silk stockings and 
 dancing pumps. Fennell describes that habiliment, as cus- 
 tomary in the theatre, and as having been worn by himself in 
 1787. John Philip Kemble presented Othello, 1788, in the 
 blazing effulgence of a British general. Garrick, as Ham- 
 let, wore a court dress, of the time of George HI. The garb 
 of the elder Booth, as Richard III, and that of Edwin Forrest, 
 in almost all of the parts that he played, as may be seen in 
 the photographs of him made by M. B. Brady, and reproduced 
 in W. R. Alger's well known Life, were such as, to an edu- 
 cated audience of to-day, would be ludicrous. Contemporary 
 portraits of Frances Abington, Elizabeth Farren, Dora 
 
 VIII VOL. I
 
 PREl'ACE. IX 
 
 Jordan, and Mrs. Siddons, that have come down to us from 
 their times, depicting them in Rosalind and in other comedy 
 characters of Shakespeare, suggest figures that now would 
 be called "guys." Much improvement, certainly, has been 
 made in this department of stage art, since Macklin set his 
 good example. John Philip Kemble made salutary changes, 
 and much was done to insure correctness, without the sacri- 
 fice of effect, by Charles Kean, the scholar-like and fastidious 
 Macready, and Edwin Booth. 
 
 In the present day the art of theatrical dressing and of 
 stage picture has been carried to great perfection by Henry 
 Irving and Augustin Daly. The plays of Shakespeare, as 
 now produced, are condensed, and in some particulars are 
 slightly altered, but the adapters of the nineteenth century are 
 far behind those of the seventeenth and eighteenth, in the 
 matter of editorial license. Many examples might be given. 
 Garrick always acted Gibbers " Richard III," never Shakes- 
 peare's ; his stage version of "Hamlet," which omitted the 
 clowns, etc, , was little better than a butchery ; and his ver- 
 sion of " Romeo and Juliet" based without credit on that of 
 Theophilus Cibber, incorporating a silly dirge and lines from 
 Otway, and causing Juliet to awake before Romeo s death, in 
 the tomb, was a profanation. The reader can find it in 
 "Bell's Theatre'' Garrick also mangled" The Winter's 
 Tale " and turned ' ' The Tempest " into an opera, and 
 all hough he discarded Davenant's alteration of " Macbeth" 
 he yet encumbered that tragedy with superfluous music and 
 singing ivomen, and introduced for Macbeth a dying speech, 
 which is not only needless but absurd. Thomas Sheridan, 
 when acting Romeo, spoke Mercutio's speech about Queen 
 Mab arid dreams. John Philip Kemble, in acting Coriolanus, 
 always used the version that mixes Thomson with Shakes- 
 peare ; and so, at a later time, did Edwin Forrest. The 
 purists of the present, who utter the voice of indignant pro- 
 
 VOL. I
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 test against even the slightest alteration of the original 
 Shakespearean structure, seem to suppose that earlier times 
 displayed a greater reverence in this matter ; but that is a 
 mistake. 
 
 The truth is that no one of Shakespeare's plays can be pre- 
 sented and spoken exactly as it is fashioned and written, and 
 that, in the regular theatre, no one of them ever has been per- 
 formed, since Shakespeare's time, without some curtailment. 
 In the Universities and on scholastic occasions the literal 
 original has, now and then, been given. At Stratford-upon- 
 Avon, for example, during the Shakespeare Festival, in 
 April, rSyy, the ivhole of " Hamlet " was represented, some 
 of it in the afternoon and the rest of it in the evening. In 
 Shakespeare's period, when theatrical performances oc- 
 curred in the day, and when but little use was made of scenery, 
 the whole of such a piece as ' Richard ///' ' might have been 
 given, but no audience would endure it now. Every actor who, 
 achieving distinction, has attained power ; uses his own stage- 
 versions of Shakespeare, and if all those versions had been 
 preserved we should possess, in writing, the stage -traditions 
 which now, for the most part, are preserved only in memory, 
 of a rapidly vanishing race of players. A considerable 
 number of the MS. prompt-books used in Drury Lane Thea- 
 tre, in the Garrick period and later, do, indeed, exist, in the 
 rich and very remarkable collection made by Augtistin Daly ; 
 but these are inaccessible to the public. 
 
 As an example of the utility of good stage-business, and of 
 the importance of preserving the expedients that are devised 
 in this line of art by the best actors, reference may be made 
 to Edwin Booth's treatment of the scene with the sexton at 
 Ophelia's grave. The sexton, as he digs and sings, throws 
 out bones and skulls, and, in the course of his ensuing collo- 
 quy with Hamlet, he designates one of those relics as " Yor- 
 icKs skull, the King's jester" In the old custom of the stage 
 
 VOL. I
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 no token was provided by which the skull of Yorick could be 
 identified. In Edwin Booth 's ordainment of the stage-biisi- 
 ness this omission was, for the first time, remedied, by the 
 simple provision that one of the skulls thus cast out by the 
 grave-digger should have a tattered rag of a fool's-cap ad- 
 herent to it, and that the sexton should recognize it, with a 
 half jocular and half affectionate greeting, as he laid it aside, 
 to be presently taken up and shown to the Prince as the sad 
 and ghastly remnant of an old friend. There were many 
 delicate pieces of stage-business similar to this in Edivin 
 Booth's production of " Hamlet" and, indeed, all his produc- 
 tions evinced the instructive results of close study, deep medi- 
 tation, poetic apprehension, and practical experiment. It 
 must ever be my regret that I did not succeed in preserving 
 all of them. Those of them that were preserved are shown 
 in these volumes, now finally dedicated to the service of the 
 American stage and to the memory of its greatest tragedian 
 in the latter half of the nineteenth century, EDWIN BOOTH. 
 " Nee viget quidquam simile out secundum." 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 New York, June jd, 
 
 VOL. I
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 test against even the slightest alteration of the original 
 Shakespearean structure, seem to suppose that earlier times 
 displayed a greater reverence ix Ms matter ; but that is a 
 mistake. 
 
 The truth is that no one of Shakespeare's plays can be pre- 
 sented and spoken exactly as it is fashioned and written, and 
 that, in the regular theatre, no one of them ever has been per- 
 formed, since Shakespeare's time, without some curtailment. 
 In the Universities and on scholastic occasions the literal 
 original has, now and then, been given. At Slratford-upon- 
 Aoon. for example, during the Shakespeare Festival, in 
 April, 1899, the whole of " Hamlet " was represented, some 
 of it in the afternoon and the rest of it in the evening. In 
 Shakespeare's period, when theatrical performances oc- 
 curred in the day, and when but little use was made of scenery, 
 the whole of such a piece as >' Richard IIP' might have been 
 given, but no audience would endure it now. Every actor who, 
 achieving distinction, has attained power, uses his own stage- 
 versions of Shakespeare, and if all those versions had been 
 preserved we should possess, in writing, the stage-traditions 
 which now, for the most part, are preserved only in memory, 
 of a rapidly vanishing race of players. A considerable 
 number of the MS. prompt-books used in Drury Lane Thea- 
 tre, in the Garrick period and later, do, indeed, exist, in the 
 rich and very remarkable collection made by Augustin Daly ; 
 but these are inaccessible to the public. 
 
 As an example of the utility of good stage -business, and of 
 the importance of preserving the expedients that are devised 
 in this Hue of art by the best actors, reference may be made 
 to Edwin Booth's treatment of the scene with the sexton at 
 Ophelia's grave. The sexton, as he digs and sings, throws 
 out bones and skulls, and, in the course of his ensuing collo- 
 quy with Hamlet, he designates one of those relics as " Yor- 
 ick's skull, the King's jester." In the old custom of the stage 
 
 VOL. I
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 no token was provided by which the skull of Yorick could be 
 identified. In Edwin Booth's ordainment of the stage-busi- 
 ness this omission was, for the first time, remedied, by the 
 simple provision that one of the skulls thus cast out by the 
 grave-digger should have a tattered rag of a fooVs-cap ad- 
 herent to it, and that the sexton should recognize it, with a 
 half jocular and half affectionate greeting, as he laid it aside, 
 to be presently taken up and shown to the Prince as the sad 
 and ghastly remnant of an old friend. There were many 
 delicate pieces of stage-business similar to this in Edwin 
 Booth's production of " Hamlet" and, indeed, all his produc- 
 tions evinced the instructive results of close study, deep medi- 
 tation, poetic apprehension, and practical experiment. It 
 must ever be my regret that I did not succeed in preserving 
 all of them. Those of them that were preserved are shown 
 in these volumes, now finally dedicated to the service of the 
 American stage and to the memory of its greatest tragedian 
 in the latter half of the nineteenth century, EDWIX BOOTH. 
 " Nee viget quidquam simile out secundum" 
 
 WILL/AM WINTER. 
 New York, June jd,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 SB 
 
 Hamlet 
 
 Macbeth 
 
 King Lear 
 
 Julius Caesar 
 
 Merchant o( Venice 
 
 m 
 
 VOL. I

 
 HAMLET 
 
 VOL. I
 
 *T~^H/S version of "Hamlet," which, in its construction 
 J- and embellishment, is unlike all others, has been made 
 for practical use on the stage. It is shorter than the original 
 by about one thousand lines. The passages excluded are 
 those which, it is thought, might prove tedious in the repre- 
 sentation, and which, therefore, may well be spared. Among 
 them are tJie episode of Fortinbras, the colloquy between 
 Polonius and Reynaldo, and the interview between Hamlet 
 and the Norwegian soldiers. Certain speeches which moment- 
 arily arrest the action of the piece such as that of Horatio 
 on the preparations for war, and that of Hamlet on the 
 custom of revelry in Denmark have been rejected, as 
 impediments to directness of dramatic effect. The excisions 
 also include dialogues, such as those at the beginning of the 
 fourth act, which are but the descriptive repetition of action 
 that has already been shown, or the narration of incident 
 that has been distinctly implied. Passages which do but 
 amplify and reiterate ideas that have previously been made 
 sufficiently clear for the practical purposes of the stage have 
 likewise been discarded. The servility of Rosencrantz and
 
 Guildenstern, for example, is known well enough without 
 their candied and fawning speeches to the king, after the 
 play-scene ; and both Hamlet's mental vacillation and the 
 springs of it are plainly evident long before he reaches his 
 monologtie on the expedition of Fortinbras. In a few 
 instances lines of the original have been transposed : in a 
 very feiv instances words have been altered but never to the 
 pen'ersion of the meaning. Coarse phrases have been cast 
 aside, or modified, wherever they occur. In the fourth act, 
 Marccllus, instead of Horatio, has been made to announce 
 the madness of Ophelia, and to attend ttpon her for tJie 
 reason that had Horatio been aware of her calamity he must 
 have communicated it to Hamlet prior to their encounter 
 with the funeral procession in the church-yard. Care has 
 been particularly taken to omit nothing that is essential to the 
 exposition of Hamlefs madness, and of the mental condition 
 that leads him to assume it. "Hamlet's wildness" says 
 Coleridge, "is but half false : he plays that subtle trick of 
 pretending to act, only when he is very near really being what 
 he acts' 1 The point is a subtle one, and of immense impor- 
 tance to the comprehension of the character. It has been 
 steadily kept in view ; and the clearness and fullness of all 
 the characters implicated have been studiously sought, in the 
 necessary condensation of the piece. In brief, a conscientious 
 effort has here been made to construct an acting version of 
 "Hamlet" which yet should escape the reproach of having 
 garbled the original. " The theatrical copies of Shakespeare's 
 plays? says Charles Cowden Clarke, "are so notoriously 
 abridged that it is impossible, by them, to judge fairly of the 
 poet's delineation of character, who never wrote a line that 
 did not harmonize with, and tend to, define, the portrait he 
 was limning: 1 To meet the exigencies of the stage without
 
 sacrificing the beauties of the author, and to present Hamlet 
 clearly without keeping him too long in the public eye, will not, 
 at least, be thought an injudicious endeavor. The tragedy is 
 here set forth precisely as it is presented by Edwin Booth : 
 that is to say, with the arrangement of scenes and the stage- 
 directions made and used by him. The Appendix, for which, 
 of course, the Editor is alone responsible to critical judgment, 
 contains remarks upon the character and information 
 respecting the tragedy of "Hamlet" which it is hoped may 
 prove use/id at least by way of suggestion to theatrical 
 students. 
 
 W. W. 
 New- York, Feb. ////, 1878.
 
 "Shakespeare is a being of a higher nature, to whom I do but look up, 
 and whom it is my part to worship and to honour." GOETHE. 
 
 " Once more assay 
 The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearean fruit." KEATS. 
 
 " Geninus remarks that whenever the name of Shakespeare is mentioned, 
 the play of ' Hamlet ' first comes to remembrance : and John Kemble ob- 
 served t/tat in every copy of Shakespeare's works it appeared that 'Hamlet ' 
 had been the play most read." DR. CONOLLY. 
 
 " Flame trembles most ^vhen it doth highest rise." DAVENANT. 
 
 " We have here an oak planted in a costly vase, fit only to receive lovely 
 flowers within its bosom : the roots spread, and burst the vase." GOETHE. 
 
 " Self-disgust 
 
 Gnaws at the roots of being, and doth hang 
 A heavy sickness on the beams of day. 
 Cursed ! accursed be the freaks of nature, 
 That mar us from ourselves." HORNE. 
 
 1 ' He has the desire and the power to accomplish great things, but it must 
 be in obedience to the dictates of his own thoughts, and by his own independ- 
 ent, original, and creative energy. * * * The poor plans and intentions of 
 man do not miscarry through the weakness of their authors, but their base- 
 less projects are also, by an intrinsic necessity, as frequently crossed and 
 frustrated by the equally baseless empire of chance." ULRICI. 
 
 " Wide yawns the grave ; dull tolls the solemn bell ; 
 Dark lie the dead ; and long the last farewell." WILSON.
 
 CLAUDIUS, KING OF DENMARK. 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK, NEPHEW TO CLAUDIUS. 
 
 GHOST OF KING HAMLET, FATHER TO THE PRINCE. 
 
 POLONIUS, THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN. 
 
 LAERTES, SON TO POLONIUS. 
 
 HORATIO, FRIEND TO HAMLET. 
 
 ROSENCRANTZ, "| 
 
 GUILDENSTERN, \ COURTIERS. 
 
 OSRIC, 
 
 MARCELLUS, 
 
 . OFFICERS. 
 BERNARDO, 
 
 FRANCISCO, A SOLDIER. 
 
 SEVERAL PLAYERS. 
 
 FIRST AND SECOND GRAVE-DIGGERS. 
 
 A PRIEST. 
 
 GERTRUDE, QUEEN OF DENMARK, MOTHER TO HAMLET. 
 
 OPHELIA, DAUGHTER TO POLONIUS. 
 
 LORDS, LADIES, OFFICERS, SOLDIERS, PAGES, etc. 
 
 ant* ime 
 
 * 
 
 SCENE. Elsinore, in Denmark. 
 
 PERIOD. The Eleventh Century. 
 
 TIME OF ACTION. Between Two and Three Months.
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 f fcjft. 
 
 &r r> jr-j f ( ELSINORE. A PLATFORM BEFORE THE 
 r * I CASTLE. FULL STAGE. MOONLIGHT. 
 
 [Francisco, as sentinel on guard, discovered at hh 
 post. Enter to him Bernardo. 
 
 Ber. 
 Who 's there ? 
 
 Fran. 
 Nay, answer me; stand, and unfold yourself. 
 
 Ber. 
 Long live the king ! 
 
 Fran. 
 Bernardo ? 
 
 Ber. 
 He. 
 
 Fran. 
 You come most carefully upon your hour. 
 
 Ber. 
 T is now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, Francisco. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 For this relief much thanks : 't is bitter cold, 
 And I am sick at heart,
 
 10 HAMLET. 
 
 Ber. 
 Have you had quiet guard ? 
 
 Not a mouse stirring. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Well, good night. 
 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 I think I hear them. Stand, ho ! Who 's there ? 
 
 [Exit Francisco. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Friends to this ground. 
 
 Mar. 
 And liegemen to the Dane. 
 
 Fran. 
 Give you good night 
 
 Mar - Spoken within. 
 
 O, farewell, honest soldier : 
 Who hath relieved you ? 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Bernardo hath my place. 
 Give you good night. 
 
 Mar. 
 Holla! Bernardo! 
 
 [Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 
 Ber. 
 Say. 
 What ! is Horatio there ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 A piece of hira
 
 HAMLET. H 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Welcome, Horatio : welcome, good Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. 
 What ! has this thing appeared again to-night ? 
 
 Ber. 
 I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar. 
 
 Horatio says 't is but our fantasy, 
 
 And will not let belief take hold of him 
 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
 
 Therefore I have entreated him along 
 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night ; 
 
 That, if again this apparition come, 
 
 He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Tush, tush, 't will not appear. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Come, let us once again assail your ears, 
 That are so fortified against our story, 
 What we two nights have seen. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Well, let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Last night of all, 
 
 When yond' same star that 's westward from the pole 
 
 Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, 
 
 The bell then beating one, 
 
 Mar. 
 
 Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again ! 
 
 [Enter Ghost from Castle c.
 
 !2 HAMLET. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 In the same figure, like the king that 's dead. 
 Looks it not like the king ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 Most like : it harrows me with fear and wonder. 
 
 Ber. 
 It would be spoke to. 
 
 Mar. 
 Speak to it, Horatio. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 What art thou, that usuqVst this time of night, 
 
 Together with that fair and warlike form 
 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 
 Did sometimes march ? by heaven I charge thee, speak ! 
 
 Mar. 
 It is offended. 
 
 Ber. 
 See, it stalks away ! 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Stay ! speak, speak ! I charge thee, speak ! 
 
 \Exit Ghost's., i. E. 
 
 Mar. 
 
 'T is gone, and will not answer. 
 Ber. 
 
 How now, Horatio ! you tremble, and look pale : 
 Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
 What think you on 't ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Before my God, I might not this believe 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 Of mine own eyes.
 
 HAMLET. 13 
 
 Mar. 
 Is it not like the king ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 As thou art to thyself : 
 Such was the very armour he had on 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
 So frowned he once, when, in an angry parle, 
 He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 
 T is strange. 
 
 Mar. 
 
 Thus, twice before, and just at this dead hour, 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 In what particular thought to work I know not ; 
 But, in the gross and scope of my opinion, 
 This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 But, soft, behold ! lo where it comes again ! 
 
 \Re-enter Ghost R. 2 E 
 
 I '11 cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion ! 
 If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done, 
 That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 
 Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
 O, speak ! 
 
 Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 
 Speak of it : stay, and speak ! 
 
 Mar. 
 
 'T is gone. 
 
 \_Exit Ghost L. I.E. 
 Ber. 
 
 It was a'bout to speak when the cock crew.
 
 14 HAMLET. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 And then it started, like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
 The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
 Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
 To his confine. 
 
 Some say, that ever 'gainst that season conies 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
 And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad ; 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike ; 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm ; 
 So hallowed and so gracious is the time. 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 
 Break we our watch up : and, by my advice, 
 Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life, 
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 
 
 \Excunt c. 
 
 A ROOM OF STATE IN THE 
 
 [Enter the King, Queen, Polonius, Laertes, Lords, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 King. 
 
 Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death 
 The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
 To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
 Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
 Together with remembrance of ourselves.
 
 HAMLET. 15 
 
 Therefore, our sometime sister, now our queen, 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state, 
 Have we, as 't were with a defeated joy, 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barred 
 Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
 With this affair along : for all, our thanks. 
 And now, Laertes, what 's the news with you ? 
 
 \Laertes kneels, 
 
 You told us of some suit ; what is 't, Laertes ? 
 You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 And lose your voice : what wouldst thou beg, Laertes, 
 That shall not be my offer, not thy asking ? 
 The head is not more native to the heart, 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What wouldst thou have, Laertes ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Dread my lord, 
 
 Your leave and favor to return to France ; 
 
 From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
 
 To show my .duty in your coronation; 
 
 Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, 
 
 My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
 
 And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 
 
 King. 
 Have you your father's leave ? What says Polonius ? 
 
 Pol 
 
 He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave 
 By laboursome petition ; and, at last, 
 Upon his will I sealed my hard consent : 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. 
 
 Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine, 
 And thy best graces spend it at thy will ! 
 
 [Enter Hamlet c. 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,
 
 1 6 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. \Aside 
 
 A little more than kin and less than kind. 
 
 King. 
 How is it that the clouds still hang on you ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Not so, my lord ; I am too much i' the sun. 
 
 [ The King, Polonius, and Laertes retire R, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, 
 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
 
 Do not forever with thy vailed lids 
 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
 
 Thou know'st 't is common, all that live must die, 
 
 Passing through nature to eternity. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Ay, madam, it is common. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 If it be, 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Seems, madam ! nay, it is ; I know not seems. 
 T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
 Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, 
 Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, 
 That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem, 
 For they are actions that a man might play : 
 But I have that within which passeth show; 
 These but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 
 [Exit Laertes, leaving the King and Polonius. 
 The King advances.
 
 HAMLET. 17 
 
 Xing. 
 
 'T is sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, 
 
 To give these mourning duties to your father: 
 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
 
 That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor bound, 
 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 
 To do obsequious sorrow ; but to perseVer 
 
 In obstinate condolement, is a course 
 
 Of impious stubbornness ; 't is unmanly grief : 
 
 It shows a will most incorrect to heaven. 
 
 We pray you, throw to earth 
 
 This unprevailing woe ; and think of us 
 
 As of a father : for let the world take note, 
 
 You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
 
 Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet : 
 I pray thee, stay with us ; go noi to Wittenberg. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 
 
 King. 
 
 Why, 't is a loving and a fair reply : 
 
 Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come. 
 
 \Pokmitts advances to R. i. E. 
 This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof, 
 No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day, 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
 And the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit again, 
 Re-speaking earthly thunder. 
 
 \_March. Exeunt all except Hamlet 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 
 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 
 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! O God !
 
 1 8 HAMLET. 
 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 
 Fie on 't ! O, fie ! 't is an unweeded garden, 
 
 That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature 
 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 
 But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not two : 
 
 So excellent a king ; that was, to this, 
 
 Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, 
 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 
 Must I remember ? why, she would hang on him, 
 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 
 By what it fed on : and yet, within a month, 
 
 Let me not think on 't; Frailty, thy name is woman ! 
 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were old 
 
 With which she followed my poor father's body, 
 
 Like Niobe, all tears ; why she, even she, 
 
 O God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
 
 Would have mourned longer, married with my uncle; 
 
 My father's brother ; but no more like my father 
 
 Than I to Hercules. 
 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to, good : 
 
 But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue ! 
 
 [Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo c- 
 
 Horatio. 
 Hail to your lordship ! I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Horatio, or I do forget myself. 
 
 Horatio. 
 The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Sir, my good friend ; I '11 change that name with you ; 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? 
 Marcellus ? 
 
 Mar. 
 My good lord,
 
 HAMLET. 19 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir. 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 
 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 
 Against yourself: I know you are no truant. 
 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
 
 We '11 teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student ; 
 I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral baked meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! 
 My father, methinks I see my father. 
 
 [All start. 
 
 Horatio. 
 O, where, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Horatio. \Mcditatively. 
 
 I saw him once ; he was a goodly king.
 
 20 . HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlft. 
 
 He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Horatio. [ IVith hesitation. 
 
 My lord, I think I saw him yesternight 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Saw who ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 The king my father ! 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent ear; till I may deliver 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 For God's love, let me hear! 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
 
 In the dead vast and middle of the night, 
 
 Been thus encountered. A figure like your father, 
 
 Armed at all points exactly, cap-a-pie, 
 
 Appears before them, and with solemn march 
 
 Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he walked 
 
 By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, 
 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distilled 
 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 
 And I with them the third night kept the watch : 
 
 Where, as they had delivered, both in time, 
 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 
 The apparition comes,
 
 HAMLET. 21 
 
 Hamlet. 
 But where was this ? 
 
 Mar. 
 My lord, upon the platform where we watched. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Did you not speak to it ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 My lord, I did ; 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once methought 
 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; 
 
 And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
 
 And vanished from our sight. 
 
 Hamlft. 
 T is very strange. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 As I do live, my honoured lord, 't is true ; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty 
 To let you know of it 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night ? 
 
 Mar., Ber. 
 We do, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Armed, say you ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 Armed, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 From top to toe ?
 
 2a HAMLET. 
 
 Horatio. 
 My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Then saw you not his face ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What ! looked he frowningly ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Pale or red ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 Nay, very pale. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 And fixed his eyes upon you ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 Most constantly. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I would I had been there. 
 
 Horatio. 
 It would have much amazed you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Very like, very like. Stayed it long ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. 
 
 Mar., Ber. 
 Longer, longer.
 
 HAMLET. 23 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Not when I saw it. 
 
 Hamiet. 
 His beard was grizzled, no? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silvered. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I will watch to-night; 
 Perchance 't will walk again. 
 
 Horatio. 
 I warrant 't will. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I '11 speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
 If you have hitherto concealed this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue : 
 I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well : 
 Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I '11 visit you. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Our duty to your honour. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Your loves, as mine to you : farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Horatio, Marcet 7us, and Bernardo c. 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play : would the night were come ! 
 Till then sit still, my soul : foul deeds will rise, 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 
 
 [Exit Hamlet L.
 
 24 HAMLET. 
 
 [Enter Laertes and Ophelia c. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 My necessaries are embarked : farewell : 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oph. 
 Do you doubt that ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute; 
 No more. 
 
 Oph. 
 No more but so ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Think it no more : 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
 
 In thews and bulk : but, as this temple waxes, 
 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now ; 
 
 And now no soil nor cautel does besmirch 
 
 The virtue of his will : but you must fear, 
 
 His greatness weighed, his will is not his own ; 
 
 For he himself is subject to his birth : 
 
 He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
 
 Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 
 
 The safety and the health of the whole state. 
 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
 
 And keep you in the rear of your affection, 
 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
 
 HAMLET. 25 
 
 Oph. 
 
 I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
 
 As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother, 
 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 
 Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; 
 
 Whilst, like a puffed and reckless libertine, 
 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, 
 
 And recks not his own read. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 O, fear me not. 
 
 1 stay too long : but here my father comes. 
 A double blessing is a double grace ; 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
 
 [Enter Polonius R 
 
 Pol. {Laertes kneels. 
 
 Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for shame ! 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
 And you are stayed for. There, my blessing with you ! 
 [Laying his hand on Laertes* head. 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel ; but being in, 
 Bear 't, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
 But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy ; 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France of the best rank and station 
 Are most select and generous, chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower nor a lender be : 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ;
 
 2 6 HAMLET. 
 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, to thine own self be true; 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell : my blessing season this in thee ! 
 
 Laer. \Rises. 
 
 Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 
 Farewell, Ophelia ; and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 'T is in my memory locked, 
 And you yourself shall keep the key of it; 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 \ExitLaertes, 
 
 Pol. 
 What is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you ? 
 
 Oph. 
 So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. 
 
 Marry, well bethought : 
 
 'T is told me, he hath very oft of late 
 
 Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
 
 Have of your audience been most free and bounteous 
 
 If it be so (as so 't is put on me, 
 
 And that in way of caution), I must tell you, 
 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly 
 
 As it behoves my daughter and your honour. 
 
 \Vhat is between you ? give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders 
 Of his affection to me.
 
 HAMLET. 27 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Affection ! pooh ! you speak like a green girl, 
 Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? 
 
 Oph. 
 I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Marry, I '11 teach you ; think yourself a baby ; 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, 
 Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly ; 
 Or you '11 tender me a fool. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 My lord, he hath importuned me with love 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Pol. 
 Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 
 Lends tne tongue vows. 
 
 This is for all, 
 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 
 
 Have you so slander any moment's leisure, 
 
 As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. 
 
 Look to 't, I charge you : come your ways. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 I shall obey, my lord. 
 
 \Exetmt Polonius and Ophelia R
 
 2 g HAMLET. 
 
 S>crne tH^irtJ. THE PLATFORM. DIM STARLIGHT. 
 \Enter Hamlet and Horatio, to Marcellus, who is on guard. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 
 Horatio. 
 It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What hour now ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 I think it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. 
 No, it is struck. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Indeed ? I heard it not : then it draws near the season 
 Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 
 
 \A flourish of trumpets : ordnance shot off, within, 
 What does this mean, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse, 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Is it a custom ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ay, marry, is 't : 
 
 But to my mind, though I am native here, 
 And to the manner born, it is a custom 
 More honoured in the broach than the observance.
 
 HAMLET. 29 
 
 Horatio. 
 Look, my lord, it conies ! 
 
 \Enter Ghost R. I.E. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 
 
 Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned, 
 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, 
 
 Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 
 
 Thou comest in such a questionable shape, 
 
 That I will speak to thee : I '11 call thee Hamlet, 
 
 King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me ! 
 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 
 
 Why thy candnised bones, hearsed in death, 
 
 Have burst their cerements ; why the sepulchre 
 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urned, 
 
 Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, 
 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 
 That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
 
 Re-visit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 
 Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
 
 So horridly to shake our disposition, 
 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
 
 Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 
 
 [ The Ghost beckons Hamlet. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 It beckons you to go away with it, 
 As if it some impartment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. [Ghost beckons. 
 
 Look, with what courteous action 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground: 
 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Horatio. 
 No, by no means. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 It will not speak ; then will I follow it.
 
 30 HAMLET. 
 
 Horatio, 
 Do not, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why, what should be the fear ? 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
 
 And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 
 Being a thing immortal as itself ? [ Ghost beckons. 
 
 It waves me forth again ; I '11 follow it. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, 
 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the clitf 
 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea, 
 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 
 Which might deprive your sovereigntv of reason, 
 
 And draw you into madness ? [ Ghost beckons. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It waves me still. 
 Go on ; I '11 follow thee. 
 
 Mar. 
 You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 \Horatio and Marccllus seize Hamlet wd strive to 
 hold him. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Hold off your hands. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Be ruled ; you shall not go. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 My fate cries out, 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. 
 
 [ Ghost beckons. 
 
 Still am I called : unhand me, gentlemen ; 
 By heaven, I '11 make a ghost of him that lets me :
 
 HAMLET. 31 
 
 I say, away ! 
 
 \Breakingfrom them. 
 Go on ; I '11 follow thee. 
 
 j Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. Horatio and Mar- 
 cellus follow slowly. 
 
 l>cene JFottrtfr. ANOTHER PART OF THE PLATFORM. 
 
 [Enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Whither wilt thou lead me ? Speak; I '11 go no further. 
 
 Ghost. 
 Mark me. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 1 will. 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 My hour is almost come, 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Alas ! poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Speak ; I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. 
 So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What?
 
 32 HAMLET. 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 I am thy father's spirit; 
 
 Doomed for a certain term to walk the night, 
 
 And for the day confined to fast in fires, 
 
 Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
 
 Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres 
 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
 
 And each particular hair to stand on end, 
 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
 
 But this eternal blazon must not be 
 
 To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! 
 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
 Ghost. 
 Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Murder ! 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Haste me to know 't, that I, with wings as swift 
 As meditation or the thoughts of love, 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 1 find thee apt; 
 Now, Hamlet, hear : 
 
 T is given out that, sleeping in mine orchard, 
 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark
 
 HAMT.KT. 33 
 
 is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abused : but know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent that did sting thy father's life 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, my prophetic soul ! 
 My uncle ! 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, 
 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
 
 Won to his shameful lust 
 
 The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen : 
 
 But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air; 
 
 Brief let me be. Sleeping within mine orchard 
 
 My custom always in the afternoon, 
 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 
 With juice of cursed hebenon, in a vial, 
 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 
 The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand 
 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched ? 
 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 
 Unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled ; 
 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 
 With all my imperfections on my head : 
 
 Hamlet. 
 O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, 
 Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
 3
 
 24 HAMLET. 
 
 Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven, 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
 To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once : 
 The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
 And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
 Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me. 
 
 [Exit Ghost 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, all you host of heaven ! O, earth ! what else ? 
 And shall I couple hell? O, hold, my heart; 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
 But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee ! 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe. Remember thee ! 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records, 
 All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
 That youth and observation copied there ; 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 Unmixed with baser matter : yes, by heaven. 
 I have sworn 't. 
 
 Horatio. [ Within. 
 
 My lord ! my lord ! 
 
 Mar. \Within. 
 
 Lord Hamlet, 
 
 Horatio. [ Within 
 
 Heaven secure him ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 So be it ! 
 
 Horatio. [ Within. 
 
 Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come.
 
 HAMLET. 35 
 
 \Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 Mar. 
 How is 't, my noble lord ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 What news, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 O, wonderful ! 
 
 Horatio. 
 Good my lord, tell it. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 No ; you '11 reveal it. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar. 
 Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 How say you, then; would heart of man once think it ? 
 But you '11 be secret ? 
 
 Horatio, Mar. 
 Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 There 's ne'er a villain dwelling in all Denmark 
 But he 's an arrant knave. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave 
 To tell us this. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why, right ; you are i' the right : 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 
 I hold it fit that we shake hands and part :
 
 30 HAMLET. 
 
 You, as your business and desire shall point you, 
 
 For every man has business and desire, 
 
 Such as it is ; and for mine own poor part, 
 
 Look you, I '11 go pray. {Retiring 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. 
 
 [ Crosses to L. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I 'm sorry they offend you, heartily ; 
 Yes, faith, heartily. 
 
 Horatio. 
 There 's no offence, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, my lord, 
 
 And much offence too. Touching this vision here, 
 
 \Marcellus advances quickly R 
 It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you : 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O'ermaster it as you may. And now, good friends, 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
 Give me one poor request. 
 
 Horatio. 
 What is 't, my lord ? we will. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Never make known what you have seen to-night. 
 
 Horatio, Mar. 
 My lord, we will not. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Nay, but swear 't. 
 
 Horatio. [Swearing. 
 
 In faith, 
 My lord, not I.
 
 HAMLET. 37 
 
 Mar. [Swearing. 
 
 Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. 
 We have sworn, my lord, already. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 
 Ghost. \Beneath. 
 
 Swear. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ah, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art thou there, true-penny ? 
 Come on : 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Never to speak of this that you have seen. 
 Swear, by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. 
 Swear. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Hie et ubique ? then we '11 shift our ground. 
 Come hither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 Never to speak of this that you have seen, 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. \Beneath. 
 
 Swear. 
 
 Horatio. 
 O, day and night, but this is wondrous strange !
 
 38 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 But come ; 
 
 Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 To put an antic disposition on, 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, 
 With arms encumbered thus, or this head-shake, 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 As, "Well, well, we know;" or, "We could, an if we 
 
 would ; " 
 Dr, "If we list to speak;" or, "There be, an if they 
 
 might;" 
 
 Dr such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 fhat you know aught of me : this not to do, 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you. 
 
 Ghost. {Beneath. 
 
 Swear. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! So, gentlemen, 
 With all my love I do commend me to you : 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together : 
 And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
 The time is out of joint : O, cursed spite, 
 That ever I was born to set it right ! 
 Nay, come, let 's go together. 
 
 {Picture. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 Jfecnte jFtret. A ROOM IN THE PALACE. 
 
 [Enter Ophelia and Polonius, meeting. 
 
 Pol. 
 How now, Ophelia ! what 's the matter ? 
 
 Oph. 
 Alas ! my lord. I have been so affrighted ! 
 
 Pol. 
 
 With what, i' the name of heaven ? 
 Oph. 
 
 My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber, 
 Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced; 
 No hat upon his head ; he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. 
 What said he ? 
 
 Oph. 
 
 He took me by the wrist, and held me hard ; 
 
 Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
 
 And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
 
 He falls to such perusal of my face 
 
 As he would draw it. Long stayed he so ; 
 
 At last, a little shaking of mine arm, 
 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down, = 
 
 He raised a sigh so piteous and profound, 
 
 That it did seem to shatter all his bulk, 
 
 And end his being : that done, he lets me go : 
 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turned, 
 
 He seemed to find his way without his eyes ; 
 
 For out of doors he went without their help, 
 
 And to the last, bended their light on me.
 
 4O HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. 
 Mad for thy love ? 
 
 Ofh. 
 
 My lord, I do not know, 
 But I do fear it. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Come, go with me: 
 
 This is the very ecstasy of love. 
 
 I am sorry, 
 
 What! have you given him any hard words of late ? 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Vo, my good lord ; but, as you did command, 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 His access to me. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 That hath made him mad. 
 
 This must be known ; which, being kept close, might mov6 
 
 More grief to hide than hate to utter love. 
 
 \Exeunt Polonius and Ophelia L. i. E. 
 
 \Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern c, 
 King. 
 
 Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern ! 
 Moreover that we much did long to see you, 
 The need we have to use you did provoke 
 Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
 Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 
 Since nor the exterior nor the inward man 
 Resembles that it was. What it should be, 
 More than his father's death, that thus hath put him 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, 
 
 \Enter Queen and Attendants L. u. E, 
 That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
 Some little time : so by your companies
 
 HAMLET. 41 
 
 To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather, 
 So much as from occasion you may glean, 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
 That, opened, lies within our remedy. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Good gentlemen, he hath much talked of you ; 
 And sure I am two men there are not living 
 To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
 To show us so much gentry and good will 
 As to expend your time with us awhile, 
 For the supply and profit of our hope, 
 Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
 As fits a king's remembrance. 
 
 Ros. 
 
 3oth your majesties 
 
 Wight, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
 Put your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Gut!. 
 
 But we both obey, 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, 
 To lay our service freely at your feet, 
 To be commanded. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. 
 We do beseech you instantly to visit 
 Our too much changed son. Go, you, 
 
 [ To the attendants. 
 And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and all the 
 attendants. 
 
 [Enter Polonius L. u. E. 
 
 King. 
 Thou still hast been the father of good news.
 
 42 HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Have I, my lord ? Assure you, my good liege, 
 
 I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
 
 Both to my God, and to my gracious king ; 
 
 And I do think (or else this brain of mine 
 
 Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
 
 As it hath used to do) that I have found 
 
 The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
 
 King. 
 O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
 
 What majesty should be, what duty is, 
 
 Why day is day, night night, and time is time, 
 
 Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
 
 Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, 
 
 And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
 
 I will be brief: your noble son is mad: 
 
 Mad call I it ; for, to define true madness, 
 
 What is 't, but to be nothing else but mad ? 
 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen, 
 
 More matter, with less art. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
 
 That he is mad, 't is true : 't is true 't is pity; 
 
 And pity 't is 't is true : a foolish figure ; 
 
 But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
 
 Mad let us grant him, then : and now remains 
 
 That we find out the cause of this effect, 
 
 Or rather say, the cause of this defect, 
 
 For this effect defective comes by cause : 
 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter, have, while she is mine,
 
 HAMLET. 43 
 
 Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
 
 Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise. 
 
 [Reads, 
 To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia 
 
 That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase, ''beautified" is a vile 
 phrase ; but you shall hear. Thus : 
 
 [Reads, 
 
 In her excellent white bosom, these, &c. 
 
 Queen . 
 Came this from Hamlet to her ? 
 
 Pol. 
 &ood madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful. 
 
 [Reads. 
 
 Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 
 
 Doubt that the sun doth move ; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
 
 But never doubt I love. 
 
 O, dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; I have not art to reckon 
 :ny groans : but that I love thee best, O, most best, believe it. Adieu. 
 Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me : 
 And more above, hath his solicitings, 
 As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
 All given to mine ear. 
 
 King. 
 
 But how hath she 
 Received his love ? 
 
 Pol. 
 What do you think of me ? 
 
 King. 
 As of a man faithful and honourable.
 
 44 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 I would fain prove so. But what might you think, 
 
 When I had seen this hot love on the wing 
 
 (As I perceived it, I must tell you that, 
 
 Before my daughter told me), what might you, 
 
 Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
 
 If I had played the desk or table-book ; 
 
 Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb ; 
 
 Or looked upon this love with idle sight ; 
 
 What might you think ? No, I went round to work, 
 
 And my young mistress thus I did bespeak : 
 
 " Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star ; 
 
 This must not be ; " and then I precepts gave her, 
 
 That she should lock herself from his resort, 
 
 Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
 
 Which done, she took the fruits of my advice ; 
 
 And he, repulsed (a short tale to make), 
 
 Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 
 
 Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
 
 Thence to a lightness ; and, by this declension 
 
 Into the madness wherein now he raves, 
 
 And all we wail for. 
 
 King. 
 Do you think 't is this ? 
 
 Queen. 
 It may be very likely. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Hath there been such a time (I 'd fain know that), 
 That I have positively said, " 'T is so," 
 When it proved otherwise ? 
 
 King. 
 Not that I know. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 
 
 [Pointing to his head and shoulder.
 
 HAMLET. 45 
 
 If circumstances lead me, I will find 
 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 
 Within the centre. 
 
 King. 
 How may we try it further ? 
 
 Pol. 
 
 You know, sometimes he walks for hours together 
 Here in the lobby. 
 
 Q'*""- [Goes up c. 
 
 So he does, indeed. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 At such a time I '11 loose my daughter to him : 
 Be you and I behind an arras then; 
 Mark the encounter : if he love her not, 
 And be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
 Let me be no assistant for a state, 
 But keep a farm and carters. 
 
 King. 
 We will try it. 
 
 Queen. 
 But, look, where sadly the poor wretch comes, reading. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Away, I do beseech you, both away: 
 I '11 board him presently. 
 
 [.Exeunt King and Queen. 
 
 [Enter Hamlet, c., reading. 
 How does my good Lord Hamlet ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Well, God-a-mercy. 
 
 Pol. 
 Do you know me, my lord ?
 
 4 6 HA.MI.KT. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 
 
 Pol, 
 Not I, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet, 
 Then I would you were so honest a man. 
 
 Pol, 
 Honest, my lord ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man 
 picked out of ten thousand. 
 
 Pol, 
 That 's very true, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet, 
 
 For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god 
 kissing carrion, Have you a daughter ? 
 
 Pol, 
 I have, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet, 
 
 Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is a blessing ; 
 but not as your daughter may conceive: friend, look 
 to 't. 
 
 Pol. [Astie. 
 
 Still harping on my daughter : yet he knew me not at 
 first ; he said I was a fishmonger : he is far gone, far 
 gone : and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity 
 for love; very near this. I '11 speak to him again. What 
 do you read, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Words, words, words.
 
 HAMLET. 47 
 
 Pol. 
 What is the matter, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Between who ? 
 
 Pol. 
 I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says here, that old 
 men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; 
 their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum ; and 
 that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most 
 weak hams : all which, sir, though I most powerfully and 
 potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus 
 set down ; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, 
 like a crab, you could go backward. 
 
 Pol. {Aside. 
 
 Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't. 
 Will you walk out of the air, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Into my grave ? 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside.] How pregnant 
 sometimes his replies are ! a happiness that often madness 
 hits on, which reason and sanity could not so prosperously 
 be delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly contrive 
 the means of meeting between him and my daughter. 
 My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave 
 of you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more 
 willingly part withal, except my life, except my life, 
 except my life.
 
 ^g HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 {Exit Polonius L. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 These tedious old fools ! 
 
 [As Polonius retires, he meets, outside, Rosencrantz 
 and Guildenstern. 
 
 Pol. 
 You go to seek the Lord Hamlet ; there he is. ") 
 
 Ros. [To Pol. \ Within. 
 
 God save you, sir ! 3 
 
 \Enter Rosencrantz and Gitildenstern L. 
 
 Guil. 
 Mine honoured lord ! 
 
 Ros. 
 My most dear lord ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 My excellent good friends ! How dost thou, Guilden- 
 stern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good lads, how do ye both ? 
 What news ? 
 
 Ros. 
 
 None, my lord, but that the world 's grown honest. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Then is doomsday near : but your news is not true. 
 In the beaten way of friendship, what make you at 
 Elsinore ? 
 
 Ros. 
 
 To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I 
 thank you. Were you not sent for? Is it your own 
 inclining ? Is it a free visitation ? Come, deal justly 
 with me : come, come ; nay, speak.
 
 HAMLET. 49 
 
 Gidl. 
 What should we say, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why, anything but to the purpose. You were sent 
 for : and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which 
 your modesties have not craft enough to colour : I know 
 the good kiug and queen have sent for you. 
 
 Ros. 
 To what end, /ny lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the 
 rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, 
 by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what 
 more dear a better proposer could charge you withal, be 
 even and direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 
 
 Ros. [Aside to Guildenstern. 
 
 What say you ? 
 
 Hamlet. [Aside. 
 
 Nay, then, 1 have an eye of you. If you love me, hold 
 not off. 
 
 Guil. 
 My lord, we were sent for. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent 
 your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen 
 moult no feather. I have of late (but wherefore I know 
 not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises ; 
 and, indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition, that 
 this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile prom- 
 ontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, 
 this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof 
 fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing 
 to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. 
 What a piece of work is a man ! how noble in reason ! how 
 4
 
 50 HAMLET. 
 
 infinite in faculty ! in form and moving how express and 
 admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in apprehension 
 how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the paragon of 
 animals ! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of 
 dust? man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, 
 though by your smiling you seem to say so. 
 
 My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why did you laugh, then, when I said, man delights 
 not me ? 
 
 Ros. 
 
 To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what 
 lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you: 
 we coted them on the way; and hither are they coming, 
 to offer you service. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 He that plays the king shall be welcome : his majesty 
 shall have tribute of me. What players are they ? 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Even those you were wont to take delight in, the trage- 
 dians of the city. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 How chances it they travel ? their residence, both in 
 reputation and profit, was better both ways. Do they 
 hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city ? 
 are they so followed ? 
 
 Ros. 
 No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It is not strange; for my uncle is king of Denmark, 
 and those that would make mows at him while my father 
 lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for 
 his picture in little. There is something in this more than 
 natural, if philosophy could find it out. 
 
 [ Trumpet within,
 
 HAMLET. 51 
 
 Gllll. 
 
 There are the players. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Gentlemen [To Rosencranlz and Guildenstcrn\ you are 
 welcome to Elsinore. Your hands. You are welcome; 
 but my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived. 
 
 Guil. 
 In what, my dear lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I am but mad north-north-west; when the wind is 
 southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw. 
 
 Pol. [ Within. 
 
 Well be with you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Hark you, Guildenstern, that great baby you see there 
 is not yet out of his swathing-clouts. 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Haply he is the second time come to them ; for they 
 say an old man is twice a child. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players; 
 mark it. You say right, sir; o' Monday morning; 
 \ was so, indeed. \Enter Polonius L. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was 
 an actor in Rome, 
 
 Pol. 
 The actors are come hither, my lord.
 
 52 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Buz, buz! 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Upon mine honour, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Then came each actor on his ass, 
 
 Pol. 
 
 The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, com- 
 edy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, 
 tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene 
 individable, or poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be too 
 heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the 
 liberty, these are the only men. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst 
 thou! 
 
 PoL 
 What a treasure had he, my lord? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Why, 
 
 One fair daughter, and no more, 
 The which he lovtd passing well. 
 
 Pol. [Aside. 
 
 Still on my daughter. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Am I not in the right, old Jephthah ? 
 
 Pol. 
 
 If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter 
 that I love passing well. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Nay, that follows not,
 
 HAMLET. 53 
 
 Pol. 
 What follows, then, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why 
 
 As by lot, God \vot, 
 
 and then you know, 
 
 It came to pass, as most like it was, 
 
 the first row of the pious chanson will show you more: 
 for look, my abridgment comes. 
 
 \Enter several Players L. 
 
 You are welcome, masters ; welcome all. Old friend ! 
 Thy face is valanced since I saw thee last ; comest thou 
 to beard me in Denmark ? Masters, you are all welcome. 
 We '11 e'en to 't like French falconers, fly at anything we 
 see : we'll have a speech straight : come, give us a taste of 
 your quality ; come, a passionate speech. 
 
 First Play. 
 What speech, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never 
 acted ; or, if it was, not above once ; for the play, I 
 remember, pleased not the million; 't was caviare to the 
 general but it was an excellent play, well digested in the 
 scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. One 
 speech in it I chiefly loved : 't was vEneas' tale to Dido ; 
 and thereabout of it, especially, where he speaks of Priam's 
 slaughter ; if it live in your memory, begin at this line ; 
 let me see, let me see ; 
 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast, 
 
 't is not so : it begins with Pyrrhus : 
 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, he, whose sable arms 
 Black as his purpose, did the night resemble ; 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks.
 
 54 HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 'Fore heaven, my lord, well spoken, with good accent 
 and good discretion. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 So proceed you. 
 
 First Play. 
 
 Anon he finds him 
 
 Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique sword, 
 Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 
 Repugnant to command ; unequal matched, 
 Pyrrhus at Priam drives: in rage strikes wide ; 
 But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword 
 The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
 Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 
 Stoops to his base ; and with a hideous crash 
 Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear ; for, lo ! his sword, 
 Which was declining on the milky head 
 Of reverend Priam, seemed i' the air to stick : 
 So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood : 
 And, like a neutral to his will and matter, 
 Did nothing. 
 
 But, as we often see, against some storm, 
 A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, 
 The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
 As hush as death ; anon the dreadful thunder 
 Doth rend the region ; so, after Pyrrhus' pause, 
 Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work ; 
 And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
 On Mars's armour, forged for proof eterne, 
 With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
 Now falls on Priam. 
 
 Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune ! All you gods, 
 In general synod, take away her power; 
 Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, 
 And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, 
 As low as to the fiends ! 
 
 Pol 
 This is too long. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It shall to the barber's, with your beard. Pr'ythee, say 
 on : come to Hecuba.
 
 HAMLET. 55 
 
 first Play. 
 But who, O, who had seen the inobled queen 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 \ \Vith momentary sad pre-occupation : his thought is 
 of his mother. 
 
 " The inobled queen." 
 
 Pol. 
 That 's good ; " inobled queen " is good. 
 
 First Play. 
 
 Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames 
 
 With bisson rheum ; a clout upon that head 
 
 Where late the diadem stood ; and for a robe, 
 
 About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 
 
 A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ; 
 
 Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steeped, 
 
 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pronounced: 
 
 But if the gods themselves did see her then 
 
 When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
 
 In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, 
 
 The instant burst of clamour that she made 
 
 (Unless things mortal move them not at all), 
 
 Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven, 
 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Look, whether he has not turned his colour, and has 
 tears in 's eyes. Pray you, no more. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 'T is well ; I '11 have thee speak out the rest soon. Good 
 my lord, will you see the players well bestowed ? Do you 
 hear, let them be well used ; for they are the abstracts and 
 brief chronicles of the time ; after your death you were 
 better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you 
 live. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 My lord, I will use them according to their desert.
 
 c6 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Much better, sir ; use every man after his desert, and who 
 should 'scape whipping ? Use them after your own 
 honour and dignity : the less they deserve, the more merit 
 is in your bounty. Take them in. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Come, sirs. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Follow him, friends : we '11 hear a play to-morrow. 
 
 [ExitPolomus, with all the players except the first, L. 
 
 Old friend. 
 
 [The First Player pauses in the act of retiring. Ham- 
 Id then addresses Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 
 My good friends, I '11 leave you till night. You are wel- 
 come to Elsinore. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Hamlet 
 
 then speaks again to the player. 
 Can you play the murder of Gonzago ? 
 
 First Play. 
 Ay, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 We '11 have it to-morrow night. You could, for a need, 
 study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I 
 would set down and insert in 't, could you not ? 
 
 First Play. 
 Ay, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Very well. Follow that lord ; and look you mock him 
 not. 
 
 [Exit First Player L. 
 
 Now I am alone. 
 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
 Is it not monstrous, that this player here,
 
 HAMLET. 57 
 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit, 
 
 That, from her working, all his visage wanned ; 
 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 
 With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing ! 
 
 For Hecuba ! 
 
 What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 
 That he should weep for her ? What would he do, 
 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
 
 That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears, 
 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ; 
 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, 
 
 Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed, 
 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 
 And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, 
 
 Upon whose property and most dear life 
 
 A damned defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
 
 Who calls me villain ? 
 
 Gives me the lie i' the throat, 
 
 As deep as to the lungs ? who does me this ? 
 
 Why, I should take it : for it cannot be 
 
 But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall 
 
 To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, 
 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 
 With this slave's offal : bloody, bawdy villain ! 
 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain ! 
 
 Why, what an ass am I ! This is most brave, 
 
 That I, the son of a dear father murdered, 
 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 
 
 Must, like a bawd, unpack my heart with words, 
 
 And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, 
 
 A scullion ! 
 
 Fie upon it! foh ! About, my brain ! I have heard 
 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, 
 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 
 Been struck so to the soul, that presently
 
 eg HAMLET. 
 
 They have proclaimed their malefactions; 
 
 For murder, though it have 110 tongue, will speak 
 
 With most miraculous organ. I '11 have these players 
 
 Play something like the murder of my father 
 
 Before mine uncle : I '11 observe his looks ; 
 
 I '11 tent him to the quick : if he but blench, 
 
 I know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
 
 Maybe the devil: and the devil hath power 
 
 To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps 
 
 Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
 
 As he is very potent with such spirits, 
 
 Abuses me to damn me : I '11 have grounds 
 
 More relative than this : the play 's the thing 
 
 Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. 
 
 [Exit Hamlet 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 THE SAME AS IN ACT SECOND. THE KING 
 AND QUEEN SEATED AT TABLE c., AND 
 Jtret. POLONIUS, OPHELIA, ROSENCRANTZ, AND 
 
 GUILDENSTERN, STANDING NEAR, ARE 
 DISCOVERED. 
 
 King. 
 
 And can you, by no drift of circumstance, 
 Get from him why he puts on this confusion, 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 
 
 fas. 
 
 He does confess he feels himself distracted ; 
 But from what cause he will by no means speak. 
 
 Guil. 
 
 Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ; 
 But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 
 When we would bring him on to some confession 
 Of his true state. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Did you assay him 
 To any pastime ? 
 
 jfos. 
 
 Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
 
 We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him; 
 
 And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
 
 To hear of it : they are about the court ; 
 
 And, as I think, they have already order 
 
 This night to play before him.
 
 60 HAMLET. 
 
 PoL 
 
 'T is most true : 
 
 And he beseeched me to entreat your majesties 
 To hear and see the matter. 
 
 King. 
 
 With all my heart ; and it doth much content me 
 To hear him so inclined. 
 Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
 And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Ros. 
 We shall, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gidldcnsicni K. 
 
 King. 
 
 Sweet Gertrude, leave us too ; 
 
 For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, 
 
 That he, as 't were by accident, may here 
 
 Affront Ophelia : 
 
 Her father and myself, lawful espials, 
 
 Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge; 
 
 And gather by him, as he is behaved, 
 
 If 't be the affliction of his love or no 
 
 That thus he suffers for. 
 
 {.King retires 
 Queen. 
 
 I shall obey you : 
 And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish 
 That your good beauties be the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope your virtues 
 Will bring him to his wonted \vay again, 
 To both your honours. 
 
 Oph. 
 Madam, I wish it may. 
 
 [Exit Queen L.
 
 HAMLET. 6 r 
 
 Pol. 
 
 Ophelia, w^lk you here. 
 
 Gracious, so please you, \ n ^ R . 
 
 We will bestow ourselves. f 
 
 Read on this book ; [ To Ophelia, giving prayer-book. 
 
 That show of such an exercise may colour 
 
 Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this, 
 
 'Tis too much proved, that, with devotion's visage 
 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 
 The devil himself. 
 
 King. [Aside. 
 
 O, 'tis too true! 
 
 How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience ! 
 The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art, 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word : 
 O, heavy burden! 
 
 Pol. 
 
 I hear him coming : let's withdraw, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt King and Polonhis c., and Ophelia, 
 slowly, R. 
 
 [Enter Hamlet. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 To be, or not to be, that is the question : 
 
 Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 
 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 
 And by opposing end them ? to die, to sleep, 
 
 No more ; and by a sleep to say we end 
 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to 't is a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep. 
 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream : ay, there 's the rub, 
 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
 
 Must give us pause ; there 's the respect 
 
 That makes calamity of so long life ; 
 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
 
 62 HAMLET. 
 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
 
 The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 
 With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, 
 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
 
 But that the dread of something after death, 
 
 The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 
 No traveller returns, puzzles the will, 
 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 
 And lose the name of action. Soft you now ! 
 
 [Re-enter Ophelia, reading. 
 The fair Ophelia. Nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remembered. 
 
 Oph. {Coldly. 
 
 Good my lord, 
 How does your honour for this many a day ? 
 
 Hamlet. [Going. 
 
 I humbly thank you ; well, well, well. 
 Oph. 
 
 My lord, I have remembrances of yours, 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver; 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 [Hamlet here catches a glimpse of the King and 
 Polonius, in their hiding-place at back of the 
 scene. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 No, not I ; 
 \ never gave you aught.
 
 IIAMLi.T. 63 
 
 Of/i. 
 
 My honoured lord, you know right well you did; 
 And, with them, words of so sweet breath composed 
 As made the things more rich : their perfume lost, 
 Take these again ; for to the noble mind 
 Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind 
 There, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ha, ha ! are you honest ? 
 
 Oph. 
 My lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Are you fair ? 
 
 Oph. 
 What means your lordship ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should 
 admit no discourse to your beauty. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with 
 honesty ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty will sooner transform 
 honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty 
 can translate beauty into his likeness : this was sometime 
 a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love 
 you once. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so 
 inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of it : I loved 
 you not.
 
 64 HAMLET. 
 
 Oph. 
 I was the more deceived. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Get thee to a nunnery : why wouldst thou be a breeder 
 of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest; but yet I 
 could accuse me of such things, that it were better my 
 mother had not borne me : I am very proud, revengeful, 
 ambitious ; with more offences at ray beck than I have 
 thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, 
 or time to act them in. 
 
 What should such fellows as I do crawling between 
 heaven and earth? We are arrant knaves, all; believe 
 none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where 's your 
 father ? 
 
 Oph. {Hesitating. 
 
 At home, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the 
 fool nowhere but in 's own house. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. 
 O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 If thou dost marry, I '11 give thee this plague for thy 
 dowry, be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou 
 shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go : 
 farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for 
 wise men know well enough what monsters you make of 
 them. To a nunnery, go ; and quickly too. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. 
 O, heavenly powers, restore him !
 
 HAMLET. 65 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I have heard of your paintings too, well enough ; God. 
 hath given you one face, and you make yourselves 
 another : you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name 
 God's creatures, and make your wantonness your igno- 
 rance. Go to, I '11 no more on \ ; it hath made me mad. 
 I say, we will have no more marriages : those that are 
 married already, all but one, shall live ; the rest shall keep 
 as they are. To a nunnery, go. [Exit. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword : 
 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
 
 The glass of fashion and the mould of form, 
 
 The observed of all observers, quite, quite down! 
 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 
 That sucked the honey of his music vows, 
 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 
 Tha-t unmatched form and feature of blown youth 
 
 Blasted with ecstasy : O, woe is me. 
 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 
 
 [Exit Ophelia. 
 [Re-enter King and Polonius. 
 
 Xing. 
 
 Love ! his affections do not that way tend ; 
 
 Norwhat he spake, though it lacked form a little, 
 
 Was not like madness. There 's something in his soul, 
 
 O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 
 And, I do doubt, the hatch and the disclose 
 
 Will be some danger : which for to prevent, 
 
 I have in quick determination 
 
 Thus set it down : he shall with speed to England, 
 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
 
 Haply, the seas, and countries different, 
 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 
 This something-settled matter in his heart; 
 
 Whereon his brain still beating, puts him thus 
 
 From fashion of himself. What think you on 't ?
 
 66 HAMLET. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 It shall do well ; but yet do I believe 
 
 The origin and commencement of his grief 
 
 Sprung from neglected love. 
 
 My lord, do as you please ; 
 
 But, if you hold it fit, after the play, 
 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
 
 To show his grief: let her be round with him ; 
 
 And I '11 be placed, so please you, in the ear 
 
 Of all their conference. If she find him not, 
 
 To England send him ; or confine him where 
 
 Your wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King. 
 
 It shall be so : 
 Madness in great ones must not unwatched go. 
 
 [Exeunt c 
 
 ^>ctne ^cconlJ. A HALL IN THE CASTLE [FIRST GROOVES]. 
 
 [N. B. During this scene, set the Dais with chairs 
 R, Platform L, chair and stool c. 
 
 [Enter Hamlet and first Player. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to 
 you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as 
 many of our players do, I had as lief the to\vn-crier spoke 
 my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your 
 hand, thus ; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, 
 tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you 
 must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it 
 smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robust- 
 ious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to 
 very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; \\ho, for 
 the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
 dumb-shows and noise: I would have such a fellow- 
 whipped for o'erdoing Termagant: it out-herods Herod: 
 pray you, avoid it.
 
 HAMLET. 67 
 
 First Player. 
 I warrant your honour. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be 
 your tutor : suit the action to the word, the word to the 
 action ; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not 
 the modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is from 
 the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and 
 now, was and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to 
 nature ; to show, virtue her own feature, scorn her own 
 image, and the very age and body of the time his form 
 and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, 
 though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the 
 judicious grieve ; the censure of the which one must, in 
 your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, 
 there be players that I have seen play, and heard others 
 praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, 
 neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of 
 Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, 
 that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had 
 made them, and not made them well, they imitated 
 humanity so abominably. 
 
 First Player. 
 I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us, sir. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your 
 clowns speak no more than is set down for them : for there 
 be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some 
 (juantity of barren spectators to laugh top ; though, in the 
 meantime, some necessary question of the play be then to 
 be considered : that's villainous, and shows a most pitiful 
 ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 
 
 [Exit Player. 
 
 Horatio ! \Enter Horatio. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Here, sweet lord, at your service.
 
 6g IIAMLKT. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation coped withal. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 O, my dear lord, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Nay, do not think I flatter; 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the poor be flattered ? 
 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp ; 
 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear ? 
 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 
 And could of men distinguish, her election 
 
 Hath sealed thee for herself: for thou hast been 
 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 
 
 A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 
 Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and blessed are those 
 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 
 To sound what stop she please. Give me that man 
 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 
 In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
 
 As I do thee. Something too much of this. 
 
 There is a play to-night before the king ; 
 
 One scene of it comes near the circumstance 
 
 Which I have told thee of my father's death : 
 
 I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foot, 
 
 Even with the very comment of thy soul, 
 
 Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 
 
 Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 
 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 
 And my imaginations are as foul 
 
 As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note : 
 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 
 
 And, after, we will both our judgments join 
 
 In censure of his seeming.
 
 HAMLET. 69 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Well, my lord. {March, pp. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 They are coming to the play. Get you a place. 
 I must be idle. {Exeunt. Scene changes. 
 
 Ibcene CbirtJ- SAME AS SCENE FIRST. 
 
 {Guards, lords, and ladies discovered. Danish 
 march. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Horatio, 
 Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Hamlet 
 
 King. {Ascends throne R. 
 
 How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Excellent, i' faith ; of the chameleon's dish : I eat the air, 
 promise-crammed : you cannot feed capons so. 
 
 King. 
 
 I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet ; these words 
 are not mine. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 No, nor mine now. {To Polonius.} My lord, you 
 played once in the university, you say? 
 
 Pol. 
 That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a good actor. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 And what did you enact ? 
 
 Pol. 
 
 I did enact Julius Caesar : I was killed i' the Capitol- 
 Brutus killed me.
 
 7 o 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It was a brute part of him [Aside] to kill so capital a 
 calf there. Be the players ready ? 
 
 Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. 
 
 Queen. 
 Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 No, good mother, here 's metal more attractive. 
 
 Pol. {To the Kins. 
 
 O, ho ! do you mark that ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 
 
 {Lying down at Ophelia's feet. 
 
 Oph. 
 You are merry, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, your only jig-maker. What should a man do but 
 be merry ? for, look you, how cheerfully my mother looks, 
 and my father died within these two hours. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Nay, 't is quite two months, my lord. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 So long ? Nay, then, let the devil wear black, for I '11 
 have a suit of sables. Two months ago, and not for- 
 gotten yet ? Then there 's hope a great man's memory 
 may outlive his life half a year : but, by 'r lady, he must 
 build churches, then. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 What means the play, my lord ?
 
 HAMLET. f i 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Miching mallecho ; it means mischief. 
 
 Oph. 
 But what is the argument of the play ? 
 
 [Enter Second Actor, as Prologue. 
 Hamlet. 
 We shall know by this fellow. 
 
 Second Actor. 
 
 For us, and for our tragedy, 
 Here stooping to your clemency, 
 We beg your hearing patiently. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Is this a prologue or the posy of a ring ? 
 
 Oph. 
 
 'T is brief, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 As woman's love. 
 
 [This reference is to the Queen, and mournfully 
 to the evanescence of all love. 
 
 [Enter a King and a Queen. 
 
 P. King. 
 
 Full thirty times hath Phoebus' car gone round 
 Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, 
 And thirty dozen moons with borrowed sheen 
 About the world have times twelve thirties been, 
 Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, 
 Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 
 
 P. Queen. 
 
 So many journeys may the sun and moon 
 Make us again count o'er ere love be done ! 
 But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, 
 So far from cheer and from your former state, 
 That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
 Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
 For women's fear and love hold quantity ;
 
 *T ? HAMLET. 
 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 
 Now, what my love is proof hath made you know ; 
 
 And as my love is sized, my fear is so : 
 
 Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
 
 Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. 
 
 P. King. 
 
 Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too ; 
 My operant powers their functions leave to do : 
 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
 Honored, beloved ; and haply, one as kind 
 For husband shalt thou 
 
 P. Queen. 
 
 O, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
 In second husband let me be accurst ! 
 None wed the second but who killed the first. 
 
 Hamlet. [Aside 
 
 Wormwood, wormwood. 
 
 P. King. 
 
 I do believe you think what now you speak ; 
 
 But what we do determine oft we break. 
 
 Purpose is but the slave to memory ; 
 
 Of violent birth, but poor validity : 
 
 Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree ; 
 
 But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
 
 Our wills and fates do so contrary run, 
 
 That our devices still are overthrown ; 
 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own : 
 
 So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
 
 But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead. 
 
 P. Queen. 
 
 Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light ! 
 Sport and repose lock from me day and night ! 
 To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
 Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, 
 Meet what I would have well, and it destroy ! 
 Both here and hence, pursue me lasting strife, 
 If once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
 
 P. King. 
 'T is deeply sworn.
 
 HAMLET. 73 
 
 Hamlet. 
 If she should break it now ! 
 
 P. King. 
 
 Sweet, leave me here awhile ; 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
 The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 
 
 I } . Queen. 
 
 Sleep rock thy brain ; 
 And never come mischance between us twain ! [Exit. 
 
 Hamlet. [To the Queen. 
 
 Madam, how like you this play? 
 
 Queen. 
 The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 O, but she '11 keep her word. 
 
 King. 
 
 Have you heard the argument ? Is there no offence 
 in 't ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest ; no offence i' 
 the world. 
 
 King. 
 What do you call the play ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 The Mouse-trap. Marry, how ? Tropically. This play 
 is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the 
 duke's name; his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon; 't is 
 a knavish piece of work : out what o' that? your majesty, 
 and we that have free souls, it touches us not: let the 
 galled jade wince ! our withers are unwrung. 
 
 [Enter Second Actor, as Lucianus, 
 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king.
 
 74 HAMLET. 
 
 Oph. 
 You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I could interpret between you and your love [Aside] 
 if I could see the puppets dallying. Begin, murderer ; 
 leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come : the croak- 
 ing raven doth bellow for revenge. 
 
 Lucianus. 
 
 Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing ; 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing; 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, 
 With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
 Thy natural magic and dire property, 
 On wholesome life usurp immediately. 
 
 [Pours the poison into the sleeper s car. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. His 
 name 's Gonzago : the story is extant, and written in very 
 choice Italian. You shall see anon how the murderer 
 gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
 King. 
 
 Give o'er the play ! Away ! 
 
 [General alarm and confusion. As the King rises, 
 the players hurriedly quit the platform ; Ophelia 
 runs to Polonius j and the whole throng rushes 
 out, after the King and Queen, leaving Hamlet 
 and Horatio alone together. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
 
 The hart un galled play ; 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep : 
 
 So runs the world away. 
 
 O, good Horatio, I '11 take the ghost's word for a thou- 
 sand pound. Didst perceive ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 Very well, my lord.
 
 HAMLET. 75 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Upon the talk of the poisoning, 
 
 Horatio. 
 I did very well note him. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Ah, ha! Come, some music! come, the recorders! 
 
 Come, some music ! 
 
 \Exit Horatio R. 
 
 \Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern i . 
 
 Guil. 
 Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Sir, a whole history. 
 
 Guil. 
 The king, sir, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ay, sir, what of him ? 
 
 Guil. 
 
 Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 With drink, sir ? 
 
 Guil. 
 
 No, my lord, with choler. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Your wisdom would show itself more richer to signify 
 this to his doctor ; for, for me to put him to his purgation 
 might perhaps plunge him into more choler. 
 
 Guil. 
 
 Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and 
 start not so wildly from my affair.
 
 76 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I am tame, sir: pronounce. 
 
 Guil. 
 
 The queen, your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, 
 hath sent me to you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. 
 
 Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right 
 breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome 
 answer, I will do your mother's commandment : if not, 
 your pardon and my return shall be the end of my business, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Sir, I cannot. 
 
 Guil. 
 What, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit 's diseased : 
 but, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall command ; 
 therefore no more, but to the matter: my mother, you 
 say, 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Then thus she says ; your behaviour hath struck her into 
 amazement and admiration. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother ! 
 But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admira- 
 tion ? Impart. 
 
 Ros. 
 
 She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go 
 to bed. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have 
 you any further trade with us ?
 
 HAMLET. ft 
 
 Kos. 
 My lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 So I do still, by these pickers and stealers. 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper ? you do, 
 surely, bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny 
 your griefs to your friend. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Ros. 
 
 How can that be, when you have the voice of the king 
 himself for your succession in Denmark ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ay, sir, but " While the grass grows," the proverb is 
 something musty. 
 
 \Enter Horatio with two musicians. 
 
 O, the recorders : let me see one. 
 
 {Hamlet takes one of the flutes. Guildenstern 
 passes to the R. of Hamlet, as if to overhear what 
 may pass between him and Horatio. 
 To withdraw with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Horatio and the musicians n. 
 Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you 
 would drive me into a toil ? 
 
 Guil. 
 
 O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too 
 unmannerly. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this 
 pipe? 
 
 Guil. 
 My lord, I cannot.
 
 78 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I pray you. 
 
 Guil 
 Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I do beseech you. 
 
 Ros. 
 I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 'T is as easy as lying : govern these ventages with your 
 fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it 
 will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are 
 the stops. 
 
 Guil. 
 
 But these cannot I command to any utterance of har- 
 mony; I have not the skill. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of 
 me ! You would play upon me ; you would seem to know 
 my stops ; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery ; 
 you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my 
 compass : and there is much music, excellent voice, in this 
 little organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sdeath, do 
 you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe ? Call 
 me what instrument you will, though you may fret me, you 
 cannot play upon me. 
 
 [Enter Polonius L. 
 Pol. 
 My lord ! my lord ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 God bless you, sir i 
 
 Pol. 
 My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently. 
 
 Haintct. 
 
 Do you see yonder cloud that 's almost in shape of a 
 camel ?
 
 HAMLET. 79 
 
 Pol. 
 By the mass, and 't is like a camel, indeed- 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Methinks it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. 
 It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Or like a whale ? 
 
 Pol. 
 Very like a whale. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Then will I come to my mother by-and-by. They fool 
 me to the top of my bent. I will come by-and-by. 
 
 Pol. 
 I will say so. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 By-and-by is easily said, sir. [Exit Polonins[ Leave 
 me, friends. 
 
 [Exeunt Rose nc ran tz and Guildenstern. 
 'T is now the very witching time of night, 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
 Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot blood, 
 And do such bitter business as the day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to my mother. 
 O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural ; 
 I will speak daggers to her, but use none. 
 
 [Exit Hamut,
 
 8o HAMLET. 
 
 tm A 
 
 [Enter, L., -#/, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. 
 
 I like him not ; nor stands it safe with us 
 To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you ; 
 I your commission will forthwith despatch, 
 And he to England shall along with you : 
 Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage ; 
 For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
 Which now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Ros., Guil. 
 We will haste us. 
 
 [Exeunt, R., Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
 [Enter Polonius L. 
 Pol. 
 
 My lord, he 's going to his mother's closet : 
 
 Behind the arras I '11 convey myself, 
 
 To hear the process ; I '11 warrant she '11 tax him home : 
 
 And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
 
 'T is meet that some more audience than a mother, 
 
 Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
 
 The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
 
 I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed, 
 
 And tell you what I know. 
 
 King. 
 
 Thanks, dear my lord. 
 
 [Exit Polonivs \ . 
 
 O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; 
 It hath the primal, eldest curse upon 't, 
 A brother's murder ! Pray can I not, 
 Though inclination be as sharp as will : 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
 
 HAMLET. 8 1 
 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 
 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, 
 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 
 
 To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy 
 
 But to confront the visage of offence ? 
 
 And what's in prayer but this twofold force, 
 
 To be forestalled ere we come to fall, 
 
 Or pardoned being down ? Then I '11 look up ; 
 
 My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
 
 Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ! 
 
 That cannot be ; since I am still possessed 
 
 Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
 
 My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 
 May one be pardoned, and retain the offence ? 
 
 In the corrupted currents of this world 
 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 
 And oft 't is seen the wicked prize itself 
 
 Buys out the law : but 't is not so above ; 
 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 
 In his true nature ; and we ourselves compelled, 
 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 
 To give in evidence. What then ? what rests ? 
 
 Try what repentance can : what can it not ? 
 
 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? 
 
 O, wretched state! O, bosom black as death! 
 
 0, limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 
 
 Art more engaged! Help, angels ! make assay: 
 Bow, stubborn knees ; and, heart, with strings of steel, 
 Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 
 All may be well. [Retires and kneels at Shrine c. 
 
 \The following speech is sometimes omitted.\ 
 
 \Enter JIamlet. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Now might I do it pat, now he is praying ; 
 And now I '11 do 't ; and so he goes to heaven 
 And so am I revenged ? that would be scanned : 
 A villain kills my father; and, for that, 
 
 1, his sole son, do this same villain send 
 To heaven.
 
 82 HAMLET. 
 
 Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 
 He took my father grossly full of bread ; 
 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May ; 
 
 And how his audit stands who knows save heaven ? 
 
 But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 
 
 T is heavy with him : and am I, then, revenged, 
 
 Vo take him in the purging of his soul, 
 
 When he is fit and seasoned for his passage ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent : 
 
 When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage; 
 
 At gaming, swearing; or about some act 
 
 That has no relish of salvation in 't; 
 
 Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven ; 
 
 And that his soul may be as damned and black 
 
 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. 
 
 \Exit Hamlet. 
 [ The King rises and advances. 
 
 King. 
 
 My words fly up, my thoughts remain below : 
 Words without thoughts never to heaven go. 
 
 [Exit the King. 
 
 ( THE QUEEN'S PRIVATE APARTMENT IN 
 
 S>ttnt JFtftj). < THE CASTLE. DIM LIGHT. THE QUFEN, 
 
 ( SEATED, AND POLONIUS, DISCOVERED. 
 
 Pol. 
 
 He will come straight. Look you lay home to him : 
 Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, 
 And that your grace hath screened and stood between 
 Much heat and him. I '11 sconce me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Hamlet. [ Within. 
 
 Mother, mother, mother !
 
 HAMLET. 83 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I '11 warrant you; 
 
 Fear me not : withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 
 [Po/onius conceals himself behind the arras. 
 
 {Enter Hamlet, 
 Hamlet. 
 Now, mother, what 's the matter ? 
 
 Queen. 
 Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Mother, you have my father much offended. 
 
 Queen. 
 Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 
 Queen. 
 Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What 's the matter now ? 
 
 Queen. 
 Have you forgot me ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 No, by the rood, not so : 
 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
 And, would it were not so! you are my mother. 
 
 Queen. 
 Nay, then, I '11 set those to you that can speak. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 You shall not budge. 
 You go not till I set you up a glass 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you.
 
 84 HAMLET. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not murder me ? 
 Help, help, ho ! 
 
 Pol [ Within. 
 
 What, ho! help, help, help ! 
 
 Hamlet. [Draws sword. 
 
 How now ! a rat ? Dead, for a ducat, dead ! 
 
 [Makes a pa ss through the arras. 
 
 Pol. [ Within. 
 
 O, I am slain! 
 
 Queen. 
 O, me, what hast thou done? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Nay, I know not: 
 Is it the king ? 
 
 Queen. 
 O, what a rash and bloody deed is this ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good mother, 
 As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
 
 Queen. 
 As kill a king ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ay, lady, 't was my word. 
 
 [Lifts up the arras, and sees Polonium 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
 I took thee for thy better. 
 
 [Queen, in great agitation, seems about to speak. 
 Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit you down, 
 And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
 If damned custom have not brazed it so, 
 That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
 
 HAMLET. 85 
 
 Queen. 
 
 What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue 
 In noise so rude against me ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Such an act 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; 
 Calls virtue hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage -vows 
 As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow ; 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
 With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. 
 Ah me, what act? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Look here, upon this picture, and on this, 
 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 
 See what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
 
 Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
 
 A station like the herald Mercury 
 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 
 A combination and a form, indeed, 
 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 
 This was your husband. Look you now, what follows : 
 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildewed ear, 
 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 
 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
 
 And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
 
 You cannot call it love ; for at your age 
 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it 's humble, 
 
 And waits upon the judgment : and what judgment
 
 86 HAMLET. 
 
 Would stoop from this to this ? 
 
 O, shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious hell, 
 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, 
 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
 
 And melt in her own fire. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 O Hamlet, speak no more : 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 
 And there I see such black and grained spots 
 
 As will not leave their tinct. 
 
 No more, sweet Hamlet ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 A murderer and a villain ; 
 
 A slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe 
 
 Of your precedent lord ; a Vice of kings ; 
 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole 
 
 Queen. 
 
 No more ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 A king of shreds and patches, 
 
 [Enter Ghost R. 
 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 
 You heavenly guards ! What would your gracious figure ? 
 
 Queen. 
 Alas ! he 's mad ! 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
 That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command ? 
 O, say!
 
 HAMLET. 87 
 
 Ghost. 
 
 Do not forget: this visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look, amazement on thy mother sits : 
 O, step between her and her fighting soul, 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 How is it with you, lady ? 
 
 Qifeen. 
 
 Alas ! how is 't with you, 
 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
 
 O, gentle son, 
 
 Upon the heat and flame of your distemper 
 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 On him, on him ! Look you, how pale he glares ! 
 
 His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, 
 
 Would make them capable. Do not look upon me; 
 
 Lest with this piteous action you convert 
 
 My stern effects : then what I have to do 
 
 Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. 
 
 Queen. 
 To whom do you speak this ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Do you see nothing there ? 
 
 Queen. 
 Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 
 
 Ham Id. 
 Nor did you nothing hear ? 
 
 Queen. 
 No, nothing but ourselves.
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 awlet, 
 
 Why, look you there ! look, ho\v it steals away ! 
 
 My father, in his habit as he lived ! 
 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 
 
 [Exit Ghost L. 
 
 Queen. [In extreme terror. 
 
 This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Ecstasy ! 
 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful music : it is not madness 
 That I have uttered : bring me to the test, 
 And I the m -tter will re- word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass, but my madness speaks : 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, 
 Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Repent what 's past; avoid what is to come; 
 
 Queen. 
 O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, throw away the worser part of it, 
 And live the purer with the other half. 
 Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 Once more, good night : 
 
 [ The Queen raises her hands as if to bless her son. 
 Hamlet checks the motion and recoils from her. 
 And when you are desirous to be blessed,
 
 HAMLET. 89 
 
 I '11 blessing beg of you. For this same lord, 
 
 [Pointing to Polonius. 
 I do repent : 
 
 I will bestow him, and will answer well 
 The death I gave him. So, again, good night 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind : 
 Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 3Uct 
 
 JFirsrt. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE. 
 
 \Enter King. 
 King. 
 
 How dangerous is it that this man goes loose ! 
 
 Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
 
 He 's loved of the distracted multitude, 
 
 Who like not in their judgment but their eyes; 
 
 And where 't is so, the offender's scourge is weighed, 
 
 But never the offence. 
 
 [Enter Rosencrantz. 
 How now ! what hath befallen ? 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Where the dead body is bestowed, my lord, 
 We cannot get from him. 
 
 King. 
 But where is he ? 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Without, my lord ; guarded, to know your pleasure. 
 
 King. 
 
 Bring him before us. 
 
 Ros. 
 
 Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 
 
 [Enter Hamlet, guarded, and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. 
 Now, Hamlet, where 's Polonius ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 At supper.
 
 HAMLET. g I 
 
 King, 
 At supper ! where ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : a certain 
 convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. 
 
 King. 
 Where is Polonius ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 In heaven : send thither to see : if your messenger find 
 him not there, seek him i' the other place yourself. But, 
 indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall 
 nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby. 
 
 King. [To Guildenstcrn. 
 
 Go seek him there. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 He will stay till you come. 
 
 f Exit Guildemtern. 
 King. 
 
 Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety, 
 
 Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
 
 For that which thou hast done, must send thee hence 
 
 With fiery quickness : therefore prepare thyself; 
 
 The barque is ready, and the wind at help, 
 
 The associates tend, and everything is bent 
 
 For England. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 For England ! 
 
 King. 
 Ay, Hamlet. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Good. 
 
 King. 
 So is it, if thou knewest our purposes.
 
 92 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I see a cherub that sees them. But, come ; for En- 
 gland ! Farewell, dear mother. 
 
 Xing. 
 Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 My mother : father and mother is man and wife ; man 
 and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for 
 England ! 
 
 [Exit Hamlet, with guards. 
 
 King. 
 
 Follow him at foot ; tempt him with speed aboard ; 
 Delay it not ; I '11 have him hence to-night ; 
 Away ! for everything is sealed and done 
 That else leans on the affair : pray you, make haste. 
 
 [Exit Rosencrantz. 
 
 And, England, if my love thou holdest in prize, 
 Thou mayest not coldly estimate at naught 
 My sovereign process ; which imports at full, 
 By letters conjuring to that effect, 
 The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
 For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
 And thou must cure me : till I know 't is done, 
 Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. 
 
 [Exit Xing. Scene changes. 
 
 ?rr ne Sccont. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE. 
 
 [Enter Queen and Marcellus c. 
 
 Queen. 
 I will not speak with her. 
 
 Mar. 
 
 She is importunate ; indeed, distract : 
 Her mood will needs be pitied.
 
 HAMLET. 93 
 
 Queen. 
 What would she have ? 
 
 Mar. 
 
 'T were good she were spoken with ; for she may strew 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 
 
 Queen. 
 Let her come in. 
 
 [Exit Marcellus. 
 
 To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
 Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
 So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
 It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 
 
 \Enter Marcellus with Ophelia c. 
 
 Oph. 
 Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ? 
 
 Queen. 
 How now, Ophelia! 
 
 Oph. [Sings. 
 
 How should I your true love know 
 
 From another one ? 
 By his cockle hat and staff 
 
 And his sandle shoon. 
 
 Queen. 
 Alas ! sweet lady, what imports this song ? 
 
 Say you ? nay, pray you, mark. [Sings. 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady, 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 
 At his head a grass-green turf, 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 Queen. 
 Nay, but, Ophelia,
 
 94 HAMLET. 
 
 Oph. 
 Pray you, mark. 
 
 [Enter King L. 
 Queen. 
 
 Alas ! look here, my lord. 
 
 Oph. [Sings. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain snow, 
 
 Larded with sweet flowers ; 
 Which bewept to the grave did go 
 
 With true-love showers. 
 
 King. 
 How do you, pretty lady ? 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Well, God 'ild you ! They say the owl was a baker's 
 daughter. Lord ! we know what we are, but we know not 
 what we may be. 
 
 King. 
 Conceit upon her father. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 Pray you, let 's have no words of this ; but when they 
 ask you what it means, say you this : [Sings. 
 
 To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, 
 
 All in the morning betime, 
 And I a maid at your window. 
 
 To be your Valentine. 
 
 King. 
 How long hath she been thus ? 
 
 Oph. 
 
 I hope all will be well. We must be patient : but I 
 cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay him i' 
 the cold ground. My brother shall know of it : and so I 
 thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! 
 Good night, ladies ; good night, sweet ladies ; good night, 
 good night. [Exit Ophelia c.
 
 HAMLET. 95 
 
 King. 
 
 Follow her, close ; give her good watch, I pray you. 
 
 [Exit Marcellus. 
 
 O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
 All from her father's death. O, Gertrude, Gertrude, 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 But in battalions. [A noise within. 
 
 Queen. 
 Alack, what noise is this ? 
 
 King. 
 
 Where are my Switzers ? Let them guard the door. 
 
 [Speaking off c. 
 [Enter Marcellus. 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 Mar. 
 
 Save yourself, my lord : 
 
 The young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 
 O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him lord ; 
 
 They cry, " Choose we ; Laertes shall be king ! " 
 
 Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
 
 " Laertes shall be king, Laertes king ! " 
 
 [Exit Marcellus. Noise within. Enter Laertes, armed. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 O, thou vile king, 
 Give me my father ! 
 
 Queen. 
 Calmly, good Laertes. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 That drop of blood that 's calm proclaims me bastard; 
 Cries cuckold to my father ; brands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brows 
 Of my true mother.
 
 96 HAMLET. 
 
 King. 
 
 What is the cause, Laertes, 
 
 That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? 
 
 Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person: 
 
 There 's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
 
 That treason can but peep to what it would. 
 
 Tell me, Laertes, 
 
 Why thou art thus incensed : let him go, Gertrude : - 
 
 Speak, man. 
 
 Laer. 
 Where is my father ? 
 
 King. 
 Dead. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 But not by him. 
 
 King. 
 
 Let him demand his fill. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 How came he dead ? I '11 not be juggled with : 
 To hell, allegiance ! to this point I stand, 
 That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
 Let come what comes ; only I '11 be revenged 
 Most th'roughly for my father. 
 
 King. 
 
 Who shall stay you ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 My will, not all the world : 
 
 And for my means, I '11 husband them so well, 
 
 They shall go far with little. 
 
 King. 
 
 Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your revenge, 
 That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, 
 Winner and loser ?
 
 HAMLET. 97 
 
 Laer. 
 
 None but his enemies. 
 
 King. 
 Will you know them, then ? 
 
 Laer, 
 
 To his good friends thus wide I '11 ope my arms ; 
 And, like the kind, life-rendering pelican, 
 Repast them with my blood. 
 
 King. 
 
 Why, now you speak 
 Like a good child and a true gentleman. 
 That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
 And am most sensibly in grief for it, 
 It shall as level to your judgment 'pear 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 VOICES OUTSIDE. 
 
 Let her come in ! 
 
 Laer. 
 
 How now ! what noise is that ? 
 
 \The Queen sits L. Re-enter Ophelia. 
 O, heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
 Bum out the sense and virtue of mine eyes ! 
 By Heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, 
 Till our scale turn the beam. O, rose of May ! 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia ! 
 O, heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
 
 Oph. [Sings. 
 
 They bore him barefaced on the bier; 
 And on his grave rained many a tear, 
 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, 
 It could not move thus. 
 7
 
 gg IIAMI.ET. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 You must sing, " Down a-down, an you call him 
 down-a." O, how the wheel becomes it ! 'T was the false 
 steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
 
 Lacr. 
 
 This nothing 's more than matter. 
 Oph. 
 
 There 's rosemary, that 's for remembrance ; pray, love, 
 remember ; and there is pansies, that 's for thoughts. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance 
 fitted. 
 
 Oph. 
 
 There's fennel for you, and columbines: there 's rue 
 for you; and here 's some for me: we may call it herb 
 of grace o' Sundays: you may wear your rue with a 
 difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some 
 violets, but they withered all when my father died : they 
 say he made a good end, 
 
 [Sings. 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, 
 She turns to favour and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. {Sings. 
 
 And will he not come again ? 
 And will he not come again ? 
 
 No, no, he is dead, 
 
 Gone to his death-bed, 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard was white as snow, 
 All flaxen was his poll : 
 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 
 And we cast away moan : 
 God ha' mercy on his soul ! 
 
 And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be wi' you, 
 
 {Exit Ophelia and Queen.
 
 HAMLET. 99 
 
 Laer. 
 Do you see this, O Heaven ? 
 
 King. 
 
 Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart, 
 
 Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me. 
 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 
 They find us touched, we will our kingdom give, 
 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 
 
 To you in satisfaction ; but if not, 
 
 Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
 
 And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Let this be so ; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure funeral, 
 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, 
 
 No noble rite nor formal ostentation, 
 
 Cry to be heard, as ,'t were from heaven to earth, 
 
 That I must call 't in question. 
 
 King. 
 
 So you shall; 
 
 And where th' offence is let the great axe fall. 
 Hamlet, who hath your noble father slain, 
 Pursues my life. [Enter Bernardo. 
 
 How now ! what news ? [ To Bernardo. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Letters, my lord, from Hamlet : 
 
 This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 
 
 King. 
 From Hamlet ! who brought them ? 
 
 Ber. 
 Sailors, my lord, they say ; I saw them not.
 
 100 HAMLET. 
 
 King. 
 
 Laertes, you shall hear them. 
 Leave us. 
 
 [Exit Bernardo. 
 
 [Reads.] High and might)', You shall know I am set naked on your 
 kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes: when 
 I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of my 
 sudden and more strange return. HAMLET. 
 
 What should this mean ? Are all the rest come back ? 
 Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 
 
 Laer. 
 Know you the hand ? 
 
 King. 
 
 'T is Hamlet's character : " Naked," 
 And in a postscript here, he says, " alone." 
 Can you advise me ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 I 'm lost in it, my lord. But let him come ; 
 It warms the very sickness in my heart, 
 That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
 " Thus diddest thou." 
 
 King. 
 
 If it be so, Laertes, 
 Will you be ruled by me ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Ay, my lord ; 
 So you will not o'errule me to a peace. 
 
 King. 
 
 To thine own peace. If he be now returned, 
 As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
 No more to undertake it, I will work him 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device 
 Under the which he shall not choose but fall: 
 And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe; 
 But even his mother shall uncharge the practice, 
 And call it accident.
 
 HAMLET. IOI 
 
 Laer. 
 
 My lord, I will be ruled ; 
 The rather, if you could devise it so, 
 That I might be the organ. 
 
 King. 
 
 It falls right. 
 
 You have been talked of, since your travel, much, 
 And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
 Wherein, they say, you shine. 
 
 Laer. 
 What part is that, my lord ? 
 
 King. 
 
 A very riband in the cap of youth, 
 
 Yet needful too ; 
 
 Here, two months since, 
 
 There came a gentleman of Normandy, 
 
 Who gave you such a masterly report, 
 
 For art and exercise in your defence, 
 
 And for your rapier most especially, 
 
 That he cried out, 't would be a sight indeed, 
 
 If one could match you. 
 
 Sir, this report of his 
 
 1 )id Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 
 
 That he could nothing do but wish and beg 
 
 Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 
 
 Now, out of this, 
 
 Laer. 
 
 What out of this, my lord ? 
 
 King. 
 
 Laertes, was your father dear to you ? 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 A face without a heart ? 
 
 Laer. 
 Why ask you this ?
 
 IO2 HAMLET. 
 
 King. 
 
 Hamlet comes back : what would you undertake, 
 To show yourself your father's son in deed 
 More than in words ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 To cut his throat i' the church. 
 
 King. 
 
 No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize ; 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 
 Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. 
 Hamlet, returned, shall know you are come home : 
 We '11 put on those shall praise your excellence, 
 And set a double varnish on the fame 
 The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, together, 
 And wager on your heads : he, being remiss, 
 Most generous, and free from all contriving, 
 Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, 
 Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
 A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice, 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 I will do 't : 
 
 And, for that purpose, I '11 anoint my sword. 
 I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
 So mortal, that but dip a knife in it, 
 Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, 
 Collected from all simples that have virtue 
 Under the moon, can save the thing from death 
 That is but scratched withal : I '11 touch my point 
 With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, 
 It may be death. 
 
 King. 
 
 Let 's further think of this ; 
 We "11 make a solemn wager on your cunnings. 
 When in your motion you are hot and dry 
 (As make your bouts more violent to that end),
 
 HAMLET. 103 
 
 And that he calls for drink, I '11 have prepared him 
 A chalice for the nonce ; whereon but sipping, 
 If he by chance escape your venomed stuck, 
 Our purpose may hold there. 
 
 \Entcr Queen L. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
 
 So fast they follow : your sister 's drowned, Laertes. 
 
 Laertes. 
 Drowned ! O, where ? 
 
 Queen. 
 
 There is a willow grows aslant a brook, 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 There with fantastic garlands did she come 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples. 
 There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies and herself 
 Fell in the weeping brook. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 I forbid my tears : but yet 
 
 It is our trick ; nature her custom holds, 
 
 Let shame say what it will. 
 
 Adieu, my lord : 
 
 I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, 
 
 But that this folly drowns it. ' [Exit. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 f iftf). 
 
 = JFir t I ^ CHURCHYARD. Two GRAVE-DIGGERS, 
 
 * ' ( WITH SPADES, ETC., DISCOVERED. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks 
 her own salvation ? 
 
 Second G. D. 
 
 I tell thee she is; and therefore make her grave straight: 
 the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own 
 defence ? 
 
 Second G. D. 
 
 Why, 't is found so. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 It must be se qffendendo ; it cannot be else. For here 
 lies the point : if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an 
 act : and an act hath three branches ; it is, to act, to do, 
 and to perform : argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 
 
 Second G. D. 
 Nay, but hear you, goodman delver, 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Give me leave. Here lies the water ; good : here stands 
 the man ; good : if the man go to this water, and drown 
 himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes, mark you that; but 
 if the water come to him, and drown him, he droAvns not 
 himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death 
 shortens not his own life.
 
 HAMLET. 105 
 
 Second G. D. 
 But is this law ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 Ay, marry, is 't ; crovvner's-quest law 
 
 Second G. D. 
 
 Will you ha' the truth on 't ? If this had not been a 
 gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of Christian 
 burial. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Why, there thou sayst : and the more pity that great 
 folk should have countenance in this world to drown or 
 hang themselves, more than their even Christian. Come, 
 my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, 
 ditchers, and grave-makers : they hold up Adam's profession. 
 
 Second G. D. 
 Was he a gentleman ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 Second G. D. 
 Why, he had none. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 What ! art a heathen ? How dost thou understand the 
 Scripture ? The Scripture says, Adam digged : could he 
 dig without arms ? I '11 put another question to thee : if 
 thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself 
 
 Second G. D. 
 Go to. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, 
 the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 
 
 Second G. D. 
 
 The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand 
 tenants.
 
 106 HAMLET. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows does well; 
 but how does it well ? it does well to those that do ill : 
 now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than 
 the church : argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To 't 
 again, come. 
 
 Second G. D. 
 
 Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a 
 carpenter ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 
 
 Second G. D. 
 Marry, now I can tell. 
 
 First G. D. 
 To't. 
 
 Second G. D. 
 Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass 
 will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are 
 asked this question next, say, a grave-maker ; the houses 
 that he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to 
 Yaughan ; fetch me a stoop of liquor. 
 
 [Exit Second G. D. 
 
 First G. D. [Digging and singing. 
 
 In youth, when I did love, did love, 
 
 Methought it was very sweet, 
 To contract, O, the time, for, ah ! my behove, 
 
 O, methought there was nothing meet. 
 
 [Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings 
 at grave-making ?
 
 HAMLET. 107 
 
 Horatio. 
 Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 'T is e'en so : the hand of little employment hath the 
 daintier sense. 
 
 First G. D. [Sings. 
 
 But age, with his stealing steps, 
 
 Hath clawed me in his clutch, 
 And hath shipped me intil the land, 
 
 As if I had never been such. 
 
 [ Throws up a skull. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once : how 
 the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw- 
 bone, that did the first murder ! This might be the pate 
 of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches ; one that 
 would circumvent Heaven, might it not ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 It might, my lord. 
 
 [First G. D. throws bones from the grave, one by 
 one, with his hands, tossing them. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play 
 at loggats with them ? mine ache to think on 't. 
 
 First G. D. [Sings and digs. 
 
 A pick-axe and a spade, a spade, 
 
 For and a shrouding sheet : 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 [ Throws up another skull. The attention of the 
 Grave-Digger is particularly drawn to this skull 
 by the remnant of a leather fooVs cap which ad- 
 heres to it, and by which he recognizes the skull 
 as that of Yorick. He sets this skull apart from 
 the other.
 
 T0 g 1IAAILET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 There 's another : why may not that be the skull of a 
 lawyer ? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, 
 his tenures, and his tricks ? why does he suffer this rude 
 knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty 
 shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery ? I 
 will speak to this fellow. Whose grave 's this, sirrah ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 Mine, sir. [Sings. 
 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest in 't. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it is not yours : for 
 my part, I do not lie in 't, and yet it is mine. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Thou dost lie in 't, to be in 't, and say it is thine : 't is 
 for the dead, not for the quick ; therefore thou liest. 
 
 First G. D. 
 'T is a quick lie, sir ; 't will away again, from me to you. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What man dost thou dig it for ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 For no man, sir. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What woman, then ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 For none, neither. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Who is to be buried in 't ?
 
 HAMLET. 109 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 One that was a woman, sir ; but, rest her soul, she 's 
 dead. 
 
 Hamlet. [ To Horatio. 
 
 How absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the card, 
 or equivocation will undo us. [T<? First G. D.] How long 
 hast thou been a grave-maker ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Of all the days i' the year, I came to 't that day that 
 our last King Hamlet o'ercame Fortinbras. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 How long is that since ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Cannot you tell that ? every fool can tell that : it was 
 the very day that young Hamlet was born, he that is 
 mad and sent into England. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Ay, marry, why was he sent into England ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Why, because he was mad : he shall recover his wits 
 there ; or, if he do not, it 's no great matter there. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Why? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 'T will not be seen in him there ; there the men are as 
 as he. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 How came he mad ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 How strangely ?
 
 110 HAMLET. 
 
 First G. D. 
 Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Upon what ground ? 
 t First G. D. 
 
 Why, here in Denmark : I have been sexton here, man 
 and boy, thirty years. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, he will last you 
 some eight year or nine year : a tanner will last you nine 
 year. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why he more than another ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he 
 will keep out water a great while ; and your water is a sore 
 decayer of your dead body. Here's a skull now; this 
 skull hath lain you i' the earth three and twenty years. 
 
 [Grave-digger takes up the skull with the leather 
 remnant adhering to it. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Whose was it ? 
 
 First G. D. 
 A mad fellow's it was : whose do you think it was ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Nay, I know not. 
 
 First G. D. 
 
 \ pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! 'a poured a 
 flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, 
 sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.
 
 HAMLET. Ill 
 
 Hamlet. 
 This? 
 
 First G. D. 
 E'en that. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 {Takes the skull. 
 
 Alas! poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow 
 of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne 
 me on his back a thousand times ; and now, how abhorred 
 in my imagination it is ! Here hung those lips that I have 
 kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? 
 your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, 
 that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one now, 
 to mock your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen ? Now 
 get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint 
 an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her 
 laugh at that. Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Horatio. 
 What 's that, my lord ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i' the 
 earth ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 E'en so 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 And smelt so ? pah ! 
 
 ives the skull to the grave-digger. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! Why may 
 not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he 
 find it stopping a bung-hole ? 
 
 Horatio. 
 'T were to consider too curiously, to consider so.
 
 112 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with 
 modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : as thus ; 
 Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth 
 into dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and 
 why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they 
 not stop a beer-barrel ? 
 
 Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay, 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: 
 O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
 
 [Dead March is heard. 
 
 But soft ! but soft ! aside : here comes the king 
 The queen, the courtiers : who is that they follow ? 
 And with such maimed rites ? This doth betoken, 
 The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
 Fordo its own life : 't was of some estate. 
 Couch we awhile, and mark. 
 
 [Retiring with Horatio R. 
 
 [Enter Priest, &c., in procession, with Corse of 
 Ophelia, Laertes and Mourners following ; 
 King, Queen, their trains, &c. The Corse is 
 borne upon a bier by four or six women, who 
 stand in front of the grave until the coffin has 
 been lowered by the grave-diggers to its place, 
 funeral music sounds till then, when it ceases, 
 and the dialogue begins. 
 
 Laer. 
 What ceremony else ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 That is Laertes, 
 A very noble youth : mark. 
 
 Latr. 
 What ceremony else ?
 
 HAMLET. 113 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Her obsequies have been as far enlarged 
 
 As we have warranty : her death was doubtful ; 
 
 And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 
 
 She should in ground unsanctified have lodged 
 
 Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, 
 
 Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her : 
 
 Yet here she is allowed her virgin Grants, 
 
 Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Laer. 
 Must there no more be done ? 
 
 Priest. 
 
 No more be done ! 
 
 We should profane the service of the dead 
 To sing a requiem, and such rest to her 
 As to peace-parted souls. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 O, from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
 
 May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 
 A ministering angel shall my sister be, 
 
 When them liest howling. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What ! the fair Ophelia ! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 [ Scattering flowers. 
 
 Sweets to the sweet : farewell ! 
 
 I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
 I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid, 
 And not have strewed thy grave. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 O, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Deprived thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, 
 '8
 
 I 14 HAMLET. 
 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 
 
 [Leaps into the grave. 
 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
 To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olympus. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 What is he whose grief 
 
 Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
 Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand 
 Like wonder-wounded hearers ? This is I, 
 Hamlet, the Dane. 
 
 \Hamlet advances. 
 Laer. 
 
 [Leaps out of the grave and rushes upon Hamlet. 
 The devil take thy soul ! 
 
 {Hamlet and Laertes struggle together for a moment. 
 
 King. 
 Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Thou prayest not well. 
 I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
 For, though I am not splenitive and rash, 
 Yet have I in me something dangerous, 
 Which let thy wiseness fear : hold off thy hand ! 
 
 [The attendants part them. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Why, I will fight with him upon this theme 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 
 Queen. 
 O, my son, what theme ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I loved Ophelia : forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her ?
 
 HAMLET. 115 
 
 Queen. 
 O, he is mad, Laertes. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Come ! show me what thou 'It do : 
 
 Woul't weep ? woul't fight ? woul't fast ? woul't tear thyself? 
 
 I '11 do 't. Dost thou come here to whine ? 
 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
 
 Be buried quick with her, and so will I : 
 
 And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
 
 Millions of acres on us, till our ground 
 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
 
 Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou 'It mouth, 
 
 I '11 rant as well as thou. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 This is mere madness : 
 And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 When that her golden couplets are disclosed, 
 His silence will sit drooping. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Hear you, sir ; 
 
 What is the reason that you use me thus ? 
 I loved you ever : but it is no matter ; 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
 The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. 
 
 [Exit Hamlet R. 
 
 King. 
 
 I pray, you, good Horatio, wait upon him. 
 
 [Exit Horatio R. 
 [ To Laertes.] Strengthen your patience in our last night's 
 
 speech ; 
 
 We '11 put the matter to the present push, 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. 
 This grave shall have a living monument. 
 
 [Picture. Dead March. Scene changes.
 
 Il6 HAMLET. 
 
 S>cene S>econfc. IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 [Efiter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I forgot myself; 
 For, by the image of my cause, I see 
 The portraiture of his. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Who comes here ? 
 
 [Etiter Osric L. 
 Osr. 
 Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I humbly thank you, sir. 
 Dost know this water-fly ? [Aside to He 
 
 Horatio. [Aside to Hamlet. 
 
 No, my good lord. 
 
 Hamlet. [Aside to Horatio. 
 
 Thystate is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him. 
 
 Osr. 
 
 Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should 
 impart a thing to you from his majesty. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit. Put 
 your bonnet to his right use ; 't is for the head. 
 
 Osr. 
 I thank your lordship, 't is very hot. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 No, believe me, 't is very cold ; the wind is northerly.
 
 HAMLET. 117 
 
 Osr. 
 It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 But yet, methinks it is very sultry and hot; or my com 
 plexion 
 
 Osr. 
 
 Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, as 't were. I 
 cannot tell how. But, my lord, his majesty bade me sig- 
 nify to you, that he has laid a great wager on your head : 
 sir, this is the matter, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I beseech you, remember 
 
 \Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. 
 
 Osr 
 
 Nay, in good faith ; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, 
 here is newly come to court Laertes ; believe me, an abso- 
 lute gentleman, full of most excellent differences, of very 
 soft society, and great showing : indeed, to speak feelingly 
 of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall 
 find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would 
 see. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 What imports the nomination of this gentleman ? 
 
 Osr. 
 Of Laertes ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Of him, sir. 
 
 Osr. 
 You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him 
 in excellence.
 
 Il8 HAMLET. 
 
 Osr. 
 I mean, sir, for his weapon. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What is his weapon ? 
 
 Osr. 
 Rapier and dagger. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 That 's two of his weapons : but, well. 
 
 Osr. 
 
 The king, sir, hath wagered with him six Barbary horses : 
 against the which he has imponed, as I take it, six French 
 rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 
 and so : three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to 
 fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, 
 and of very liberal conceit. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 What call you the carriages ? 
 
 Osr. 
 
 The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 The phrase would be more german to the matter, if we 
 could carry cannon by our sides. 
 
 Osr. 
 
 The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes between 
 yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three hits: he 
 hath laid on twelve for nine ; and it would come to imme- 
 diate trial, if your lordship would vouchsafe the answer ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 How if I answer no ? 
 
 Osr. 
 
 I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial.
 
 HAMLET. 119 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Sir, it is the breathing time of day with me ; let the foils 
 be brought, the gentleman willing, and the king hold his 
 purpose, I will win for him if I can; if not, I will gain 
 nothing but my shame and the odd hits. 
 
 Osr. 
 Shall I deliver you so ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 To this effect, sir ; after what flourish your nature will. 
 
 Osr. 
 I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit Osric. 
 
 Horatio. 
 You will lose this wager, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I do not think so; since he went into France, I have 
 been in continual practice. But thou wouldst not think 
 how ill all 's here about my heart : but it is no matter. 
 
 Horatio. 
 Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind of gain-giving as 
 would perhaps trouble a woman. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 If your mind dislike anything, obey it : I will forestall 
 their repair hither, and say you are not fit. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Not a whit : we defy augury : there's a special providence 
 in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, \ is not to come ; 
 if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet 
 it will come : the readiness is all : since no man, of aught 
 he leaves, knows, what is 't to leave betimes ? Let be. 
 
 [Exeunt. Change.
 
 120 HAMLET. 
 
 A HALL IN THE CASTLE. KING, QUEEN, 
 LAERTES, BERNARDO, MARCELLUS, 
 Scenc Cfjirtl. { LORDS, OSRIC, AND ATTENDANTS, WITH 
 FOILS, &c., ARE DISCOVERED. FLOUR- 
 ISH OF TRUMPETS. 
 
 [Hamlet and Horatio enter. 
 
 King. 
 Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Give me your pardon, sir; I Ve done you wrong; 
 
 But pardon it, as you are a gentleman. 
 
 Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil 
 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
 
 That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house, 
 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 I am satisfied in nature, 
 
 Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
 
 To my revenge : 
 
 I do receive your offered love like love 
 
 And will not wrong it. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I embrace it freely ; 
 
 And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
 
 Give us the foils. 
 
 Laer. 
 Come ; one for me. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I '11 be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance 
 Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
 Stick fiery off indeed. 
 
 Laer. 
 v ou mock me, sir.
 
 HAMLET. 121 
 
 Hamlet. 
 No, by this hand. 
 
 King. 
 
 Give them the foils, young Osric. 
 
 [ Osric gives a foil to each. 
 Cousin Hamlet, 
 You know the wager ? 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Very well, my lord ; 
 Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 
 
 King. 
 
 I do not fear it ; I have seen you both : 
 
 But since he is bettered, we have therefore odds. 
 
 Laer. 
 This is too heavy, let me see another. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 This likes me well. These foils have all a length ? 
 
 Osr. 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. 
 
 If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
 Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
 
 [Laerte s, unseen by the others, poisons his weapon. 
 Let all the battlements their ordnance fire, 
 The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath; 
 And in the cup a union shall he throw, 
 Richer than that which four successive kings 
 In Denmark's crown have Avorn. Give me the cup ; 
 
 [Bernardo gives cup to the King. 
 And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
 The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
 The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth. 
 " Now the king drinks to Hamlet." [Flourish and cannon. 
 [Hamlet and Laertes take position to fence. Music. 
 Come, begin ; 
 And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 
 
 [They play.
 
 122 HAMLET. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 One. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 No. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Judgment. 
 
 Osr. 
 A hit, a very palpable hit. 
 
 Laer. 
 Well; again. 
 
 King. 
 
 [Drops poison in the cup. 
 
 Stay. Hamlet, this pearl is thine ; 
 Here 's to thy health. 
 
 \Pretends to drink. Trumpets sound, and cannon 
 
 are shot off within. 
 Give him the cup. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 I '11 play this bout first ; set it by awhile. 
 
 Come. [They play.} Another hit; what say you ? 
 
 Laer. 
 A touch, a touch, I do confess. 
 
 King. 
 Our son shall win. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 
 
 [Takes the cup and drinks. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Good madam ! 
 
 [ While the Queen drinks, Osric and others approach 
 the King. 
 
 King. 
 Gertrude, do not drink. {Suddenly observing Queen.
 
 HAMLET. 123 
 
 Queen. 
 I have, my lord ; I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 King. [Aside. 
 
 It is the poisoned cup ; it is too late. 
 
 Laer. [Aside. 
 
 I '11 hit him now, 
 And yet 't is almost 'gainst my conscience. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Come, for the third, Laertes : you but dally ; 
 I pray you, pass with your best violence ; 
 I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Say you so ? come on. 
 
 '[They play. Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in 
 scuffling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet 
 wounds Laertes. 
 
 King. 
 Part them ; they are incensed. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Nay, come again. 
 
 [The Queen moans. 
 
 Osr. 
 Look to the queen there, ho ! 
 
 Horatio. 
 How is it, my lord ? 
 
 Osr. 
 How is it, Laertes ? 
 
 Laer. 
 
 Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric ; 
 I am justly killed with mine own treachery. 
 
 Hatni'ft. 
 How does the queen ?
 
 T24 HAMLET. 
 
 King. 
 She swoons to see them bleed. 
 
 Queen, 
 
 No, no, the drink, the drink, O, my dear Hamlet, 
 The drink, the drink ! I am poisoned. 
 
 [The King and others assist the Queen who is 
 led out, followed by her ladies. The King re- 
 turns and calls his lords around him on the 
 throne. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 O, villainy! Ho! le^the door be locked: 
 Treachery ! seek it out. 
 
 [Guards exeunt. Laertes falls into chair R. 
 
 Laer. 
 
 It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slain ; 
 No medicine in the world can do thee good, 
 In thee there is not half an hour of life ; 
 The- treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
 Unbated and envenomed ; the foul practice 
 Hath turned itself on me ; lo, here I lie, 
 Never to rise again: thy mother 's poisoned: 
 I can no more: the king, the king 's to blame. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 The point, envenomed too! 
 Then, venom, to thy work. 
 
 All. 
 
 Treason! treason! 
 
 [Lords draw their swords to defend the King. 
 Hamlet rushes through the crowd and stabs him. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, 
 Follow my mother. 
 
 [ The King falls and dies.
 
 HAMLET. 125 
 
 Lacr. 
 
 He is justly served; 
 
 Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet : 
 Mine and my father's death come not on thee, 
 Nor thine on me ! 
 
 [Laertes dies. 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee. 
 Horatio, I am dead; 
 
 Thou liv'st ; report me and my cause aright 
 To the unsatisfied. 
 
 Horatio. 
 
 Never believe it : 
 
 I am more an antique Roman than a Dane : 
 Here 's yet some liquor left. 
 
 [Seizes the cup. Hamlet wrests it from him. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 As thou 'rt a man, 
 
 Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I '11 have it. 
 
 O, good Horatio, what a wounded name, 
 
 Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me! 
 
 If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
 
 Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
 
 And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, 
 
 To tell my story. 
 
 O, 1 die, Horatio; 
 
 The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit. 
 
 The rest is silence. 
 
 [Hamlet dies, 
 Horatio. 
 
 Now cracks a noble heart: good night, sweet prince; 
 And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
 
 [March (of Fortinbras) is heard at distance. 
 Picture. 
 
 SLOW CURTAIN.
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 I. THE CHARACTER OF HAMLET. 
 
 HAMLET is a poetic ideal. He is not an ancient Dane, fair, blue- 
 eyed, yellow-haired, stout, and lymphatic; but he is the sombre, 
 dreamy, mysterious hero of a melancholy poem. The actor 
 who would represent him aright must not go behind the tragedy in 
 which he occurs, in quest of historic realities, but, dealing with an ideal 
 subject, must treat it in an ideal manner, as far removed as possible from 
 the plane of actual life. Interest in the Prince of Denmark is not, to a 
 very considerable extent, inspired by the circumstances that surround 
 him, or by his proceedings: it depends upon the quality of the man, 
 the interior spirit and fragrance of his character, and upon the words 
 in which that spirit is expressed. There is an element in Hamlet, no 
 less elusive than beautiful, which lifts the mind to a sublime height, fills 
 the heart with a nameless grief, and haunts the soul as with remembered 
 music of a gentle voice that will speak no more. It might be called 
 sorrowful grandeur, sad majesty, ineffable mournfulness, grief-stricken 
 isolation, or patient spiritual anguish. Whatever called, the name 
 might prove inapt and inadequate ; but the magical force of this attri- 
 bute can never fail to be felt. Hamlet fascinates by his personality; and 
 the actor can only succeed in presenting him, who possesses, in himself, 
 this peculiar quality of fascination. It is something that cannot be 
 drawn from the library, nor poured from the flagon, nor bought in the 
 shops. Hamlet is, essentially, spiritual. It is not enough, therefore, in 
 the presentation of this part, that the actor should make it known that 
 Hamlet's soul is haunted by supernatural powers : he must also make it 
 felt that Hamlet possesses a soul such as it is possible for supernatural 
 powers to haunt. At the beginning, and before his mind has been 
 shocked and unsettled by the awful apparition of his father's spirit in 
 arms, he is found deeply prone to sombre thought upon the nothingness 
 of this world and the solemn mystery of the world beyond the grave. 
 This mental drift does not flow from his student fancy, but is the spon- 
 taneous, passionate tendency of his nature : for in the first self-commun-
 
 128 APPENDIX. 
 
 ing monologue that he utters he is revealed as having brooded on the 
 expediency of suicide ; and not long afterward he avows belief that 
 the powers of hell have great control over spirits, like his own, 
 which are melancholy and weak. The soul of Hamlet, then, must be 
 felt to have been in its original essence and condition, before grief, 
 shame and terror arrived to burden and distract it intensely sensitive 
 to the miseries that are in this world ; to the fact that all the pomp of 
 human life is nothing but an evanescent pageant, passing, on a thin tis- 
 sue, over what Shakespeare himself has so finely called "the blind cave 
 of eternal night " ; and to all the strange, vague influences, sometimes 
 beautiful, sometimes terrible, that seem wafted out of the great unknown. 
 Out of this high sensibility, coupled with the conditions into which he is 
 born and with the miserable state into which he is forced by the crimes 
 of his mother and his uncle and the visitation of his father's ghost, the 
 whole man may be deduced. He is a compound of spiritualized intel- 
 lect, masculine strength, feminine softness, over-imaginative reason, 
 lassitude of thought, autumnal gloom, lovable temperament, piteous, 
 tear-freighted humor, princely grace of condition, brooding melancholy, 
 the philosophic mind, and the deep heart. His nature is everything noble. 
 He is placed upon a pinnacle of earthly greatness. He is afflicted with 
 a grief that breaks his heart, and thereupon with a shock that disorders 
 his mind. He is charged with a solemn and dreadful duty, to the ful- 
 filment of which his will is wholly inadequate. He sees so widely and 
 understands so dubiously the nature of things, in the universe of God, 
 that his sense of moral responsibility is overwhelmed and his power of 
 action completely arrested. He thinks greatly, but to no purpose. He 
 wanders darkly in the borderland betwixt reason and madness haunted 
 now with sweet strains and majestic images of heaven, and now with 
 terrific, uncertain shapes of hell. And so he drifts aimlessly, on a sea 
 of misery, into the oblivion of death. This man is a type of a class of 
 beings upon the earth to whom life is a dream, all its surroundings too 
 vast and awful for endurance, all its facts sad, action impossible or fitful 
 and fruitless, and of whom it never can be said that they are happy till 
 the grass is growing upon their graves. W. W. 
 
 II. FACTS ABOUT HAMLET. 
 
 The story upon which the tragedy of "Hamlet" is founded is, 
 probably, fabulous. It first occurs in the History of Denmark [" His- 
 torica Danica"], written by Saxo Grammaticus, and first printed in 1514. 
 It was retold about the middle of the sixteenth century [1570], under the 
 name of the " Hystorie of Hamblet," in Belleforest's " Histoire Tra-
 
 APPENDIX. 129 
 
 giques," a work that was translated from French into English, and 
 became popular in England. A perfect copy of the translation exists in 
 the library of Trinity College, Cambridge ; is dated 1608 ; and is the 
 earliest edition known to be extant. Shakespeare is supposed to have 
 known this work; but, as his tragedy of " Hamlet" was first published 
 in 1603, he must have known it either in the original French, or in an 
 earlier translation. It is possible that he did not know it at all, but that 
 he based his "Hamlet "on an old play on the same subject. Such a 
 play though, perhaps, he was himself the author of it was in existence. 
 It is referred to, in 1589, by Thomas Nash, and, in 1596, by Lodge 
 authors and actors contemporary with Shakespeare. The theory has 
 been broached that Shakespeare wrote " Hamlet " early in his life, and, 
 many years afterward, revised and perfected it. No one contends, 
 though, that he invented the subject. His colossal genius was shown in 
 his wonderful treatment of it. " Hamlet " was five times if not oftener 
 published in quarto, at London, during its author's life. It had been 
 acted, and by the company to which Shakespeare belonged, prior to the 
 summer of 1602. There is a legend dubious but grateful that the 
 poet himself was the representative of the Ghost. The first quarto 
 [1603] is supposed to have been surreptitiously published, by an 
 unscrupulous printer of the period, and it is not considered authentic. 
 Much stress, in that version, is laid upon Hamlet's madness; the Queen 
 is made distinctly to disclaim complicity with Claudius in her first 
 husband's murder; direction is given that, in the Closet Scene, Act 
 Third, the Ghost shall enter " in his nightgown ; " and Polonius figures 
 as Corambis, while his servant, Reynaldo, is called Montano. The 
 second quarto, published in 1604, exhibits great improvements on the 
 first. The subsequent quartos are dated 1605, 1607, conjecturally, and 
 1611. Then came the folio of 1623, in which "Hamlet" occupies 31 
 pages. The text of the tragedy has been much discussed ; but a careful 
 comparison of the old quartos with the first folio, made by many 
 scholars, has finally settled it in a satisfactory manner. The substance 
 of the tragedy, as Shakespeare wrote it, seems to have been obtained by 
 taking the folio of 1623 as a basis, and amplifying it by large additions 
 from the quarto of 1604. The reprint of "Hamlet" in the former is 
 thought to have been made from a manuscript of the piece, that 
 Heminge and Condell obtained from Shakespeare's theatre. The 
 quarto version may have been authorized by Shakespeare himself. 
 The poet's final draught of the tragedy was, doubtless, made in 1601. 
 He had, four years previously, established his family in New Place, at 
 Stratford-on-Avon ; but it does not appear that he had relinquished the 
 
 9
 
 130 APPENDIX. 
 
 residence he is known to have occupied in 1596, at Southwark. " Ham- 
 let," therefore, probably, was written in the old Borough. The first 
 representative of Hamlet is declared to have been Richard Burbage ; 
 chiefly on the authority of a manuscript Elegy upon that actor (1619), 
 which mentions that he was "fat and scant of breath" in the fencing 
 scene. The honor of having been the original Hamlet is also ascribed 
 [Tallis's Dramatic Magazine, June, 1851] to John Lowin; and it is, 
 furthermore, said that to him Shakespeare himself gave many sug- 
 gestions : but this is doubtful. W. W. 
 
 III. THE ORIGINAL STORY OF HAMLET. 
 
 "Fengon, having secretly assembled certain men, and perceiving 
 himself strong enough to execute his enterprise, Horvendile, his 
 brother, being at a banquet with his friends, suddenly set upon him, 
 where he slew him as traitorously as cunningly he purged himself of 
 so detestable a murder to his subjects ; for that before he had any 
 violent or bloody hands, or once committed parricide upon his brother, 
 he had incestuously abused his wife, whose honour he ought to have 
 sought and procured, as traitorously he pursued and effected his 
 destruction. *********** 
 
 " Boldened and encouraged by his impunity, Fengon ventured to 
 couple himself in marriage with her * * * and the unfortunate and 
 wicked woman, that had received the honour to be the wife of one of the 
 valiantest and wisest princes of the North, imbased herself in such vile 
 sort as to falsify her faith unto him, and, which is worse, to marry him 
 that had been the tyrannous murderer of her lawful husband. * * * 
 
 " Geruth having so much forgotten herself, the prince Hamblet, 
 perceiving himself to be in danger of his life, as being abandoned of his 
 own mother, to beguile the tyrant into his subtleties, counterfeited the 
 madman with such craft and subtle practices that he made show as if he 
 had utterly lost his wits ; and under that vail he covered his pretense, 
 and defended his life from the treasons and practices of the tyrant, his 
 uncle. For, every day being in the queen's palace (who as then was 
 more careful to please her paramour, than ready to revenge the cruel 
 death of her husband, or to restore her son to his inheritance), he rent 
 and tore his clothes, wallowing and lying in the dirt and mire, running 
 through the streets like a man distraught, not speaking one word but 
 such as seemed to proceed of madness and mere frenzy ; all his actions 
 and gestures being no other than the right countenances of a man 
 wholly deprived of all reason and understanding, in such sort, that as
 
 APPENDIX. 131 
 
 then he seemed fit for nothing but to make sport to the pages and 
 ruffling courtiers that attended in the court of his uncle and father-in- 
 law. But many times he did divers actions of great and deep consider- 
 ation, and often made such and so fit answers, that a wise man would 
 soon have judged from what spirit so fine an invention might 
 proceed. * * * 
 
 " Hamblet likewise had intelligence in what danger he was like to 
 fall, if by any means he seemed to obey, or once like the wanton toys 
 and vicious provocations of the gentlewoman sent to him by his uncle ; 
 which much abashed the prince, as then wholly being in affection to the 
 lady ; but by her he was likewise informed of the treason, as being one 
 that from her infancy loved and favored him, and would have been 
 exceeding sorrowful for his misfortune. * * * * * * 
 
 "Among the friends of Fengon there was one that, above all the rest, 
 doubted of Hamblet's practices in counterfeiting the madman. His 
 device to entrap Hamblet in his subtleties was thus that King Fengon 
 should make as though he were to go some long voyage concerning 
 affairs of great importance, and that in the meantime Hamblet should 
 be shut up alone in a chamber with his mother, wherein some other 
 should secretly be hidden behind the hangings, there to stand and hear 
 their speeches, and the complots by them to be taken concerning the 
 accomplishment of the dissembling fool's pretense; * * * and 
 withal offered himself to be the man that should stand to hearken and 
 bear witness of Hamblet's speeches with his mother. This invention 
 pleased the king exceedingly well. * * * * # * # 
 
 " Meantime, the counselor entered secretly into the queen's chamber, 
 and there hid himself behind the arras, not long before the queen and 
 Hamblet came thither, who, being crafty and politic, as soon as he was 
 within the chamber, doubting some treason, used his ordinary manner 
 of dissimulation, and began to come like a cock, beating with his arms 
 (in such manner as cocks use to strike with their wings) upon the 
 hangings of the chamber; whereby, feeling something stirring under 
 them, he cried, "A rat! a rat!" and presently drawing his sword, 
 thrust it into the hangings, which done, he pulled the counselor, half 
 dead, out by the heels, and made an end of killing him. * * * By 
 which means having discovered the ambush, and given the inventor 
 thereof his just reward, he came again to his mother, who in the mean- 
 time wept and tormented herself; and having once again searched 
 every corner of the chamber, perceiving himself to be alone with her, 
 he began in sober earnest and discreet manner to speak unto her, 
 saying,
 
 132 APPENDIX. 
 
 " ' What treason is this, O most infamous woman, * * * who, 
 under the vail of a dissembling creature, covereth the most wicked and 
 detestable crime that man could ever imagine or was committed ? Now 
 may I be assured to trust you, that like a vile wanton adulteress, 
 altogether impudent and given over to her pleasure, runs spreading 
 forth her arms to embrace the traitorous villainous tyrant that murdered 
 my father ? * * * * O, Queen Geruth ! it is licentiousness only 
 that has made you deface out of your mind the memory of the valor 
 and virtues of the good king, your husband and my father. * * * 
 Be not offended, I pray you, madam, if, transported with dolor and 
 grief, I speak so boldly unto you, and that I respect you less than duty 
 requireth ; for you, having forgotten me, and wholly rejected the 
 memory of the deceased king, my father, must not be ashamed if I also 
 surpass the bounds and limits of due consideration." * * * * 
 
 "Although the Queen perceived herself nearly touched, and that 
 Hamblet moved her to the quick, where she felt herself interested, 
 nevertheless she forgot all disdain and wrath, which thereby she might 
 as then have had, hearing herself so sharply chidden and reproved, to 
 behold the gallant spirit of her son, and to think what she might hope, 
 and the easier expect of his so great policy and wisdom. But on the one 
 side, she durst not lift up her eyes to behold him, remembering her 
 offense, and on the other side, she would gladly have embraced her son, 
 In regard of the wise admonitions by him given unto her. * * 
 
 "After this, Fengon came to the court again, and determined that 
 Hamblet should be sent into England. Now to bear him company 
 were assigned two of Fengon's faithful ministers, bearing letters 
 engraved in wood, that contained Hamblet's death, in such sort as he 
 had advertised the King of England. But the subtle Danish prince, 
 while his companions slept, having read the letters, and known his 
 uncle's great treason, with the wicked and villainous minds of the two 
 courtiers that led him to the slaughter, erased out the letters that 
 concerned his death, and instead thereof graved others, with commission 
 to the King of England to hang his two companions. * * * * 
 
 " Hamblet, while his father lived, had been instructed in that devilish 
 art, whereby the wicked spirit abuseth mankind, and advertiseth him of 
 things past. It toucheth not the matter herein to discover whether this 
 prince, by reason of his over-great melancholy, had received those 
 impressions, divining that which never any but himself had before 
 declared." Finally, Hamblet, after a complete revenge, becomes King 
 of Denmark, marries two wives, and dies in battle. See PATNK 
 COLLIER'S SHAKESPEARE LIBRARY, vol. i.
 
 APPENDIX. 133 
 
 IV. THE MADNESS OF HAMLET. 
 
 " Under Shakespeare's treatment Hamlet's madness becomes some- 
 thing altogether different from the obstinate premeditation or melancholy 
 enthusiasm of a young prince of the Middle Ages, placed in a dangerous 
 position, and engaged in a dark design : it is a grave moral condition, a 
 great malady of soul, which, at certain epochs and in certain states of 
 society and of manners, frequently attacks the most highly gifted and 
 the noblest of our species, and afflicts them with a disturbance of mind 
 which sometimes borders very closely upon madness. The world is full 
 of evil, and of all kinds of evil. What sufferings, crimes, and fatal, 
 although innocent errors ! What general and private iniquities, both 
 strikingly apparent and utterly unknown ! What merits, either stifled 
 or neglected, become lost to the public and a burden to their possessors ! 
 What falsehood, and coldness, and levity, and ingratitude, and forget- 
 fulness, abound in the relations and feelings of men ! Life is so short 
 and yet so agitated sometimes so burdensome and sometimes so 
 empty ! The future is so obscure ! So much darkness at the end of so 
 many trials ! In reference to those who only see this phase of the world 
 and of human destiny, it is easy to understand why their mind becomes 
 disturbed, why their heart fails them, and why a misanthropic melan- 
 choly becomes an habitual feeling, which plunges them by turns into 
 irritation or doubt into ironical contempt or utter prostration. * * * 
 Read the four great monologues in which the Prince of Denmark 
 abandons himself to the reflective expression of his inmost feelings ; 
 gather together from the whole play the passages in which he casually 
 gives them utterance ; seek out and sum up that which is manifest and 
 that which is hidden in all that he thinks and says, and you will every- 
 where recognize the presence of the moral malady just described. 
 Therein truly resides, much more than in his personal griefs and perils, 
 the source of Hamlet's melancholy ; in this consists his fixed idea and 
 his madness. * * * In order to render the exhibition of so sombre a 
 disease not only endurable but attractive, Shakespeare has endowed the 
 sufferer himself with the gentlest and most alluring qualities. He has 
 made Hamlet handsome, popular, generous, affectionate, and even 
 tender." GuiZOT. 
 
 V. INCIDENTS AND SCHEME OF HAMLET. 
 
 " Hamlet is disqualified for action by his excess of the reflective ten- 
 dencies, and by his unstable will, which alternates between complete 
 inactivity and fits of excited energy. Naturally sensitive, he receives a
 
 134 APPENDIX. 
 
 painful shock from the hasty second marriage of his mother ; already the 
 springs of faith and joy in his nature are embittered; then follows the 
 terrible discovery of his father's murder, with the injunction laid upon 
 him to revenge the crime ; upon this, again, follow the repulses which 
 he receives from Ophelia. A deep melancholy lays hold of his spirit, 
 and all of life grows dark and sad to his vision. Although hating his 
 father's murderer, he has little heart to push on his revenge. He is 
 aware that he is suspected, and surrounded by spies. Partly to baffle 
 them; partly to create a vail behind which to seclude his true self; 
 partly because his whole moral nature is, indeed, deeply disordered, he 
 assumes the part of one whose wits have gone astray. Except for one 
 loyal friend, he is alone among enemies or supposed traitors. Ophelia 
 he regards as no more loyal or honest to him than his mother had been 
 to her dead husband. The ascertainment of Claudius's guilt by means 
 of the play still leaves him incapable of the last decisive act of vengeance. 
 Not so, however, with the king, who, now recognizing his foe in Hamlet, 
 does not delay to despatch him to a bloody death in England. But 
 there is in Hamlet a terrible power of sudden and desperate action. 
 From the melancholy which broods over him after the death of Ophelia, 
 he rouses himself to the play of swords with Laertes, and at the last, 
 with strength which leaps up before its final extinction, he accomplishes 
 the punishment of the malefactor." EDWARD DOVVDEN. 
 
 VI. THE KEY-NOTE OF HAMLET. 
 
 " In Hamlet, Shakespeare seems to have wished to exemplify the moral 
 necessity of a due balance between our attention to the objects of our 
 senses and our meditation on the workings of our mind an equilibrium 
 between the real and the imaginary worlds. In Hamlet this balance is 
 disturbed ; his thoughts and the images of his fancy are far more vivid 
 than his actual perceptions ; and his very perceptions, instantly passing 
 through the medium of his contemplation, acquire, as they pass, a form 
 and color not actually their own. Hence, we see a great, an almost 
 enormous, intellectual activity, and a proportionate aversion to real 
 action consequent upon it, with all its symptoms and accompanying 
 qualities. This character Shakespeare places in circumstances under 
 which it is obliged to act on the spur of the moment. Hamlet is brave, 
 and careless of death ; but he vacillates from sensibility, and procrasti- 
 nates from thought, and loses the power of action in the energy of 
 resolve." COLERIDGE.
 
 APPENDIX. 135 
 
 " By an internal impulse, Hamlet is continually aiming at his own idea 
 of man ; whom he calls a work of wonder, ' noble in reason, infinite in 
 faculties, in action like an angel, in apprehension like a god.' And, 
 accordingly, because it is, on this account, repugnant to his nature to 
 adopt any course of conduct upon external compulsion, there arises a 
 conflict between the inward bias of his mind and the pressure of outward 
 circumstances. He is unable to enter upon the enjoined work, not 
 simply because it is too great and weighty for him, but because he 
 cannot transmute it into an inward spontaneous impulse of his own. 
 Hence come his vacillation, his hesitating and procrastinating, and his 
 fluctuating purpose, now advancing and now falling back ; hence, too, 
 the vehemence of his self-accusation, with which he would goad himself 
 into prompt measures, without, however, being able to control time 
 and its flight; hence, too, the inconsistency and irresolution of his 
 proceedings, and apparently also of his character." ULRICI. 
 
 VII. TIME, AGE AND PERSONS OF HAMLET. 
 
 Queen Gertrude is married to King Claudius within a month after the 
 death of King Hamlet. Within two months after that occurrence the 
 spirit of the deceased monarch appears to the Prince. The first act 
 opens at midnight, and covers about twenty-four hours. In the play- 
 scene it is stated by Ophelia that King Hamlet has been dead four 
 months. About two months, therefore, must be supposed to elapse 
 between Hamlet's meeting with his father's ghost and the scene in which 
 he catches the conscience of the King. On the night of the play he kills 
 Polonius. The next day [see the beginning of Act IV.] he is embarked 
 for England. He has been two days at sea when he escapes to the 
 pirate galley. It may be assumed that his homeward journey occupies 
 two days more, perhaps longer. Polonius, meanwhile, has been 
 hurriedly and privately buried, and Ophelia has gone mad and been 
 accidentally drowned. Hamlet is in Elsinore on the day of Ophelia's 
 burial, and he, by chance, meets the funeral train in the church-yard. 
 The final catastrophe seems to occur immediately after the interment, 
 albeit, a bout with foils is an incident but harshly consorted with the day 
 of such a solemnity. Altogether, the action of " Hamlet" is seen to be 
 circumscribed, certainly, within ten weeks. The season of the year is 
 indeterminate. "The air bites shrewdly" in the first act; but Ophelia 
 gathers flowers in the fourth, and a military expedition is seen to be in 
 progress. Late autumn is the season most consonant with the tone of 
 the tragedy. The grave-digger's words show that Hamlet is thirty years
 
 136 APPENDIX. 
 
 old ; the Queen, accordingly, must be set down at about forty-eight. 
 The King, it seems reasonable to think, is younger than his wife, or 
 about her own age. Horatio should be older than Hamlet, and 
 Laertes considerably younger. Polonius, whom Coleridge well 
 denotes as " the personification of wisdom no longer possessed," should 
 be deemed about sixty. Ophelia is "a young maid." The courtiers 
 are, obviously, young men. It is Shakespeare's method, in displaying 
 action long past, to display it as if proceeding in the present, and to 
 surround and embellish it with illustrative accessories, often appertaining 
 to a period long subsequent to its own. There was, for example, no 
 University at Wittenberg in the period of " Hamlet," but there was a 
 University there in the time of Shakespeare. King Claudius, like King 
 John (1199), is furnished with cannon ; but, in fact, cannon were not in 
 use till the later period of the battle of Cressy (1346). In short, the 
 civilization, the feelings, and the adjuncts of the tragedy [and this 
 determines the character of the dresses and properties that may be 
 used in representing it] are consonant, not with the period to which it 
 relates, but to the period in which it was written. Mr. Booth, however, 
 has been accustomed to dress this piece in conformity with the usages of 
 an ancient period in the history of Denmark, in order to invest its scenes 
 with something of the character of the age to which its story relates. 
 
 W. W.
 
 MACBETH 
 
 VOL. I
 
 " is remarkable, even among the works of 
 Shakespeare, for sustained continuity of rapid move- 
 ment, and for a uniform and abiding quality of high and 
 weird poetic mood. In general, as may be gathered from 
 Ben Jonson's famous commemorative lines, its author was a 
 scrupulous and thorough reviser of his own writings. He 
 did not scorn to reinforce his spontaneous creative power 
 with laborious art, and thus he produced his " well-torned 
 and true-filed lines " by striking " the second heat upon the 
 Muses' anvil." But, in the writing of " Macbeth" he seems 
 to have enjoyed supreme mental freedom. He possessed an 
 hour of insight, and his art was merged in inspiration. The 
 piece is breezy with power, and is totally free from the heavi- 
 ness and difficulty of a constrained effort. Even the quality 
 of the verse is invariable throughout this play. No feeble 
 passages occur in it. The texture of the fifth act is as firm 
 as the texture of the first. The rush of dramatic action 
 enters into and vitalizes almost every part of the mechanism. 
 A piece thus vigorously and happily created cannot lapse from 
 movement into narrative. Ail stage versions of " Macbeth" 
 accordingly, present, with but slight curtailment or other altera- 
 tion, the original of Shakespeare. The version herewith 
 printed gives the text as it is tised by Edwin Booth, and illus- 
 trates it with the stage business whether traditional or newly 
 devised which he employs. Excisions and changes of the 
 original will be observed in it ; but these few in number, 
 though important in character are thought to be necessary
 
 and justifiable. Lady Macbeth, for example, is not brought 
 on amid the tumult of horror and consternation which ensues 
 upon the discovery of the murder of Duncan, for the reason 
 that, while the dramatic point here made is splendid and 
 thrilling, it does not often happen that a representative of 
 Lady Macbeth proves able to give it its proper effect. The 
 slaughter of Banquo is omitted, as a needless exhibition of 
 melodramatic violence. The killing of Lady Macduff an 
 incident usually discarded is expunged for the same reason. 
 Tliis, indeed, is a superfluity of horror, much like the actual 
 digging out of Gloster's eyes, in " King Lear." The spectre 
 (.>/ Banquo is treated as the " bodiless creation " of Macbeth 's 
 haunted mind. " When all 's done" says the Queen, ''you 
 hok but on a stool." TJiis phantom, in accordance with the 
 old stage direction, " Enter the Ghost of Banquo and sits in 
 Mac betfts place" was always presented in material form and 
 with gory visage, till John Philip Kemble, acting Macbeth, 
 treated it as kindred with the illusion of " the air-drawn 
 dagger" and assumed it to be invisible to all but the King. 
 Amplifying lines have been excluded, at various points in 
 the piece. The colloquy between Malcolm and Macduff in 
 Act Fourth has been shortened, and the dubious and non- 
 essential part of Hecate has been omitted. This part, there 
 is reason to believe, was interpolated into Shakespeare' 1 s work, 
 after his death, or after he had withdrawn from the theatre. 
 This is the opinion of the Cambridge editors, Clark and 
 Wright, who also think that the parts assigned to " the weird 
 sisters " were expanded by a second author not improbably 
 Thomas Middleton. This writer was chronologer to the 
 city of London in 1626, and died a little after that year. A 
 play by him, called 11 The Witch" much resembling " Mac- 
 beth" was discovered, in manuscript, in 1779, and Steevens 
 maintained that this was earlier than Shakespeare's " Mac- 
 beth" and that Shakespeare borrowed from it the incanta- 
 tions in his tragedy. The editors of the " Biographia Dra- 
 matica " folloii) this view y but the weight of opinion is opposed 
 to it. Shakespeare, it is thought, left theatrical life about 
 1604; and he died in 1616. " Macbeth" which was never 
 published during his life-time, might readily have been altered
 
 in the theatre, before it came into the possession of Heminge 
 and Condell, who first gave it to the world in their folio of 
 1623. Dr. Dowden, a sagacious authority, considers Mid- 
 dletorfs " Witch " to be of later date than Shakespeare's 
 ''Macbeth." The text of the Folio of 1623 has been followed, 
 except in a very few instances, in this reprint. Shakespeare 
 found the materials for this tragedy in Holinshed's Chronicle. 
 It is thought to have been written after 1603, because of its 
 allusion to the union of the sovereignties of England and 
 Scotland, under James I., who came to the throne in that 
 year. This reference is to kings " that twofold balls and 
 treble sceptres carry." Malone thought it was written about 
 1606. Dr. Forman saw "Macbeth" acted, on April 2oth, 
 1610, at the Globe, in Southwark; so that the piece could not 
 have been of later date than that. Shakespeare was, prob- 
 ably, at New Place, in Stratford, when he wrote it. The 
 original representative of Macbeth was Burbage. The 
 part has been acted by all the prominent English-speaking 
 tragedians who have followed in his illustrious footsteps. 
 Betterton, Garrick, Barry, Macklin^ Young, Kemble, Kean, 
 Vandenhoff, Forrest, Jtmius Booth, Davenport, and Brooke 
 all were famous in it. Garrick, notwithstanding that he 
 dressed it in scarlet coat and white wig, is said to have uttered 
 its deep and various meaning with wonderful power. Kem- 
 ble's Macbeth was accoitnted prodigious. J5uf, probably, this 
 great character found its consummate interpreter in Macready. 
 Gould, in his ' ; Tragedian" gives this glimpse of the method 
 of several of these renowned actors : " Vandenhoff played the 
 imagery; Macready, the analysis ; Kean, the passion of the 
 scene ; Booth, the character which not only includes the 
 other methods but supplies an element wanting in them." 
 
 W. W. 
 New- York, September 2?th, 1878.
 
 " Old, unhappy, far-off things, 
 
 And battles long ago." WORDSWORTH. 
 
 1 ' Can nothing great, and at the height, 
 Remain so long? but its own weight 
 Will ruin it?" BEN JONSON. 
 
 " Noctes atque dies patet atri Janua Ditis." VIRGIL. 
 
 " Harke! the ravenne fiappes hys wynge 
 
 In the briered delle belowe : 
 Harke ! the deathe-owle loude dothe synge 
 
 To the nyghte-mares as heie goe." CHATTERTON. 
 
 " Ghosts are seen there at noon : the valley is silent, and the people shun 
 the place of I^amor. * * * * Darkness rests on the steeps of Cromla. 
 A distant wind roars in the woods. Silent and dark is the plain of death. 
 * * * * They shall mark it like the haunt of ghosts, pleasant and 
 dreadful to the soul." OssiAN. 
 
 "He strives against the stream, nor can his power reverse the first decrees 
 of fate." CERVANTES. 
 
 "And sleep shall obey me, 
 And visit thee never. 
 And the curse shall be on thee 
 Forever and ever. ' ' So UTHEY. 
 
 "A burning cauldron stood in the midst, 
 
 The flame was fierce and high, 
 And all the cave, so wide and long, 
 
 Was plainly seen thereby * * * * 
 The lights they fied, the cauldron sunk. 
 
 Deep thunders shook the dome, 
 And hollow peals of laughter came. 
 Resounding through the gloom." 
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 " With hopes that but allure to fly. 
 
 With joys that vanish while he sips, 
 Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye. 
 But turn to ashes on the lips." MOORE. 
 
 " For all things born one gate 
 
 Opens, no gate of gold ; 
 Opens and no man sees 
 Beyond the gods and fate." SWINBURNE.
 
 'Brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name). 
 Disdaining fortune , with his brandished steel." 
 
 " What are these. 
 
 So withered, and so wild in their attire. 
 That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth ? ' 
 
 ' Were such things here as we do speak about f 
 Or have we eaten on the insane root 
 That takes the reason prisoner f " 
 
 ' 'Look like the innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under it." 
 
 "Now, o'er the one half world 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtained sleep. 
 
 ' 'Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord's anointed 'temple, and stole thence 
 The life o' the building." 
 
 ' 'Better be with the dead, 
 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace. 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie, 
 In restless ecstasy." 
 
 "Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain ? " 
 
 "I am in blood 
 
 Stepped in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er." 
 
 'Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies : 
 Some say he 's mad: others, that lesser hate him. 
 Do call it valiant fury." 
 
 "This dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen 
 Who, as 't is thought, by self and violent hands 
 Took off her life."
 
 DUNCAN, King of Scotland. 
 MALCOLM, 
 
 DONALBAIN, ' Sons io Duncan ' 
 MACBETH, ) ; 
 
 BANQUO, } Generals f &***** army. 
 MACDUFF, \ 
 
 LENNOX, > Noblemen of Scotland. 
 ROSSE, J 
 
 FLEANCE, Son to Banquo. 
 SEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth. 
 A DOCTOR. 
 A SOLDIER. 
 A PORTER. 
 A SERVANT. 
 LADY MACBETH. 
 
 GENTLEWOMAN, attending on Lady Macbeth. 
 THREE WITCHES. 
 
 LORDS, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, OFFICERS, SOLDIERS, MUR- 
 DERERS, ATTENDANTS, and MESSENGERS. 
 SEVERAL APPARITIONS. 
 
 anii ime. 
 
 SCENE. Chiefly in Scotland: Macbeth 's Castle, at Inverness; 
 the Royal Palace, at Forres ; Dunsinane ; and other 
 places. -One scene passes in England. 
 
 PERIOD. The Eleventh Century [1040-1056-7]. 
 
 TIME OF ACTION. Uncertain. The action proceeds in brief 
 periods, scattered, at intervals, over seventeen years.
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 f A WILD OPEN PLACE. NIGHT. THUNDEK 
 \ AND LIGHTNING. 
 
 \Enterthree Witches*. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 When shall we three meet again 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 
 
 Second Witch. 
 
 When the hurlyburly 's done, 
 When the battle 's lost and won. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 That will be ere the set of sun. 
 
 first Witch. 
 Where the place ? 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Upon the heath. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 There to meet with Macbeth. 
 
 First Witch. 
 I come, Graymalkin!
 
 IO MACBETH. 
 
 All. 
 
 Paddock calls : anon ! 
 
 Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
 
 Hover through the fog and filthy air. 
 
 [ Witches vanish, Scene changes. 
 
 >econto. A CAMP NEAR FORRES. 
 
 [March. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
 Lennox, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding 
 Soldier. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 What bloody man is that ? He can report, 
 As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
 The newest state. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 This is the sergeant, 
 
 Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
 'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend ! 
 Say to the king the knowledge of the broil 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 
 Sold. 
 
 Doubtful it stood ; 
 
 As two spent swimmers, that do cling together 
 And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald 
 (Worthy to be a rebel, for, to that, 
 The multiplying villainies of nature 
 Do swarm upon him) from the western isles 
 Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied ; 
 And fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, 
 Showed like a rebel's drab : but all 's too weak: 
 For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name), 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel,
 
 MACBETH. II 
 
 Which smoked with bloody execution, 
 
 Like valour's minion, 
 
 Carved out his passage till he faced the slave ; 
 
 Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, 
 
 Till he unseamed him from the nave to the chaps ; 
 
 And fixed his head upon our battlements. 
 
 Dun. 
 O, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman ! 
 
 Sold. 
 
 Mark, King of Scotland, mark: 
 No sooner justice had, with valour armed, 
 Compelled these skipping kerns to trust their heels, 
 But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, 
 With furbished arms and new supplies of men, 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 Dismayed not this 
 
 Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? 
 
 Sold. 
 Yes; 
 
 As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. 
 But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 So well thy words become thee as thy wounds; 
 They smack of honour both. 
 
 Go, get him surgeons. [ To Attendants. 
 
 \Exit Soldier, attended. 
 Who comes here ? 
 
 Mai. 
 The worthy thane of Fife. 
 
 Len. 
 
 What a haste looks through his eyes ! 
 
 So should he look that seems to speak things strange.
 
 12 MACBETH. 
 
 [Enter Macduff. 
 Macduff. 
 God save the king ! 
 
 Dun. 
 Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 From Fife, great king; 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky 
 And fan our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
 Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, 
 The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict ; 
 Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapped in proof, 
 Confronted him with self-comparisons, 
 Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm, 
 Curbing his lavish spirit : and, to conclude, 
 The victory fell on us 
 
 Dun. 
 Great happiness ! 
 
 Macduff. 
 That now 
 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; 
 Nor would we deign him burial of his men 
 Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes-inch, 
 Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 
 Our bosom interest : go, pronounce his present death, 
 
 And with his former title greet Macbeth. 
 
 Macduff. 
 I '11 see it done. 
 
 Dun. 
 What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. 
 
 \March. Exeunt. Scene changes.
 
 MACBETH. 13 
 
 a. rt- ... ( A LONELY HEATH. NlGHT-FALL. LlGHT- 
 
 Scene QPftfe { NING AND THUNDER . 
 
 [Enter the three Witches, 
 
 First Witch. 
 Where hast them been, sister ? 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Killing swine. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 Sister, where thou ? 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
 
 And mounched, and mounched, and mounched : 
 
 " Give me," quoth I : 
 
 "Aroint thee, witch ! " the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
 
 Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : 
 
 But in a sieve I '11 thither sail, 
 
 And, like a rat without a tail, 
 
 I '11 do, I '11 do, and I '11 do. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 I '11 give thee a wind. 
 
 First Witch. 
 Thou art kind. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 And I another. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 I myself have all the other ; 
 And the very ports they blow, 
 All the quarters that they know 
 I' the shipman's card. 
 I '11 drain him dry as hay : 
 Sleep shall neither night nor day 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid;
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 He shall live a man forbid : 
 Weary seven-nights nine times nine 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 Yet it shall be tempest-tost. 
 Look what I have. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Show me, show me. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wrecked as homeward he did come. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 A drum, a drum ! 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 
 All. 
 
 The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
 Posters of the sea and land, 
 Thus do go about, about ; 
 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, 
 And thrice again, to make up nine : 
 Peace! the charm 's wound up. 
 
 [Displaying this. 
 [Drum within. 
 
 Witches join hands, 
 move round in 
 circle, and bow 
 thrice. 
 
 [Enter Macbeth and Banquo. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 How far is 't called to Forres ? What are these 
 
 So withered, and so wild in their attire, 
 
 That look not like th' inhabitants o' the earth, 
 
 And yet are on 't ? Live you ? or are you aught 
 
 That man may question ? You seem to understand me, 
 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 
 Upon her skinny lips : you should be women, 
 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 
 That you are so.
 
 MACBETH. 15 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Speak, if you can ; what are you ? 
 
 First Witch. 
 All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 
 
 Second Witch. 
 All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor ! 
 
 Third Witch. 
 All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter ! 
 
 Ban. 
 
 Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear 
 Things that do sound so fair ? I' the name of truth, 
 
 [ To the witches. 
 
 Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
 Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner 
 You greet with present grace, and great prediction 
 Of noble having and of royal hope, 
 That he seems rapt withal : to me you speak not. 
 If you can look into the seeds of time, 
 And say which grain will grow, and which will not, 
 Speak, then, to me, who neither beg nor fear 
 Your favours nor your hate. 
 
 First Witch. 
 Hail! 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Hail! 
 
 Third Witch. 
 Hail! 
 
 First Witch. 
 Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Not so happy, yet much happier.
 
 1 6 MACBETH. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 
 Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none : 
 So, all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 
 
 First Witch. 
 Banquo and Macbeth, all hail ! 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : 
 
 By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis ; 
 
 But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and to be king 
 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence 
 
 You owe this strange intelligence ? or why 
 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 
 With such prophetic greeting ? Speak, I charge you. 
 
 [ Witches vanish. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
 And these are of them: whither are they vanished? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Into the air ; and what seemed corporal melted 
 As breath into the wind. Would they had stayed! 
 
 Ban. 
 
 Were such things here as we do speak about ? 
 Or have we eaten on the insane root 
 That takes the reason prisoner ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Your children shall be kings. 
 
 Ban. 
 You shall be king. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 And thane of Cawdor, too, went it not so ?
 
 MACBETH. 17 
 
 Ban. 
 
 To the self-same tune and words. [ Trumpet. 
 
 Who 's here ? 
 
 \Enter Rosse and Macduff. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 The king hath happily received, Macbeth, 
 The news of thy success : and when he reads 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praises do contend 
 Which should be thine or his : silenced with that, 
 In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
 He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
 Nothing afeared of what thyself didst make, 
 Strange images of death. As thick as tale, 
 Come post with post ; and every one did bear 
 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
 And poured them down before him. 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 We are sent 
 
 To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; 
 Only to herald thee into his sight, 
 Not pay thee. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 
 He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor : 
 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
 For it is thine. 
 
 Ban. \Aside, 
 
 What ! can the devil speak true ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The thane of Cawdor lives : why do you dress me 
 In borrowed robes ? 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Who was the thane lives yet ; 
 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life
 
 1 8 MACBETH. 
 
 Which he deserves to lose. 
 
 For treasons capital, confessed and proved, 
 
 Have overthrown him. 
 
 Macbeth, [Aside. 
 
 Glamis, and thane of Cawdor; 
 
 The greatest is behind. 
 
 Thanks for your pains. [To Macdujffand Rosse. 
 
 Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
 
 [To Banquo. 
 
 When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me 
 Promised no less to them ? 
 
 Ban. 
 
 That, trusted home, 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
 Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 't is strange : 
 And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths, 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
 In deepest consequence 
 Cousins, a word, I pray you. [To Macdiiff and Rosse. 
 
 Macbeth. [Aside. 
 
 Two truths are told, 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. 
 
 I thank you, gentlemen. [To Macditff and Rosse. 
 
 This supernatural soliciting [Aside. 
 
 Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : if ill, 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
 Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : 
 If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, 
 Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings : 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 Shakes so my single state of man, that function
 
 MACBETH. 19 
 
 Is smothered in surmise ; and nothing is 
 But what is not. 
 
 Ban. 
 Look, how our partner 's rapt. 
 
 Macbeth. [Aside. 
 
 If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 New honours come upon him 
 
 Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mould 
 
 But with the aid of use. 
 
 Macbeth. [Aside. 
 
 Come what come may, 
 Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 
 
 Ban. 
 Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Give me your favour : my dull brain was wrought 
 With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
 Are registered where every day I turn 
 The leaf to read them. Let us toward the king : 
 
 [Aside to Banquo. 
 
 Think upon what hath chanced ; and, at more time, 
 The interim having weighed it, let us speak 
 Our free hearts each to other. 
 
 Ban. 
 Very gladly. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Till then, enough. Come, friends. 
 
 [Exeunt. Scene changes.
 
 20 MACBETH. 
 
 >cen* JFottrtl). FORRES. SAME AS SCENE SECOND. 
 
 [Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, 
 Lennox, and Attendants. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 Is execution done on Cawdor ? Are not 
 Those in commission yet returned ? 
 
 Mai. 
 My liege, 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 With one that saw him die : who did report, 
 That very frankly he confessed his treasons; 
 Implored your highness' pardon ; and set forth 
 A deep repentance : nothing in his life 
 Became him like the leaving it ; he died 
 As one that had been studied in his death, 
 To throw away the dearest thing he owed, 
 As 't were a careless trifle. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 There 's no art 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face : 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 An absolute trust 
 
 [Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Macduff. 
 
 O, worthiest cousin ! [To Macbeth, 
 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now 
 
 Was heavy on me ; thou art so far before, 
 
 That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 
 To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, 
 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 
 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The service and the loyalty I owe, 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
 
 MACBETH. 21 
 
 Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state children and servants ; 
 Which do but what they should, by doing everything 
 Safe toward your love and honour. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 Welcome hither : 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
 To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo 
 That has no less deserved, nor must be known 
 No less to have done so : let me enfold thee, 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 There if I grow, 
 The harvest is your own. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 My plenteous joys, 
 
 Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
 And you whose places are the, nearest, know, 
 We will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter 
 The Prince of Cumberland : which honour must 
 Not unaccompanied invest him only, 
 But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
 On all deservers. From hence to Inverness, 
 And bind us further to you. [ To Macbeth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The rest is labour which is not used for you : 
 I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wife with your approach; 
 So, humbly take my leave. 
 
 Dun. 
 My worthy Cawdor ! 
 
 \Exeitnt all but Macbeth.
 
 22 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 The Prince of Cumberland ! that is a step 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, 
 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ; 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires : 
 The eye wink at the hand ; yet let that be, 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. 
 
 [Exit. Scene changes. 
 
 A ROOM IN MACBETH'S 
 
 [Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 " They met me in the day of success ; and I have learned 
 by the perfectest report they have more in them than 
 mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question 
 them further, they made themselves air, into which they 
 vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came 
 missives from the king, who all-hailed me, 'Thane of 
 Cawdor ; ' by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted 
 me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with ' Hail 
 king that shalt be ! ' This have I thought good to deliver 
 thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst 
 not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what 
 greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and 
 farewell." 
 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 
 
 What thou art promised : yet do I fear thy nature; 
 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 
 
 To catch the nearest way : thou wouldst be great ; 
 
 Art not without ambition but without 
 
 The illness should attend it : what thou wouldst highly
 
 MACBETH. 23 
 
 That wouldst thou holily : wouldst not play false, 
 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win : 
 
 Thou 'dst have, great Glamis, 
 
 That which cries, " Thus thou must do, if thou have it;" 
 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do 
 
 Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, 
 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round 
 
 Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
 
 To have thee crowned withal. 
 
 [Enter an Attendant. 
 What is your tidings ? 
 
 Atten. 
 The king comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Thou art mad to say it : 
 
 Is not thy master with him ? who, were 't so, 
 Would have informed for preparation. 
 
 Atten. 
 
 So please you, it is true : our thane is coming : 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him ; 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Give him tending ; 
 He brings great news. 
 
 {Exit Attendant. 
 The raven himself is hoarse 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
 
 f Touching her heart. 
 
 And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature
 
 H MACBETH. 
 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 
 The effect and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 
 And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers, 
 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 
 You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 
 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, 
 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, 
 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 
 To cry " Hold, hold ! " {Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Great Glamis ! worthy Cawdor ! 
 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 
 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 My dearest love, 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. 
 And when goes hence ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 To-morrow as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. 
 O, never 
 
 Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book where men 
 May read strange matters : to beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under it. He that 's coming 
 Must be provided for : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch ; 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 We will speak further.
 
 MACBETH. 25 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Only look up clear; 
 To alter favour ever is to fear: 
 Leave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. Scene changes. 
 
 I INVERNESS. IN FRONT OF MACBETH'S 
 CASTLE. MARCH. DUNCAN, MAL- 
 COLM, DONALBAIN, BANQUO, LENNOX, 
 MACDUFF, ROSSE, AND ATTENDANTS 
 ARE DISCOVERED. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 This guest of summer, 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
 By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, 
 Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird 
 Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: 
 Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed, 
 The air is delicate. 
 
 [Enter Lady Macbeth, attended. She kneels. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 See, see, our honoured hostess ! 
 The love that follows us sometimes is our trouble, 
 Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you 
 How you shall bid God yield us for your pains, 
 And thank us for your trouble. 
 
 Lady M. 
 All our service 
 In every point twice done, and then done double,
 
 26 MACBETH. 
 
 Were poor and single business to contend 
 Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith 
 Your majesty loads our house : for those of old, 
 And the late dignities heaped up to them, 
 We rest your hermits. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 Where 's the thane of Cawdor ? 
 
 We coursed him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 
 To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; 
 
 And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
 
 To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, 
 
 We are your guest to-night. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Your servants ever 
 
 Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, 
 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
 Still to return your own. 
 
 Dun. 
 
 Give me your hand ; 
 
 Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly, 
 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 By your leave, hostess. [March. Exeunt info Castle. 
 
 ftrtent*. { IN Y, ERNESS - A RooM IN MACBETH'S 
 
 ( L/ASTLE. 
 
 [Enter Macbeth. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well 
 It were done quickly : if the assassination 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all herc y
 
 MACBETH. 27 
 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
 We 'd jump the life to come. But, in these cases, 
 We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 To plague the inventor : this even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice 
 To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
 The deep damnation of his taking-off; 
 And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
 Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, horsed 
 Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
 That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, 
 
 And falls on the other {Enter Lady Macbeth R. 
 
 How now ! what news ? [To Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. 
 He has almost supped : why have you left the chamber ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Hath he asked for me ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 Know you not he has ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 We will proceed no further in this business : 
 He hath honoured me of late; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon.
 
 28 MACBETH. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Was the hope drunk 
 
 Wherein you dressed yourself? hath it slept since ? 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely? From this- time 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeared 
 To be the same in thine own act and valour 
 As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem, 
 Letting " I dare not " wait upon " I would," 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Pr*ythee, peace : 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more is none. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 What beast was 't, then, 
 That made you break this enterprize to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know 
 How tender 't is to love the babe that milks me : 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums, 
 And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn 
 As you have done to this. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 If we should fail ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 We fail ! 
 
 But screw your courage to the sticking-place 
 And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep
 
 MACBETH. 29 
 
 (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
 Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassail so convince, 
 That memory, the warder of the brain, 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only : when in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie as in a death, 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 Th' unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
 His spongy officers, who shall bear the guilt 
 Of our great quell ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Bring forth men children only ; 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be received, 
 When we have marked with blood those sleepy two 
 Of his own chamber, and used their very daggers, 
 That they have done 't ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Who dares receive it other, 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
 Upon his death ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I am settled, and bend up 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show : 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth know. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ~ .p. ( INVERNESS 
 Scene first. { CASTL 
 
 INVERNESS. COURT WITHIN MACBETH'S 
 
 [Enter Banquo, preceded by Fleance with a torch. 
 
 Ban. 
 How goes the night, boy ? 
 
 Fie. 
 The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock. 
 
 Ban. 
 And she goes down at twelve. 
 
 Fie. 
 I take 't, 't is later, sir. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 Hold, take my sword : [Gives his sword to Fleance. 
 
 There 's husbandry in heaven, 
 
 Their candles are all out : take thee that too. 
 
 [Gives his dagger to Fleance. Banquo is here 
 conscious of the latent poiver of temptation, and 
 seems wishful to rid himself of all incentives to 
 dangerous thoughts, and all the means of mischief. 
 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
 
 And yet I would not sleep : merciful powers, 
 
 Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature 
 
 Gives way to in repose ! [Noise without. 
 
 Give me my sword ; [Snatches sword from Fleance. 
 
 Who 's there ?
 
 MACBETH. 31 
 
 [Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 A friend. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 What ! sir, not yet at rest ? The king 's a-bed : 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess to your offices : 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 
 [Gives a ring to Macbeth. 
 
 By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
 In measureless content. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Being unprepared, 
 
 Our will became the servant to defect ; 
 Which else should free have wrought. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 All 's well. {Starts to go L. U. E. 
 
 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : 
 To you they have showed some truth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I think not of them : 
 
 Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 Would spend it in some words upon that business, 
 If you would grant the time. 
 
 Ban. 
 At your kind'st leisure. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 If you shall cleave to my consent, when 't is, 
 It shall make honour for you. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 So I lose none 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 My bosom franchised, and allegiance clear, 
 I shall be counselled.
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Good repose the while ! 
 
 Ban. 
 Thanks, sir : the like to you ! 
 
 {Exeunt Banquo and Fleance. 
 
 Macbeth. [To Servant. 
 
 Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
 She strike upon the bell. 
 
 {Exit Servant. Then, after a brief pause, re-entef 
 Servant, who waits Macbeth' s final commands. 
 Get thee to bed. [ To Servant. Exit Servant. 
 
 Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand ? 
 Come, let me clutch thee : 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind, a false creation, 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going ; 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
 Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
 And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, 
 Which was not so before. There 's no such thing : 
 It is the bloody business which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half world 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtained sleep; now witchcraft celebrates 
 Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered murder, 
 Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
 Moves like a ghost. 
 Thou sure and firm-set earth,
 
 MACBETH. 33 
 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 
 Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, 
 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 
 Which now suits with it. [A bell rings. 
 
 I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
 
 Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 
 That summons thee to heaven or to hell. 
 
 [Exit Macbeth. A low rumble of thunder is 
 heard, as Macbeth goes out. Then, after a 
 pause, enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold ; 
 
 What hath quenched them hath given me fire. 
 
 Hark! Peace! 
 
 It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman 
 
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. 
 
 He is about it: 
 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 
 Do mock their charge with snores : 
 
 I have drugged their possets, 
 
 That death and nature do contend about them, 
 
 Whether they live or die. [Distant Thunder. 
 
 A Voice. [Within. 
 
 [ This line is spoken within, by one of the drunken 
 chamberlains. 
 
 Who 's there ? what, ho ! 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Alack, I am afraid they have awaked, 
 And 't is not done : the attempt and not the deed 
 Confounds us. Hark ! I laid their daggers ready ; 
 He could not miss them. Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had done 't. 
 
 [Re-enter Macbeth. In his fright and frenzy, he 
 makes as if to stab her. 
 
 My husband ! 
 ' 3
 
 34 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. 
 Did not you speak ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 When? 
 
 Lady M. 
 Now. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 As I descended ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 Ay. [Distant thunder 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Hark! 
 Who lies i' the second chamber ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 Donalbain. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 [Looking on his hands, which are blood-stained, 
 and in one of which he grasps two blood-stained 
 daggers. 
 This is a sorry sight. 
 
 Lady M. 
 A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 There 's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one cried " Murder ! " 
 That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them: 
 But they did say their prayers, and addressed them 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. 
 There are two lodged together.
 
 MACBETH. 35 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 One cried, " God bless us I" and " Amen," the other; 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's hands. 
 Listening their fear, I could not say " Amen," 
 When they did say, " God bless us." 
 
 Lady M. 
 Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 But wherefore could not I pronounce "Amen" ? 
 I had most need of blessing, and "Amen " 
 Stuck in my throat. [Low thunder. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 These deeds must not be thought 
 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Methought I heard a voice cry, " Sleep no more ! 
 Macbeth does murder sleep," the innocent sleep, 
 Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast 
 
 Lady M. 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Still it cried, " Sleep no more ! " to all the house : 
 " Glamis hath murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ! " 
 
 [Low thunder. 
 Lady M. 
 
 Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brain-sickly of things. Go, get some water, 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
 
 [Seeing the daggers.
 
 36 MACBETH. 
 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
 They must lie there: go carry them; and smear 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 I '11 go no more : 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on 't again I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 [Snatching the daggers from his hand. 
 Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give me the daggers : the sleeping and the dead 
 Are but as pictures : 't is the eye of childhood 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal ; 
 For it must seem their guilt. 
 
 [Exit Lady Macbeth into Duncan's chamber. 
 Low thunder. A long pause : then sharp and 
 quick knocking is heard. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Whence is that knocking ? 
 
 How is 't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
 
 What hands are here ? ha ! they pluck out mine eyes! 
 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 
 Clean from my hand ? No ; this my hand will rather 
 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine, 
 
 Making the green one red. 
 
 \Re-enter Lady Macbeth- 
 Lady M. 
 
 My hands are of your colour ; but I shame 
 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knocking. 
 
 I hear a knocking 
 
 At the south entry: retire we to our chamber: 
 
 A little water clears us of this deed : 
 
 How easy is it, then ! Your constancy 
 
 Hath left you unattended. \Knocking. 
 
 Hark! more knocking :
 
 MACBETH. 37 
 
 Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, 
 
 And show us to be watchers : [ Thunder, 
 
 Be not lost so poorly in your thoughts ! 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 To know my deed, 't were best not know myself. 
 
 [Knocking. 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou 
 couldst ! 
 
 [Exeunt Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. 
 
 [Enter a Porter, with lanthorn and keys. Knock- 
 ing heard. 
 
 Port. 
 
 Here 's a knocking indeed ! If a man were porter of 
 hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. [Knocking.] 
 Knock, knock, knock ! Who 's there, i' the name of Beel- 
 zebub ? Here 's a farmer, that hanged himself on the 
 expectation of plenty : come in time ; have napkins enow 
 about you; here you '11 sweat for 't. [Knocking.] Knock, 
 knock ! Who 's there, in the other devil's name ? Faith, 
 here 's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales 
 against either scale ; who committed treason enough for 
 God's sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven ; oh, come 
 in, equivocator. [Knocking.} Knock, knock, knock! 
 Who 's there ? Faith, here 's an English tailor come 
 hither, for stealing out of a French hose : come in, tailor ; 
 here you may roast your goose. [Knocking.} Knock, 
 knock ; never at quiet ! What are you ? But this place 
 is too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter it no further. I had 
 thought to have let in some of all professions, that go 
 the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. [Knocking.] 
 Anon, anon ! I pray you, remember the porter. 
 
 f Porter opens the gate. 
 
 \Enter Mac dtiff and Lennox c. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
 That you do lie so late ?
 
 38 MACBETH. 
 
 Port. 
 Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock. 
 
 Macduff, 
 I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. 
 
 Port. 
 That it did, sir, i' the very throat on me. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Is thy master stirring ? [Looking off, he sees Macbeth. 
 Our knocking has awaked him; here he comes. 
 
 [Exit Porter. Enter Macbeth, hurriedly, and 
 half dressed. 
 
 Len. 
 Good-morrow, noble sir. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Good-morrow, both. 
 
 Macdujf. 
 Is the king stirring, worthy thane ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Not yet. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 He did command me to call timely on him : 
 I have almost slipped the hour. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 I '11 bring you to him. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 I know this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
 But yet 't is one. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 The labour we delight in physics pain. 
 
 This is the door. [Indicates the door by a gesture.
 
 MACBETH. 39 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 I '11 make so bold to call, 
 
 For 't is my limited service. [Exit. 
 
 Len. 
 Goes the king hence to-day ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 He does: he did appoint so. 
 
 Len. 
 
 The night has been unruly : where we lay 
 
 Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say,. 
 
 Lamentings heard i' the air; strange screams of death 
 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
 
 Of dire combustion and confused events 
 
 New hatched to the woeful time : the obscure bird 
 
 Clamoured the livelong night : some say, the earth 
 
 Was feverous and did shake. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 'T was a rough night. 
 
 Len. 
 
 My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 A fellow to it. 
 
 \Re-enter Macduff. 
 Macdujf. 
 
 O, horror, horror, horror ! Tongue nor heart 
 Cannot conceive nor name thee 1 
 
 Macbeth and Len. 
 What 's the matter ? 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Confusion now hath made his master-piece ! 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The life o' the building !
 
 40 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 What is 't you say ? the life ? 
 
 Len. 
 Mean you his majesty ? 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight 
 \V ith a new Gorgon : do not bid me speak ; 
 See, and then speak yourselves. 
 
 {Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox, and enter Seyton 
 in disordered dress. 
 
 Awake, awake ! 
 
 Ring the alarum-bell : murder and treason ! [Exit Seyton. 
 
 Banquo and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake ! 
 
 Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
 
 And look on death itself! up, up, and see 
 
 The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
 
 As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, 
 
 To countenance this horror ! [Alarm-bell rings. 
 
 [Enter Banquo and others, from all sides ; all in 
 disordered dress. 
 
 O, Banquo, Banquo, . 
 
 Our royal master 's murdered ! 
 
 All. 
 Murdered ! 
 
 \Re-enter Macbeth and Lennox R. i. E. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Had I but died an hour before this chance 
 
 I had lived a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 
 
 There 's nothing serious in mortality : 
 
 All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ; 
 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 
 Is left this vault to brag of.
 
 MACBETH. 41 
 
 [Enter Malcolm and Donalbain R. 2. E. 
 
 Don. 
 What is amiss ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 You are, and do not know 't : 
 
 The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 
 Is stopped, the very source of it is stopped 
 
 Macduff. 
 Your royal father 's murdered. 
 
 Mai. 
 0, by whom ? 
 
 Len. 
 Those of his chamber, as it seemed, had done 't : 
 
 \Exit Malcolm and Donalbain into Duncan's 
 chamber. 
 
 Their hands and faces were all badged with blood ; 
 So were their daggers, which, unwiped, we found 
 Upon their pillows : 
 
 They stared, and were distracted ; no man's life 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 O, yet I do repent me of my fury, 
 That I did kill them. 
 
 Macduff. 
 Wherefore did you so ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Who can be wise, amazed, temperate, and furious, 
 
 I ,oyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man : 
 
 The expedition of my violent love 
 
 Outran the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, 
 
 His silver skin laced with his golden blood ; 
 
 And his gashed stabs looked like a breach in nature 
 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers,
 
 42 MACBETH. 
 
 Steeped in the colours of their trade, their daggers 
 Unmannerly breeched with gore : who could refrain, 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Courage to make his love known ? 
 
 Ban. 
 
 Fears and scruples shake us : 
 
 In the great hand of God I stand ; and thence 
 
 Against the undivulged pretence I fight 
 
 Of treasonous malice. 
 
 Macduff. 
 And so do I. 
 
 AIL 
 So all. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Let 's meet i' the hall together, 
 To question this most bloody piece of work, 
 To know it further. 
 
 All. 
 Well contented. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 C FORRES. A ROOM IN THE ROYAL PAL- 
 .first J ACE * LENNOX, ROSSE, SEYTON, BAN- 
 I QUO, FLEANCE, LORDS, LADIES, AND 
 ATTENDANTS, DISCOVERED. 
 
 \Banquo advances. 
 
 Ban. [Aside, in soliloquy. 
 
 Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor, Glamis, all, 
 
 As the weird women promised ; and, I fear, 
 
 Thou playedst most foully for 't : yet it was said 
 
 It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 
 But that myself should be the root and father 
 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them 
 
 (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine), 
 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
 
 May they not be my oracles as well, 
 
 And set me up in hope ? [ March. 
 
 But, hush; no more. 
 
 [Enter Macbeth, as King ; Lady Macbeth, as Queen 
 with Attendants. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Here 's our chief guest. [Indicating Banquo. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 If he had been forgotten, 
 
 It had been as a gap in our great feast, 
 
 And all-thing unbecoming. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, [ To Banquo. 
 
 And I '11 request your presence.
 
 44 MACBETH. 
 
 Ban. 
 
 Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me ; to the which my duties 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 Forever knit. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Ride you this afternoon ? 
 
 Ban. 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 We should have else desired your good advice 
 (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous) 
 In this day's council ; but we '11 take to-morrow. 
 Is 't far you ride ? 
 
 Ban. 
 
 As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 
 'Twixt this and supper; go not my horse the better, 
 
 I must become a borrower of the night 
 
 For a dark hour or twain. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Fail not our feast. 
 
 Ban. 
 My lord, I will not. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 We hear our bloody cousins are bestowed 
 
 In England and in Ireland ; not confessing 
 
 Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
 
 With strange invention, 
 
 \Lady Macbeth, turning fi-vn her ladies, 
 
 whom, apparently, she has been engaged, takct 
 his hand, to stop his further reference to this 
 subject. 
 
 But of that to-morrow ;
 
 MACBETH. 45 
 
 When therewithal we shall have cause of state 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : adieu, 
 
 [Banquo and Fleance cross to L. Fleance pauses, 
 to kiss the hand which Macbeth extends to him. 
 Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ? 
 
 Ban. 
 Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon us. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I wish your horses swift and sure of foot ; 
 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 
 Farewell. {Exeunt Banquo and Fleance. 
 
 Let every man be master of his time 
 
 Till seven at night : to make society 
 
 The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
 
 Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you ! 
 
 {Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lennox, Rosse, Lords, 
 Ladies, etc., separately. Seyton alone remains. 
 Sirrah, a word with you : attend those men [ To Seyton. 
 Our pleasure ? 
 
 Sey. 
 
 They are, my lord, without the palace-gate. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Bring them before us. [Exit Seyton. 
 
 To be thus is nothing ; 
 But to be safely thus : our fears in Banquo 
 Stick deep ; and in his royalty of nature 
 Reigns that which would be feared : 't is much he dares. 
 He chid the sisters, 
 
 When first they put the name of king upon me, 
 And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet-like, 
 They hailed him father to a line of kings : 
 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 Thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand, 
 No son of mine succeeding. If 't be so, 
 For Banquo's issue have I filed my mind ;
 
 46 MACBETH. 
 
 For them the gracious Duncan have I murdered ; 
 
 Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
 
 Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel 
 
 Given to the common enemy of man, 
 
 To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings ! 
 
 Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, 
 
 And champion me to the utterance. 
 
 Who 's there ? [Re-enter Seyton, with two Murderers. 
 
 Now, go to the door, and stay there till we call. 
 
 [ To Seyton. Exit Seyton. 
 Was it not yesterday we spoke together ? 
 
 [ To the Murderers. 
 
 First Mur. 
 It was, so please your highness. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Well then, now, 
 
 Have you considered of my speeches ? 
 Are you so gospelled, 
 
 To pray for this good man and for his issue, 
 Whose heavy hand hath bowed you to the grave, 
 And beggared yours for ever ? 
 
 Second Mur. 
 I am one, my liege, 
 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incensed, that I am reckless what 
 I do to spite the world. 
 
 First Mur. 
 And I another, 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugged with fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 To mend it, or be rid on 't. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Both of you 
 Know Banquo was your enemy.
 
 MACBETH. 47 
 
 Both Mur. 
 True, ray lord. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 So is he mine ; and in such bloody distance, 
 That every minute of his being thrusts 
 Against my near'st of life : and though I could 
 With barefaced power sweep him from my sight 
 And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 
 Second Mur. 
 
 We shall, my lord, 
 
 Perform what you command us. 
 
 First Mur. 
 Though our lives 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour at most, 
 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves ; 
 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, 
 
 The moment on 't ; for 't must be done to-night, 
 
 And something from the palace ; always thought 
 
 That I require a clearness : and with him 
 
 (To leave no rubs nor botches in the work) 
 
 Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 
 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 
 Of that dark hour. 
 
 [ The Murderers glance at each other. 
 Resolve yourselves apart : 
 I '11 come to you anon. 
 
 Both Mur. 
 We are resolved, my lord.
 
 48 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I '11 call upon you straight : abide within. 
 
 {Exeunt Murderers L. 
 
 It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. 
 
 [Exit Macbeth. 
 
 FORRES. ANOTHER ROOM IN THE ROYAL 
 
 [Enter Lady Macbeth and Seyton. 
 
 Lady M. 
 Is Banquo gone from court ? 
 
 Sey. 
 Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Say to the king, I would attend his leisure 
 For a few words. 
 
 Sey. 
 
 Madam, I will. [Exit Seyton L. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Naught 's had, all 's spent, 
 Where our desire is got without content : 
 'T is safer to be that which we destroy, 
 Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 [Enter Macbeth L, 
 
 How now, my lord ! why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making ; 
 Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
 With them they think on ? Things without remedy 
 Should be without regard : what 's done is done.
 
 MACBETH. 49 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 We have scotched the snake, not killed it : 
 
 She '11 close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
 
 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 
 But let the frame of things disjoint, 
 
 Both the worlds suffer, 
 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams 
 
 That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 
 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
 
 [ The plural is liere used in the personal and affec- 
 tionate sense, and not in the royal manner : and 
 this, among other kindred speeches, should indi- 
 cate the love that Macbeth feels for his wife. 
 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 
 In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
 
 After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; 
 
 Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, 
 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 
 Can touch him further. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Come on ; 
 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
 
 Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
 Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance live. 
 
 Lady M. 
 But in them nature's copy 's not eterne. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 There 's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; 
 Then be thou jocund : ere the bat hath flown 
 His cloistered flight ; ere, to black Hecate's summons, 
 The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 4
 
 50 MACBETH. 
 
 Lady M. 
 What 's to be done ? 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 
 
 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
 
 Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
 
 And with thy bloody and invisible hand 
 
 Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond 
 
 Which keeps me pale ! Light thickens ; and the crow 
 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood : 
 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; 
 
 Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
 
 Thou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; 
 
 Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill : 
 
 So pr*ythee, go with me. {Exeunt R. Scene changes. 
 
 FORRES. A ROOM OF STATE IN THE 
 ROYAL PALACE. A BANQUET Dis- 
 kette C&trt. \ PLAYED. MACBETH, LADY MACBETH, 
 ROSSE, LENNOX, LORDS, AND ATTEND- 
 ANTS, DISCOVERED. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 You know your own degrees : sit down : at first 
 And last the hearty welcome. 
 
 Lords. 
 Thanks to your majesty. [All sit. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Ourself will mingle with society, [Descends from throne. 
 
 And play the humble host. 
 
 Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time, 
 
 We will require her welcome.
 
 MACBETH. 5 1 
 
 Lady M. [On throne. 
 
 Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends ; 
 For my heart speaks they are welcome. 
 
 [All rise and bow. Then, all re-seat themselves, 
 except Rosse and Lennox, who go to Lady 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks. 
 
 Both sides are even : here I '11 sit i' the midst : 
 
 [Enter First Murderer c. with the Servants, who 
 bring dishes. First Murderer has a few drops 
 of blood upon his cheek. He brings a goblet 
 of ivine to Macbeth. 
 
 Be large in mirth ; anon we '11 drink a measure 
 
 The table round. 
 
 There 's blood upon thy face. [To Murderer. 
 
 Mur. 
 'T is Banquo's, then. [Kneels at L. of Macbeth, 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Is he despatched ? 
 
 Mur. 
 
 My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Thou art the best o' the cut-throats : yet he 's good 
 That did the like for Fleance. 
 
 Mur. 
 
 Most royal sir, 
 Fleance is 'scaped. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Then comes my fit again : I had else been perfect ; 
 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
 
 As broad and general as the casing air : 
 
 But now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in 
 
 To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ?
 
 52 MACBETH. 
 
 Mur. 
 
 Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, 
 With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
 The least a death to nature. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Thanks for that : 
 
 There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that 's fled, 
 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 
 
 No teeth for the present. 
 
 [7s about to drink ; but the colour of the wine sick- 
 ens him, and he gives the goblet back to the 
 Murderer, who places it on the table, and, at 
 Macbettis next words, spoken simultaneously 
 with this action, quietly slinks out of the room. 
 
 Get thee gone : to-morrow 
 
 We '11 hear ourselves again. \Exit Murderer. 
 
 Lady M. 
 My royal lord, 
 
 You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold 
 That is not often vouched, while 't is a making, 
 'T is given with welcome : to feed were best at home ; 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ; 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Sweet remembrancer ! 
 Now, good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both ! [To all. 
 
 Len. 
 
 May 't please your highness sit. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Here had we now our country's honour roofed, 
 Were the graced person of our Banquo present ; 
 Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
 Than pity for mischance !
 
 MACBETH. 53 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 His absence, sir, 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness 
 To grace us with your royal company. 
 
 [Macbeth stares, in horror. 
 Len. 
 
 What is 't that moves your highness ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Which of you have done this ? 
 
 Lords. 
 What, my good lord ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Thou canst not say I did it : never shake 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. [A II rise. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Sit, worthy friends : my lord is often thus, {All sit. 
 
 And hath been from his youth ; pray you, keep seat ; 
 
 The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 
 He will again be well : if much you note him, 
 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion : 
 
 Feed, and regard him not. 
 
 [ Guests endeavour not to notice what follows. 
 Are you a man ? [To Macbeth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. 
 O, proper stuff! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said, 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws and starts
 
 54 MACBETH. 
 
 (Impostors to true fear) would well become 
 
 A woman's story at a winter's fire, 
 
 Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself! 
 
 Why do you make such faces ? When all 's done, 
 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Pr'ythee, see there ! behold! look! lo! how say you? 
 
 [S fares at imaginary spectre. 
 
 Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. 
 If charnel-houses and our graves must send 
 Those that we bury back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws of kites. [Sinks on her bosom. 
 
 Lady M. 
 What ! quite unmanned in folly ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 If I stand here, I saw him. 
 
 Lady M. 
 Fie, for shame ! 
 
 [Lady Macbeth goes among the guests, and presently 
 ascends the throne. 
 
 Macbeth. [Aside. 
 
 Blood hath been shed ere now ; i' the olden time, 
 Ere human statute purged the gentle weal ; 
 Ay, and since, too, murders have been performed, 
 Too terrible for the ear : the times have been, 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would die, 
 And there an end ; but now they rise again, 
 With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
 And push us from our stools : this is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Lady M. 
 My worthy lord, 
 Your noble friends do lack you.
 
 MACBETH. 55 
 
 Macbeth. 
 I do forget : 
 
 Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 
 I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
 To those that know me. Come, love and health to all ; 
 Then I '11 sit down. Give me some wine ; fill full : 
 I drink to the general joy o' the whole table, 
 And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
 Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
 And all to all. [Stares at chair. 
 
 Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! let the earth hide thee ! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with ! [All rise. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Think of this, good peers, 
 
 But as a thing of custom; 't is no other; 
 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 What man dare, I dare : 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger : 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble : or be alive again, 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
 If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! [Spectre is supposed to vanish. 
 Why, so; being gone, 
 I am a man again. 
 
 Lady M. [To Macbeth. 
 
 You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting, 
 With most admired disorder. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Can such things be, 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
 
 56 MACBETH. 
 
 Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 
 
 When now I think you can behold such sights, 
 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 
 When mine are blanched with fear. 
 
 All. 
 What sights, my lord ? 
 
 [Macbeth sinks at the foot of the throne. 
 
 Lady M. {To the Guests. 
 
 I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse and worse ; 
 
 Question enrages him : at once, good-night ; 
 
 Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 
 But go at once. 
 
 A kind good-night to all ! 
 
 [Exeunt all except Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. 
 
 [After dismissing the guests, Lady Macbeth turns 
 sternly and fiercely to Macbeth, but, seeing him so 
 utterly crushed, she relents, and comes, lovingly 
 and very gently, towards him. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 It will have blood ; they say, blood will have blood : 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
 Augurs and understood relations have 
 By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks brought forth 
 The secret'st man of blood. 
 
 [Lady Macbeth places her hand gently on his 
 
 shoulder. At this he starts, and seeing her, 
 
 changes in mood as he asks : 
 What is the night ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Almost at odds with morning, which is which. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person 
 At our great bidding ?
 
 MACBETH. 57 
 
 Lady M. 
 Did you send to him, sir ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I hear it by the way ; but I will send ; 
 
 There 's not a one of them but in his house 
 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow 
 
 (And betimes I will) to the weird sisters : 
 
 More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
 
 By the worst means, the worst. For mine own good 
 
 All causes shall give way : I am in blood 
 
 Stepped in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er. 
 
 Lady M. 
 You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Come, we '11 to sleep. 
 
 [ With a look and a tone of dreary and forlorn 
 
 bitterness. 
 
 My strange and self-abuse 
 Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : 
 We are yet but young in deed. 
 
 [As Macbetti lifts his hand to press his brow he 
 touches the crown. He removes it, and gazes 
 upon it with looks of loathing. As he does 
 this, Lady Macbeth gradually sinks to the floor, 
 on her knees. 
 
 SLOW CURTAIN.
 
 if ourtf), 
 
 ( A DARK CAVE. IN THE MIDDLE, A CAUL- 
 Stcnc .first. < DRON, BOILING. THUNDER. THE THREE 
 ( WITCHES DISCOVERED. 
 
 First Witch. 
 Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 Harpier cries : 't is time, 't is time. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 Round about the cauldron go ; 
 In the poisoned entrails throw. 
 Toad, that under coldest stone 
 Pays and nights hast thirty-one 
 Sweltered venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. 
 
 [She drops a substance into the cauldron. 
 
 All. 
 
 [The Witches walk around the cauldron, stirring 
 its contents with their sticks. 
 
 Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the cauldron boil and bake ; 
 Eye 6f newt, and toe of frog, 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
 
 MACBETH. 59 
 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 For a charm of powerful trouble, 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 
 [Repeats action of First Witch. 
 
 AIL 
 
 Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. [Business as before. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 
 Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, 
 Witches' mummy, maw and gulf 
 Of the ravined salt-sea shark, 
 Root of hemlock digged i' the dark, 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew, 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew 
 Slivered in the moon's eclipse; 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; . 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe 
 Ditch-delivered by a drab 
 Make the gruel thick and slab : 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 
 \Repeats action of First Witch. 
 
 All. 
 
 Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. [Business as before. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 
 Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 [All crouch around cauldron. A pause. 
 By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 
 Something wicked this way comes : [Noise outside. 
 
 Open, locks, 
 Whoever knocks ! 
 
 [Enter Macbeth c. above.
 
 60 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags ! 
 What is 't you do ? 
 
 The Three Witches. 
 
 A deed without a name. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I conjure you, by that which you profess 
 (Howe'er you come to know it), answer me 
 To what I ask you. 
 
 First Witch. 
 Speak. 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Demand. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 We '11 answer. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from our mouths, 
 Or from our masters' ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Call them, let me see them. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 Her nine farrow ; grease, that 's sweaten 
 From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
 Into the flame. 
 
 The Three Witches. 
 
 Come, high or low ; 
 
 Thyself and office deftly show ! 
 
 {Thunder. An apparition of an armed head rises. 
 This head is " made up " to resemble Macbeth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Tell me, thou unknown power
 
 MACBETH. 6 1 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 He knows thy thought: 
 
 Hear his speech, but say thou naught. 
 
 Aft. 
 
 Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware Macduff; 
 Beware the thane of Fife. Dismiss me : enough. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks : 
 
 Thou hast harped my fear aright : but one word more 
 
 [Apparition descends. Thunder. 
 
 First Witch. 
 
 He will not be commanded: here 's another, 
 More potent than the first. 
 
 [Thunder. An apparition of a blood-stained child 
 rises. 
 
 App. 
 
 Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Had I three ears, I 'd hear thee. 
 
 App. 
 
 Be bloody bold and resolute ; laugh to scorn 
 The power of man, for none of woman born 
 Shall harm Macbeth. 
 
 [Descends. Thunder. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee ? 
 But yet I '11 make assurance double sure, 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. What is this, 
 
 [Thunder. An apparition of a child, crowned, with 
 a tree in his hand, rises.
 
 6 2 MACBETH. 
 
 That rises like the issue of a king, 
 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 
 And top of sovereignty ? 
 
 The Three Witches. 
 Listen, but speak not to 't. 
 
 App. 
 
 Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
 Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. 
 
 [Descends. Thunder. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 That will never be : 
 
 Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root ? Sweet bodements ! good ! 
 Yet my heart 
 
 Throbs to know one thing : tell me (if your art 
 Can tell so much), shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ? 
 
 The Three Witches. 
 
 [They rise and go to R. 
 Seek to know no more. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I will be satisfied : deny me this, 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! 
 
 [Macbeth descends from rocks. The cauldron sinks. 
 Thunder and discordant sounds, shrieks, etc., 
 are heard. 
 Let me know : 
 W T hy sinks that cauldron, and what noise is this? 
 
 First Witch. 
 Show ! [Passing from R. to L.
 
 MACBETH. 63 
 
 Second Witch. 
 Show! [The same. 
 
 Third Witch. 
 Show! {The same. 
 
 The Three Witches. 
 
 Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ; 
 Come like shadows, so depart ! 
 
 {Eight kings appear, and pass over in order ; the 
 last with a glass in his hand ; JBanquo follow- 
 ing. 
 
 Macbeth. [As they pass. 
 
 Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; down ! 
 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls: and thy hair, 
 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first : 
 
 A third is like the former. Filthy hags ! 
 
 Why do you show me this ? A fourth ? Start, eyes! 
 
 What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ? 
 
 Another yet ? A seventh ? I '11 see no more : 
 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass 
 
 Which shows me many more ; 
 
 Horrible sight ! Now, I see, 't is true ; 
 
 {The Witches vanish as Banquo appears. 
 For the blood-boltered Banquo smiles upon me, 
 And points at them for his. What ! is this so ? 
 Where are they ? Gone ? Let this pernicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! 
 Come in, without there ! [Enter Seyton, above. 
 
 Sey. 
 What 's your grace's will ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Saw you the weird sisters ? 
 
 Sey. 
 No, my lord. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Came they not by you ?
 
 64 MACBETH. 
 
 Sey. 
 No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
 
 And damned all those that trust them ! I did hear 
 
 The galloping of horse : who was 't came by ? 
 
 Sey. 
 
 T is two or three, my lord, that bring you word 
 Macduff is fled to England. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Fled to England ! 
 
 Sey. 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits : 
 
 The flighty purpose never is o'ertook 
 
 Unless the deed go with it : from this moment 
 
 The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
 
 The firstlings of my hand. And even now, 
 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done : 
 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; 
 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 
 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 
 That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool ; 
 
 This deed I '11 do before this purpose cool : 
 
 But no more sights ! Where are these gentlemen ? 
 
 Come, bring me where they are. [Scene closes, 
 
 &>cene &ecanto. A WOOD IN ENGLAND. 
 
 [Enter Malcolm and Macduff, 
 Mai 
 
 Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty,
 
 MACBETH. 65 
 
 Macduff. 
 Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men, 
 Bestride our down-fallen birthdom : each new morn 
 New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yelled out 
 Like syllable of dolour. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 What I believe, I '11 wail ; 
 What know, believe ; and what I can redress, 
 As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
 What you have spoke, it may be so perchance. 
 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
 Was once thought honest : you have loved him well ; 
 He hath not touched you yet. 
 I am young ; but something 
 
 You may discern of him through me ; and wisdom 
 To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb 
 To appease an angry god. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 I am not treacherous. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 But Macbeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil 
 In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your pardon ; 
 That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose : 
 Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
 Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, 
 Yet grace must still look so. 
 
 Macduff. 
 I have lost my hopes. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. 
 Why in that rawness left you wife and child 
 (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love; 
 
 9
 
 66 MACBETH. 
 
 Without leave-taking? I pray you, 
 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, 
 
 But mine own safeties : You may be rightly just, 
 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, 
 
 For goodness dare not check thee ! wear thou thy wrongs, 
 
 The title is affeered. Fare thee well, lord : 
 
 I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
 
 For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp, 
 
 And the rich East to boot. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Be not offended : 
 
 I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke; 
 It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash 
 Is added to her wounds : I think, withal, 
 There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
 And here, from gracious England, have I offer 
 Of goodly thousands : but, for all this, 
 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 Shall have more vices than it had before; 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
 By him that shall succeed. 
 
 Macduff. 
 What should he be ? 
 
 Mai. 
 
 It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
 
 That, when they shall be opened, black Macbeth 
 
 Will seem as pure as snow ; and the poor state 
 
 Esteem him as a lamb, being compared 
 
 With my confineless harms.
 
 MACBETH. 67 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell can come a devil more damned 
 In evils to top Macbeth. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I grant him bloody, 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
 Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
 That has a name : but there 's no bottom, none, 
 In my voluptuousness : and my desire 
 All continent impediments would o'erbear, 
 That did oppose my will : better Macbeth, 
 Than such a one to reign : 
 For had I power, I should 
 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
 Uproar the universal peace, confound 
 All unity on earth. 
 
 Macduff. 
 O, Scotland, Scotland ! 
 
 Mai. 
 
 If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
 I am as I have spoken. 
 
 Macduff. 
 Fit to govern ! 
 
 No, not to live. O, nation miserable, 
 With an untitled tyrant bloody sceptered, 
 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
 By his own interdiction stands accursed, 
 And does blaspheme his breed ? Thy royal father 
 Was a most sainted king : the queen that bore thee, 
 Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, 
 Died every day she lived. Fare thee well ! 
 These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
 Have banished me from Scotland. O, my breast, 
 Thy hope ends here !
 
 08 MACBETH. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Macduff, this noble passion, 
 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 
 Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 
 
 To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 
 Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 
 From over-credulous haste : but God above 
 
 Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
 
 I put myself to thy direction, and 
 
 Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
 
 For strangers to my nature. 
 
 I scarcely yet have coveted mine own ; 
 
 At no time broke my faith ; would not betray 
 
 The devil to his fellow ; and delight 
 
 No less in truth than life : my first false speaking 
 
 Was this upon myself: what I am truly, 
 
 Is thine, and my poor country's, to command : 
 
 Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
 
 Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
 
 Already at a point, was setting forth : 
 
 Now we '11 together ; and the chance of goodness 
 
 Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent ? 
 
 Such welcome and unwelcome things at once 
 'T is hard to reconcile. 
 See, who comes here ? 
 
 Mai. 
 
 My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 
 
 [Enter Rosse. 
 Macduff. 
 
 My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I know him now : good God, betimes remove 
 The means that make us strangers !
 
 MACBETH. 69 
 
 0$3e. 
 
 Sir, Amen. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Stands Scotland where it did ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Alas ! poor country, 
 Almos-i: afraid to know itsdf ! It cannot 
 Be called our mother, but our grave : where nothing, 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
 Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air, 
 Are made, not marked : where violent sorrow seems 
 A modern ecstasy : the dead man's knell 
 Is there scarce asked for who ; and good men's lives 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
 Dying or ere they sicken. 
 
 Macduff. 
 O, relation 
 Too nice, and yet too true ! 
 
 Mai. 
 What 's the newest grief? 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker ; 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 
 Macduff. 
 How does my wife ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Why, well. {Solemnly. 
 
 Macduff. 
 And all my children ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 Well, too.
 
 70 MACBETH. 
 
 Macduff. 
 The tyrant has not battered at their peace ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 No ; they were well at peace when I did leave them. 
 
 Macduff. 
 Be not a niggard of your speech : how goes it ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
 Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
 Of many worthy fellows that were out ; 
 Which was to my belief witnessed the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
 Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
 
 [To Malcolm, 
 
 Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
 To doff their dire distresses. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Be it their comfort 
 
 We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men ; 
 An older and a better soldier none 
 That Christendom gives out. 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Would I could answer 
 
 This comfort with the like ! But I have words 
 That would be howled out in the desert air, 
 Where hearing should not latch them. 
 
 Macduff, 
 
 What concern they ? 
 The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief 
 Due to some single breast ?
 
 MACBETH. 7 1 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 No mind that 's honest 
 
 But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
 Pertains to you alone. 
 
 Macduff. 
 If it be mine, 
 Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, 
 Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
 That ever yet they heard. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 I guess at it. 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Your castle is surprised ; your wife and babes 
 Savagely slaughtered ; to relate the manner, 
 Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer, 
 To add the death of you. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Merciful Heaven ! 
 
 What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
 Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak 
 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 
 
 Macdtiff. 
 
 My children too ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 Wife, children, servants, all 
 That could be found. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 And I must be from thence! 
 My wife killed too ? 
 
 Rosse. 
 I have said.
 
 J 2 MACBETH. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Be comforted : 
 
 Let 's make us medicines of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 He has no children. All my pretty ones ? 
 Did you say all ? O, hell-kite ! All ? 
 What ! all my pretty chickens and their dam 
 At one fell swoop ? 
 
 Mai. 
 Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macduff. 
 I shall do so ; 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man : 
 I cannot but remember such things were, 
 That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, 
 And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
 They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am ! 
 Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
 Fell slaughter on their souls. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief 
 Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
 
 And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heavens, 
 
 Cut short all intermission ; front to front 
 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland and myself; 
 
 Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape, 
 
 Heaven forgive him too ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ... f . ( DUNSINANE. A ROOM IN MACBETH's 
 
 Scene Jurat. CASTLE 
 
 a Doctor and a Waiting Gentlewoman. 
 
 Dod. 
 
 I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive 
 no truth in your report. When was it she last walked ? 
 
 Gent. 
 
 Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her 
 rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her, unlock 
 her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon it, read it, 
 afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this 
 while in a most fast sleep. 
 
 Doct. 
 
 A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the 
 benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching ! In this 
 slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual 
 performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say ? 
 
 Gent. 
 That, sir, which I will not report after her. 
 
 Doct. 
 You may to me; and 't is most meet you should. 
 
 Gent. 
 
 Neither to you nor any one ; having no witness to con- 
 firm my speech. Lo you, here she comes! 
 
 [Enter Lady Macbeth, with a light, c. 
 
 This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast asleep. 
 Observe her; stand close.
 
 74 MACBETH. 
 
 Doct. 
 How came she by that light ? 
 
 Gent. 
 
 Why, it stood by her : she has light by her continually ; 
 't is her command. 
 
 Doct. 
 You see, her eyes are open. 
 
 Gent. 
 Ay, but their sense is shut. 
 
 Doct. 
 
 What is it she does now ? Look, how she rubs her 
 hands. 
 
 Gent. 
 
 It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus wash- 
 ing her hands : I have known her continue in this a 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 Lady M. 
 Yet here 's a spot. 
 
 Doct. 
 Hark ! she speaks. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! One, two ; why, then 
 't is time to do 't. Hell is murky ! Fie ! my lord, fie ! a 
 soldier, and afeared ? What need we fear who knows it, 
 when none can call our power to account? Yet who 
 Avould have thought the old man to have had so much 
 blood in him ? 
 
 Doct. 
 
 Do you mark that ?
 
 MACBETH. 75 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 The thane of Fife had a wife; where is she now? 
 What ! will these hands ne'er be clean ? No more o' 
 that, my lord, no more o' that : you mar all with this 
 starting. 
 
 Doct. 
 
 Go to, go to ; you have known what you should not. 
 
 Gent. 
 
 She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that : 
 Heaven knows what she has known. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Here 's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of 
 Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. O, O, O ! 
 
 Doct. 
 What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely charged. 
 
 Gent. 
 
 I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the 
 dignity of the whole body. 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not 
 so pale : I tell you yet again, Banquo 's buried ; he can 
 not come out on 's grave. 
 
 Doct. 
 Even so ? 
 
 Lady M. 
 
 To bed, to bed ; there 's knocking at the gate : come, 
 come, come, come, give me your hand : what 's done can 
 not be undone : to bed, to bed, to bed. 
 
 [Exit Lady Macbeth. Doctor and Gentlewoman 
 stand apart, watching her. Scene changes.
 
 76 MACBETH. 
 
 &n>nt> &ertin)i S DUNSINANE. ANOTHER ROOM IN MAC- 
 
 ) BETH'S CASTLE. [SECOND GROOVES.] 
 [Enter Macbeth and Attendants. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all : 
 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
 
 I cannot taint with fear. What 's the boy Malcolm ? 
 
 Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know 
 
 All mortal consequences have pronounced me thus, 
 
 " Fear not, Macbeth ; no man that 's born of woman 
 
 Shall e'er have power upon thee." Then fly, false thanes, 
 
 And mingle with the English epicures; 
 
 The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, 
 
 Shall never sag with doubt nor shake with fear. 
 
 [Enter a Servant. 
 
 The devil damn thee, black, thou cream-faced loon ! 
 Where got'st thou that goose look ? 
 
 Serv. 
 There is ten thousand 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Geese, villain ? 
 
 Serv. 
 Soldiers, sir. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, 
 Thou lily-livered boy. What soldiers, patch ? 
 Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ? 
 
 Serv. 
 The English force, so please you. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Take thy face hence. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Seyton ! I am sick at heart,
 
 MACBETH. 77 
 
 When I behold Seyton, I say! This push 
 
 Will chair me ever, or disseat me now. 
 
 I have lived long enough : my way of life 
 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf; 
 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 
 I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, 
 
 Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 
 
 Seyton ! \Enter Seyton. 
 
 Sey. 
 What is your gracious pleasure ? 
 
 Macbeth. 
 What news more ? 
 
 Sey. 
 
 All is confirmed, my lord, which was reported. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I '11 fight, till from my bones- my flesh be hacked. 
 Give me my armour. 
 
 Sey. 
 T is not needed yet. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 I '11 put it on. 
 
 Send out more horses, skirr the country round ; 
 Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour. 
 
 [Exit Sey Ion R. Enter Doctor L. 
 How does your patient, doctor ? 
 
 Doct. 
 
 Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest.
 
 7 8 MACBETH. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Cure her of that : 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
 Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff 
 Which weighs upon the heart ? 
 
 Doct. 
 
 Therein the patient 
 Must minister to himself. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none of it. 
 
 {Enter Seyton, with armour. 
 Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff: 
 
 Seyton, send out Doctor, the thanes fly from me. 
 
 If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
 
 The water of my land, find her disease, 
 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
 
 That should applaud again. 
 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
 
 Would scour these English hence ? 
 
 Hear'st thou of them ? 
 
 Doct. 
 
 Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
 
 Makes us hear something. [Seyton offers arniour. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exeunt Omnes.
 
 MACBETH. 79 
 
 FULL STAGE. COUNTRY NEAR DUNSIN- 
 Th i ANE : A WOOD IN VIEW. FLOURISH. 
 } MALCOLM, MACDUFF, LENNOX, ROSSE, 
 AND SOLDIERS DISCOVERED. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand 
 That chambers will be safe. 
 
 Len. 
 We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Rosse. 
 
 What wood is this before us ? 
 
 Len. 
 The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
 And bear 't before him : thereby shall we shadowy 
 The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 Err in report of us. 
 
 Soldiers. 
 It shall be done. 
 
 [A number of soldiers go out, at different sides, 
 with axes, etc. 
 
 Len. 
 
 We learn no other but the confident tyrant 
 Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
 Our setting down before 't. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 'T is his main hope : 
 
 For where there is advantage to be given, 
 Both more and less have given him the revolt ; 
 And none serve with him but constrained things, 
 Whose hearts are absent too.
 
 8o MACBETH. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Let our just censures 
 
 Attend the true event, and put we on 
 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 
 The time approaches 
 
 That will with due decision make us know 
 
 What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; 
 
 But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : 
 
 Towards which advance the war. 
 
 [Soldiers enter, from different sides, with boughs.- 
 Scene closes in. 
 
 jFourtj). DUNSINANE. WITHIN THE CASTLE. 
 
 [Enter Macbeth, Seyton, and Officers. 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; 
 
 The cry is still, " They come : " our castle's strength 
 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie 
 
 Till famine and the ague eat them up : 
 
 Were they not forced with those that should be ours, 
 
 We might have met them darefuL beard to beard, 
 
 And beat them backward home. 
 
 [A cry of women, withbi, 
 What is that noise ? 
 
 Sey. 
 
 It is the cry of women, my good lord. 
 
 [Exit Seyton L, 
 Macbeth. 
 
 I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
 The time has been my senses would have cooled 
 To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair 
 Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
 
 MACBETH. 8 1 
 
 As life were in 't : I have supped full with horrors ; 
 Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, 
 Cannot once start me. [Re-enter Seyton L. 
 
 Wherefore was that cry ? 
 
 Sey. 
 The queen, my lord, is dead. [All show signs of sorrow. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 She should have died hereafter; 
 
 There would have been a time for such a word. 
 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! 
 
 Life 's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 
 Signifying nothing. [Enter a Servant. 
 
 Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. 
 
 Serv. 
 
 Gracious my lord, 
 
 I should report that which I say I saw, 
 But know not how to do it. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Well, say, sir. 
 
 Serv. 
 
 As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 
 I looked toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 Liar and slave ! 
 6
 
 82 MACBETH. 
 
 Serv. 
 
 Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so : 
 
 {Servant kneels. 
 
 Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 If thou speak'st false, 
 Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
 Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
 I care not if thou dost for me as much. 
 
 {Servant rises and goes up c. 
 I pull in resolution ; and begin 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
 That lies like truth : " Fear not, till Birnam wood 
 Do come to Dunsinane ;" and now a wood 
 Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out! 
 If this which he avouches does appear, 
 There is no flying hence nor tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 
 And wish th' estate o' the world were now undone. 
 Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come wrack! 
 At least we '11 die with harness on our back. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ( DUNSINANE. A PLAIN BEFORE THE CASTLE. 
 JFtftf). ^ MALCOLM, MACDUFF, AND THEIR ARMY, 
 ( WITH BOUGHS, DISCOVERED. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Now near enough ; your leafy screens throw down, 
 And show like those you are. You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
 Lead our first battle : worthy Macdufif and we 
 Shall take upon us what else remains to do, 
 According to our order. 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
 
 MACBETH. 83 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Make all our trumpets speak ; give them all breath, 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 
 
 [Flourish, Exeunt. Alarums. Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly, 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What 's he 
 That was not born of woman ? Such a one 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 [Exit. Alarums. Enter Macduff. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 That way the noise is. Tyrant, show thy face! 
 If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
 I cannot strike at wretched kerns, whose arms 
 Are hired to bear their staves : either thou, Macbeth, 
 Or else my sword, with an unbattered edge, 
 I sheathe again undeeded. 
 Let me find him, fortune ! 
 And more I beg not. 
 
 [Exit. Alarums. Re-enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
 
 On mine own sword ? whiles I see lives, the gashes 
 
 Do better upon them. [Re-enter Macduff. 
 
 Macduff. 
 Turn, hell-hound, turn ! 
 
 Afacbeih. 
 
 Of all men else I have avoided thee : 
 
 But get thee back ; my soul is too much charged 
 
 With blood of thine already.
 
 84 MACBETH. 
 
 Macdujf. 
 
 I have no words, 
 
 My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodier villain 
 
 Than terms can give thee out! [They fight. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Thou losest labour : 
 
 As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air 
 
 With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed : 
 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 
 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 
 To one of woman born. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Despair thy charm ; 
 
 And let the angel whom thou still hast served 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripped. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, 
 
 For it hath cowed my better part of man ! 
 
 And be these juggling fiends no more believed, 
 
 That palter with us in a double sense ; 
 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear, 
 
 And break it to our hope. I '11 not fight with thee. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 Then yield thee, coward, 
 
 And live to be the show and gaze o' the time; 
 
 We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
 
 Painted upon a pole and underwrit, 
 
 " Here may you see the tyrant."
 
 MACBETH. 85 
 
 Macbeth. 
 I will not yield, 
 
 To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
 And to be bated with the rabble's curse. 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou opposed, being of no woman born, 
 Yet I will try the last : 
 Lay on, Macduff; 
 And damned be him that first cries, " Hold, enough ! " 
 
 [They fight, and Macbeth is killed. flourish. 
 Enter, with drum and banners, Malcolm, Rosse, 
 Lennox and Soldiers. 
 
 All. [To Malcolm. 
 
 Hail, king of Scotland ! [Flourish. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 I. HISTORICAL BASIS OF MACBETH. 
 
 "r AHE interest of ' Macbeth ' is not an historical interest. It matters 
 not whether the action is true, or has been related as true : it 
 belongs to the realms of poetry altogether. We might as well call 
 ' Lear ' or ' Hamlet ' historical plays, because the outlines of the story 
 of each are to be found in old records of the past. * * * * That 
 Shakespeare found sufficient material for this great drama in Holinshed's 
 ' History of Scotland ' is a fact that renders it quite unnecessary for us 
 to enter into any discussion as to the truth of this portion of the history. 
 * * * * Better authorities than Holinshed had access to have shown 
 that the contest for the crown of Scotland between Duncan and Macbeth 
 was a contest of factions, and that Macbeth was raised to the throne by 
 his Norwegian allies after a battle in which Duncan fell ; in the same 
 way, after a long rule, was he vanquished and killed by the son of 
 Duncan, supported by his English allies." CHARLES KNIGHT. 
 
 The passages in Holinshed's history which Shakespeare has followed 
 in the composition of this tragedy relate, with much particularity and in 
 antiquated prose, the meeting of Macbeth and Banquo with the Witches ; 
 the accession of Macbeth to the throne of Scotland ; the murder of 
 Banquo and the escape of Fleance ; the trial of Macduff s loyalty by 
 Malcolm, and the defeat and death of Macbeth. The essential parts of 
 this narrative have been, by Shakespeare, transfigured into noble poetry. 
 The dry details of the history become, in the tragedy, fascinating inci- 
 dents of a grim, weird, and terrible romance ; while the royal monster 
 of the chronicle is elevated, in the poem, into a grand and piteous image 
 of natural heroism perverted and ruined by the potent and irresistible 
 instruments of a malignant fate. Shakespeare did not hesitate to wander 
 away from the historic original. The appearance of the ghost of Banquo 
 to Macbeth and the sleep-walking of Lady Macbeth are inventions of 
 the poet ; and he has very artfully comfcined with Holinshed's account
 
 88 APPENDIX. 
 
 of Macbeth the same writer's description of the murder of King Duffe 
 by Donwald more than sixty years before Macbeth's time. This 
 description, when contrasted with the second act of the tragedy, illus- 
 trates, with brilliant effect, the wonderful poetic method of Shakespeare. 
 It is also a useful specimen of the style of the old chronicler whom he so 
 often read and followed. W. W. 
 
 " The King got him into his privy chamber, only with two of his 
 chamberlains, who, having brought him to bed, came forth again, and 
 then fell to banqueting with Donwald and his wife, who had prepared 
 divers delicate dishes and sundry sorts of drinks for their rear-supper or 
 collation, whereat they sat up so long, till they had charged their 
 stomachs with such full gorges, that their heads were no sooner got to 
 the pillow but asleep they were so fast that a man might have removed 
 the chamber over them sooner than to have awaked them out of their 
 drunken sleep. 
 
 " Then Donwald, though he abhorred the act greatly in heart, yet, 
 through instigation of his wife, he called four of his servants unto him 
 [whom he had made privy to his wicked intent before, and framed to 
 his purpose with large gifts], and now, declaring unto them after what 
 sort they should work the feat, they gladly obeyed his instructions, and, 
 speedily going about the murder, they entered the chamber [in which 
 the King lay] a little before cock's-crow, where they secretly cut his 
 throat, as he lay sleeping, without any bustling at all ; and immediately, 
 by a postern gate, they carried forth the dead body into the fields. 
 * * * * Donwald, about the time that the murder was in 
 doing, got him amongst them that kept the watch, and so continued in 
 company with them all the residue of the night. But in the morning, 
 when the noise was raised in the King's chamber how the King was 
 slain, his body conveyed away, and the bed all beraid with blood, he, 
 with the watch, ran thither, as though he had known nothing of tl-.r' 
 matter, and, breaking into the chamber, and finding cakes of blood in 
 the bed and on the floor about the sides of it, he forthwith slew the 
 chamberlains as guilty of that heinous murder. * * * * 
 For the space of six months together, after this heinous murder thus 
 committed, there appeared no sun by day, nor moon by night, in any 
 part of the realm ; but still was the sky covered with continual clouds, 
 and sometimes such outrageous winds arose, with lightnings and tem- 
 pests, that the people were in great fear of present destruction." 
 
 HOLINSHED'S HISTORY OF SCOTLAND.
 
 APPENDIX. 89 
 
 The contrast between the apocryphal and the real history of Macbeth 
 is suggested in the subjoined summary of facts : 
 
 "Macbeth, or Macbeathad MacFinlegh, as he is called in contempo- 
 rary chronicles, was a king of Scotland. From his father, Finlegh, the 
 son of Ruadhri, he inherited the rule of the province of Moray, and he 
 became allied with the royal line by his marriage with Gruoch Mac- 
 Boedhe, the granddaughter of King Kenneth MacDuff. In the year 
 1039 he headed an attack upon King Duncan MacCrinan at a place 
 called Bothgouanan (the Smith's Bothy), where the King was mortally 
 wounded, but survived to be carried to Elgin, in Moray. Macbeth now 
 ascended the throne, and his reign of seventeen years is commemorated 
 in the chronicles as a time of plenty. He made grants to the Culdees 
 of Loch Leven, and in the year 1050 went in pilgrimage to Rome. 
 Malcolm MacDuncan, or Ceanmore, the eldest son of King Duncan 
 MacCrinan, had fled to England on his father's death ; and in the sum- 
 mer of 1054, his kinsman, Siward, Earl of Northumberland, led an 
 English army into Scotland against Macbeth. That King was defeated 
 with great slaughter, but escaped from the field, and still kept the 
 throne. Four years afterwards he was again defeated by Malcolm Mac- 
 Duncan, and, fleeing northwards across the mountain-range, since called 
 the Grampians, he was slain at Lumphanan, in Aberdeenshire, on the 
 5th of December, 1056. His followers were able to place his nephew, 
 or step-son, Lulach, on the throne ; and his defeat and death at Essie, 
 in Strathbogie, on the 3d of April, 1057, opened the succession to Mal- 
 colm, who, three weeks afterwards, was crowned at Scone. This is all 
 that is certainly known of the history of Macbeth. The fables which 
 gradually accumulated round his name were systematized in the begin- 
 ning of the fifteenth century by the historian Hector Boece, from whose 
 pages they were transferred to the chronicle of Holinshed, where they 
 met the eye of Shakespeare. Nearly half a century before his great 
 play was written, Buchanan had remarked how well the legend of 
 Macbeth was fitted for the stage." CHAMBERS'S ENCYCLOPAEDIA, 
 vol. vi., p. 237. 
 
 Duncan reigned over Scotland from 1034 till 1039-40 ; Macbeth from 
 1039-40 till 1056-57. Finlegh, Thane of Glamis, the father of Macbeth, 
 is mentioned in the tragedy, as Sinel. Duncan was the son of Beatrice, 
 eldest daughter of King Malcolm whom he succeeded upon the throne. 
 Macbeth was the son of Doada, the younger daughter of King Malcolm ; 
 so that Duncan and Macbeth were cousins. W. W
 
 90 APPENDIX. 
 
 " The real wife of Macbeth she who lives only in the obscure record 
 of an obscure age bore the very unmusical appellation of Gruoch, and 
 was instigated to the murder of Duncan, not only by ambition, but by 
 motives of vengeance. She was the granddaughter of Kenneth IV., 
 killed in 1003, fighting against Malcolm II., the father of Duncan." 
 
 MRS. JAMESON. 
 
 " The royal widow [of Gryffyth, son of Llewellyn, the Welch King] 
 had laid by the signs of mourning ; she was dressed with the usual 
 stately and loose-robed splendour of Saxon matrons, and all the proud 
 beauty of her youth was restored to her cheek. At her feet was that 
 daughter who afterwards married the Fleance so familiar to us in Shakes- 
 peare, and became the ancestral mother of those Scottish kings who had 
 passed, in pale shadows, across the eyes of Macbeth." 
 "And so, from Gryffyth, beheaded by his subjects, descended Charles 
 Stuart." BULWER'S " HAROLD." Book x, chapter 8. 
 
 II. THEME AND SUBSTANCE OF MACBETH. 
 
 " The theme of the drama is the gradual ruin, through yielding to evil 
 within and evil without, of a man, who, though from the first tainted by 
 base and ambitious thoughts, yet possessed elements in his nature of 
 possible honour and loyalty. The contrast between Macbeth and Lady 
 Macbeth, united by their affections, their fortunes, and their crime, is 
 made to illustrate the character of each. Macbeth has physical courage, 
 but moral weakness, and is subject to excited, imaginative fears. His 
 faint and intermittent loyalty embarrasses him he would have the gain 
 of crime without its pains. But when once his hands are dyed in blood, 
 he hardly cares to withdraw them, and the same fears which had tended 
 to hold him back from murder, now urge him on to double and treble 
 murders, until slaughter, almost reckless, becomes the habit of his reign. 
 At last, the gallant soldier of the opening of the play fights- for his life 
 with a wild and brute-like force. His whole existence has become joyless 
 and loveless, and yet he clings to existence. Lady Macbeth is of a 
 finer and more delicate nature. Having fixed her eyes upon an end, 
 the attainment for her husband of Duncan's crown, she accepts the 
 inevitable means ; she nerves herself for the terrible night's work by 
 artificial stimulants ; yet she cannot strike the sleeping King, who 
 resembles her father. Having sustained her weaker husband, her own 
 strength gives way ; and in sleep, when her will cannot controul her
 
 APPENDIX. 91 
 
 thoughts, she is piteously afflicted by the memory of one stain of blood 
 upon her little hand. At last her thread of life snaps suddenly. Mac- 
 beth, whose affection for her was real, has sunk too far into the apathy 
 of joyless crime to feel deeply her loss. Banquo, the loyal soldier, pray- 
 ing for restraint of evil thoughts which enter his mind as they had 
 entered that of Macbeth, but which work no evil there, is set over against 
 Macbeth, as virtue is set over against disloyalty. The Witches are the 
 supernatural beings of terror, in harmony with Shakespeare's tragic 
 period, as the fairies of the ' Midsummer Night's Dream ' are the super- 
 natural beings of his days of fancy and frolic, and as Ariel is the super- 
 natural genius of his latest period. There is at once a grossness, a 
 horrible reality about the Witches, and a mystery and grandeur of evil 
 influence." EDWARD DOWDEN. 
 
 " I take it, what Shakespeare meant to represent in Macbeth was 
 the kind of character which is most liable to be influenced by a belief 
 in supernatural agencies, a man who is acutely sensitive to all impres- 
 sions ; who has a restless imagination, more powerful than his will ; who 
 sees daggers in the air and ghosts in the banquet-hall ; who has moral 
 weakness and physical courage, and who alternates perpetually between 
 terror and daring, a trembler when opposed by his conscience, and a 
 warrior when defied by his foe." BULWER. Speech at the Farewell 
 Banquet to Macready, London, March ist, 1851. 
 
 "Among those undefined influences which stream from the greater 
 dramas of Shakespeare may be numbered the climate of the play ; and 
 this, while often eluding the observation, tells surely upon the feeling 
 of the reader. * * * * \Ve pass to the chill mists of Scotland. 
 The supernatural element in ' Macbeth ' is more pervading 
 and various in its workings than in ' Hamlet." The character is more 
 closely knit ; the action more peremptory and progressive. In his ambi- 
 tion, and in the ways of satisfying it, there are points of likeness to 
 'Richard.' But Richard moved toward his design ' without remorse or 
 dread,' while Macbeth is a victim to both these conditions: not from a 
 lack of courage, but by virtue of a morbid excess of imagination, which 
 projects his thoughts into objects. So dominant is this quality that 
 the weird sisters themselves seem like the outward shapes of his guilty 
 purposes. They appear first upon the scene, then vanish, then re-appear,
 
 92 APPENDIX. 
 
 as if they were the influences of his mind as well as the heralds of his 
 approach. * * * * Macbeth's action is a succession of crimes, but 
 the intervals are filled with thoughtful speech. The truth and beauty 
 that slide into these musings show the native affinity of the imaginative 
 faculty with what is best in man." THOMAS R. GOULD. "THE 
 TRAGEDIAN," pp. 118-119-128. 
 
 "The tragedy of 'Macbeth' is a moral tempest. Crimes and retri- 
 butions come whirling past us like the rushing of a resistless hurricane. 
 The very prologue of the play is spoken in thunder and lightning ; the 
 moral and material worlds seem shouting and responding to each other 
 in convulsions and cataracts. * * * * Everywhere we have storms, 
 physical and spiritual, treading on the heels of physical and spiritual 
 calms. * * * * Slumber shuts up the senses of the body, to let out 
 the secrets of the soul. Memory plies her spinning-wheel and shuttle, 
 to weave the burning mantle of remorse. Imagination lends her plastic 
 hand to body forth the apprehensions of guilty fear. * * * * In 
 the exciting of terror, this play is truly without a parallel. Almost every 
 scene is a masterpiece either of poetry or of philosophy, of description or 
 character or actjon or passion. * * * * There is probably no other 
 single work in the whole domain of art or nature that furnishes so many 
 and so magnificent pictures for imagination, or so many and so magnifi- 
 cent subjects for reflection. It forms a sort of university, where poetry 
 has long been wont to resort for its highest inspirations, and moral 
 philosophy for its profoundest instructions and illustrations." H. N. 
 HUDSON. 
 
 " Macbeth's passions are imperious, but no series of reasonings and 
 projects determines and governs them ; they form a lofty tree, but one 
 devoid of roots, which the least breeze may shake, and the fall of which 
 is a disaster. Hence arises his tragic grandeur ; it resides in his destiny 
 more than in his character." GUIZOT. 
 
 " In this and the like cases our interest fastens on what is not evil in 
 the character. There is something kindling and ennobling in the con- 
 sciousness, however awakened, of the energy which resides in mind ; 
 and many a virtuous man has borrowed new strength from the force, 
 constancy, and dauntless courage of evil agents." DR. CHANNING.
 
 APPENDIX. 93 
 
 III. THE CHARACTERS IN MACBETH. 
 
 "A strong and excitable imagination, set on fire of conscience, naturally 
 fascinates and spell-binds the other faculties, and thus gives an objective 
 force and effect to its own internal workings. Under this guilt-begotten 
 hallucination, the subject loses present dangers in horrible imaginings, 
 and comes to be tormented with his own involuntary creations. Thus 
 conscience inflicts its retributions, not directly in the form of remorse, 
 but indirectly through imaginary terrors which again react on the con- 
 science, as fire is kept burning by the current of air which itself generates. 
 In such a mind, the workings of conscience may be prospective and pre- 
 ventive ; the very conception of crime starting up a swarm of terrific 
 visions to withhold the subject from perpetration. Arrangement is thus 
 made in our nature for a process of compensation, in that the same 
 faculty which invests crime with unreal attractions also calls up unreal 
 terrors to deter from its commission. A predominance of this faculty 
 everywhere marks the character and conduct of Macbeth. * * * * 
 He seems remorseless only because in his mind the agonies of remorse 
 project and translate themselves into the spectres of a conscience-stricken 
 imagination. 
 
 "In Lady Macbeth, on the contrary, the workings of conscience can 
 only be retrospective and retributive ; she is too unimaginative either to 
 be allured to crime by imaginary splendours, or withheld from it by 
 imaginary terrors. Without an organ to project and embody its work- 
 ings in outward visions, her conscience can only prey upon itself in the 
 tortures of remorse. Accordingly, she knows no compunctious visitings 
 before the deed, nor any suspension or alleviation of them after it. Thus, 
 from her want or weakness of imagination, she becomes the victim of a 
 silent but most dreadful retribution. * * * * This is a form of 
 anguish to which heaven has apparently denied the relief or the mitiga- 
 tion of utterance. The agonies of an embosomed hell cannot be told ; 
 they can only be felt. * * * * If there be one ingredient in the cup 
 of retribution more unspeakably bitter than all the rest, it must be this 
 consciousness of guilt united with the conscious impossibility of repent- 
 ance. This, I take it, is the worm that never dies and the fire that is 
 not to be quenched." H. N. HUDSON. 
 
 "When Lady Macbeth's passion is satisfied and the action committed, 
 then only will the other consequences be revealed to her as a novelty of 
 which she previously had not the slightest anticipation. Those fears,
 
 94 APPENDIX. 
 
 and that necessity for new crimes, which her husband had foreseen at the 
 outset, she has never thought of. * * * * Macbeth has become 
 hardened in crime, after having hesitated to commie it, because he knew 
 its character ; but we shall see his wife, succumbing beneath the knowl- 
 edge which she has acquired too late, substitute one fixed idea for 
 another, die to deliver herself from its influence, and punish by the 
 madness of despair the crime which she was led to commit by the mad- 
 ness of ambition. The other personages, introduced merely to fill up 
 this great picture of the progress and destiny of crime, have no other 
 colour than that of the position given them by history." GUIZOT. 
 
 " The crime of Lady Macbeth terrifies us in proportion as we sympa- 
 thize with her; and this sympathy is in proportion to the degree of 
 pride, passion and intellect we may ourselves possess. It is good to 
 behold and to tremble at the possible result of the noblest faculties 
 uncontrolled or perverted. 
 
 "The obdurate inflexibility of purpose with which she drives on 
 Macbeth to the execution of their project, and her masculine indifference 
 to blood and death, would inspire unmitigated disgust and horror, but 
 for the involuntary consciousness that it is produced rather by the 
 exertion of a strong power over herself, than by absolute depravity of 
 disposition and ferocity of temper. 
 
 " She is not a mere monster of depravity, with whom we have nothing 
 in common. * * * * She is a terrible impersonation of evil passions 
 and mighty powers, never so far removed from our own nature as to be 
 cast beyond the pale of our sympathies ; for the woman herself remains 
 a woman to the last still linked with her sex and with humanity." 
 
 MRS. JAMESON. 
 
 " Angels, once fallen, of course become the most incorrigible of devils. 
 Hence it is that women generally are so much better or so much worse 
 than the other sex. They seldom halt between two opinions ; rarely 
 linger at the half-way house of sin ; hardly ever rest or rock in a state of 
 moral betweenity ; never stop to parley or play at hide-and-seek, or carry 
 on a flirtation with the devil, but either embrace him or spurn him at 
 once. Accordingly, it is a matter of common remark that a good head 
 often saves a man from a bad heart, or a good heart from a bad head ; 
 but that in woman both head and heart generally are good or bad 
 together, so that she can never fall back upon the one to save herself
 
 APPENDIX. 95 
 
 from the tendencies of the other. This oneness and entireness of move- 
 ment, this perfect freedom from the disharmony of conflicting impulses, 
 makes Lady Macbeth as feminine as she is wicked, and even makes her 
 appear more feminine the wickeder she becomes. But she stops as 
 suddenly and entirely as she starts ; her feelings and faculties have the 
 same unanimity in retreating as in advancing. Fearful as she is in 
 wickedness, she becomes equally pitiable in wretchedness, leaving pity 
 and terror to contend for the writing of her epitaph. Her freedom, how- 
 ever, from nervous and intellectual irritability, secures her against spill- 
 ing the secret of her guilt : subject to no fantastical terrors nor moral 
 illusions, she never in the least loses her self-con troul. The fearful cease- 
 less corrodings of her rooted sorrow may destroy, but cannot betray her, 
 unless when the sense of her senses is shut in sleep. Her profound 
 silence respecting ' the perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart, ' makes 
 an impression which all attempt at utterance would but weaken. We 
 feel that beneath it lies a depth of woe and horror which can be disclosed 
 only by drawing a veil over it. * * * * An awful mystery, too, 
 hangs over the death of this woman, which no imagination can ever 
 exhaust. We know not the poet himself appears not to know 
 whether the eating back of her soul upon itself drives her to suicidal 
 violence, or itself cuts asunder the cords of her life ; whether the gnaw- 
 ings of the undying worm kill her, or she kills herself in order to escape 
 them. All that we know is that the death of her body springs in some 
 way from the inextinguishable life and the immedicable wound of her 
 soul." H. N. HUDSON. 
 
 " Mrs. Siddons, it is said, always maintained that her own person was 
 unsuited to the part of Lady Macbeth, whom she regarded as of a rather 
 slender, fragile make, full, indeed, of spirit and energy and fire, but 
 withal exquisitely delicate and feminine in her composition. On this 
 ground I can understand why Macbeth should regard and treat her as 
 he does. Such, assuredly, is the woman for such a man to love and 
 respect, and whose respect and love might be, and ought to be, dearer 
 to him than life. Were she the fierce, scolding virago that she is gen- 
 erally considered to be, I cannot see how he could either wish to pro- 
 mote her honour or fear to incur hor reproach. * * * * I can see 
 nothing viraginous or Amazonian about her character. She has indeed 
 the ambition to wish herself unsexed, but she has not the power to unsex 
 herself except in words." H. N. HUDSON.
 
 96 APPENDIX. 
 
 IV. PLACES OF THE ACTION OF MACBETH. 
 
 THE HEATH. A wild and dreary plain, called the Harmuir, on the 
 borders of Elgin and Nairn, is assigned as the place of the meeting of 
 Macbeth and the Weird Sisters. It is about six miles west of Forres, 
 and is intersected by the high road between Forres and Nairn. The 
 scene is made up of peat and bog-water, white stones and bushes of 
 furze. It is, at all times, bleak and lonely ; but, in storms, or when the 
 fogs trail over its pathless waste, it must be unspeakably desolate. 
 
 FORRES. This is a royal burgh, in the county of Elgin, or Moray, 
 and was such in the reign of King David I. [1124-1153], and, presum- 
 ably, earlier. It lies at the foot of the Cluny Hills, on an old sea- 
 terrace, not far from the mouth of the river Findhorn. 
 
 INVERNESS. This also is a royal burgh, and is the capital of the 
 Highlands of Scotland. Its surroundings are beautiful. Its first charter 
 was granted by King William the Lion [1165-1214]. " Boece declares 
 that Macbeth's castle, in which Duncan was murdered, was that which 
 stood on a'n eminence to the south-west of the town." Duncan's son 
 Malcolm razed that castle to the ground, and built another, on a differ- 
 ent part of the hill. This also has disappeared. Knight says that the 
 forts and castles of Macbeth's time were built of timber and sods 
 which crumbled away, ages ago. 
 
 GLAMIS AND CAWDOR. Glamis Castle is about five miles from 
 Forfar, within view of Birnam Hill. Cawdor Castle is about six miles 
 from Nairn. Poetic superstition, of course, connects the name of Mac- 
 beth with both of them. 
 
 ST. COLMES' INCH. Meaning St. Columba's Island. It lies in the 
 Firth of Forth, off the coast of Fife. A monastery was founded there by 
 Alexander I. 
 
 COLMES' KILL. Meaning Saint Columba's Cell. This is in the 
 Island of lona, off the west coast of Argyle. It was the burial-place of 
 many ancient Scottish kings. A monastery was established there about 
 .-63, but was devastated in 1561. Tradition says that both Duncan and 
 Macbeth were buried at lona. 
 
 SCONE. This, from 973 to 1040, was a residence of the kings of 
 Scotland, who, indeed, were crowned there, on a sacred stone now 
 in the seat of a chair, in Westminster Abbey, whither it was brought, by- 
 Edward I., in 1296 which is said to have been the pillow of Jacob, 
 when he dreamed, and beheld the angels, on the plain of Luz. This
 
 APPENDIX. 97 
 
 stone is still used in British coronation ceremonials. Scone was situated 
 two miles north of Perth. Nothing remains of it but an aisle of its 
 ruined abbey, founded in 838, and a few crumbling houses. 
 
 DUNSINANE. One of the Sidlaw Hills, situated in the eastern part 
 of Perthshire. It is 1114 feet high. On the top of it are the remains of 
 an ancient fortification, popularly called Macbeth's Castle. Dunsinane 
 is seven miles from Perth. 
 
 BIRNAM is another of the Sidlaws, and is twelve miles distant from 
 Dunsinane. It is near Dunkeld, and it commands a fine view of the 
 valley of the Tay. In former times it was covered by an ancient royal 
 forest. W. W. 
 
 V. THE WITCHES IN MACBETH. 
 
 'The Weird Sisters and all that belongs to them are but poetical 
 impersonations of evil influences : they are the imaginative, irresponsi- 
 ble agents or instruments of the devil ; capable of inspiring guilt, but 
 not of incurring it ; in and through whom all the powers of their chief 
 seem bent up to the accomplishment of a given purpose. But with all 
 their essential wickedness there is nothing gross or vulgar or sensual 
 about them. They are the very purity of sin incarnate ; the vestal 
 virgins, so to speak, of hell ; radiant with a sort of inverted holiness ; 
 fearful anomalies in body and soul, in whom everything seems reversed ; 
 whose elevation is downwards; whose duty is sin; whose religion is 
 wickedness ; and the law of whose being is violation of law ! Unlike 
 the furies of Eschylus, they are petrific, not to the senses, but to the 
 thoughts. At first, indeed, on merely looking at them, we can hardly 
 keep from laughing, so uncouth and grotesque is their appearance ; but 
 afterwards, on looking into them, we find them terrible beyond descrip- 
 tion; and the more we look into them, the more terrible do they become. 
 * * * * \Ve cannot act without motives, * * * * yet the cause 
 of our acting lies in certain powers and principles within us. * 
 Motives can avail but little, without something to be moved. * * * * 
 In Macbeth and Lady Macbeth the Weird Sisters find minds pre- 
 configured and pre-attempered to their influences ; and their success 
 seems owing to the fact that the hearts of their victims were already open 
 to welcome and entertain their suggestions. * * * * Macbeth, 
 doubtless, had will enough before ; but nothing short of supernatural 
 agencies could furnish the motives to develop his will into act. * * * * 
 Hence the necessity of the Weird Sisters to the rational accomplishment 
 of the poet's design." H. N. HUDSON. 
 
 7
 
 98 APPENDIX. 
 
 " In consequence of the Fall, and man's universal sinfulness, his 
 power to will and to do is, by nature, tainted ; it is powerless for good, 
 and strong only for evil, so long as he refuses, not only to acknowledge 
 or regret, but to atone for his otherwise incurable corruption, by 
 becoming a partaker in the divine grace. And not only is the human 
 mind thus given over to evil ; but, inasmuch as man is the organic centre 
 and culminating point of the whole earthly creation, even the powers of 
 nature between which and himself an intimate and essential connection 
 subsists of action and re-action must, of necessity, proceed with him in 
 the same course. The evil which has struck so deep a root within him- 
 self meets him again from without, in the powers and elements of 
 nature, with a tempting and seductive attraction. And again, the 
 undeniable though dark and mysterious connection between this life 
 and the next, constrains us to ascribe to the spiritual world a certain 
 influence on the spirits as yet embodied on this earth. In this truth lies 
 the profound meaning of the Christian doctrine of devils and evil spirits. 
 * * * * Shakespeare's witches are a hybrid progeny : partly rulers 
 of nature, and belonging to the nocturnal body of this earthly creation ; 
 partly human spirits, fallen from their original innocence, and deeply 
 sunk in evil. They are the fearful echo which the natural and spiritual 
 world gives back to the evil which sounds forth from the human breast 
 itself eliciting it, helping it to unfold and mature itself into the evil 
 purpose and the wicked deed." DR. HERMANN ULRICI. 
 
 VI. THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE IN MACBETH. 
 
 " Murder, in ordinary cases, where the sympathy is wholly directed 
 to the case of the murdered person, is an incident of coarse and vulgar 
 horror ; and for this reason, that it flings the interest exclusively upon 
 the natural, but ignoble, instinct by which we cleave to life ; an instinct 
 which, as being indispensable to the primal law of self-preservation, is 
 the same in kind (though different in degree) amongst all living creat- 
 ures : this instinct, therefore, because it annihilates all distinctions, and 
 degrades the greatest of men to the level of ' the poor beetle that we 
 tread on,' exhibits human nature in its most abject and humiliating 
 attitude. Such an attitude would little suit the purposes of the poet. 
 What then must he do ? He must throw the interest on the murderer. 
 Our sympathy must be with him (of course I mean a sympathy of com- 
 prehension, a sympathy by which we enter into his feelings, and are 
 made to understand them, not a sympathy of pity or approbation).
 
 APPENDIX. 99 
 
 In the murdered person, all strife of thought, all flux and reflux of 
 passion and of purpose, are crushed by one overwhelming panic ; the 
 fear of instant death smites him ' with its petrific mace.' But in the 
 murderer, such a murderer as a poet will condescend to, there must be 
 raging some great storm of passion jealousy, ambition, vengeance, 
 hatred which will create a hell within him ; and into this hell we are 
 to look. 
 
 " In ' Macbeth,' for the sake of gratifying his own enormous and teem- 
 ing faculty of creation, Shakespeare has introduced two murderers ; and, 
 as usual in his hands, they are remarkably discriminated ; but, though 
 in Macbeth the strife of mind is greater than in his wife, the tiger spirit 
 not so awake, and his feelings caught chiefly by contagion from her, 
 yet, as both were finally involved in the guilt of murder, the murderous 
 mind, of necessity, is finally to be presumed in both. This was to be 
 expressed ; and on its own account, as well as to make it a more 
 proportionable antagonist to the unoffending nature of their victim, 
 ' the gracious Duncan,' and adequately to expound 'the deep damna- 
 tion of his taking off,' this was to be expressed with peculiar energy. 
 We were to be made to feel that the human nature, *. e., the divine nature 
 of love and mercy, spread through the hearts of all creatures, and seldom 
 utterly withdrawn from man was gone, vanished, extinct ; and that 
 the fiendish nature had taken its place. * * * * The retiring of the 
 human heart and the entrance of the fiendish heart was to be expressed 
 and made sensible. Another world has stept in ; and the murderers 
 are taken out of the region of human things, human purposes, human 
 desires. They are transfigured: Lady Macbeth is 'unsexed ; ' Macbeth 
 has forgot that he was born of woman ; both are conformed to the 
 image of devils ; and the world of devils is suddenly revealed. But how 
 shall this be conveyed and made palpable ? In order that a new world 
 may step in, this world must for a time disappear. The murderers, 
 and the murder must be insulated cut off by an immeasurable gulf 
 from the ordinary tide and succession of human affairs locked up and 
 sequestered in some deep recess ; we must be made sensible that the 
 world of ordinary life is suddenly arrested laid asleep tranced 
 racked into a dread armistice; time must be annihilated; relation to 
 things without abolished ; and all must pass self-withdrawn into a deep 
 syncope and suspension of earthly passion. Hence it is that when the 
 deed is done, when the work of darkness is perfect, then the world of 
 darkness passes away like a pageantry in the clouds : the knocking 
 at the gate is heard ; and it makes known audibly that the reaction has 
 commenced ; the human has made its reflux upon the fiendish ; the
 
 I OO APPENDIX. 
 
 pulses of life are beginning to beat again ; and the re-establishment 
 of the goings-on of the world in which we live first makes us pro- 
 foundly sensible of the awful parenthesis that has suspended them." 
 
 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 
 
 VII. COSTUME AND APPOINTMENTS FOR MACBETH. 
 
 The subjoined particulars are condensed from an article by Charles 
 Knight, on the dresses and appointments proper to be used of course, 
 with due consideration of the privileges of poetry in the representation 
 of "Macbeth: " 
 
 The rudely sculptured monuments and crosses which time has spared 
 upon the hills and heaths of Scotland afford but very slender and uncer- 
 tain information respecting the dress and arms of the Scotch Highlanders 
 of the eleventh century. The dress, as at present worn, is compounded 
 of three varieties in the form of dress which were, separately, worn by 
 the Highlanders in the seventeenth century ; and each of these varieties 
 may be traced back to the remotest antiquity. These are : ist, The 
 belted plaid; and, The short coat or jacket ; 3rd, Thetruis. With each 
 of these or, at any rate, with the first and second was worn, from the 
 earliest periods to the seventeenth century, the long-sleeved, saffron- 
 stained shirt, of Irish origin, called the Leni-croich from the Irish 
 words lent, shirt, and crotch, saffron. Knight quotes Piscottie [1573], 
 and Nicolay d'Arfeville, cosmographer to the King of France [1583]. 
 The Scotch Highlanders, says the former, " be cloathed with ane mantle, 
 with ane schirt, saffroned, after the Irish manner, going bare-legged to 
 the knee." " They wear," says the latter, " like the Irish, a large, fuU 
 shirt, coloured with saffron, and over this a garment hanging to the 
 knee, of thick wool, after the manner of a cassock. They go with bare 
 heads, and allow their hair to grow very long, and they wear neither 
 stockings nor shoes, except some who have buskins, made in a very old 
 fashion, which come as high as the knees." Lesley [1578], also quoted 
 by Knight, says : " Both nobles and common people wore mantles of one 
 sort except that the nobles preferred those of different colours. These 
 were long and flowing, but capable of being gathered up at pleasure 
 into folds. They had also shaggy rugs, such as the Irish use at the 
 present day. The rest of their garments consisted of a short woolen 
 jacket, with the sleeves open below, for the convenience of throwing 
 their darts, and a covering for the thighs, of the simplest kind, more for 
 decency than for show or defence against cold. They made also of 
 linen very large shirts, with numerous folds and very large sleeves,
 
 APPENDIX. 101 
 
 which flowed abroad loosely on their knees. These the rich coloured 
 with saffron, and others smeared with some grease to preserve them 
 longer clean among the toils and exercises of a camp." This confirms 
 the identity of the ancient Scottish with the ancient Irish dress ; as the 
 Irish chieftains who appeared at court in the reign of Elizabeth were 
 clad in these long shirts, short, open-sleeved jackets, and long, shaggy 
 mantles. The truis, or trowse, is "the breeches and stockings of one 
 piece." of the Irish in the time of Giraldus Cambrensis, and thebracchae 
 of the Belgic Gauls and Southern Britons in that of Caesar. It was an 
 established Highland garment as far back as 1538, and therefore we may 
 infer that it had long previously existed. A similar garment, it is certain, 
 was worn by the chiefs of all the other tribes of the great Celtic or Gaelic 
 family ; and this fact gives probability to the belief that it was also worn 
 by those of the ancient Scotch Highlanders. Skene, author of " The 
 Highlanders of Scotland," says that the truis was from the very earliest 
 period the dress of the gentry of Ireland, and that he is inclined to think 
 it was introduced into Scotland from that country ; and Knight thinks 
 that this introduction may have taken place even centuries before the 
 birth of Macbeth. The question whether the ancient Scottish High- 
 landers wore the many-coloured tartan, or plaid, is unsettled. The 
 probability is that they did. Tartan was, originally, the name of a 
 woolen stuff, and plaid was the name of the garment that was made of 
 it. The Celtic Britons and the Belgic Gauls, according to Diodorus 
 Siculus, wore a tunic, " flowered with various colours in divisions." The 
 chequered cloth was termed in Celtic, breacan, and the Highlanders 
 calledit "cath-dath," meaning "thestrife," or "war of colours." About 
 the beginning of the sixteenth century, the plaids, or cloaks, of only the 
 higher classes were variegated. The common people wore plaids of a 
 brown colour like that of the heather. Martin, in 1716, speaking of 
 the female attire worn in the Western Isles, says that the ancient dress, 
 which is still worn by some of the vulgar, called arisad, is a white plaid, 
 having a few small stripes of black, blue, and red. The plain black and 
 white stuff, commonly known as shepherd's plaid, is thought to be of 
 great antiquity. It could easily have been manufactured. It is com- 
 posed of the two natural colours of the fleece, and it required no process 
 of dyeing. Defoe, in his "Memoirs of a Cavalier," describes the plaid 
 worn in 1639 as " striped across red and yellow ; " and the portrait of 
 Lacy, the actor, painted in the time of Charles II., represents him dressed 
 for Sawney the Scot, in a red, yellow, and black truis, and belted plaid, 
 or, in stuff of the natural yellowish tint of the wool, s'riped across with 
 black and red.
 
 102 APPENDIX. 
 
 For the armour and weapons of the Scotch of the eleventh century 
 there is more distinct authority. The sovereign and his Lowland chiefs 
 appear early to have assumed the shirt of ring-mail of the Saxon ; or, 
 perhaps, the quilted panzar of their Norwegian and Danish invaders ; 
 but that some of the Highland chieftains disdained such defence must 
 be admitted from the well-known boast of the Earl Strathearne, as late 
 as 1138, at the Battle of the Standard : "I wear no armour ; yet those 
 who do will not advance beyond me this day." It was indeed the old 
 Celtic fashion for soldiers to divest themselves of almost every portion 
 of covering, on the eve of combat, and to rush into battle nearly, if not 
 entirely, naked. 
 
 The ancient Scottish weapons were the bow, the spear, the claymore, 
 the battle-axe, and the dirk, with round targets covered with bull's-hide 
 and studded with nails and bosses of brass or iron. The Scottish female 
 attire seems to have consisted, like that of the Saxon, Norman, and 
 Danish women, we may even add the ancient British, of a long robe, 
 girdled round the waist, and a full and flowing mantle, fastened on the 
 breast by a large buckle or brooch of brass, silver, or gold, and set with 
 common crystals, or precious gems, according to the rank of the wearer. 
 
 " Previously to this period, Macbeth used to be dressed in a suit of 
 scarlet and gold, a tail wig, etc., in every respect like a modern military 
 officer. Garrick always played it in this manner ; and the fine picture 
 of him and Mrs. Pritchard, in Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, after the 
 murder, painted by Zoffani, exhibits him in this dress. Barry and Smith 
 dressed it in a similar manner ; and it long stood as the general costume 
 of the stage. Macklin, however, whose eye and mind were ever intent 
 on his profession, saw the absurdity of exhibiting a Scotch character, 
 existing many years before the Norman conquest, in this manner, and, 
 therefore, very properly abandoned it for the old Caledonian habit. He 
 showed the same attention to the subordinate characters, as well as to 
 the scenes, decorations, music and other incidental parts of the perform- 
 ance." COOKE'S LIFE OF MACKLIN, pp. 283-4. 
 
 Macklin's appearance as Macbeth was made on October 23d, 1772, at 
 Covent Garden, in London. His personation was not considered extra- 
 ordinary. He was, however, the first to dress the part correctly. John 
 Philip Kemble who, as Othello, wore the uniform of a British gen-
 
 APPENDIX. 103 
 
 eral decorated the bonnet of Macbeth with a hearse-like plume till 
 Sir Walter Scott drew it out and substituted for it an eagle's feather. 
 
 W. W. 
 
 VIII. ANECDOTES OF MACBETH. 
 
 " It is said that one night when he [Garrick] was performing Macbeth 
 and the murderer entered the banquet scene, Garrick looked at him with 
 such an expressive countenance, and uttered with such energy, ' There 's 
 
 blood upon thy face,' that the actor said, ' Is there, by ?' instead 
 
 of, ' 'T is Banquo's, then ' ; thinking, as he afterwards acknowledged, 
 that he had broken a blood-vessel." JOHN TAYLOR. "RECORDS OF 
 MY LIFE," p. 196. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons was of the opinion that the Ghost of Banquo is seen by 
 Lady Macbeth as well as by Macbeth. There is, however, nothing in 
 the text to warrant this view. It is related also that, in acting Lady 
 Macbeth, she used to give a scream, amounting to a perfect yell of 
 horror, by way of climax to the speech, which ends 
 
 " The raven himself is hoarse, 
 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 
 Under my battlements." 
 
 IX. THE DRIFT OF MACBETH. 
 
 The facts and thoughts which have been presented seem, so far as I 
 can judge, to cover the whole field of inquiry which is opened by this 
 great play. It remains only for the editor to state that he must not be 
 supposed to concur in every word that he quotes. The object sought is 
 the illumination of the piece for the benefit of actors. The material here 
 collected and condensed will, perhaps, help them in their work. A point 
 worthy to be urged upon their constant remembrance is the necessity of 
 acting " Macbeth " in the purest poetical spirit and manner. It would be 
 an error to go back of Shakespeare's conception, and strive to galvanize 
 into life the Macbeth of the old chronicle history. The grandest inter- 
 pretation that can be put upon Shakespeare is always nearest to the 
 truth. The student discovers still increasing greatness in this marvellous 
 poet's creations ; he does not endow them with it. Macbeth is a man of 
 noble mind, vast imagination, indomitable valour, and imperial individu- 
 ality, and he does not lack tenderness of heart ; but he is also prone to
 
 104 APPENDIX. 
 
 evil ; and, in a dark moment, he is seized, possessed, dragged down, 
 and despoiled by those tremendous forces of sin which contend with 
 goodness throughout the essence of universal life. The crimes that he 
 then commits are not the crimes of a cruel ruffian, but of a great man 
 whose nature has been inverted, polluted, and partly crazed. The 
 tortures of remorse begin to tear his heart even before he smites the 
 king; and, afterwards, his life is a horrible delirium, necked here and 
 there with clear moments of settled misery and pathetic dejection, upon 
 a lonely and awful eminence of evil. The blood upon which he floats 
 his kingdom is not exclusively of his own shedding. A hellish agency 
 of the world of fiends enwraps his mind and impels his actions ; and so 
 the life which otherwise would be that of a ruthless, bloody-minded 
 brute, becomes wild and awful with the frenzy of a haunted imagination, 
 and infinitely pathetic with remorseful but useless struggles against the 
 promptings of hell. To present this personality is to exalt the whole 
 moral being of mankind, and to strike the soul with terror, pity and 
 awe. In the fall of a star out of heaven there is a vast and nameless 
 grandeur. A lower ideal would rob the play of all its investiture of 
 sublimity. The character of Lady Macbeth impresses me as narrower 
 and really weaker than that of her husband ; certainly as less complex, 
 less picturesque, less interesting, and less difficult both to grasp and 
 convey. She has no prescience, and but little imagination ; but she is 
 woman-like and finely conscientious, so that she suffers terribly and is 
 killed by remorse. Together, as contemplated, for example, after the 
 scene of the royal banquet, they present a type, consummate and 
 unrivalled in all literature, of the supreme sublimity and pathos of utter 
 desolation. The meaning and drift of the whole work could not be 
 better said than in the words of Ulrici : "The evil influence of crime, 
 coiled within the fairest flowers, spreads over the whole circle of human 
 existence, not only working the doom of the criminal himself, but scat- 
 tering far and wide the seeds of destruction ; but, nevertheless, the 
 deadly might of evil is overcome by the love and justice of God, and 
 good at last is enthroned as the conqueror of the world." 
 
 W. W. 
 NEW-YORK, October 8, 1878
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 VOL. I
 
 *~T^HE propriety of an effort to aid in restoring Shakes- 
 * peare's "King Lear" to practical use upon the stage is 
 not likely to be questioned. Persons ivho have thoughtfully 
 studied the subject must, indeed, marvel that such an effort, 
 long ago begun, -was not long ago crowned with bounteous 
 public acceptance. The distortion of Shakespeare's colossal 
 tragedy, blandly perpetrated by Nahiim Tate about two 
 centuries ago, and, with some modifications, current in the 
 theatre ever since, instantly discloses itself, upon a comparison 
 of it with the original, as emasculate, squalid and commonplace 
 in contrast with the stahvart fibre, massive proportions, 
 and stupendous altitude of Shakespeare's own work. Tate's 
 version was published, in quarto, in 1681, seventy-five years 
 after the first performance of " King Lear" and in those 
 frivolous days of British literature when Shakespeare's 
 genius was in eclipse. The dedication of it, to "Tho. Boteler, 
 Esq." contains these words : " I found that the new-model- 
 ling of this story would force me sometimes on the difficult 
 task of making the chiefest persons speak something like their 
 character, or matter whereof I had no ground in my author. 
 * * * I found the whole to answer your account of it, a 
 heap of jewels unstrung and unpolished, yet so dazzling in 
 their disorder that I soon perceived I had seized a treasure."
 
 The complacent Tate then felicitates himself that he has "had 
 the good fortune to light on one expedient to rectify what was 
 wanting in the regularity and probability of the tale" by 
 which he means the omission of the Fool ! It was easy for 
 him, after that, to fabricate an wider-plot respecting the loves 
 of Edgar and Cordelia, and to save Cordelia and Lear alive 
 at the end of the play, with a rainbow prospect of happiness 
 and comfort. Nothing respecting this subject could be more 
 remarkable than the mental attitude thus revealed ; except 
 it be the after-glow of prosperity which has so long attended 
 this petty and finical display of a creation entirely gigantic. 
 The best critical judgment long since protested against it. 
 "King Lear" said Addison [Spectator, Number 40], " is an 
 admirable tragedy, as Shakespeare wrote it ; but as it is 
 re-formed, according to the chimerical notions of poetical jus- 
 tice, it has lost half its beauty." "Tate put his hook in 
 the nostrils of this leviathan," said Charles Lamb, "for 
 Garrick and his followers, the showmen of the scene, to 
 draw the mighty beast about more easily." Steei'ens and 
 Johnson alone, of all the old critics, were content with what 
 Charles Knight, with felicitous contempt, denominates the 
 Tatefication of Shakespeare. All the same, the piece, thus 
 garbled, kept its place. Tate was acted by Garrick, the 
 great Lear of the last century, and Tate was acted by 
 Forrest, tJie great Lear of the generation that has just ended. 
 Sei'eral improvements, it should be said, have, from time to 
 time, been grafted upon this basis. George Column made an 
 alteration of Tate's alteration, which was acted a few times, 
 at Covent Garden, London, and was published in 1768 : 
 and John Philip Kemble made another, which was a/so 
 acted at Cove/it Garden, and which was published in 1808. 
 The latter, in one for,;; < /- another, has served the art needs
 
 of most of Kemble's successors. Dramatic custom of late 
 years has exhibited a tendency towards the restoration of 
 Shakespeare. Macready and Charles Kean acted Shakes- 
 peare's Lear, and more recently, Shakespeare's Lear has been 
 acted by Barrett and McCullough. Macready's opinion of 
 Tate's piece was expressed in the vigourous statement that it 
 is a " miserable debilitation and disfigurement of Shakes- 
 peare's sublime tragedy" The present version, which 
 follows the plan and contains the stage directions of 
 Edwin Booth, if not literally the original, is a faithful 
 condensation of it. Omissions and transpositions will be 
 observed ; but, to re -arrange, for a stage that is furnished 
 with abundant scenes, a play which was written for a stage 
 that had no scenes at all, not to urge the expedient due of 
 a public taste ivhich craves directness, and is intolerant of 
 ei<en the semblance of prolixity, is surely not to use it with 
 unwarrantable freedom. The text of this version is entirely 
 Shakespeare ; the Fool occupies his rightful place in the 
 action, to which he supplies a most strange, wistful 
 element of lamentable mirth ; and the story is unmarred 
 by change. " King Lear " was first acted, December 26th, 
 1606, at Whitehall, in London. The dramatic company of 
 the Globe Theatre, Southwark, presented it, and King 
 James I. was its predominant auditor. There can never 
 come a time when it will cease to irradiate the imagination 
 and melt t/ie heart of the world. 
 
 W. W. 
 New- York, March 2^t/i, 1878.
 
 "Once again the fierce dispute 
 Betwixt hell torment and impassioned clay 
 Must I burn through." KEATS. 
 
 ' ' The finest of Shakespeare's imaginary characters are essentially typical. 
 While they embody truths the most subtle, delicate and refining in the life 
 and organisation of men, those truths are so assorted as to combine with the 
 elements which humanity has most in common." BULWER. 
 
 " But who forgets that white, discrowned head. 
 Those bursts of reason s half -extinguished glare. 
 Those tears upon Cordelia s bosom shed. 
 In doubt more touching than despair I " CAMPBELL. 
 
 "My life is spent -with griff, and my years with sighing. * I am 
 
 forgotten as a dead man out of mind. I am like a broken vessel. * * * 
 Horror hath overwhelmed me. * * * * I wander far off , and remain 
 in the wilderness. THE PSALMS OF DAVID. 
 
 ' ' Crowned with wild flowers and with heather, 
 Like weak, despised old Lear 
 
 A king! a king I " LONGFELLOW. 
 
 ' 'Let the doubly pointed wreath of his fire be hurled at me, and ether be 
 torn piecemeal by thunder and spasm of savage blasts ; and let the wind 
 rock earth from her base, roots and all, and, with stormy surge, mingle in 
 rough tide the billow of the deep and the paths of the stars, and fling my 
 body into black Tartarus!" AESCHYLUS. 
 
 " Grief and care 
 
 Stalked forth upon the theatre of his heart 
 In many a gloomy and misshapen guise ; 
 Tilt of the glories of his earlier self , 
 The world, his base and hollow auditory, 
 Left but a ghastly phantom." MOTHERWELL. 
 
 "All free from the knot 
 
 Glide the thread of the skein, 
 And rest to the labour, 
 And peace to the pain ! " BULWER. 
 
 'Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold. 
 
 Than daisies in the mould. 
 Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be." LAHDOR.
 
 " ' T is the infirmity of his age : yet he hath ever but slenderly known 
 himself. 
 
 "The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash." 
 
 "Old fools are babes again, and must be used 
 With checks as flatteries ." 
 
 ' 'Nature in you stands on the very verge 
 Of her confine." 
 
 "The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long; 
 That it had its head bit off by its young." 
 
 "O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven I 
 Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad." 
 
 "O, heavens. 
 
 If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. 
 Make it your cause ; send down and take my part." 
 
 " The night comes on, and the bleak winds 
 Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
 There 's scarce a bush." 1 
 
 "Since I was man, 
 
 Suck sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
 Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
 Remember to have heard." 
 
 "The sea, with such a storm as his bare head. 
 In hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up 
 And quenched the stellar fires." 
 
 "I am a very foolish, fond old man, 
 Fourscore and upward ; not an hour more nor less : 
 And, to deal plainly, 
 I fear I am not in my perfect mind." 
 
 "Come, let 's away to prison : 
 We two alone will sing like birds /" the cage : 
 When thou dost ask me blessing, I 'II kneel down 
 And ask of the e forgiveness : so we' II live. 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 At gilded Butter/lies. ' ' 
 
 ' 'Men must endure 
 
 Their going hence, even as their coming hither. 
 Ripeness is all.
 
 epre$entefe. 
 
 LEAR, KING OF BRITAIN. 
 
 KING OF FRANCE. 
 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY. 
 
 DUKE OF CORNWALL. 
 
 DUKE OF ALBANY. 
 
 EARL OF KENT. 
 
 EARL OF GLOSTER. 
 
 EDGAR, legitimate son to Gloster. 
 
 EDMUND, illegitimate son to Gloster. 
 
 CURAN. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 FOOL. 
 
 OSWALD, steward to Goneril. 
 HERALD. 
 GONERIL. ~\ 
 
 REGAN. J- Daughters to King Lear. 
 CORDELIA. J 
 
 KNIGHTS, attending on King Lear ; LORDS, OFFICERS, 
 SOLDIERS, MESSENGERS, and ATTENDANTS. 
 
 * 
 
 SCENE. Ancient Britain j the southern part of the country, 
 ranging through the counties from Somerset to Kent. 
 
 PERIOD. Anno Mundi, 3105 ; or about goo years B. C. 
 TIME OF ACTION. About six weeks. See Appendix.
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 ( A ROOM OF STATE IN KlNG LEAR'S 
 
 Scene Jtrst, < PALACE. THRONE c. KENT L., GLOS- 
 ( TER c. AND EDMUND R. c., DISCOVERED. 
 
 Kent, [L. 
 
 I thought the king had more affected the Duke of 
 Albany than Cornwall. 
 
 Glos. [c. 
 
 It did always seem so to us : but now, in the division of 
 the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values 
 most; for qualities are so weighed that curiosity in 
 neither can make choice of cither's moiety. 
 
 Kent. 
 Is not this your son, my lord ? 
 
 Glos. 
 
 His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so 
 often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed 
 to it. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund ? 
 
 Edm. [R. 
 
 No, my lord. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my 
 honourable friend.
 
 10 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edm. [To Kent. 
 
 My services to your lordship. 
 
 Kent. 
 I must love you, and sue to know you better. 
 
 Edm. 
 Sir, I shall study deserving. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. 
 
 [Music : A March. 
 The king is coming. 
 
 [Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, 
 Cordelia, and attendants. 
 
 Lear. 
 Gloster, attend the lords of France and Burgundy. 
 
 Glos. 
 I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Edmund R. u. E. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. 
 
 Give me the map there. Know that we have divided, 
 
 In three, our kingdom : and 't is our fast intent 
 
 To shake all cares and business from our age, 
 
 Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
 
 Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, 
 
 And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
 
 We have this hour a constant will to publish 
 
 Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
 
 May be prevented now. The princes, France and 
 
 Burgundy, 
 
 Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
 Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, 
 And here are to be answered. Tell me my daughters, 
 Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 
 Interest of territory, cares of state,
 
 KING LEAR. II 
 
 Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ? 
 That we our largest bounty may extend 
 Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, 
 Our eldest-born, speak first. 
 
 Gon. [Rises R. 
 
 Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter, 
 Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty ; 
 Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; 
 No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour : 
 As much as child e'er loved, or father found. 
 A. love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
 Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
 
 Cord. [Aside c. 
 
 What shall Cordelia speak ? Love and be silent. 
 
 Lear. [Pointing to map. 
 
 Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, 
 With shadowy forests, and with champaigns riched, 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
 We make thee lady : to thine and Albany's issues, 
 Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter 
 Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall ? Speak. 
 
 Regan. [L. 
 
 I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
 And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
 I find she names my very deed of love; 
 Only she comes too short, that I profess 
 Myself an enemy to all other joys, 
 Which the most precious square of sense possesses, 
 And find, I am alone felicitate 
 In your dear highness' love. 
 
 Cord. [Aside. 
 
 Then poor Cordelia ! 
 
 And yet not so, since, I am sure, my love 's 
 More richer than my tongue.
 
 12 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. [ To Regan. 
 
 To thee and thine, hereditary ever, 
 
 Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom ; 
 
 No less in space, validity, and pleasure, 
 
 Than that conferred on Goneril. Now, our joy, 
 
 \Cordelia rises and goes R. 
 
 Although the last, not least; to whose young love 
 The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
 Strive to be interessed ; what can you say, to draw 
 A third more opulent than your sisters ? 
 Speak ! 
 
 Cord. 
 Nothing, my lord. 
 
 [All start and look at Cordelia. 
 
 Lear. 
 Nothing ? 
 
 Cord. 
 Nothing. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Nothing will come of nothing : speak again. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
 
 My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty 
 
 According to my bond ; nor more, nor less. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 How ? How, Cordelia ? Mend your speech a little, 
 Lest you may mar your fortunes. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Good my lord, 
 
 You have begot me, bred me, loved me : I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit, 
 Obey you, love you, and most honour you. 
 Why have my sisters husbands, if they say 
 They love you all ? Haply, when I shall wed,
 
 KING LEAR. 1$ 
 
 That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
 Half my love with him, half my care, and duty. 
 Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
 To love my father all. 
 
 Lear. 
 But goes thy heart with this ? 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 So young and so untender ? 
 
 Cord. 
 So young, my lord, and true. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Truth, then, be thy dower; 
 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
 
 The mysteries of Hecate and the night ; 
 
 By all the operation of the orbs, 
 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be, 
 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 
 Propinquity and property of blood, 
 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 
 Hold thee from this forever. The barbarous Scythian, 
 
 Or he that makes his generation messes 
 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 
 Be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved, 
 
 As thou, my sometime daughter. 
 
 Kent. [L. 
 
 Good my liege, 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Peace, Kent! 
 
 Come not between the dragon and his wrath : 
 I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
 
 14 KING LEAR. 
 
 On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight ! 
 
 [To Cordelia. 
 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
 
 Her father's heart from her ! Call France ! 
 
 Who stirs ? Call Burgundy ! 
 
 [Exit a knight. 
 
 Cornwall and Albany, 
 
 With my two daughters' dowers digest this third ; 
 
 Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
 
 I do invest you jointly with my power, 
 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
 
 That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, 
 
 With reservation of an hundred knights, 
 
 By you to be sustained, shall our abode 
 
 Make with you by due turns. Only, we shall retain 
 
 The name and all the additions to a king. 
 
 The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, 
 
 Beloved sons, be yours ; which to confirm, 
 
 This coronet part between you. 
 
 [Page, with crown, advances. Lear takes the 
 crown and holds it above the heads of Goneril, 
 Regan, Albany and Cornwall, who kneel in 
 front of throne c. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Royal Lear, 
 
 Whom I have ever honoured as my king, 
 Loved as my father, as my master followed, 
 As my great patron thought on in my prayers, 
 
 Lear. 
 The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly, 
 When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man ? 
 Reverse thy doom; 
 And in thy best consideration check 
 This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment,
 
 KING LEAR. 15 
 
 Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
 Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds 
 Reverb no hollowness. 
 
 Lear. 
 Kent, on thy life, no more ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 My life I never held but as a pawn 
 
 To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it, 
 
 Thy safety being the motive. 
 
 Lear. 
 Out of my sight ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 See better, Lear, and let me still remain 
 The true blank of thine eye. 
 
 Lear. 
 Now, by Apollo ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Now, by Apollo, king, 
 Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 O, vassal ! Miscreant ! 
 
 [Laying his hand on his sword. 
 
 Alb. and Corn. [ To Lear. 
 
 Dear sir, forbear ! 
 
 Kent. 
 Do: 
 
 Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow 
 Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ; 
 Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
 I '11 tell thee, thou dost evil.
 
 1 6 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Hear me, recreant ! 
 
 On thy allegiance hear me. 
 
 [Kent kneels. 
 
 Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
 Which we durst never yet, and, with strained pride, 
 To come betwixt our sentence and our power, 
 Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, 
 Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
 Five days do we allot thee for provision 
 To shield thee from diseases of the world, 
 And on the sixth to turn thy hated back 
 Upon our kingdom : if on the tenth day following 
 Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions, 
 The moment is thy death. Away ! By Jupiter, 
 This shall not be revoked ! 
 
 [Kent rises ; Goneril, Regan, Albany, and Corn- 
 wall go to Lear c. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Fare thee well, king ; since thus thou wilt appear, 
 Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. 
 
 [Crosses R. to Cordelia. 
 
 The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 
 That justly thinks, and hast most rightly said. 
 And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 
 
 [ To Regan and Goneril. 
 
 That good effects may spring from words of love. 
 Thus Kent, O, princes, bids you all adieu ; 
 
 {To all. 
 He '11 shape his old course in a country new. 
 
 \_Exit Kent L. Re-enter Gloster, with France, 
 Burgundy and a knight R. u. E. Gloster and 
 France on the R. of throne. Burgundy comes 
 down L. 
 
 Glos. [R. to Lear. 
 
 Here 's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
 
 KING LEAR. 1"J 
 
 Lear. 
 
 My lord of Burgundy, 
 
 We first address toward you, who with this king 
 Hath rivalled for our daughter : what in the least, 
 Will you require in present dower with her, 
 Or cease your quest of love ? 
 
 Bur. [L. 
 
 Most royal majesty, 
 
 I crave no more than hath your highness offered, 
 Nor will you tender less. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Right noble Burgundy, 
 
 When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
 But now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands ; 
 Dowered with our curse, and strangered with our oath. 
 Take her, or leave her. 
 
 Bur. 
 
 Pardon me, royal sir ; 
 Election makes not up on such conditions. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Then leave her, sir; for by the power that made me, 
 I tell you all her wealth : for you, great king, 
 
 [To France. 
 
 I would not from your love make such a stray, 
 To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
 To avert your liking a more worthier way, 
 Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed 
 Almost to acknowledge hers. 
 
 France. [R. 
 
 This is most strange : 
 Sure her offence 
 
 Must be of such unnatural degree, 
 That monsters it; 
 Which to believe of her, 
 Must be a faith that reason, without miracle, 
 Should never plant in me.
 
 1 8 KING LEAR. 
 
 Cord. [ To Lear. 
 
 I yet beseech your majesty, that you make known 
 
 It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
 
 No unchaste action, or dishonoured step, 
 
 That hath deprived me of your grace and favour ; 
 
 But even for want of that for which I am richer, 
 
 A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
 
 That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, 
 
 Hath lost me in your liking. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Better thou 
 Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. 
 
 France. [R. 
 
 Is it but this ? 
 
 Fairest Cordelia, that thou art most rich, being poor, 
 
 Most choice, forsaken, and most loved, despised, 
 
 Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon. 
 
 Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
 
 [71? Lear. 
 
 Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France ; 
 Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 
 Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Thou hast her, France ; let her be thine, for we 
 
 Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
 
 That face of hers again ; therefore, begone 
 
 Without our grace, our love, our benison. 
 
 \March. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, 
 Albany, and attendants L. Scene closes as they 
 go out. France and Cordelia remain, looking 
 after Lear.
 
 KING LEAR. 19 
 
 >. f STONE HALL IN GLOSTER'S CASTLE. 
 Scene &econi. { [FIRST GROOVES-] 
 
 [Enter Edmund with a letter R. I.E. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Thou, Nature, art my goddess ; to thy law 
 
 My services are bound. Wherefore should I 
 
 Stand in the plague of custom, and permit 
 
 The curiosity of nations to deprive me, 
 
 For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 
 
 Lag of a brother ? Why bastard ? wherefore base, 
 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 
 My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 
 
 As honest madam's issue ? 
 
 Well then, 
 
 Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land ; 
 
 Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
 
 As to the legitimate. Fine word, legitimate. 
 
 Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
 
 And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
 
 Shall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper : 
 
 Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 
 
 [Enter Gloster L. I.E. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Kent banished thus ! and France in choler parted ! 
 And the king gone to-night ! Subscribed his power ! 
 Confined to exhibition ! All this done 
 Upon the gad ! Edmund, how now! What news ? 
 
 Edm. [Hiding the letter. 
 
 So please your lordship, none. 
 
 Glos. 
 What paper were you reading ? 
 
 Edm. 
 Nothing, my lord.
 
 30 KING LEAR. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 No ! What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it 
 into your pocket ? The quality of nothing hath not such 
 need to hide itself. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 I beseech you, sir, pardon me ; it is a letter from my 
 brother, that I have not all o'er-read ; and for so much 
 as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'erlooking. 
 
 Glos. 
 Give me the letter, sir. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, 
 as in part I understand them, are to blame. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Let 's see, let 's see ! \Glostertakes letter. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but 
 as an assay or taste of my virtue. 
 
 Glos. {Reads. 
 
 " This policy and reverence of age make the world bit- 
 ter to the best of our times ; keep our fortunes from us, till 
 our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle 
 and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who 
 sways not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to 
 me that of this I may speak more. If our father would 
 sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue 
 for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar." 
 
 Humph! Conspiracy! "Sleep till I waked him, 
 you should enjoy half his revenue." My son Edgar ! Had 
 he a hand to write this ? A heart and brain to breed it 
 in ? When came this to you ? Who brought it ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 It was not brought me, my lord ; there 's the cunning 
 of it I found it, thrown in at the casement of my closet
 
 KING LEAR. 21 
 
 Glos. 
 You know the character to be your brother's ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 It is his hand, my lord ; but I hope his heart is not in 
 the contents. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 O, villain ! villain ! abhorred villain ! unnatural, de- 
 tested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, 
 seek him ; I '11 apprehend him abominable villain ! 
 
 Edm. 
 
 I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ 
 this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other 
 pretence of danger. 
 
 Glos. 
 Think you so ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where 
 you shall hear us confer, this very evening. 
 
 Glos. 
 He cannot be such a monster. 
 
 Edm. 
 Nor is not, sure. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. 
 These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good 
 to us. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide : in 
 cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; and the bond 
 cracked between son \crosses R.] and father. Find out 
 this villain, Edmund ; it shall lose thee nothing. 
 
 [Exit Gloster R. i. E.
 
 22 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when 
 we are sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own 
 behaviour, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the 
 moon, and the stars; as if we were villains by necessity; 
 fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and 
 treachers, by spherical predominance. An admirable 
 evasion of virtuous man, to lay his devilish disposition to 
 the charge of a star. Tut ! I should have been that I 
 am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on 
 
 my birth. Edgar 
 
 [Enter Edgar L. I.E. 
 Edm. 
 
 When saw you my father last ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 The night gone by. 
 
 Edm. 
 Spake you with him ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 Ay, two hours together. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Parted you in good terms ? Found you no displeasure 
 in him, by word or countenance ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 None at all. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Bethink yourself, wherein you may have offended him : 
 and at my entreaty forbear his presence, till some little 
 time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at 
 this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of 
 your person it would scarcely allay. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Some villain hath done me wrong.
 
 KING LEAR. 23 
 
 Edm. 
 
 That 's my fear. I pray you, have a continent forbear- 
 ance, till the speed of his rage goes slower; pray you go; 
 if you do stir abroad, go armed. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Armed, brother ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Brother, I advise you to the best ; I am no honest man, 
 if there be any good meaning towards you; pray you, 
 away. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Shall I hear from you anon ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 I do serve you in this business. 
 
 [Exit Edgar L. i. E. 
 
 A credulous father, and a brother noble, 
 Whose nature is so far from doing harms 
 That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty 
 My practices ride easy! I see the business, 
 Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit ; 
 All with me 's meet that I can fashion fit. 
 
 \Exit R. i. E. 
 
 ( BEFORE THE DUKE OF ALBANY'S CA- 
 x ARCH c. ENTRANCE TO CASTLE R. 
 ( STONE WALL L. RUDE STONE SEAT c. 
 
 [Enter Gontril, two ladies, Oswald, and two lords c. 
 
 Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his 
 fool?
 
 24 KING LEAR. 
 
 Osw. 
 Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 By day and night he wrongs me ; every hour 
 
 He flashes into one gross crime or other, 
 
 That sets us all at odds : I '11 not endure it. 
 
 His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
 
 On every trifle. When he returns from hunting, 
 
 I will not speak with him : say, I am sick ; 
 
 If you come slack of former services, 
 
 You shall do well ; the fault of it I '11 answer. 
 
 [Horns heard within, pp. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 He 's coming, madam, I hear him. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 Put on what weary negligence you please, 
 
 You and your fellows; I 'd have it come to question: 
 
 If he distaste it, let him to my sister, 
 
 Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
 
 Not to be over-ruled. 
 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Osw. 
 Well, madam. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 And let his knights have colder looks among you. 
 What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows so : 
 I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, 
 That I may speak ; I '11 write straight to my sister, 
 To hold my course. 
 
 \_Exeunt Goneril, Oswald, lords, and ladies into 
 Castle R. Enter Kent, disguised, c. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 If but as well I other accents borrow, 
 That can my speech diffuse, my good intent 
 May carry through itself to that full issue
 
 KING LEAR. 25 
 
 For which I razed my likeness. Now banished Kent, 
 If thou canst serve,where thou dost stand condemned, 
 So may it come thy master, whom thou lov'st, 
 Shall find thee full of labours. 
 
 [Horns within. Enter Lear, Curan, knights and 
 attendants through arch c. 
 
 Lear. 
 Let me not stay a jot for dinner : go, get it ready. 
 
 [Exit an attendant R. 3. E. 
 How now ! what art thou ? [ To Kent. 
 
 Kent. [ R . 
 
 A man, sir. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What dost thou profess ? What wouldst thou with us ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him 
 truly that will put me in trust ; to love him that is honest ; 
 to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear 
 judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no 
 fish. 
 
 Lear. 
 What art thou ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, 
 thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Kent. 
 Service. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Whom wouldst thou serve ? 
 
 Kent. 
 You.
 
 26 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 Dost thou know me, fellow ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 No, sir ; but you have that in your countenance which 
 I would fain call master. 
 
 Lear. 
 What's that? 
 
 Kent. 
 Authority. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What services canst thou do ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale 
 in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly : that 
 which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in ; and the 
 best of me is diligence. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 How old art thou ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing ; nor so 
 old to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back 
 forty-eight. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I like thee no worse 
 after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho ! 
 dinner ! Where 's my knave ? my fool ? Go you, and 
 call my fool hither. 
 
 [Exit knight c. Enter Oswald R. singing. 
 
 You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter ? 
 
 Osw. 
 
 So please you, 
 
 [Exit L. i. E.
 
 KING LEAR. 27 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What said the fellow ? Call the clodpole back. Where 's 
 
 [Exit Curan L. i. E. 
 
 my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. How, now! 
 where 's that mongrel ? [Enter Curan. 
 
 Curan. 
 He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Why came not the slave back to me, when I called 
 him? 
 
 Curan. 
 
 Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would 
 not. [Exit Kent L. i. E. 
 
 Lear. 
 He would not ! 
 
 Curan. 
 
 My lord, I know not what the matter is, but, to my 
 judgment, your highness is not entertained with that 
 ceremonious affection as you were wont. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Ha ! sayest thou so ? Thou but rememberest me of 
 mine own conception. I have perceived a most faint 
 neglect of late ; which I have rather blamed as mine own 
 jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of 
 unkindness. I will look further into 't. But where 's 
 my fool ? I have not seen him this two days. 
 
 Curan. 
 
 Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool 
 hath much pined away.
 
 2 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 No more of that ; I have noted it well. Go you and 
 tell my daughter I would speak with her. Go you, call 
 
 [Exit Curan R. 3. E. 
 hither my fool ! 
 
 [Exit a knight, arch c. Re-enter Oswald and 
 Kent L. i . E. Kent places Oswald L. of Lear. 
 
 ! you, sir, come you hither. Who am I, sir ? 
 
 Osw. 
 My lady's father. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 My lady's father ! my lord's knave ! you dog ! you 
 slave ! you cur ! 
 
 Osw. 
 
 1 am none of these, my lord ; I beseech your pardon. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ? 
 
 [Lear strikes Oswald. 
 Osw. 
 
 I '11 not be struck, my lord. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball player. 
 
 [Tripping Oswald, who falls. 
 
 Lear. [To Kent. 
 
 I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love 
 thee. 
 
 Kent. [To Oswald. 
 
 Come, sir, arise, away ! I '11 teach you differences : 
 away, away! if you will measure your lubber's length 
 again, tarry ; but away ! go to : have you wisdom ? So ! 
 [Oswald, having risen, is pushed off, by Kent, 
 R. 3. E.
 
 KING LEAR. 29 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee; there 's earnest 
 of thy service. 
 
 [Kent down R. : Lear gives him money : enter Fool, 
 arch c. 
 
 fool. [Crosses to Kent. 
 
 Let me hire him too: Here 's my coxcomb. 
 
 [ Offering Kent his cap. 
 Lear. 
 How now, my pretty knave ! how dost thou ? 
 
 Fool. {To Kent. 
 
 Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 
 
 Kent. 
 Why, boy ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Why ? for taking one's part that 's out of favour. Nay, 
 an' thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou 'It catch cold 
 shortly : there, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has 
 banished two on 's daughters, and did the third a blessing 
 against his will; if thou follow him thou must needs wear 
 my coxcomb. How now, nuncle ? would I had two cox- 
 combs, and two daughters. 
 
 Lear. 
 Why, my boy ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 If I gave them all my living, I 'd keep my coxcombs 
 myself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters. 
 
 Lear. 
 Take heed, sirrah; the whip. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, 
 when the Lady Brach may lie by the fire and sleep. 
 Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech.
 
 30 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 Do. 
 
 Fool. 
 Mark it, nuncle : 
 
 Have more than thou showest, 
 Speak less than thou knowest, 
 Lend less than thou owest, 
 Ride more than thou goest. 
 Learn more than thou trowest, 
 Set less than thou throwest ; 
 And thou shalt have more 
 Than two tens to a score. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 This is nothing, fool. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Then, 'tis like the breath of an unfeed lawyer; you 
 gave me nothing for it. Can you make no use of noth- 
 ing, nuncle? 
 
 Lear. 
 Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. 
 
 Fool. {To Kent. 
 
 Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes 
 to : he will not believe a fool. 
 
 Lear. 
 A bitter fool ! 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter 
 fool and a sweet one ? 
 
 Lear. 
 No, lad, teach me.
 
 KING LEAR. 31 
 
 Fool. [Sings. 
 
 That lord, that counselled thee 
 
 To give away thy land, 
 Come place him here by me ; 
 
 Do thou for him stand : 
 The sweet and bitter fool 
 
 Will presently appear; 
 The one in motley here, 
 
 The other found out there. 
 
 [Points at Lear. 
 Lear. 
 
 Dost thou call me fool, boy ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou 
 wast born with. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 No, 'faith ; lords and great men will not let me have all 
 fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, 
 nuncle, and I '11 give thee two crowns. 
 
 \Kent retires up. 
 Lear. 
 
 What two crowns shall they be ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up 
 the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest 
 thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou 
 borest thine ass on thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst 
 little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gav'st thy golden 
 one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be 
 whipped that first finds it so.
 
 32 KING LEAR. 
 
 [Sings. 
 Then they for sudden joy did weep. 
 
 And I for sorrow sung 
 That such a king should play bo-peep, 
 And go the fools among. 
 
 [Pool goes down to R. corner. 
 
 Lear. 
 When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy 
 daughters thy mothers. Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a school- 
 master that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn 
 to lie. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 An you lie, sirrah, we '11 have you whipped. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are : they '11 
 have me whipped for speaking true, thou 'It have me 
 whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for hold- 
 ing my peace. I had rather be any kind o' a thing than a 
 fool ; and yet would not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared 
 thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i' the middle. 
 
 [Enter Goneril, three ladies and three gentlemen 
 
 from castle R. 3. E. 
 Here comes one of the parings. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 How now, daughter ! What makes that frontlet on ? 
 Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown. 
 
 Gon. [R. 
 
 Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, 
 
 But other of your insolent retinue 
 
 Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
 
 In rank, and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
 
 I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
 
 KING LEAR. 33 
 
 To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, 
 By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
 That you protect this course, and put it on, 
 By your allowance. 
 
 Fool. [L. 
 
 For you know, nuncle, [Sings. 
 
 The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
 That it had its head bit off by its young. 
 
 Lear. 
 Are you our daughter ? 
 
 Gon. 
 
 I would you would make use of your good wisdom, and 
 put aside these dispositions which transport you from what 
 you rightly are. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Does any here know me ? Why, this is not Lear : 
 Does Lear walk thus ? speak thus ? Where are his eyes ? 
 Who is it that can tell me who I am ? 
 
 Fool. 
 Lear 's shadow ! 
 
 Lear. [To Goneril. 
 
 Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 
 
 Gon. 
 
 This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour 
 
 Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
 
 To understand my purposes aright ; 
 
 As you are old and reverend, should be wise. 
 
 Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 
 
 Men so disordered, so debauched and bold, 
 
 That this our court, infected with their manners, 
 
 Shows like a riotous inn : 
 
 For instant remedy, be, then, desired 
 
 By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 
 
 3 . .
 
 34 KING LEAR. 
 
 A little to disquantity your train ; 
 And the remainder, that shall still depend, 
 To be such men as may besort your age, 
 Which know themselves and you. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Darkness and devils ! 
 Saddle my horses; call my train together. 
 
 [Exit attendant. 
 
 Degenerate bastard ! I '11 not trouble thee; 
 Yet have I left a daughter. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 You strike my people, and your disordered rabble 
 Make servants of their betters. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Woe, that too late repents. 
 
 [Enter Albany L. i. E.] 
 
 O, sir, are you come ? [To Albany. 
 
 Is it your will ? Speak, sir ! Prepare my horses. 
 Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, 
 More hideous, when thou show 'st thee in a child, 
 Than the sea-monster. 
 
 Alb. 
 Pray, sir, be patient. 
 
 Lear. [L. to Goneril. 
 
 Detested kite ! thou liest ! 
 My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
 That all particulars of duty know, 
 And in the most exact regard support 
 The worships of their name. O, most small fault, 
 How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show, 
 Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature 
 From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love, 
 And added to the gall. O, Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
 
 [Striking his head. 
 
 Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 
 And thy dear judgment out ! 
 Go, go, my people !
 
 KING LEAR. 35 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this ? 
 
 \Albany crosses to Goneril R. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 Never afflict yourself to know the cause ; 
 But let his disposition have that scope 
 That dotage gives it. 
 
 Alb. [R. 
 
 What 's the matter, sir ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I '11 tell thee ! Life and death ! I am ashamed 
 That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : 
 
 \To Goneril. 
 
 That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, 
 Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee ! 
 The untented woundings of a father's curse 
 Pierce every sense about thee ! Old, fond eyes, 
 Beweep this cause again, I '11 pluck you out ; 
 And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
 To temper clay. Ha ! is it come to this ? 
 Let it be so ; yet have I left a daughter, 
 Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ; 
 When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
 She '11 flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shall find 
 That I '11 resume the shape which thou dost think 
 I have cast off forever. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
 Of what hath moved you. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 It may be so, my lord : 
 
 Hear, Nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! {Kneels. 
 
 Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 
 To make this creature fruitful ! 
 Into her womb convey sterility !
 
 3 KING LEAR. 
 
 Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 
 And from her derogate body never spring 
 A babe to honour her ! If she must teem, 
 Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, 
 And be a thwart disnatured torment to her ! 
 Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
 With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
 Turn all her mother's pains and benefits, 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
 How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! 
 
 [Kent and Pool assist Lear to rise, 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN.
 
 IN FRONT OF GLOSTER'S CASTLE. CUT 
 g, ffir<?t J WooD FRONT. CASTLE c. A WING 
 * ^ OF THE CASTLE, WITH PRIVATE DOOR, 
 
 SEEN L. U. E. 
 
 [Enter Kent R. i. E., and Oswald L. 2. E. 
 
 Osw. 
 Good-morrow to thee, friend : art of this house ? 
 
 Kent. 
 Ay. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 Where may we set our horses ? 
 
 Kent. 
 I' the mire. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 Pr'ythee, if thou lovest me, tell me. 
 
 Kent. 
 I love thee not 
 
 Osu 1 . 
 
 Why, then, I care not for thee. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee 
 care for me. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 Why dost thou use me thus ? I know thee not.
 
 38 KING LEAR. 
 
 Kent. 
 Fellow, I know thee. 
 
 Osw. 
 What dost thou know me for ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 A knave ; a rascal ; an eater of broken meats ; a base, 
 proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, 
 filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking 
 knave ; a glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue. 
 
 Osw. [L. 
 
 Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on 
 one that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny that thou 
 know'st me ? Is it two days since I tripped up thy heels, 
 and beat thee, before the king ? Draw, you rogue ! 
 
 {Kent draws sword and menaces Oswald. 
 
 Osw. 
 Away, I have nothing to do with thee. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Draw, you rascal : you come with letters against the 
 king, and take vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty 
 of her father ; draw, you rogue, or I '11 so carbonade your 
 shanks ; draw, you rascal ! Come your ways ! 
 
 Osw. 
 
 Help, ho! Murder! Help! 
 Kent. 
 
 Strike, you slave ; stand, rogue, stand ; you neat slave, 
 strike. [Beating him. 
 
 Osw. 
 Help, ho ! Murder ! Murder ! 
 
 [Exeunt L. Enter Edmund c.
 
 KING LEAR. 39 
 
 Edm. 
 
 The duke be here to-day ? The better ! 
 
 Best! 
 
 This weaves itself perforce into my business. 
 
 My father hath set guard to take my brother ; 
 
 And I have one thing, of a queazy question, 
 
 Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work ! 
 
 Brother a word; brother, I say! 
 
 [Enter Edgar L. u. E. 
 
 My father watches : O, sir, fly this place ; 
 Intelligence is given where you are hid : 
 Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall ? 
 He 's coming hither, and Regan with him : 
 Have you nothing said 
 Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany ? 
 Advise yourself. 
 
 Edgar. 
 I am sure on 't, not a word. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 {During this speech, mock combat. 
 I hear my father coming, pardon me : 
 In cunning I must draw my sword upon you ; 
 Draw; seem to defend yourself: now, 'quit you well. 
 Yield : come before my father : 
 Fly brother ! Help ! Help ! So, farewell. 
 
 f Exit Edgar L. i . E. 
 Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 
 
 [ Wounds his arm. 
 
 Of my more fierce endeavour : I have seen drunkards, 
 Do more than this in sport. Father ! Father ! 
 Stop, stop ! No help ? 
 
 [Enter Glostcr and two servants with torches, from 
 castle c. 
 
 Glos. 
 Now, Edmund, where 's the villain ?
 
 40 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out 
 Mumbling of wicked charms. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 But, where is he ? 
 
 Edm. 
 Look, sir, I bleed. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Where is the villain, Edmund ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Fled this way, sir. [Points R. i. E.] When by no means 
 
 he could 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Pursue him. Ho ! Go after ! 
 
 [Exeunt servants R. i. E., as Edmund directs^ 
 
 which is contrary to the way of Edgar 's flight. 
 By no means, what ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Persuade me to the murder of your lordship. 
 Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
 To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, 
 With his prepared sword he charges home 
 My unprovided body, lanced mine arm ; 
 But when he saw my best alarmed spirits, 
 Bold in the quarrel's right, 
 Or whether ghasted by the noise I made, 
 Full suddenly he fled. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Let him fly far ; 
 
 Not in this land shall he remain uncaught, 
 And found dispatch. The noble duke, my master, 
 My worthy arch and patron, comes. 
 By his authority I will proclaim it.
 
 KING LEAR. 4! 
 
 That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks, 
 Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ; 
 He, that conceals him, death. [ Trumpets at distance. 
 
 Hark ! The duke's trumpets. I know not why he comes. 
 All ports I '11 bar ; the villain shall not 'scape ; 
 The duke must grant me that. And of my land, 
 Loyal and natural boy, I '11 work the means 
 To make thee capable. 
 
 [Enter Cornwall, Regan, ladies, and attendants, 
 
 L. 2. E. 
 
 Corn. 
 
 How now, my noble friend! Since I came hither, 
 Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. 
 
 Regan. [L. 
 
 If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, 
 Which can pursue the offender, 
 What ! did my father's godson seek your life ? 
 He whom my father named ? Your Edgar ? 
 
 Glos. [R. c. 
 
 O, lady, lady ! shame would have it hid ! 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Was he not companion with the riotous knights 
 That tend upon my father ? 
 
 Edm. 
 Yes, madam, he was of that consort. 
 
 Regan. [To Cornwall. 
 
 No marvel, then, though he were ill-affected; 
 T is they have put him on the old man's death, 
 To have the expense and waste of his revenues. 
 
 [To Gloster. 
 
 I have this present morning from my sister 
 Been well informed of them ; and with such cautions, 
 That if they come to sojourn at my house, I "11 not be there.
 
 42 KING LEAR. 
 
 * 
 Corn. 
 
 Nor I, assure thee, Regan. 
 
 Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
 
 A child-like office. 
 
 Edm. 
 It was my duty, sir. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 He did bewray his practice ; and received 
 This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 
 
 Corn. 
 Is he pursued ? 
 
 Glos. 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Corn. 
 
 If he be taken, he shall nevermore 
 
 Be feared of doing harm ; make your own purpose, 
 
 How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, 
 
 Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
 
 So much commend itself, you shall be ours : 
 
 Natures of such deep trust we shall much need : 
 
 You we first seize on. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 I shall serve you, sir, 
 Truly, however else. 
 
 Glos. [To Cornwall. 
 
 For him, I thank your grace. 
 
 Corn. 
 You know not why we came to visit you. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night. 
 Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poise, 
 W herein we must have use of your advice. 
 Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
 Of differences, which I best thought it fit
 
 KING LEAR. 43 
 
 To answer from our home ; the several messengers 
 From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, 
 Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow, 
 Your needful counsel to our business, 
 Which craves the instant use. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 I serve you, madam. 
 Your graces are right welcome. 
 
 {Enter L. Oswald crying "Help!" " help!" fol- 
 lowed by Kent L. u. E. Oswald crosses to R. 
 corner. Kent remains L. 
 
 Edm. 
 How now ? What 's the matter ? 
 
 Corn. 
 
 Keep peace, upon your lives ; 
 
 He dies that strikes again. What is the matter ? 
 
 Regan. 
 The messengers from our sister and the king. 
 
 Corn. 
 What is your difference ? Speak ! 
 
 Osw. [R. 
 
 I 'm scarce in breath, my lord. 
 
 Kent. [L. 
 
 No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You 
 cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee ; a tailor made 
 thee ! 
 
 Corn. 
 
 Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man? 
 Kent. 
 
 Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter, could not 
 have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours 
 at the trade.
 
 44 KING LEAR. 
 
 Corn. 
 Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ? 
 
 Osw. 
 This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared, 
 
 At suit of his grey beard ,- 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Thou zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you 
 will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into 
 mortar. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail! 
 
 Corn. 
 Peace, sirrah ! Have you no reverence ? 
 
 Kent. 
 Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege. 
 
 Corn. 
 Why art thou angry ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 That such a slave as this should wear a sword, 
 
 Who wears no honesty. 
 
 No contraries hold more antipathy 
 
 Than I and such a knave. 
 
 Corn. 
 Why dost thou call him knave ? What 's his offence ? 
 
 Kent. 
 His countenance likes me not. 
 
 Corn. 
 No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Sir, 't is my occupation to be plain; 
 I have seen better faces in my time 
 Than stand on any shoulders that I see 
 Before me at this instant.
 
 KING LEAR. 45 
 
 Con i. 
 
 This is some fellow, 
 
 Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect 
 
 A saucy roughness; 
 
 These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
 
 Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
 
 Than twenty silly, ducking observants, 
 
 That stretch their duties nicely. 
 
 What was the offence you gave him ? [ To Oswald. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 I never gave him any; 
 It pleased the king, his master, very late, 
 To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ; 
 When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, 
 Tripped me behind ; being down, insulted, railed, 
 And put upon him such a deal of man, 
 That worthied him, got praises of the king, 
 And in the fleshment of this dread exploit 
 Drew on me here.again. 
 
 Corn. 
 
 Fetch forth the stocks ! 
 
 [ Two knights enter castle c. 
 
 You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart, 
 We '11 teach you ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Sir, I am too old to learn : 
 
 Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king, 
 
 On whose employment I was sent to you: 
 
 You shall do small respects, show too bold malice 
 
 Against the grace and person of my master, 
 
 Stocking his messenger. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Fetch forth the stocks- 
 
 As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till night 
 
 And all night too.
 
 4*> KING LEAR. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, 
 You should not use me so. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Sir, being his knave, I will. 
 
 [Re-enter two knights, with two servants who carry 
 the stocks. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Let me oeseech your grace not to do so : 
 His fault is much, and the good king his master 
 Will check him for 't ; the king must take it ill, 
 That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, 
 Should have him thus restrained. 
 
 Corn. 
 I '11 answer that. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 My sister may receive it much more worse, 
 To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, 
 For following her affairs. 
 
 [Kent is pttt into the stocks. Exeunt Regan, 
 Cornwall, Edmund, and attendants, c. 
 
 Glos. [To Kent. 
 
 I am sorry for thee, friend : ' t is the duke's pleasure, 
 
 Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 
 
 Will not be rubbed, nor stopped : I '11 entreat for thee. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Pray, do not, sir. I have watched and travelled hard : 
 Sometime I shall sleep out, the rest I '11 whistle. 
 A good man's fortune may grow out at heels : 
 Give you good-morrow ! 
 
 Glos. [To himself . 
 
 The duke 's to blame in this : ' T will be ill taken. 
 
 [Eocit Gloster c. Oswald approaches Kent with 
 drawn sword ; Kent strikes at him; Oswald 
 runs into castle c. Scene changes : lights down.
 
 KING LEAR. 47 
 
 >ccrtc >cconU. A LONELY HEATH. DIM STARLIGHT. 
 
 [Enter Edgar L. I.E. 
 Edgar. 
 
 I heard myself proclaimed ; 
 
 And by the happy hollow of a tree 
 
 Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place, 
 
 That guard, and most unusual vigilance, 
 
 Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, 
 
 I will preserve myself; and am bethought 
 
 To take the basest and most poorest shape, 
 
 That ever penury, in contempt of man, 
 
 Brought near to beast. My face I '11 grime with filth, 
 
 Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots, 
 
 And with presented nakedness out-face 
 
 The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
 
 The country gives me proof and precedent 
 
 Of Bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices, 
 
 Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms, 
 
 Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; 
 
 And with this horrible object, from low farms, 
 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills 
 
 Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, 
 
 Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod ! poor Tom ! 
 
 That 's something yet : Edgar I nothing am ! 
 
 [Exit Edgar R. i. E. Scene changes: lights up. 
 
 IN FRONT OF GLOSTER'S CASTLE. KENT 
 DISCOVERED, ASLEEP, IN STOCKS L. U. E. 
 
 [Enter Lear, Fool, and Lear's knights, who stand 
 in front of Kent, not seeing him. N. B. He is 
 not seen by them till he speaks. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 : T is strange that they should so depart from home, 
 And not send back my messenger.
 
 4 KING LEAR. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 If a man's brains were in his heels, wer 't not in danger 
 of kibes ? 
 
 Lear. 
 Ay, boy. 
 
 Fool. [R. 
 
 Then, I pr'ythee, be merry ; thy wit shall not go slip- 
 shod. 
 
 Lear. 
 Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Fool 
 
 Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee kindly ; for 
 though she 's as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I 
 can tell what I can tell. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What canst tell, boy ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. 
 Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle of 
 his face ? 
 
 Lear. 
 No. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Why, to keep his eyes on either side his nose ; that what 
 a man cannot smell out he may spy into. 
 
 Lear. 
 I did her wrong ! 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 No. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail has a house. ,
 
 KING T.EAR. 49 
 
 Lear. 
 Why? 
 
 Fool 
 
 Why, to put his head in ; not to give it away to his 
 daughters, and leave his horns without a case. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I will forget my nature. So kind a father! See to my 
 horses. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the 
 seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason. 
 
 Lear. 
 Because they are not eight. 
 
 Fool. 
 Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good fool. 
 
 Lear. 
 To take 't again perforce ! Monster ingratitude ! 
 
 Fool. 
 
 If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for 
 being old before thy time. 
 
 Lear. 
 How's that? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst 
 been wise. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven ! 
 Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad ! 
 
 4
 
 SO KING LEAR 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Hail to thee, noble master ! 
 
 [Knights fall back, disclosing Kent in the stocks. 
 
 fool. 
 Ha, ha ! Look, he wears cruel garters. 
 
 Lear. 
 Ha! 
 Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime ? 
 
 Kent. 
 No, my lord ! 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What 's he, that hath so much thy place mistook, 
 To set thee here ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 It is both he and she ; 
 Your son and daughter. 
 
 Lear. 
 No! 
 
 Kent. 
 Yes! 
 
 Lear. 
 No, I say. 
 
 Kent. 
 I say, yea. 
 
 Lear. 
 No, no; they would not. 
 
 Kent. 
 Yes, they have. 
 
 Lear. 
 By Jupiter, I swear, no.
 
 KING LEAR. 51 
 
 Kent. 
 By Juno, I swear, ay. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 They durst not do it ; 
 
 They could not, would not do 't ; 't is worse than murder, 
 To do upon respect such violent outrage. 
 Resolve me with all modest haste which way 
 Thou rnightst deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
 Coming from us. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 My lord, when at their home 
 
 I did commend your highness' letter to them, 
 
 Ere I was risen from the place that showed 
 
 My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
 
 Stewed in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
 
 From Goneril, his mistress, salutations; 
 
 Delivered letters, spite of intermission, 
 
 Which presently they read ; on whose contents, 
 
 They straight took horse ; 
 
 Commanded me to follow, and attend 
 
 The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks; 
 
 And, meeting here the other messenger, 
 
 Whose welcome, I perceived, had poisoned mine, 
 
 Being the very fellow which of late 
 
 Displayed so saucily against your highness, 
 
 Having more man than wit about me, drew ; 
 
 He raised the house with loud and coward cries: 
 
 Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
 
 The shame which here it suffers. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. 
 Thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as 
 thou canst tell in a year. \To Lear. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! 
 JJystenca passio ! Down, thou climbing sorrow! 
 Thy element's below. Where is this daughter?
 
 52 KING LEAR. 
 
 
 
 Kent. 
 With the earl, sir; here, within. 
 
 Lear. {To all 
 
 Follow me not: 
 Stay here. 
 
 {Exit Lear c. 
 
 Fool 
 
 Made you no more offence but what you speak of ? 
 
 Kent. 
 None. 
 How chance the king comes with so small a train ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, 
 thou hadst well deserved it. 
 
 Kent. 
 Why, fool ? 
 
 Fool. 
 
 We '11 set thee to school to an ant, to teach there 's no 
 labouring i' the winter. 
 
 {Sings. 
 He who serves and seeks for gain, 
 
 And follows but for form, 
 Will pack when it begins to rain, 
 
 And leave thee in the storm; 
 But, I will tarry; the fool will stay, 
 
 And let the wise man fly; 
 The knave turns fool that runs away, 
 The fool no knave, perdy. 
 
 Kent. 
 Where learned you this, fool ? 
 
 Fool. 
 Not i' the stocks, fool. 
 
 {Re-enter Lear and Gloster c.
 
 KING LEAR. 53 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Deny to speak with me ? They are sick ? they are weary ? 
 They have travelled all the night ? Mere fetches, 
 The images of revolt and flying off. 
 Fetch me a better answer. 
 
 Glos. [R. 
 
 My dear lord, 
 You know the fiery quality of the duke. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Vengeance! Plague! Death! Confusion! 
 Fiery ? What quality ? Why, Gloster, Gloster, 
 I 'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. 
 
 Glos. 
 Well, my good lord, I have informed them so. 
 
 Lear. 
 Informed them ! Dost thou understand me, man ? 
 
 Glos. 
 Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father 
 Would with his daughter speak, commands her service : 
 Are they informed of this? My breath and blood! 
 Fiery? The fiery duke! tell the hot duke that 
 
 \Gloster starts towards c. 
 No, but not yet: may be, he is not well: 
 Infirmity doth still neglect all office, 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves, 
 When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind 
 To suffer with the body: I '11 forbear; 
 And am fallen out with my more headier will, 
 To take the indisposed and sickly fit 
 For the sound man. Death on my state ! Wherefore 
 
 {Looking on Kent, 
 /Should he sit here ? This act persuades me
 
 54 KING LEAR. 
 
 That this remotion of the duke and her 
 Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. 
 Go, tell the duke and 's wife I 'd speak with them, 
 Now, presently; bid them come forth and hear me, 
 Or at their chamber door I '11 beat the drum, 
 Till it cry "Sleep to death." 
 
 \Enter Cornwall, Regan, lords, ladies and servants c. 
 
 Corn. 
 Hail to your grace. 
 
 [Cornwall silently indicates that Kent is to bl 
 released. Kent is set at liberty, by the servants, 
 and goes R. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 I am glad to see your highness. 
 
 i 
 Lear. [L. c. 
 
 Regan, I think you are; I know what reason 
 I have to think so; if thou shouldst not be glad, 
 I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
 Sepulch'ring an adultress. O ! are you free ? 
 
 [To Kent, who comes forward R. 
 Some other time for that. Beloved Regan, 
 Thy sister's naught: O, Regan, she hath tied 
 Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture, here, 
 
 [Points to his bosom. 
 
 I can scarce speak to thee ; thou 'It not believe 
 With how depraved a quality O, Regan ! 
 
 Regan. 
 
 I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope 
 You less know how to value her desert 
 Than she to scant her duty. 
 
 Lear. 
 Say, how is that ?
 
 KING LEAR. 55 
 
 Regan. 
 
 I cannot think my sister in the least 
 Would fail her obligation ; if, sir, perchance, 
 She have restrained the riots of your followers, 
 'T is on such ground, and to such wholesome end, 
 As clears her from all blame. 
 
 Lear. 
 My curses on her ! 
 
 Regan. 
 
 O, sir, you are old; 
 
 Nature in you stands on the very verge 
 Of her confine ; you should be ruled and led 
 By some discretion, that discerns your state 
 Better than yourself; therefore I pray you 
 That to our sister you do make return ; 
 Say you have wronged her, sir. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Ask her forgiveness ? 
 
 Do you but mark how this becomes the house : 
 Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 
 Age is unnecessary ; on my knees I beg 
 That you '11 vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks : 
 Return you to my sister. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Never, Regan ! 
 
 She hath abated me of half my train ; 
 Looked black upon me; struck me with her tongue, 
 Most serpent-like, upon the very heart : 
 All the stored vengeances of heaven fall 
 On her ungrateful top ! Strike her young bones, 
 You taking airs, with lameness ! 
 
 Corn. 
 Fie, fie, fie !
 
 56 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames 
 Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
 You fen-sucked fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
 To fall and blast her pride ! 
 
 Regan. 
 
 O, the blest gods ! 
 So you will wish on me when the rash mood is on. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse ; 
 Thy tender-hested nature shall not give 
 Thee o'er to harshness : thou better know'st 
 The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
 Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
 Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
 Wherein I thee endowed. 
 
 Regan. 
 Good sir, to the purpose. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Who put my man i' the stocks ? 
 
 [Trumpets within pp. 
 Corn. 
 What trumpet 's that ? 
 
 Regan. 
 
 I know 't, my sister's. 
 
 Lear. [Looking off ~L. 
 
 This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride 
 Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. 
 
 [Enter Oswalds 
 Out, varlet, from my sight ! 
 
 [Strikes Oswald, who retires.
 
 KING LEAR. 57 
 
 Corn. 
 What means your grace ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Who stocked my servant ? Regan, I have good hope 
 Thou didst not know on 't. {Trumpet p. \ Who comes 
 
 here ? 
 
 O, heavens! 
 
 If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, 
 Make it your cause ; send down and take my part ! 
 
 \Enter Goneril, lords, and ladies L. I.E. 
 
 Art not ashamed to look upon this beard ? [ To Goneril. 
 
 \Regan advances to take Goneril by hand. Leaf 
 
 interposes. 
 O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
 
 Gon. [ To Lear. 
 
 Why not by the hand, sir ? How have I offended ? 
 All 's not offence that indiscretion finds, 
 And dotage terms so. 
 
 Lear. 
 O, heart ! you are too tough ! too tough ! 
 
 Regan. [ To Lear. 
 
 I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
 
 If, till the expiration of your month, 
 
 You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
 
 Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; 
 
 I am now from home, and out of that provision 
 
 Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Return to her ? and fifty men dismissed ? 
 No, rather I abjure alt roofs, and choose 
 To wage against the enmity o' the air ; 
 To be a comrade with the wolf and owl 
 Necessity's sharp pinch ! return with her?
 
 5 KING LEAR. 
 
 Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
 Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
 To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
 To keep base life afoot. 
 
 Gon. 
 At your choice, sir. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad ; 
 
 I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell ; 
 
 We '11 no more meet, no more see one another ; 
 
 But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter ; 
 
 Or rather, a disease that 's in my flesh, 
 
 Which I must needs call mine ; but I '11 not chide thee ; 
 
 Let shame come when it will, I do not call it ; 
 
 I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
 
 Mend, when thou canst ; be better at thy leisure : 
 
 I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
 
 I, and my hundred knights. 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Not altogether so ; 
 
 I looked not for you yet, nor am provided 
 For your fit welcome. 
 
 Lear. 
 Is this well spoken ? 
 
 Regan. 
 
 What ! fifty followers ? 
 
 Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
 Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger 
 Speak 'gainst so great a number. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance 
 From those that she calls servants, or from mine ?
 
 KING LEAR. 59 
 
 Regan. 
 
 Why not, my lord ? If then they chanced to slack you, 
 We could controul them : if you will come to me, 
 For now I spy a danger, I entreat you 
 To bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
 Will I give place or notice. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I gave you all 
 
 Regan. 
 
 And in good time you gave it 
 Lear. 
 
 Made you my guardians, my depositaries, 
 
 But kept a reservation to be followed 
 
 With such a number. What ! must I come to you 
 
 With five and twenty ? Regan, said you so ? 
 
 Regan. 
 And speak 't again, my lord ; no more with me. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Those wicked creatures yet do look well favoured 
 When others are more wicked ; not being the worst, 
 Stands in some rank of praise : I '11 go with thee. 
 
 [To Goneril. 
 
 Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, 
 And thou art twice her love. 
 
 Gon. 
 
 Hear me, my lord : 
 
 What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, 
 To follow in a house where twice so many 
 Have a command to tend you ? 
 
 Regan. 
 What need one ?
 
 60 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 O, reason not the need ; our basest beggars 
 
 Are in the poorest thing superfluous. 
 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's. Thou art a lady ; 
 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
 
 Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, 
 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But for true need, 
 
 You heavens give me patience, patience I need ! 
 
 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
 
 As full of grief as age ; wretched in both : 
 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 
 Against their father, fool me not so much 
 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
 
 O ! let not woman's weapons, water-drops, 
 
 Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags, 
 
 I will have such revenges on you both 
 
 That all the world shall I will do such things, 
 
 What they are yet I know not, but, they shall be 
 
 The terrors of the earth ! [Fool comes down L. 
 
 You think I '11 weep ; 
 
 No, I'll not weep; 
 
 I have full cause of weeping 
 
 But this heart 
 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
 
 Or ere I '11 weep ! O, fool ! I shall go mad ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lear, Kent and fool L. I. E. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ( A ROOM IN GLOSTER'S CASTLE. FAINT 
 JFtreft. < NOISE OF STORM HEARD, NOW AND 
 ( THEN. 
 
 [Enter Gloster and Edmund L. I.E. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Alack ! alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural deal- 
 ing. When I desired their leave that I might pity him, 
 they took from me the use of mine own house ; charged 
 me, on pain of their perpetual displeasure, neither to 
 speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him. 
 
 Edm. 
 Most savage and unnatural ! 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Go to ; say you nothing : there is division between the 
 dukes, and a worse matter than that. Read this letter 
 [gives him a letter} I have received to-night ; 'tis danger- 
 ous to be spoken. These injuries the king now bears will 
 be revenged home. There is a part of a power already 
 footed. We must incline to the king. I will seek him 
 and privily relieve him. Go you, and maintain talk with 
 the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he 
 ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as 
 no less is threatened me, the king, my old master, must be 
 relieved. There is strange things toward, Edmund ; pray 
 you be careful. 
 
 [Exit Gloster R. I.E.
 
 62 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 This courtesy forbid thee shall the duke 
 Instantly know ; and of this letter too : 
 
 [Looking upon letter. 
 
 This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
 That which my father loses ; no less than all : 
 The younger rises when the old doth fall. 
 
 [Enter Cornwall L. I.E. 
 
 Corn. 
 Where is your father, Edmund ? 
 
 Edm. 
 
 How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be 
 just! He hath gone to relieve the king; and see, this 
 letter approves him an intelligent party to the advantages 
 of France, whose armies now are moving. O, heaven ! 
 that this treason were not, or not I the detector ! 
 
 Corn. {Takes letter. 
 
 I will have my revenge ere I depart this house. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty 
 business in hand. 
 
 Corn. 
 
 True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloster. Seek 
 out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our 
 apprehension. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 If I find him comforting the king, I will stuff his sus- 
 picion more fully. I will persevere in my course of loyalty, 
 though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
 
 KING LEAR. 63 
 
 Corn. 
 
 I will lay trust upon thee ; thou shalt find 
 A dearer father in my love. 
 Edmund, farewell. Go, seek the traitor Gloster : 
 Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. 
 Though well we may not pass upon his life 
 Without the form of justice, yet our power 
 Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
 May blame, but not controul. 
 
 {Exeunt Edmund R., Cornwall L. 
 
 ( A HEATH. STORM. LOUD AND CONTIN- 
 SeconU. < UED WIND AND RAIN. LIGHTNING AND 
 ( THUNDER. LEAR DISCOVERED. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! 
 You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout, 
 Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks ! 
 
 [Lightning. 
 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
 Vaunt couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
 Singe my white head ! [ Thunder. 
 
 And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds, all germins spill at once 
 That make ingrateful man ! 
 
 [Rain and thunder and noise of the whistling 
 blast. 
 
 [Enter Fool L. u. E. 
 Fool. 
 
 O, nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better 
 than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in and 
 ask thy daughters' blessing ; here 's a night pities neither 
 wise men nor fools. [Thunder.
 
 4 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Rumble thy belly- full ! spit fire ! spout rain ! 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; 
 I never gave you kingdom, called you children ; 
 You owe me no subscription : then let fall 
 Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave, 
 A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man : 
 But yet I call you servile ministers, 
 That will with two pernicious daughters join 
 Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head 
 So old and white as this. O, O, 't is foul! 
 
 [ Thunder, rain, and wind. Enter Kent L. u. E. 
 
 Kent. 
 Who 's there ? 
 
 Fool. 
 Marry, a wise man and a fool. 
 
 Kent. \To Lear. 
 
 Alas, sir, are you here ? Things that love night 
 Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies 
 Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
 And make them keep their caves. 
 
 [Lightning and loud thunder. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Let the great gods, 
 
 That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, 
 Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
 That hast within thee undivuiged crimes, 
 Unwhipped of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand; 
 Thou perjured, and thou simular of virtue 
 That art incestuous : caitiff to pieces shake, 
 That under covert and convenient seeming
 
 KING LEAR. 65 
 
 Hast practised on man's life : close pent-up guilts, 
 
 Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
 
 These dreadful summoners grace. 
 
 I am a man, 
 
 More sinned against than sinning. 
 
 [ Thunder, very loud. 
 Kent. 
 
 Gracious, my lord, hard by there is a hovel; 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest. 
 
 [Loud sound of rain. 
 Lear. 
 
 My wits begin to turn. 
 Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? 
 
 [To Fool. 
 
 I am cold, myself. Where is this straw, my fellow? 
 The art of our necessities is strange, 
 That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. 
 Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
 That's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 [Sings. All quiet, meanwhile, 
 
 He that has a little tiny wit, 
 With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit; 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 True, my good boy. [Distant thunder and rain. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 [Pointing to hovel L. u. E. 
 
 Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter: 
 The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
 For nature to endure. 
 
 [Storm sounds heard, but faintly seeming to die 
 away. 
 
 Lear. 
 Let me alone. 
 
 5
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Kent. 
 Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Wilt break my heart ? 
 
 Kent. 
 
 I 'd rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm 
 
 Invades us to the skin : so, 't is, to thee ; 
 
 But where the greater malady is fixed 
 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear; 
 
 But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea 
 
 Thou 'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind 's 
 
 free, 
 
 The body 's delicate : the tempest in my mind 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
 Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, 
 For lifting food to 't ? But I will punish home. 
 No, I will weep no more. 
 
 [ Thunder and rain. 
 In such a night 
 
 To shut me out! pour on; I will endure: 
 In such a night as this! O, Regan, Goneril! 
 Your old, kind father, whose frank heart gave all; 
 O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; 
 No more of that. 
 
 Kent. [L. 
 
 Good my lord, enter here ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Pr'ythee go in thyself; seek thine own ease; 
 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 
 On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in; 
 
 In boy; go first. [To Fool. 
 
 You houseless poverty,
 
 KING LEAR. 67 
 
 [Kent and Fool endeavour to lead Lear, 
 Nay, get thee in. 1 '11 pray, and then I '11 sleep. 
 
 \Fool goes into hovel L. u. E. 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you 
 From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
 That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. {Thunder. 
 
 Fool. [ Within. 
 
 Help! help! help! 
 
 Edgar. [ Within. 
 
 Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! 
 
 Fool. [ Within. 
 
 Come not in here, nuncle; here's a spirit. 
 Help me ! help me ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Give me thy hand. 
 Who's there? 
 
 [To Fool, who enters L. u. E. and runs to Lear. 
 
 Fool. 
 A spirit, a spirit; he says his name's poor Tom. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 What are thou that dost grumble there i' the straw ? 
 Come forth ! 
 
 [Enter from the hovel L. u. E. Edgar, disguised as 
 a madman. He runs to R. Kent comes behind 
 Lear and interposes between him and Edgar. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! 
 
 Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind : 
 
 Humph ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
 
 68 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. [To Edgar. 
 
 Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
 And art thou come to this ? 
 
 Edgar. [R. 
 
 Who gives anything to poor Tom, whom the foul fiend 
 hath led through fire and through flame, through ford 
 and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire; that hath laid 
 knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew ; made him 
 proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four- 
 inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. 
 Bless thy five wits ! 
 
 [ Wind and rain. 
 
 Tom 's a-cold. O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from 
 whirlwinds, star-blasting and taking ! Do poor Tom some 
 charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have 
 him now, and there, and there, and there again, and 
 there. 
 
 [Rain, and rumble of distant thunder. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What! have his daughters brought him to this pass? 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 Couldst thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all ? 
 
 Fool. 
 Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults, fall on thy daughters ! 
 
 Kent. 
 He hath no daughters, sir. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Death, traitor ! Nothing could have subdued nature 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters ! 
 Is it the fashion that discarded fathers
 
 KING LEAR. 69 
 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ? 
 
 [Draws a thorn, or wooden spike, from Edgar's 
 
 arm and tries to thrust it into his own. 
 Judicious punishment ! 'T was this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 [Edgar seizes Lear's hand and takes away the thorn. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill ; 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo! 
 
 Fool. 
 This night will turn us all to fools and madmen. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Take heed o' the foul fiend. Obey thy parents ; keep 
 thy word justly ; swear not ; commit not with man's sworn 
 spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom 's 
 a-cold. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What hast thou been ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 A serving man, proud in heart and mind ; that curled 
 my hair ; wore gloves in my cap ; swore as many oaths as 
 I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven. 
 Wine loved I deeply ; dice dearly ; false of heart, light of 
 ear, bloody of hand ; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in 
 greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the 
 creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy 
 poor heart to woman : keep thy foot out of brothels, thy 
 hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and 
 defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the 
 cold wind. Sessa, sessa ! Ha, no, nonny. Dolphin, my 
 boy, my boy ; sessa ! sessa ! Let him trot by. 
 
 [Distant rain and thunder.
 
 7 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with 
 thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man 
 no more than this ? Consider him well. Thou owest 
 the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, 
 the cat no perfume. Ha ! here 's three of us are sophisti- 
 cated; thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is 
 no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou 
 art. Off! off! you lendings: come; unbutton here. 
 
 [Lear essays to tear off his clothes. 
 
 Fool. [Preventing him. 
 
 Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; 't is a naughty night to 
 swim in. Look, here comes a walking fire. 
 
 [Pointing L. 2. E. 
 Edgar. 
 
 This is the foul fiend, Flibbertigibbet; he begins at 
 curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he gives the web and 
 the pin, squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip; mildews 
 the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. 
 
 Saint Withold footed thrice the wold ; 
 
 He met the night-mare and her nine-fold ; 
 
 Bid her alight, and her troth plight, 
 
 And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 [Speaking to those who approach. 
 Who 's there. What is 't you seek ? 
 
 [Lear sits on a fallen tree, fool sits at his /eft. 
 Kent at L. back. 
 
 GIos. [Calling, within. 
 
 What are you there ? Your names ? 
 
 [Enter Gloster, and two servants with torches, L. 2. E. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the 
 tadpole, the wall-ne-.vt, and the water; that, in the fury of 
 his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat,
 
 KING LEAR. 71 
 
 and the ditch dog; drinks the green mantle of the stand- 
 ing pool ; who is whipped from tything to tything, and 
 stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who hath had three 
 suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and 
 weapon to wear. 
 
 But mice and rats, and such small deer, 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
 Beware my follower : Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou fiend ! 
 [Edgar goes to Lear c. Gloster takes torch and 
 sends off sen>a?its, who go out L. 2. E. 
 
 Glos. [To Lear. 
 
 What, hath your grace no better company ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 The prince of darkness is a gentleman; 
 Modo he 's called, and Mahu. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Poor Tom 's a-cold. 
 
 Glos. [To Lear. 
 
 Go in with me : my duty cannot suffer 
 To obey in all your daughters' hard commands ! 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
 
 [ Thunder and lightning. 
 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, 
 Yet have I ventured to come seek you out, 
 And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 First let me talk with this philosopher. [Thunder. 
 
 What is the cause of thunder ? [ To Edgar. 
 
 Kent. 
 Good my lord, take his offer.
 
 jz KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I '11 talk a word with this same learned Theban : 
 What is your study ? [To Edgar. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Let me ask you one word in private. 
 
 [Jff whispers to Edgar. 
 Kent. [To Gloster. 
 
 Importune him once more to go, my lord; 
 His wits begin to unsettle. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Canst thou blame him ? 
 
 His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent! 
 He said it would be thus : poor banished man. 
 I '11 tell thee, friend, 
 I am almost mad myself; I had a son, 
 Now outlawed from my blood : he sought my life, 
 
 [Edgar liste/is, and evinces emotion. 
 But lately, very late : I loved him, friend, 
 No father his son dearer: true to tell thee, 
 The grief hath crazed my wits. 
 
 [ Sou/nh of tempest. 
 What a night 's this ! 
 
 I do beseech your grace [To Lear. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I '11 see their trial first. Bring in the evidence. 
 Thou robed man of justice, take thy place; [To Edgar. 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To Fool. 
 
 Bench by his side. 
 
 [Fool runs to R. of Lear and sits near him. 
 Now, you she-foxes! 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 \As if stroking a cat beside him at R. 
 Purr! the cat is grey!
 
 KING LEAR. 73 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Arraign her first : 't is Goneril. 
 And here's another, whose warped looks proclaim 
 What store her heart is made of. Stop her there ! 
 Arms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place! 
 False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Bless thy five wits ! 
 
 Kent. 
 
 O, pity! Sir, where is the patience now, 
 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain ? [ To Lear. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 To have a thousand, with red burning spits 
 Come hissing in upon them ! 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 My tears begin to take his part so much, 
 They '11 mar my counterfeiting. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 The little dogs and all, 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 
 
 Edgar. [R. 
 
 Tom will throw his head at them. [Rises. 
 
 Avaunt, you curs! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white, 
 
 Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
 
 Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, 
 
 Hound or spaniel, brach or lym; 
 
 Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, 
 
 Tom will make him weep and wail: 
 
 For, with throwing thus my head, 
 
 [ Throws straw crown to L. 
 
 Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
 Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market- 
 towns : [ Crosses \. 
 Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
 
 74 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. {To Edgar. 
 
 You sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only, I do 
 not like the fashion of your garments: you will say they 
 are Persian; but let them be changed. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 {Crouching at the feet of Lear. 
 
 Fratteretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in 
 the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul 
 fiend. 
 
 Kent. {To Lear. 
 
 Now, good my lord, go in, and rest awhile. 
 
 Edgar 
 Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Glos. { Touches Edgar. 
 
 In fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm. 
 
 [ Gloster goes to L. corner. 
 
 Edgar. {Rising slowly. 
 
 Childe Rowland to the dark tower came; 
 His word was still Fie, foh, and fum, 
 I smell the blood of a British man. 
 
 {Exit Edgar L. u. E. 
 
 {At Edgars exit Gloster comes behind, from L., 
 gives torch to Fool, and stands at R. of Lear, 
 ready to place him on the bier. Lear, left by 
 Edgar, gradually sinks into the arms of Kent, 
 who stands beside him at L. 
 
 {Enter two servants with a bier ; they place it L. 
 I.E., and retire up. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about 
 her heart : is there any cause in nature that makes these 
 hard hearts ? 
 
 {Kent and Gloster gently place Lear on the bier. 
 
 Hush! Hush! Make no noise make no noise: draw 
 the curtains: so so, so; we'll go to supper i' the morn- 
 ing. So so, so.
 
 KING LEAR. 75 
 
 Fool. 
 And I '11 go bed at noon. 
 
 [Kent, Gloster, and the two servants lift the bier 
 gently, and carry it slowly towards R. 2. E. As 
 they are crossing the Fool sings : 
 
 Fool. 
 
 He that hath a little tiny wit, 
 
 With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit, 
 For the rain it raineth every day ! 
 
 SLOW CURTAIN. 
 
 K.'- ;:-- 
 
 >r
 
 & f t J HEATH. SAME AS IN ACT THIRD. DAY- 
 e J 6 . i LIGHT AND FAIR WEATHER. 
 
 [Enter Albany and a herald. 
 
 Herald. 
 O, my lord ! 
 
 The Duke of Cornwall 's dead ; slain by his servant, 
 While putting out the eyes of Gloster. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Gloster's eyes ! This shows you are above, 
 You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
 So speedily can venge ! But, O, poor Gloster ! 
 Lost he his eyes ? 
 
 Herald. 
 Yes, my lord. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Where was his son ? 
 Knows he the wickedness ? 
 
 Herald. 
 
 Ay, my good lord, 't was he informed against him ; 
 And quit the house on purpose that their punishment 
 Might have the freer course. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Gloster, I live, 
 
 To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, 
 And to revenge thee ! Come friend, 
 Tell me what more thou knowest. 
 
 [Exeunt R. i. E. Enter Edgar, from hovels, u. B.
 
 KING LEAR. 77 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Yet better thus and known to be contemned 
 Than still contemned and flattered: to be worst, 
 The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, 
 Stand still in esperance, lives not in fear ; 
 The lamentable change is from the best ; 
 The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, ' 
 Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace : 
 The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst 
 Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here ? 
 My father, poorly led ? World, world, O, world ! 
 But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
 
 \Enter Gloster, led by an old man. 
 Life would not yield to age. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your 
 father's tenant, these fourscore years. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Away, get thee away ! Good friend, begone ; 
 Thy comforts can do me no good at all ; 
 Thee they may hurt. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 I have no way, and therefore want no eyes : 
 
 I stumbled when I saw. 
 
 Ah, dear son, Edgar, 
 
 The food of thy abused father's wrath, 
 
 Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
 
 I 'd say I had my eyes again ! 
 
 Old Man. 
 How now ! Who's there ? 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 O, gods ! Who is "t can say, I am at the worst ? 
 I am worse than e'er I was.
 
 7 8 KING LEAR. 
 
 Old Man. 
 Tis poor mad Tom. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 And worse I may be yet : the worst is not, 
 So long as we can say, " This is the worst." 
 
 Old Man. 
 Fellow, where goest ? 
 
 Glos. 
 Is it a beggar-man ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 Madman and beggar too. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
 
 I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw, 
 
 Which made me think a man a worm : my son 
 
 Came then into my mind : and yet my mind 
 
 Was then scarce friends with him; I have heard more 
 
 since. 
 
 As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods ; 
 They kill us for their sport. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 How should this be ? 
 
 Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, 
 Angering itself and others. 
 
 [To Gloster. Edgar assumes the voice of the 
 
 Bedlamite when speaking to Gloster. 
 Bless thee, master ! 
 
 Glos. 
 Is that the naked fellow ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 Ay, my lord.
 
 KING LEAR. 79 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Then pr 'ythee, get thee gone. If, for my sake, 
 Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
 I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love; 
 And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
 Whom I '11 entreat to lead me. 
 
 Old Man. 
 Alack, sir ! he is mad. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind. 
 Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
 Above the rest, be gone. 
 
 Old Man. [ To himself. 
 
 I '11 bring him the best 'parel that I have, 
 
 Come on't what will. [Exit Old Man L. i. E. 
 
 Glos. 
 Sirrah ; naked fellow ! 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Poor Tom 's a-cold. I cannot daub it further. [Aside. 
 
 Glos. 
 Come hither, fellow. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 And yet I must. 
 Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. [ To Gloster. 
 
 Glos. 
 Know'st thou the way to Dover ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Both stile and gate horse-way and foot-path. Poor 
 Tom hath been scared out of his good wits; bless thee, 
 good man's son, from the foul fiend!
 
 8o 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues 
 Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, 
 Makes thee the happier. Dost thou know Dover ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 Ay, master. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
 Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
 Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
 And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear, 
 With something rich about me : from that place 
 I shall no leading need. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Give me thy arm! 
 Poor Tom shall lead thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Edgar R. Enter Cordelia, 
 Physician, and soldiers L. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Alack! 't is he; why, he was met, even now, 
 
 As mad as the vexed sea; singing aloud; 
 
 Crowned with rank fumiter and farrow weeds, 
 
 With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo flowers, 
 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 
 In our sustaining corn. A century send forth ; 
 
 Search every acre in the high-grown field, 
 
 And bring him to our eye. [Exit an officer R. 
 
 What can man's wisdom, [ To Physician. 
 
 In the restoring his bereaved sense? 
 
 He that helps him take all my outward worth. 
 
 Phy. 
 
 There is means, madam. 
 
 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
 
 The which he lacks; that to provoke in him 
 
 Are many simples operative, whose power 
 
 Will close the eye of anguish.
 
 KING LEAR. 8 I 
 
 Cord. 
 
 All blessed secrets, 
 
 All you unpublished virtues of the earth, 
 Spring with my tears ! be aidant and remediate, 
 In the good man's distress ! Seek, seek for him; 
 Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life 
 That wants the means to lead it. [Enter Curan R. i. E. 
 
 Curan. 
 
 News, madam. 
 The British powers are marching hitherward. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 'T is known before : our preparation stands 
 
 In expectation of them. O, dear father ! 
 
 It is thy business that I go about, 
 
 Therefore great France 
 
 My mourning and important tears hath pitied. 
 
 No blown ambition doth our arms incite, 
 
 But love, dear love, and our aged father's right. 
 
 [Exeunt Cordelia, Physician, Curan and soldiers 
 
 R. i. E. Enter Gloster and Edgar L. u. E. 
 
 Edgar is dressed in garments of a peasant. 
 
 Glos. 
 When shall I come to the top of that same hill ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 [Assuming a rougher voice than is natural to him. 
 You do climb it now : look, how we labour. 
 
 Glos. 
 Methinks the ground is even. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Horrible steep ! 
 Hark ! Do you hear the sea ? 
 
 Glos. 
 No, truly.
 
 82 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect, 
 By your eyes' anguish. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 So it may be, indeed. 
 
 Methinks thy voice is altered ; and thou speakest 
 In better phrase and manner than thou didst. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 You are much deceived ; in nothing am I changed 
 But in my garments. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Methinks you are better spoken. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Come on, sir; here's the place; stand still. How fearful 
 
 And dizzy 't is to cast one's eyes so low ! 
 
 The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, 
 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles : half way down 
 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade ! 
 
 Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. 
 
 The fishermen that walk upon the beach 
 
 Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark, 
 
 Diminished to her cock ; her cock, a buoy, 
 
 Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge, 
 
 That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, 
 
 Cannot be heard so high. I '11 look no more ; 
 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 
 Topple down headlong. 
 
 Glos. 
 Set me where you stand. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Give me your hand; you are now within a foot 
 Of th' extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
 Would I not leap upright.
 
 KING LEAR. 83 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Let go my hand. 
 
 Here, friend, is another purse ; in it a jewel 
 Well worth a poor man's taking ; fairies and gods, 
 Prosper it with thee ! Go thou further off; 
 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Now fare you well, good sir. [Edgar retires up. 
 
 Glos. 
 With all my heart. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
 Is done to cure it. 
 
 Glos. [Kneels. 
 
 O, you mighty gods ! 
 
 This world I do renounce, and in your sights 
 Shake patiently my great affliction off. 
 If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
 To quarrel with your great, opposeless wills, 
 My loathed part of nature should itself 
 Burn to the last. 
 
 If Edgar live, O, bless him! \JRises. 
 
 Now, fellow, fare thee well. [ To Edgar. 
 
 [Is about to leap forward, when Edgar catches him. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Hold! Who comes here ? 
 
 [Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with wild 
 flowers. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 No, they cannot touch me for coining; 
 I am the king himself. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 O, thou side-piercing sight !
 
 84 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Nature 's above art in that respect. There 's your press- 
 money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper : 
 draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse. Peace, 
 peace! This piece of toasted cheese will do it. There's 
 my gauntlet; I '11 prove it on a giant. Bring up the 
 brown-bills O, well-flown bird! I' the clout, i' the 
 clout : hewgh ! Give the word. [ To Edgar. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Sweet marjoram ! 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Pass. [Edgar crosses L. 
 
 Glos. [R. 
 
 I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. [Perceiving Glostcr. 
 
 Ha! Goneril ! with a white beard! They flattered 
 me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my beard, 
 ere the black ones were there. To say " ay," and " no," 
 to everything I said. " Ay " and " no " too was no good 
 divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the 
 wind to make me chatter ; when the thunder would not 
 peace at my bidding ; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em 
 out. Go to, they are not men of their words ; they told 
 me I was everything : 't is a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 The trick of that voice I do well remember ; 
 Is 't not the king ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Ay, every inch a king ! 
 When I do stare, 
 See how the subject quakes. 
 I pardon that man's life : 
 What was the cause ? 
 Thou shalt not die. 
 No! No!
 
 KING LEAR. 85 
 
 To 't luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. 
 
 Fie, fie, fie ! Pah ; pah ! 
 
 Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, 
 
 To sweeten my imagination. 
 
 There 's money for thee. 
 
 Glos. 
 O, let me kiss that hand ! 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mortality. 
 Glos. 
 
 O, ruined piece of nature ! This great world 
 Should so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny 
 at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not love. 
 Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it. 
 
 Glos. 
 Were all the letters suns I could not see one. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 I would not take this from report : it is 
 And my heart breaks at it. 
 
 Lear. 
 Read. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 What, with this case of eyes ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 O, ho ! are you there with me ? No eyes in your 
 head, nor no money in your purse ? Your eyes are in a 
 heavy case, your purse in a light: yet, you see how this 
 world goes.
 
 86 KING LEAR. 
 
 Glos. 
 I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 What, art mad ? A man may see how this world goes 
 with no eyes. Look with thine ears ! See how yond' 
 justice rails at yond' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear; 
 change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, 
 which the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a 
 beggar? 
 
 Glos. 
 Ay, sir. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 And the creature run from the cur? There thou 
 mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog's 
 obeyed in office. 
 
 The usurer hangs the cozener; 
 
 Through tattered clothes small vices do appear; 
 
 Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, 
 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; 
 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 
 None does offend, none, I say, none ; I '11 able 'em : 
 
 Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
 
 To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes, 
 
 And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
 
 To see the things thou dost not. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 O, matter and impertinency mixed ! 
 Reason in madness! 
 
 Lear. 
 
 If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
 I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster. 
 Thou must be patient. We came crying hither. 
 Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, 
 We wawl and cry: I will preach to thee; mark me. 
 
 Glos. 
 Alack, alack the day!
 
 KING LEAR. 87 
 
 Lear. 
 
 When we are born, we ciy that we are come 
 To this great stage of fools ; 
 
 [Enter Curan with attendants L. u. E. 
 
 Curan. 
 O, here he is ; lay hand upon him. 
 
 [They take Lear very gently by the arms. 
 Sir, your most dear daughter 
 
 Lear. 
 
 No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even 
 The natural fool of fortune. Use me well ; 
 You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons, 
 I am cut to the brains. 
 
 Curan. 
 You shall have anything. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 No seconds? All myself ! 
 
 I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What ? 
 
 I will be jovial : come, come ; I am a king, 
 
 My masters, know you that ? 
 
 Curan. [R. 
 
 You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 
 [Curan and attendants uncover and fall back. 
 Lear takes Ctiran's hat. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 This is a good block. 
 It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt : I '11 put it in proof; 
 And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
 Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill ! 
 
 [Exit Lear, followed by Curan and attendants. 
 
 Edgar. [Aside. 
 
 A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 
 
 Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter; 
 
 Who redeems nature from the general curse 
 
 Which twain have brought her to.
 
 88 KING LEAR. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me ; 
 Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
 To die before you please. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Well pray you, father. 
 
 Glos. 
 
 Now, good sir, who are you ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 A most poor man, made tame by fortune's blows, 
 Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand ; 
 I '11 lead you to some biding. 
 
 [Edgar leads Gloster L. Enter Oswald L. I.E. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 A proclaimed prize ! Most happy! 
 That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh 
 To raise my fortunes. Thou old, unhappy traitor, 
 Briefly thyself remember : the sword is out 
 
 [Draws sword. 
 That must destroy thee. 
 
 Glos. [To Oswald. 
 
 Now let thy friendly hand 
 
 Put strength into it. [Edgar opposes Oswald. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 Wherefore, bold peasant, 
 
 Dar'st thou support a published traitor ? Hence ; 
 
 Lest that infection of his fortune take 
 
 Like hold on thee. Let go his arm !
 
 KING LEAR. 89 
 
 Edgar. 
 Ch 'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 
 
 Osiv. 
 Let go, slave, or thou diest ! 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass. 
 And ch 'ud ha' been zwaggared out of my life, 't would 
 not ha' been zo long as 't is by a vortnight. Nay, come 
 
 [ Oswald advances. 
 
 not near th' old man ; keep che vor 'ye, or ise try whether 
 your costard or my ballow be the harder. Ch 'ill be plain 
 with you. 
 
 Osw. 
 Out, dunghill ! 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Ch 'ill pick your teeth, zir; come ; no matter vor your 
 foins. 
 
 [ They fight. Edgar disarms Oswald, and kills him. 
 
 Osw. 
 
 Slave, thou hast slain me : villain, take my purse ; 
 If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; 
 And give the letters, which thou find'st about me, 
 To Edmund, Earl of Gloster : seek him out 
 Upon the British party: O, untimely death! 
 
 [Oswald dies. 
 Edgar. 
 
 I know thee well a serviceable villain; 
 As duteous to the vices of thy mistress, 
 As badness would desire. 
 
 Glos. 
 What ! is he dead ?
 
 90 KING LEAR. 
 
 Let 's see his pockets ; these letters that he speaks of 
 May be my friends. He 's dead ; I am only sorry 
 He had no other death's-man. Let us see : 
 
 [ TWkfS letters frvm pockets of OswaU. 
 Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us not ; 
 To know our enemies' minds, we rip their hearts ; 
 Their paper is more lawful. 
 
 [Keads. 
 
 " Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have 
 many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, 
 time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing 
 done if he return the conqueror ; then I am the prisoner 
 deliver me and supply his place for your labour. 
 Your wife, so I would say, 
 
 "affectionate sen-ant, 
 
 " GONERIL." 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 O, undistinguished space of woman's will ! 
 A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 
 And the exchange, my brother. [Drums at distance. 
 
 Give me your hand; [To Gbster. 
 
 Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. 
 Come father ; I '11 bestow you with a friend. 
 
 [Exfunt L. 2. K. 
 
 i A TENT IN THE FRENCH CAMP ; CUR- 
 &cttit. < TAINS ox TENT. COUCH AND STOOL 
 ( WITHIN TENT. 
 
 [Enter Cordelia and Kent R. i. E. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 O, thou good Kent ! How shall I live and work 
 To match thy goodness ? My life wfll be too short. 
 And even- measure fail me.
 
 KING LEAR. 91 
 
 Kent. 
 
 To be acknowledged, madam, is o'er-paid. 
 All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
 Nor more, nor clipped, but so. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Be better suited : 
 
 These weeds are memories of those worser hours ; 
 I pr'ythee put them off. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Pardon me, dear madam ; 
 Yet to be known shortens my made intent : 
 My boon, 1 make it, that you know me not, 
 Till time and I think meet. 
 
 [Enter Physician and attendant, from tent. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Then be 't so. my good lord. 
 
 How does the king ? [ To Physician. 
 
 Phy. 
 Madam, sleeps still. {Physician sends attendant offi^. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 O, you kind gods, 
 
 Cure this great grief in his abused nature ! 
 The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up, 
 Of this child-changed father ! 
 
 Phy. 
 
 So please your majesty, 
 That we may wake the king ? He hath slept long. 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed 
 I' the sway of your own will. Is he arrayed? 
 
 Phy. 
 
 Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of sleep 
 We put fresh garments on him.
 
 92 KING LEAR. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; 
 I doubt not of his temperance. 
 
 Cord. 
 Very well. [Music pp. 
 
 Phy. 
 
 Please you draw near. [To Cordelia. 
 
 Louder the music there. [Spoken off. 
 
 [Music p. 
 
 [Kent and Physician raise curtains of tent, discov- 
 ering Lear. Kent R. Physician L. 
 
 Cord. [c. 
 
 O, my dear father ! Restoration hang 
 
 Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss 
 
 Repair those violent harms that my two sisters 
 
 Have in thy reverence made ! [Kisses Lear. 
 
 Kent. 
 Kind and dear princess ! 
 
 Cord. 
 
 Had you not been their father, these white flakes 
 
 Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face 
 
 To be exposed against the warring winds ? 
 
 To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder, 
 
 In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
 
 Of quick cross-lightning ? Mine enemy's dog, 
 
 Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
 
 Against my fire : and wast thou fain, poor father, 
 
 To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
 
 In short and musty straw ? Alack, alack ! 
 
 T is wonder that thy life and wits at once 
 
 Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him. 
 
 Phy. 
 Madam, do you ; 't is fittest.
 
 KING LEAR. 93 
 
 Cord, [ To Lear, who awakes. 
 How does my royal lord ? How fares your majesty ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave. 
 Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound 
 Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
 Do scald like molten lead. 
 
 Cord. 
 Sir, do you know me ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 You are a spirit, I know. When did you die ? 
 
 Cord. 
 Still, still, far wide. 
 
 Phy. 
 
 He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Where have I been ? Where am I ? Fair daylight ? 
 [Kent and Physician assist Lear to rise. Music 
 
 ceases. 
 
 I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity, 
 To see another thus. I know not what to say : 
 I will not swear these are my hands : 
 Would I were assured 
 Of my condition ! 
 
 Cord. 
 
 O, look upon me, sir, 
 
 And hold your hands in benediction o'er me : 
 No, sir, you must not kneel. 
 
 [As Lear is about to kneel, Cordelia and Physician 
 raise him. Physician brings down stool from 
 tent. Lear sits on it c.
 
 94 KING LEAR. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Pray, do not mock me ; 
 I am a very foolish, fond old man, 
 Four score and upward ; not an hour more nor less ; 
 And, to deal plainly, 
 I fear I am not in my perfect mind. 
 
 [ Cordelia goes down to R. corner. 
 Methinks I should know you, and know this man ; 
 Yet I am doubtful ; for I am mainly ignorant 
 What place this is : and all the skill I have 
 Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
 Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me ; 
 For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To be my child Cordelia. 
 
 [Cordelia rushes to Lear and falls on her knees 
 in front of him. 
 
 Cord. 
 And so I am ! I am ! 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Be your tears wet ? Yes 'faith. I pray, weep not ; 
 If you have poison for me I will drink it. 
 I know you do not love me ; for your sisters 
 Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. 
 You have some cause ; they have not. 
 
 Cord. 
 No cause, no cause. 
 
 Lear. 
 Am I in France ? 
 
 Kent. 
 In your own kingdom, sir. 
 
 Lear. 
 Do not abuse me.
 
 KING LEAR. 95 
 
 Phy. 
 
 Be comforted, good madam; the great rage, 
 You see, is cured in him; trouble him no more, 
 Till further settling. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 You must bear with me : 
 
 Pray you, now forget and forgive : [Music pp. 
 
 I am old and foolish. Forget and forgive .' 
 Forget and forgive ! forget and forgive ! 
 
 SLOW CURTAIN.
 
 3tct f ifti). 
 
 AN ENCAMPMENT. FLOURISH AT RISE OF 
 ft g. \ CURTAIN. ALBANY AND FORCES, AND 
 ' EDGAR, DISGUISED, ARE DISCOVERED. 
 EDGAR AND ALBANY ADVANCE. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor, 
 
 Hear me one word. Ope this letter. 
 
 Wretched though I seem, 
 
 I can produce a champion that will prove 
 
 What is avouched there. Fortune love you ! [ Going R. 
 
 Alb. 
 Stay till I have read the letter. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 I was forbid it. 
 
 When rime shall serve, let but the herald cry 
 And I '11 appear again. [Exit Edgar R. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Why, fare thee well. I will o'erlook thy paper. 
 
 [Exit Albany L. u. E. Enter Edmund L. 2. E. 
 
 Edtn. 
 
 To both these sisters have I sworn my love ; 
 
 Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
 
 Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take ? 
 
 Both ? one ? or neither ? Neither, 
 
 If both remain alive ; to take the widow, 
 
 Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril ; 
 
 And hardly shall 1 carry out my side,
 
 KING LEAR. 97 
 
 Her husband being alive. Now, the battle done, 
 Let her who would be rid of him devise 
 His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
 Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, 
 They shall never see his pardon ; for my state 
 Stands on me to defend, not to debate. 
 
 [Enter Albany. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain, 
 And fortune led you well : you have the captives 
 Who were the opposites of this day's strife. 
 We do require them of you, so to use them, 
 As we shall find their merits, and our safety 
 May equally determine. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Sir, I thought it fit 
 
 To send the old and miserable king 
 
 To some retention and appointed guard: 
 
 With him I sent the queen; 
 
 My reason all the same; and they are ready, 
 
 To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
 
 Where you shall hold your session. 
 
 The question of Cordelia and her father 
 
 Requires a fitter place. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Sir, by your patience, 
 
 I hold you but a subject of this war, 
 
 Not as a brother. I arrest thee on capital treason. 
 
 Thou art armed, Gloster. Let the trumpet sound : 
 
 If none appear, to prove upon thy person, 
 
 Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
 
 There is my pledge. 
 
 [ Throws down glove. 
 I '11 prove it on thy heart, 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
 Than I have here proclaimed thee.
 
 9 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edm. 
 There 's ray exchange ; 
 
 [ Throws down glove. 
 What in the world he is 
 That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. 
 Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach, 
 On him, on you, who not ? I will maintain 
 My truth and honour firmly. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 Trust to thy single virtue ; for thy soldiers, 
 All levied in my name, have in my name 
 Took their discharge. 
 
 Come hither, herald, let the trumpet sound, 
 And read out this. 
 
 Herald. 
 
 Sound trumpet ! f Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Herald. {Reads. 
 
 " If any man of quality or degree, within the lists of the 
 army, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of 
 Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear at the 
 third sound of the trumpet : he is bold in his defence ! " 
 
 Edm. 
 Sound ! [ Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Herald. 
 Again ! [ Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Herald. 
 
 Again ! \Trumpet sounds. 
 
 \Trumpet answers within. Flourish. Edgar 
 enters, armed, R. i. E. 
 
 Alb. [To Herald. 
 
 Ask him his purpose, why he appears 
 Upon this call of the trumpet ?
 
 KING LEAR. 99 
 
 Herald. 
 
 What are you ? 
 
 Your name, your quality, and why you answer 
 This present summons ? [Herald retires up. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Know, my name is lost ; 
 
 By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit; 
 
 Yet am I noble as the adversary 
 
 I come to cope withal. 
 
 Alb. 
 Which is that adversary ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 What 's he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloster ? 
 
 Edm. 
 Himself: what say'st thou to him ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Draw thy sword; 
 
 That, if my speech offend a noble heart, 
 
 Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine. 
 
 [Displays sword. 
 
 Behold, it is my privilege, the privilege of mine honours, 
 My oath and my profession : I protest, 
 Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, 
 Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune, 
 Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor ; 
 False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father ; 
 Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince ; 
 And, from the extremest upward of thy head, 
 To the descent and dust below thy feet, 
 A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou " No," 
 This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent 
 To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 
 Thou liest !
 
 100 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 In wisdom, I should ask thy name; 
 But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, 
 And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathes, 
 What safe and nicely 1 might well delay, 
 By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn. 
 Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
 With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart ; 
 Which, for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, 
 This sword of mine shall give them instant way 
 Where they shall rest forever. Trumpets speak! 
 
 [flourish. Edgar and Edmund fight. Edmund 
 falls R., and is caught and supported by two 
 officers. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 What you have charged me with, that have I done ; 
 And more, much more; the time will bring it out: 
 'T is past, and so am I : but what art thou, 
 That hast this fortune on me? If thou 'rt noble, 
 I do forgive thee. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Let's exchange charity. 
 
 I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund : 
 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make instruments to plague us. 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Thou hast spoken right ; 't is true ; 
 
 The wheel is come full circle; I am here; 
 
 But, O, I pant for life. 
 
 Some good I mean to do, 
 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send 
 
 Be brief in it to the castle; for my writ 
 
 Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 Who lias the office ? Send 
 Thy token of reprieve !
 
 KING LEAR. IOI 
 
 Edm. 
 
 Take my sword; 
 Give it the captain. 
 
 [Edgar picks up sword and goes out. 
 
 Edm. [To Albany. 
 
 He hath commission from thy wife and me 
 To hang Cordelia, in the prison, and 
 To lay the blame upon her own despair, 
 That she fordid herself. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 The gods defend her! Bear him hence. 
 
 [Edmund is borne off R. Albany in R. corner. 
 Enter Lear, with Cordelia, dead, in his arms. 
 Edgar, Officer, Curan, and Kent follow him. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Howl, howl, howl, howl ! O ! you are men of stone ! 
 
 Had I your tongues and eyes, I 'd use them so 
 
 That heaven's vault should crack: she's gone forever! 
 
 I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
 
 She's dead as earth : lend me a looking-glass; 
 
 If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
 
 Why, then she lives. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Is this the promised end ? 
 
 Edgar. 
 Or image of that horror ? 
 
 Alb. 
 Fall and cease. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 [Takes feather from Kenfs hat and holds it to 
 
 Cordelia's lips. 
 
 This feather stirs : she lives! 
 If it be so, 
 
 It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 
 That ever I have felt.
 
 IO2 KING LEAR. 
 
 Kent. [Kneeling. 
 
 O, my good master! 
 
 Lear. 
 Pr'ythee away. 
 
 Edgar. 
 
 'T is noble Kent, your friend. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 A plague upon you, murderers, traitors, all ! 
 
 I might have saved her : now, she 's gone forever ! 
 
 Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little ! ha ! 
 
 What is 't thou say'st ? Her voice was ever soft, 
 
 Gentle and low an excellent thing in woman. 
 
 I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee. 
 
 Curan. [To alL 
 
 Tis true, my lords, he did. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 Did I not, fellow? 
 
 I have seen the day with my good biting faulchion 
 I would have made them skip : I am old now, 
 And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you ? 
 
 [To Kent. 
 Mine eyes are not of the best : I '11 tell you straight. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 If fortune brag of two she loved and hated, 
 One of them we behold. 
 
 Lear. 
 This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent ? 
 
 Kent. 
 The same. 
 Your servant Kent : where is your servant Caius ? 
 
 Lear. 
 
 He's a good fellow, I can tell you that. 
 
 He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.
 
 KING LEAR, 103 
 
 Kent. 
 No, my good lord, I am the very man- 
 
 Lear. 
 
 I '11 see that straight. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 That from your first of difference and decay 
 Have followed your sad steps. 
 
 Lear. 
 You are welcome hither. 
 
 Kent. 
 
 Nor no man else ; all 's cheerless, dark and deadly. 
 Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves 
 And desperately are dead. 
 
 Lear. 
 Ay, so I think. 
 
 Alb. 
 
 He knows not what he says, and vain it is, 
 That we present us to him. 
 
 Edgar. 
 Very bootless. O ! see ! see ! 
 
 Lear. 
 
 And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life : 
 
 Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, 
 
 And thou no breath at all ? Thou 'It come no more, 
 
 Never, never, never, never, never ! 
 
 Pray you, undo this button : thank you, sir. 
 
 Do you see this ? Look on her, look, her lips. 
 
 Look there ! Look there !
 
 IO4 KING LEAR. 
 
 Kent, 
 
 Break heart ; I pray thee, break ! 
 
 V Lear dies. 
 
 Edgar. 
 My lord ! My lord ! 
 
 Kent. 
 Vex not his ghost ! 
 
 [Music very soft and mournful, to end of the scene. 
 O, let him pass ; he hates him, 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world 
 Stretch him out longer. 
 
 Edgar. 
 He is gone indeed. 
 
 SLOW CURTAIN.
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. THE CHARACTER OF KING LEAR. 
 
 THE elements and attributes of Lear are not obscurely furnished. 
 He comes before us, at the first, an old man, but not decrepit 
 a man who is beginning to break, but who is not yet broken. 
 His aspect is massive, majestic and venerable. He still wears dominion 
 in his countenance. He is exceedingly tender in heart and magnani- 
 mous in disposition. His age is that of simplicity and goodness ; but 
 his mind is blindly suspicious of its own decadence ; and he will prove 
 exacting, irrational, fiery, capricious and unpleasant, after the fashion 
 of choleric and selfish senility. In the fibre of his character, however, 
 in his essential personality and interior spirit, he is, above all things 
 else, large, spacious, and noble. He is not a common man grown 
 old. He must, all his life, have carried the stamp and the magnetic 
 allurement and domination of a great and charming nature. He must 
 have captured hearts and ruled minds by something beautiful and strong 
 in his fate. He does not hold royalty by lineage or by human law alone, 
 but by divine endowment. He is born to the purple. He is a mountain 
 in the midst of a plain ; and the crumbling of his mind and fortunes is 
 like the fall of the avalanche. Vitalized with this immaculate and 
 charming excellence, endowed with this innate majesty, and invested 
 with this personal grandeur, he becomes the most colossal figure that 
 ever was reared in the Pantheon of the human imagination ; and his 
 experience, his suffering, his frenzy, his senile insanity, and the 
 whirlwind of agony in which he dies, become tremendous and over- 
 whelming. It is not old Brabantio, or old Capulet, or even old Shylock, 
 who goes mad, under the strokes of unkindness, the wear of age, the 
 ravages of tempest, and the human woes and spiritual perplexities of 
 life : it is old Lear : and when this awful presence totters, with streaming 
 white hair and blazing eye-balls, across the thunder-riven heath, under 
 the night and through the storm, he breaks our hearts, not alone with
 
 IO6 APPENDIX. 
 
 afflicting sense of the torment into which he has fallen, but of the stately 
 yet lovable nobility from which he fell. King Lear is an august and 
 splendid personality, and he bears the authentic sceptre of sorrow. We 
 see him torn from all moorings and driven out upon the gale-swept 
 ocean-wastes of misery ; but it is less for what he suffers than for what 
 he is, that we pity, and love, and reverence, and deplore him. The 
 highest and best elements of our human nature are felt to be crystallized 
 and combined in this woeful, terrific image of shattered royalty ; and so 
 his misery comes home to us with a keen personal force. There are 
 many denotements of this imperial fascination, which is the pervading 
 and characteristic quality of Lear, and which has enthroned him in the 
 love of all the world. It is the soul of the character. It links to the 
 ruined monarch all the virtues that surround his time and person. It 
 holds the heart-strings of the celestial Cordelia. It holds the devotion 
 of the wise and honest Kent. Nothing, indeed, can be more significant 
 of what Lear is than the passionate fealty of this follower, who "from 
 the first of difference and decay" has attended his steps, and who will 
 not be left by him, even at the brink of the grave. 
 
 " I have a journey, sir, shortly to go: 
 Mv master calls me I must not say no." 
 
 W. W. 
 
 II. ORIGIN, BASIS, AND DATE OF KING LEAR. 
 The story of Lear and his daughters was found by Shakespeare in 
 Holinshed, and he may have taken a few hints from an old play, "The 
 True Chronicle Historic of King Leir." In both Holinshed's version 
 and that of the "True Chronicle" the army of Lear and his French 
 allies is victorious ; Lear is re-instated in his kingdom ; but Holinshed 
 relates how, after Lear's death, her sisters' sons warred against Cordelia 
 and took her prisoner, when, " being a woman of a manly courage, and 
 despairing to recover liberty," she slew herself. The story is also told 
 by Higgins in the "Mirror for Magistrates;" by Spenser ('-Faerie 
 Queene," II., x. 27-32), from whom Shakespeare adopted the form of 
 the name, " Cordelia;" and in a ballad (printed in Percy's "Reliques") 
 probably later in date than Shakespeare's play. With the story of Lear 
 Shakespeare connects that of Gloster and his two sons. An episode in 
 Sir Philip Sidney's "Arcadia" supplied characters and incidents for 
 this portion of the play, Sidney's blind king of Paphlagonia cor- 
 responding to the Gloster of Shakespeare. But here, too, the story had, 
 in the dramatist's original, a happy ending : the Paphlagonian king is 
 restored to his throne and the brothers are reconciled.
 
 APPENDIX. IO7 
 
 The date of Shakespeare s play is probably 1605 or 1606. It was 
 entered on the Stationer's register, November 26th, 1607, and the entry 
 states that it had been acted "upon St. Stephen's day, at Christmas 
 last," i. e., December 26th, 1606. The play was printed, in quarto, in 
 1608. "An upward limit of date is supplied by the publication of 
 Harsnet's 'Declaration of Popish Impostures,' 1603, to which Shakes- 
 peare was indebted for the names of many of the devils in Edgar's 
 speeches." It has been suggested that Gloster's mention of " late eclipses 
 of the sun and moon" (Act I., Scene ii. L. 112) refers to the great 
 eclipse of the sun, October, 1605, preceded, within a month, by an 
 eclipse of the moon, and that the words which follow shortly after the 
 mention of eclipse "machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all 
 ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves " had special point 
 if delivered on the stage while the Gunpowder Plot, of November sth, 
 1605, was still fresh in men's minds. * * * The text of the quarto 
 differs considerably from that of the folio ; but the opinion that the later 
 text that of the folio exhibits a revision of his own work by Shakes- 
 peare is not supported by sufficient evidence. " The folio was printed 
 from an independent manuscript, and its text is, on the whole, much 
 superior to that of the quartos. Each, however, supplies passages that 
 are wanting in the other." Scene iii. of Act IV. is not found in the 
 folio. EDWARD DOWDEN. 
 
 III. THE ORIGINAL STORY OF KING LEAR. 
 
 " Leir, the son of Baldud, was admitted ruler over the Bri tains in the 
 year of the world 3105. At what time Joas reigned as yet in Juda. 
 This Leir was a prince of noble demeanour, governing his land and sub- 
 jects in great wealth. He made the town of Carleir, now called Leicester, 
 which standeth upon the river Dore. It is writ that he had, by his wife, 
 three daughters, without other issue, whose names were Gonorilla, 
 Regan, and Cordilla, which daughters he greatly loved, but especially 
 the youngest, Cordilla, far above the two elder. 
 
 1 ' When this Leir had come to great years, and began to wear un- 
 wieldy through age, he thought to understand the affections of his 
 daughters towards him, and prefer her whom he best loved to the suc- 
 cession of the kingdom ; therefore, he first asked Gonorilla, the eldest, 
 how well she loved him, the which, calling her gods to record, protested 
 that she loved him more than her own life, which by right and reason 
 should be most dear unto her ; with which answer the father, being well 
 pleased, turned to the second, and demanded of her how well she loved 
 him ; which answered (confirming her sayings with oaths) that she loved
 
 108 APPENDIX. 
 
 him more than tongue can express, and far above all other creatures in 
 the world. 
 
 " Then called he his youngest daughter, Cordilla, before him, and 
 asked of her what account she made of him ; unto whom she made this 
 answer as followeth : ' Knowing the great love and fatherly zeal you have 
 always borne towards me (for the which, that I may not answer you other- 
 wise than I think, and as my conscience leadeth me), I protest to you 
 that I have always loved you, and shall continually, while I live, love you 
 as my natural father ; and if you would more understand of the love 
 that I bear you, ascertain yourself, that so much as you have, so much 
 you are worth, and so much I love you, and no more.' 
 
 "The father, nothing content with this answer, married the two eldest 
 daughters, the one unto the Duke of Cornwall, named Henninus, and 
 the other unto the Duke of Albania, called Maglanus ; and betwixt 
 them, after his death, he willed and ordained his land should be divided, 
 and the one-half thereof should be immediately assigned unto them in 
 hand ; but for the third daughter, Cordilla, he reserved nothing. 
 
 "Yet it fortuned that one of the princes of Gallia (which now is 
 called France), whose name was Aganippus, hearing of the beauty, 
 womanhood, and good conditions of the said Cordilla, desired to have 
 her in marriage, and sent over to her father, requiring that he might have 
 her to wife ; to whom answer was made, that he might have his daugh- 
 ter, but for any dowry he could have none, for all was promised and 
 assured to her other sisters already. 
 
 " Aganippus, notwithstanding this answer of denial to receive anything 
 by way of dower with Cordilla, took her to wife, only moved thereto (I 
 say) for respect of her person and amiable virtues. This Aganippus 
 was one of the twelve kings that ruled Gallia in those days, as in the 
 British history it is recorded. But to proceed : after that Leir was fallen 
 into age, the two dukes that had married his two eldest daughters, think- 
 ing it long ere the government of the land did come to their hands, arose 
 against him in armour, and reft from him the governance of the land, 
 upon conditions to be continued for term of life ; by the which he was 
 put to his portion ; that is, to live after a rate assigned to him for the 
 maintainance of his estate, which in process of time was diminished, as 
 well by Maglanus as by Henninus. 
 
 " But the greatest grief that Leir took was to see the unkindnessof his 
 daughters, who seemed to think that all was too much which their father 
 had, the same being never so little ; in so much that, going from one to 
 the other, he was brought to that misery that they would allow him only 
 one servant to wait upon him. In the end, such was the unkindness, or.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 109 
 
 as I may say, the unnaturalness, which he found in his two daughters, 
 notwithstanding their fair and pleasant words uttered in time past, that, 
 being constrained of necessity, he fled the land, and sailed into Gallia, 
 there to seek some comfort of his youngest daughter, Cordilla, whom 
 before he hated. 
 
 ' ' The lady Cordilla, hearing he was arrived, in poor estate, she first sent 
 to him privately a sum of money, to apparel himself withal, and to retain 
 a certain number of servants, that might attend upon him in honourable 
 wise, as apperteyned to the estate which he had borne. And then, so 
 accompanyed, she appointed him to come to the court, which he did, and 
 was so joyfully, honourably and lovingly received, both by his son-in- 
 law, Aganippus, and also by his daughter Cordilla, that his heart was 
 greatly comforted ; for he was no less honoured than if he had been king 
 of the whole country himself. Also, after that he had informed his son- 
 in-law and his daughter in what sort he had been used by his other 
 daughters, Aganippus caused a mighty army to be put in readiness, and 
 likewise a great navy of ships to be rigged, to pass over into Britain, 
 with Leir, his father-in-law, to see him again restored to his kingdom. 
 
 " It was accorded that Cordilla should also go with him to take posses- 
 sion of the land, the which he promised to leave unto her, as his rightful 
 inheritor after his decease, notwithstanding any former grants made unto 
 her sisters, or unto their husbands, in any manner of wise. Hereupon, 
 when this army and navy of ships were ready, Leir and his daughter 
 Cordilla, with her husband, took the sea, and arriving in Britain fought 
 with their enemies, and discomfited them in battle, in the which Mag- 
 lanus and Henninus were slain, and then was Leir restored to his king- 
 dom, which he ruled after this by the space of two years, and then died, 
 forty years after he first began to reign. His body was buried at Leices- 
 ter, in a vault under the channel of the river Dore, beneath the town." 
 
 HOLINSHED'S CHRONICLE. 
 
 IV. THE IDEA AND SUBSTANCE OF KING LEAR. 
 
 " The modern practice of blending comedy with tragedy, though liable 
 to great abuse in point of practice, is undoubtedly an extension of the 
 dramatic circle; but the comedy should be, as in 'King Lear,' uni- 
 versal, ideal, and sublime. It is, perhaps, the intervention of this prin- 
 ciple which determines the balance in favour of ' King Lear ' against the 
 ' CEdipus Tyrannus,' or the ' Agamemnon,' or, if you will, the Trilogies 
 with which they are connected ; unless the intense power of the choral 
 poetry, especially that of the latter, should be considered as restoring the
 
 1 10 APPENDIX. 
 
 equilibrium. ' King Lear,' if it can sustain that comparison, may be 
 judged to be the most perfect specimen of the dramatic art existing in the 
 world." SHELLEY. 
 
 " We must never forget that unity, in Shakespeare's view, consists in 
 one dominant idea, which, reproducing itself under various forms, 
 incessantly produces, continues, and redoubles the same impression. 
 Thus, as in 'Macbeth,' the poet displays man in conflict with the 
 passions of crime, so in ' King Lear ' he depicts him in conflict with 
 misfortune, the action of which is modified according to the different 
 characters of the individuals who experience it." GuiZOT. 
 
 " The artful involution of distinct interests, the striking opposition of 
 contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick 
 succession of events, fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, 
 pity, and hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the 
 aggravation of the distress or conduct of the action ; and scarce a line 
 which does not conduce to the progress of the scene." 
 
 DR. JOHNSON. 
 
 " The deeper our study of Shakespeare the more we are impressed 
 with the extent to which his pathos is independent of condition and 
 common to humanity: not independent of condition, in reference to his 
 dramatic purpose and effect ; but independent of condition, in reference 
 to the essence of the suffering. If Lear had never been a king, the 
 man, without a shred of royal robes, is all-sufficient to account for the 
 madness of the father." HENRY GILES. 
 
 "Lear combines length with rapidity like the hurricane and the 
 whirlpool, absorbing while it advances. It begins as a stormy day m 
 summer, with brightness ; but that brightness is lurid, and anticipates 
 the tempest. It was not without forethought, nor is it without its due 
 significance, that the division of Lear's kingdom is, in the first lines 
 of the play, stated as a thing already determined, in all its particulars, 
 previously to the trial of professions as the relative rewards of which the 
 daughters were to be made to consider their several portions. The 
 strange, yet by no means unnatural, mixture, of selfishness, sensibility, 
 and habit of feeling derived from and fostered by the particular rank and 
 usages of the individual ; the intense desire of being intensely beloved
 
 APPENDIX. Ill 
 
 selfish and yet characteristic of the selfishness of a loving and kindly 
 nature alone ; the self-supportless leaning, for all pleasure, on another's 
 breast ; the craving after sympathy as with a prodigal disinterested- 
 ness, frustrated by its own ostentation and the mode and texture of its 
 claims ; the anxiety, the distrust, the jealousy, which more or less accom- 
 pany all selfish affections, and are amongst the surest contradistinctions of 
 mere fondness from pure love, and which originate Lear's eager wish to 
 enjoy his daughters' violent professions, whilst the inveterate habits of 
 sovereignty convert the wish into claim and positive right, and an incom- 
 pliance with it into crime and treason ; these facts, these passions, 
 these moral verities, on which the whole tragedy is founded, are all pre- 
 pared for, and will, to the retrospect, be implied in the first four or five 
 lines of the play. They let us know that the trial is but a trick, and that 
 the grossness of the old king's rage is in part the natural result of a 
 silly trick suddenly and most unexpectedly baffled and disappointed." 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 " Good and evil, in this play, are clearly severed from one another 
 more so than in ' Macbeth ' or in ' Othello ' and, at the last, goodness, 
 it we judge merely by external fortune, would seem to be, if not defeated, 
 at least not triumphant. Shakespeare has dared, while paying little 
 regard to mere historical verisimilitude, to represent the most solemn 
 and awful mysteries of life as they actually are, without attempting to 
 offer a ready-made explanation of them. Cordelia dies strangled in 
 prison ; yet we know that her devotion of love was not mis-spent. Lear 
 expires in an agony of grief; but he has been delivered from his pride 
 and passionate wilfulness ; he has found that instead of being a master, 
 at whose nod all things must bow, he is weak and helpless, a sport even 
 of the wind and the rain ; his ignorance of true love, and pleasure in false 
 professions of love, have given place to an agonized clinging to the love 
 which is real, deep, and tranquil because of its fullness. Lear is the 
 greatest sufferer in Shakespeare's plays. Though so old, he has strength 
 which makes him a subject for prolonged and vast agony ; and patience 
 is unknown to him. The elements seem to have conspired against him 
 with his unnatural daughters ; the upheaval of the moral world and the 
 rage of the tempest in the air seem to be parts of the same gigantic con- 
 vulsion. In the midst of this tempest wanders unhoused the white- 
 haired Lear ; while his Fool most pathetic of all the minor characters 
 of Shakespeare jests, half-wildly, half-coherently, half-bitterly, half-ten- 
 derly, and always with a sad remembrance of the happier past. The 
 poor boy's heart has been sore, ever since his ' young mistress went to
 
 112 APPENDIX. 
 
 France.' * * * * Everywhere throughout the play Shakespeare's 
 imaginative daring impresses us. Nothing in poetry is bolder or more 
 wonderful than the scene on the night of the tempest, in the hovel where 
 the king, whose intellect has now given way, is in company with Edgar, 
 assuming madness, the Fool, with his forced and pathetic mirth, and 
 Kent." EDWARD DOWDEN. 
 
 " The story of Lear and his daughters was left by Shakespeare exactly 
 as he found it in a fabulous tradition, with all the features characteristical 
 of the simplicity of old times. But, in that tradition there is not the 
 slightest trace of the story of Gloster and his sons, which was derived by 
 Shakespeare from another source. The incorporation of the two stories 
 has been censured as destructive of the unity of action. But, whatever 
 contributes to the intrigue or the denouement must always possess unity : 
 and with what ingenuity and skill are the two main parts of the composi- 
 tion dove-tailed into one another ! The pity felt by Gloster for the fate 
 of Lear becomes the means which enables his son Edmund to effect his 
 complete destruction, and affords the outcast Edgar an opportunity of 
 being the saviour of his father. On the other hand, Edmund is active in 
 the cause of Regan and Goneril : and the criminal passion which they 
 both entertain for him induces them to execute justice on each other 
 and themselves. The laws of the drama have, therefore, been suffi- 
 ciently complied with ; but that is the least: it is the very combination 
 which constitutes the sublime beauty of the work." 
 
 " Of Cordelia's heavenly beauty of soul, painted in so few words, I 
 will not venture to speak. She can only be named in the same breath 
 With Antigone. Her death has been thought too cruel ; and in England 
 the piece is, in acting, so far altered that she remains victorious and 
 happy. I must own I cannot conceive what ideas of art and dramatic 
 connection those persons have who suppose that we can at pleasure 
 tack a double conclusion to a tragedy : a melancholy one for hard- 
 hearted spectators, and a happy one for souls of a softer mould. After 
 surviving so many sufferings Lear can only die; and what more truly 
 tragic ending for him than to die from grief for the death of Cordelia ? 
 And, if he is also to be saved and to pass the remainder of his days in 
 happiness, the whole loses its signification. According to Shakes- 
 peare's plan, the guilty, it is true, are punished, for wickedness destroys 
 itself ; but the virtues that would bring help and succour are everywhere 
 too late, or overmatched by the cunning activity of malice. The persons 
 of this drama have only such a faint belief in Providence as heathens may
 
 APPENDIX. 113 
 
 be supposed to have ; and the poet here wishes to show us that this 
 belief requires a wider range than the dark pilgrimage on earth, to be 
 established in full extent." SCHLEGEL. 
 
 " The Fool is no comic buffoon, to make the groundlings laugh, no 
 forced condescension of Shakespeare's genius to the taste of his audience. 
 Accordingly, the poet prepares for his introduction, which he never doej 
 with any of his common clowns and fools, by bringing him into living 
 connection with the pathos of the play. He is as wonderful a creation 
 as Caliban : his wild babblings and inspired idiocy articulate and gauge 
 the horrors of the scene." COLERIDGE. 
 
 " True love and fidelity are no more to be estranged by *'// than false- 
 hood and hollow-heartedness can be conciliated by good usage. " 
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 
 
 " Most actors, Garrick, Kemble, and Kean, among others, seem 
 to have based their conception of the character of King Lear on the 
 infirmity usually associated with 'four-score and upwards," and have 
 represented the feebleness instead of the vigour of old age. But Lear's 
 was, in truth, ' a lusty winter :' his language never betrays imbecility 
 of mind or body. He confers his kingdom, indeed, on ' younger 
 strengths;' but there is still sufficient invigorating him to allow him to 
 ride, to hunt, to run wildly through the fury of the storm, to slay the ruf- 
 fian who murdered his Cordelia, and to bear about her dead body in his 
 arms. There is, moreover, a heartiness, and even jollity, in his blither 
 moments, no way akin to the helplessness of senility. Indeed, the tow- 
 ering range of thought with which his mind dilates, identifying the 
 heavens themselves with his grief, and the power of conceiving such 
 vast imaginings would seem incompatible with a tottering, trembling 
 frame, and betoken, rather, one of ' mighty bone and bold emprise,' in 
 the outward bearing of the grand old man." MACREADY. 
 
 V. ULRICI'S THOUGHTS ON KING LEAR. 
 
 " To understand the organic coherence of the whole to discover the 
 intrinsic necessity of the tragic development in all its moments to find 
 the fundamental idea the living centre, as it were, around which the
 
 114 APPENDIX. 
 
 several parts revolve, and thereby adjust themselves into a whole all 
 this requires profundity of view and a firm, aesthetical basis of criticism. 
 
 " In the present piece the ground idea of the whole is reflected in all the 
 subordinate parts, more clearly than in any other of Shakespeare's 
 dramas : for the tie between parent and child, which in a high historical 
 sense forms here the basis of the tragic sentiment, has for its foundation 
 wedlock, and the religious sanction of the intercourse of the sexes. 
 Accordingly, strong rays of light are thrown off from this central idea 
 upon both these civilizing influences of human life. 
 
 " In ' King Lear ' parental affection and filial reverence are contemplated 
 as the focus towards which all the ties of life converge, and the family 
 in its largest and historical import is the particular grade of life in 
 which the poet has here taken up his position within the domain of 
 poetry. 
 
 " Lear, ' in every inch a king,' had accustomed himself to the thought 
 of, and set his heart on, being the unlimited master of the world ; 
 although in boundless love he gives his kingdom away, it is still his 
 sovereign pleasure to measure even affection by his own arbitrary will, 
 and he would lord even over it. Even when he has overthrown this 
 visionary empire by his own folly, he must still command ; he fights 
 against the very elements, he is determined to be at least the master of 
 his own sufferings and his own destiny. But for this the necessary 
 powers fail him ; and consequently the general disorder of all the moral 
 relations of life terminates in madness. It was only by such an affliction 
 that a character like his could be brought to repentance ; and by such 
 means alone could the propitiatory element of tragedy be manifested in 
 his case. It was not until his kingly spirit, his haughty virtue, his 
 energy and sovereignty of will, had been utterly overthrown, that he 
 could be brought to the humility which is the parent of true love, and 
 that love in him could be purified. 
 
 " Lear is depicted as the head not only of a family, but also of the state 
 as the ruler of a great nation. The more seriously, therefore, and the 
 more directly his domestic circumstances influence the destinies of a 
 whole people, the more clearly does the .importance of the family bond 
 appear. The tragedy sets before us the public fortunes of a great nation 
 in the first instance, and ultimately the history of the whole world, as 
 affected by the morality or immorality of private life, and it becomes, 
 consequently, not merely in its ideal subject-matter, but also by the 
 course taken by the represented fable, a mirror of history in general. 
 
 "Lear's stronger and bolder spirit makes head against external troubles ; 
 he struggles against the fun' of the elements as against the wickedness
 
 APPENDIX. 115 
 
 of man. It is only from within that he can be conquered ; in the violent 
 convulsive effort to master the deep emotions of his heart, the bonds of 
 reason snap asunder, and madness spreads its nightly, veiling darkness 
 over him. 
 
 "As the family tie the first and absolutely indispensable foundation of 
 all moral and intellectual development has been irremediably broken, 
 and thereby the whole of human existence completely unsettled, being 
 let loose from its primary source and reality in God ; this convulsion and 
 the extreme enormity of sin must be exhibited both internally and 
 externally. Its external and objective manifestation is in the disruption 
 of all human relations, and in the fruitless struggle of good against evil ; 
 inwardly and subjectively it attains its climax in the disorganization of 
 the King's mind, whose personality formed the subjective centre of the 
 whole piece. 
 
 " The high mid-day sun has now sunk into the fresh, glowing, but fast 
 fading tints of evening. The old Lear is still vigorous both in mind and 
 body ; his old age has not tempered the faults of his nature ; his 
 obstinacy, love of power, passion and rashness, are as strong as ever ; 
 his heart still retains all its freshness and impetuosity. The rich measure 
 of love which has fallen to the portion of Lear's heart is blindly lavished 
 by him to the last drops upon his children ; he resigns to them his all, in 
 the hope of finding in their love and gratitude repose from the storms 
 and fatigues of his long life. But the affection of Lear leads him to 
 forget the king in the parent, and in a father's care to overlook all other 
 duties. Its first thought is of the external and terrestrial, not the inward 
 and everlasting, welfare of his children. As it has not its root in the divine 
 truth, it consequently mistakes its true nature, and, refusing the genuine 
 return of deep and silent gratitude, accepts in the stead a worthless 
 counterfeit. Such a false, and in fact immoral love of the parent, is, by 
 an intrinsic necessity, closely followed by the perfidy, ingratitude, and 
 guilt of the children. True family love can only exist in the calm, 
 unconscious, disinterested union of hearts in which outward and inward, 
 objective and subjective, are so .perfectly blended into one, that no 
 outward sanction, no notions of right and duty, reward or recompense, 
 are ever pressed into consideration. Accordingly, we must look upon 
 Lear himself as the prime cause of the tragic complication, and the 
 guilty author of his own fate, no less than of the crimes and sufferings of 
 his daughters. He falls the victim of the errors and weakness of his own 
 affectionate heart. Thus invariably does the lovely and noble of this 
 earth hasten to perdition whenever unpurified and earthly : it neglects 
 to look back to its divine origin for its true strength and support.
 
 Il6 . APPENDIX. 
 
 "As Shakespeare everywhere exhibits the most wonderful power in 
 completely exhausting the particular subject he has in hand, so, in the 
 present piece, he is not content with simply exhibiting the fundamental 
 idea in the fortunes of the King and his family. He sets it forth under 
 another aspect. 
 
 " In order to shew that a moral corruption is never solitary, but it in its 
 seed and principle universal and ultimately resting on the sinfulness of 
 the whole human race, he has taken the noblest families as representa- 
 tives of the great family of man, and made them the victims of the 
 moral pestilence. While a passionate, unreal tenderness avenges itself 
 on Lear, the fate of Gloster is the consequence of unrepented juvenile 
 excess, on which (as shewn in the first scene) the old man still reflects 
 with wanton pleasure. For the stain of his birth the bastard Edmund 
 punishes his father, who is as credulous and superstitious in his old age 
 as he was light-hearted and thoughtless in youth. While in the one case 
 the open folly of the parent is answered by the open and shameless 
 crimes of the children, in the other, secret sins are met by hidden and 
 sanctified enormity. In the former case the family tie is broken, together 
 with the false and rickety foundation on which it rested ; in the latter it 
 is annihilated by the retributive poison of a single sin, which from the 
 first had eaten away the only stay of domestic happiness true purity of 
 heart. 
 
 "It was necessary to portray Lear and Gloster as infinitely more sinned 
 against than sinning, in order thereby to point out how sins, such as 
 those of which they were the first cause, spring up like weeds, from 
 small beginnings to an unforeseen magnitude, until they cover the whole 
 soil, and absorb its most precious juices. That their baneful influence 
 should have been stronger on the female mind than on that of man for 
 Edmund, however guilty, has some palliation to plead in the dishonour 
 of his origin is but founded on the truth of nature. Since the vocation 
 of woman is domestic life, from which both her character and feelings 
 take their tone, whenever this is corrupt and her sole stay undermined, 
 woman necessarily falls lower than man, who, by his very nature, is 
 thrown more upon himself, and placed on a wider basis of existence. 
 
 "Cordelia pays the penalty of the fault she committed, when, instead of 
 affectionately humouring the weakness of her aged father, she met him 
 with unfilial frowardness, and answered his, no doubt, foolish questions 
 with unbecoming harshness and asperity ; a father's curse lights upon 
 her head, and its direful consequences cannot afterwards be avoided. 
 The slighter her failing may appear, the deeper is the tragic effect of its 
 heavy penalty. For the true force of the tragic lies exactly in this, that
 
 APPENDIX. 117 
 
 the trivial faults of the good are overwhelmed in the same ruin as the 
 most revolting offences of the bad ; with this difference, however, that 
 whereas to the former purification and atonement (and consequently true 
 life also) is conveyed in its annihilation, to the latter temporary destruc- 
 tion and punishment bring likewise eternal death. 
 
 "All the profound though tfulness on which the tragic view of the 
 world ultimately rests, lies hidden in the deep meditative humour of 
 the Fool, against which the tragic form of art is, as it were, broken, in 
 order to display more clearly its inmost core. This genuine humour of 
 the Fool plays, as it were, with the tragical; to it pain or pleasure, 
 happiness or misery, are all the same ; it makes a sport of the most 
 heart-rending sufferings and misfortunes of earthly existence ; even from 
 death and destruction it can derive amusement. By these qualities he is 
 raised high above this earthly existence ; and he has already attained to 
 that elevation of the human mind above all the pursuits or sorrows of this 
 earthly life, which it is the end of this tragic art to set forth, and which 
 is, as it were, personified in him. The humour itself is, in its very 
 essence, the sublime of Comic. Although fully conscious of all the grave 
 seriousness and responsibilities of life, in its profoundest depths, he yet 
 pursues, even with this profundity and seriousness, his sportive mockery, 
 and has no misgivings even, because he is raised far above this earth and 
 its interests. To one who looks upon the whole of life as nothing, his 
 outward position in it must be immaterial. Accordingly, the Fool 
 departs from this life with a witticism in his mouth ' He '11 go to bed at 
 noon.' But his sublime elevation is not a mere stoical indifference; it 
 is united with the truest love and fidelity, and the most rare sympathy. 
 His heartfelt sorrow for his dear Cordelia and his beloved King has 
 sapped his life. 
 
 " Lear's madness, too, terminates with his mortal sigh for Cordelia's 
 loss. In this moment of anguish all the rich intensity of love, which sat 
 enthroned in the heart of Lear, has found its worthy object. While the 
 faint sparks of life are extinguishing, his love puts off its last earthly 
 weakness, and ascends purified and refined to heaven. The tragic 
 impression loses its crushing and oppressive horror, and is transmuted 
 into the calm consolatory feeling of a gentle death and a blissful peace." 
 
 VI. THE MADNESS OF KING LEAR. 
 
 " It is on the development of insanity, the gradual loosening of the 
 mind from the props and supports of reason and of fact, the gradual 
 transition of the feelings from their old habitudes and relations to morbid
 
 Il8 APPENDIX. 
 
 and perverted excess, the gradual exaggeration of some feelings and the 
 extinction of others, and the utter loss of mental balance resulting there- 
 from ; it is on this passage from the state of man, when reason is on its 
 throne, to a state when the royal insignia of his pre-eminence among 
 God's creatures are defaced, that the great dramatist loves to dwell. 
 The wilfulness with which critics have refused to see the symptoms of 
 insanity in Lear until the reasoning power itself has become undeniably 
 alienated, is founded upon the view of mental disease which has, until 
 recently, been entertained even by physicians, and which is still main- 
 tained in courts of law, namely, that insanity is an affection of the intel- 
 lectual and not of the emotional part of man's nature. * * * No state 
 of the reasoning faculty can, by itself, be the cause or condition of mad- 
 ness ; congenital idiocy and acquired dementia being alone excepted. 
 The intellectual and excited babbling of the Fool and the exaggerated 
 absurdities of Edgar are stated by Ulrici, and other critics, to exert a 
 bad influence upon the king's mind. To persons unacquainted with the 
 character of the insane, this opinion must seem, at least, to be highly 
 probable, notwithstanding that the evidence of the drama itself is against 
 it; for Lear is comparatively tranquil in conduct and language during 
 the whole period of Edgar's mad companionship. 
 
 The singular and undoubted fact was probably unknown to Ulrici, that 
 few things tranquilize the insane more than the companionship of the 
 insane. It is a fact not easily explicable, but it is one of which, either 
 by the intuition of genius, or by the information of experience, Shakes- 
 peare appears to be aware." BUCKNILL. 
 
 " In the anger and agony of Lear ; in the muscular insanity with which 
 he tries to grapple with fate, as if to catch it by the throat, and strangle 
 it in mortal fight; in his measuring his passions with elemental forces; 
 looking for sympathy with his age to the olden heavens, and finding in 
 the hurricane but inadequate resemblance to the malignity of his 
 daughters ; in all this we have no incidental ebullition : we have, in 
 condensation, the wholeness of a life, the entireness of a self-willed, self- 
 indulgent, impulsive mind, wrenched from all that kept it stable, and 
 whirled into darkness, amidst tempest and convulsion the turbulence 
 and fury of a most physical and most impassioned nature. It is thus 
 that Shakespeare constantly shows us the radical nature of a man in his 
 supreme trial, even in the wildness and terrors of insanity." 
 
 HENRY GILES.
 
 APPENDIX. Iig 
 
 " Edgar's assumed madness serves the great purpose of taking off 
 part of the shock which would otherwise be caused by the true madness 
 of Lear, and further displays the profound difference between the two. 
 In every attempt at representing madness, throughout the whole range 
 of dramatic literature, with the single exception of Lear, it is mere light- 
 headedness, as especially in Otway. In Edgar's ravings, Shakespeare 
 all the while lets you see a fixed purpose, a practical end in view. In 
 Lear's there is only the brooding of the one anguish, an eddy without 
 progression." COLERIDGE. 
 
 VII. THE DRESSING, ETC., OF KING LEAR. 
 
 Guizot remarks that : " The time in which Shakespeare laid his action 
 seems to have emancipated him from.all conventional forms ; and just as 
 he felt no difficulty in placing a King of France, a Duke of Albany, and 
 a Duke of Cornwall eight hundred years [and more] before the Christian 
 era, so he felt no necessity for connecting the language and the charac- 
 ters of his drama with any determinate period." And Dr. Johnson says, 
 in a kindred vein, that : " Shakespeare, by the mention of his earls and 
 dukes [in this tragedy], has given us the idea of times more civilized and 
 of life regulated by softer manners." These views indicate the usage 
 proper to be followed in mounting and dressing " King Lear." The 
 Britons of A. M. 3105 probably wore skins principally their own. The 
 tragedy should be dressed according to the civilization of a much later 
 period, with rude fabrics, but with some pomp and richness. The time 
 of the action of this tragedy cannot be determined with absolute precision. 
 Immediately after the partition of the kingdom is accomplished, Lear 
 departs to the castle of Goneril. The first quarrel occurs before the 
 close of the first month apparently of his residence in that place. 
 There is nothing, however, to make it certain that this breach should 
 not be referred to a later time the third month or the fifth. It is here 
 assumed, however, to occur in the first. Then comes the quarrel with 
 Regan, which the text distinctly places within two days after the quarrel 
 with Goneril. The incidents of the night and tempest, upon the heath, 
 immediately follow. Three acts of the piece are thus comprised within 
 less than a month. It seems sufficient to allow about three weeks for 
 the military proceedings which bring on the final catastrophe. The 
 scrupulous analyst of the text obtains many side lights upon points of this 
 class: such as Lear's reference to his dead wife, and Regan's remem- 
 brance that Edgar, when an infant, received his name from Lear. 
 
 NEW-YORK, March 3 oth, 1878. W. W.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR
 
 preface. 
 
 /N the composition of his play of "Julius Ccesar" Shake- 
 speare built upon the records of Plutarch. Sir Thomas 
 Norths translation of Plutarch, from the French of 
 Amyot, was, evidently, known to him, seeing that he has 
 adopted North's historical errors, and, in several instances, 
 has paraphrased, in verse, the exact chronicle made, by 
 North, in prose. The play was written in 1600 or 1601, and 
 it was first published in the Folio of 1623. The text is 
 thought to be somewhat exceptionally free from errors. " We 
 know of no play of Shakespeare's" says Charles Knight, 
 " that presents so few difficulties arising out of inaccuracies 
 in the original edition ; there are some half-dozen passages 
 in. which there are manifest typographical errors." Mr. 
 Fie ay declares that " the present play has been greatly short- 
 ened" and that this " is shown by the singularly large number 
 of instances in which mute characters are on the stage 
 which is totally at variance with Shakespeare's usual prac- 
 tice" The same learned, acute, and ingenious writer re- 
 marks that ' ' the first three acts and the last two have no 
 characters in common, except Brutus, Cassius, Antony, and 
 Lucius," and that "there are, in fact, two plays in one, 
 C&sar's Tragedy and Cesar's Revenge." This was long 
 ago observed by John Sheffield, Duke of Buckinghamshire, 
 who framed two tragedies out of Shakespeare' s play, called 
 "Julius Ccesar" and " Marcus Brutus" 1722. 
 
 Several of the earlier Shakespeare editors refer to a sim- 
 ilarity between lines in Antony's speech over the body of 
 Brutus, in the last scene of the play, and a passage in
 
 II PREFACE. 
 
 Drayton' s "Barons' 1 War," 1603. Keightley, one of the 
 safest guides to the study of Shakespeare, directs attention to 
 the character of Crites, in Ben Jonsoris " Cynthia's Revels" 
 acted in 1600, and suggests that " the immediate original of 
 the passage, in both poets" Shakespeare and Drayton, may 
 be found in that play, act II, scene i ; and, furthermore, he 
 refers to an earlier original, in Chaucer's " Tale of the 
 Doctor of Physik" The fact, if fact it be, that alterations 
 were made in the text of "Julius Ccesar" between the time of 
 its production on the stage, 1600 or 1601, and that of its first 
 publication, 1623, is, in part inferred from Ben Jonson' s 
 references in his " Staple of News " and his " Timber, or 
 Discoveries" to a line in the play, as originally given, 
 which he calls " ridiculous" : " Ccesar did never wron.gbut 
 with just cause." Shakespeare died in 1616. The Folio, 
 appearing in 1623, did not contain that line, but gave the 
 reading as it now stands. Jonson, nevertheless, is found to 
 be gibing at this absurdity, in his " Staple of News" which 
 was acted in 1625. Both the ' ' Staple of News " and the 
 " Timber" however, may have been written prior to 1623 and 
 therefore prior to the correction of the error, although, in- 
 deed, there is not much reason to think that Jonson would 
 have been very scrupulous as to the exact propriety of a dig at 
 another dramatist. He had participated, and so had Shake- 
 speare, as well as Drayton, Lodge, Dekker, and others, in ' ' the 
 war of the theatres" and no love appears to have been lost 
 among those combatants ; albeit, after Shakespeare's death, 
 Jonson wrote of him with cordial kindness. Mr. Fie ay notes, 
 as an additiotial sign that alterations were made in "Julius 
 C&sar" and that some other hand than that of Shakest>eo~e 
 made them, the fact that the name of Antony, in this play, is 
 spelled without an h; whereas, occiirring in eight of 
 Shakespeare's plays, that name is invariably spelled with an 
 h in every instance except this one.
 
 PREFACE. Ill 
 
 These details indicate the importance of a close scrutiny 
 of the text. The errors in the Folio are considerable in 
 number, and, precious though it be, that book cannot be im- 
 plicitly trusted. Students ought to possess Keightley's 
 "Shakespeare Expositor" and KinneaSs "Cruces Shake- 
 speariance" and ought to consult them, as to every one of 
 Shakespeare's plays. Much help, likewise, may be derived 
 from}. Payne Collier 1 s" Notes and Emendations" for Collier 
 was thoroughly acquainted with the subject, and he had an abun- 
 dance of general learning, no matter what cloud of doubt may 
 rest on the authenticity of the MS. corrector of his Second 
 Folio. And every student should read the writings of 
 Edward Dowden, the most profound and sympathetic Shake- 
 spearean critic of our age. Dowden, writing of "Julius 
 C<zsar" suggests that Shakespeare was, probably, acquainted 
 with a translation (there was one published in 1578), of the 
 account of the Civil Wars, by the Roman historian, Appian, 
 and that he derived some hints from it for the orations of 
 Brutus and Antony. Antony's oration over the corpse of 
 Casar has always been regarded as one of the best 
 examples of Shakespeare's invention; it owes nothing to 
 Plutarch except the incident of the display of the dead body ; 
 whereas the words of Bruttts, spoken over the dead Cassius, 
 in the last act, are directly taken from that original: 
 
 " The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
 It is impossible that ever Rome 
 Should breed thy fellow" 
 
 A play called the "History of Ccesar and Pompey" is 
 mentioned by Stephen Gosson (1554-1623), as existent in 
 1579, and mention is made by Skottowe of a Latin play by Dr. 
 Richard Eedes (died at Worcester, England, November 19, 
 1604), which was acted in Oxford Utiiversity in 1582. 
 Voltaire treated the Julius Casar story, in his tragedy called
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 " The Death of C&sar" and Aaron Hill founded upon Vol- 
 taire's play his "Roman Revenge" 1753. Both of these 
 pieces adopt the tale that Brutus was C&sar's son, by Ser- 
 villia, sister of Cato an absurdity, for C&sar was scarcely 
 turned fourteen when Brutus was born. Voltaire's tragedy 
 contains no women. Hill's portraiture of Casar is highly 
 colored, but not without some JTtstification, for C&sar, although 
 his character had somewhat deteriorated toward the end of 
 his life (Plutarch), was the greatest man of the actual group. 
 Hill makes Portia and Calphurnia intimate, life -long friends. 
 Bolingbroke admired Hill's play, and so did Pope; but 
 Garrick would not act in it, and the public did not care for 
 it. William Alexander, Earl of Stirling (died 1640), wrote 
 a tragedy on Julius Casar, 1604 (Malone says 1607), and 
 this, with his other works, ' 'Darius, " " Croesus" ' ' The Alex- 
 andrcean Tragedy" etc., were published in folio in 1637. 
 Sense, formality, and dtdlness are the chief characteristics of 
 the Earl's style. An alteration of Shakespeare's "fulius 
 Casar" made by Davenant and Dryden, and acted at Drury 
 Lane, was published in 1719. Sheffield's Julius Ccesar 
 plays, 1772, were never much esteemed: they are clumsy 
 alterations of Shakespeare" s tragedy. One scene represents 
 Brutus in love ! There is a chorus at the end of each act. 
 Alexander also employs the chorus. Sheffield introduces in 
 his "Marcus Brutus," new characters, one of them being 
 Junia, wife of Cassius. Examination of those plays serves 
 only to illustrate and confirm the superiority of Shakespeare, 
 January, 7^99. W. W.
 
 m 
 
 " There is not one person in ten thousand who knows what Liberty 
 means, or cares a straw for any happiness but his own." PEACOCK. 
 
 " There is one alone, and there is not a second." ECCLESIASTES 
 , 8. 
 
 "Here we embrace, and Til unlock my heart. 
 A council 's held hard by, where the destruction 
 Ofthit great empire 's hatching : there /Y/ lead thee. 
 . . . To mix with men 
 Fit to disturb the peace of all the world 
 And rule it when 'tis wildest." OTWAY. 
 
 " That Julius Ccesar was a famous man ; 
 With what his valor did enrich his wit 
 His juit set down to make his valor live. 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror, 
 for now he lines in fame, though not in life." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "Heroes may kill tyrants, but it is wisdom and laws that prevent 
 tyranny and oppression." ELIZABETH MONTAGU. 
 
 "A perfect man 
 
 As ever Nature in one frame did span. 
 Such high-born thought, a soul so large and free, 
 So clear a judgment and vast memory, 
 So princely, hospitable, and brave mind, 
 We must not think in haste on earth to find, 
 Unless the times would turn to gold again 
 And Nature get new strength informing men," 
 
 JAMES HOWELL. 
 
 "Desiredst thou what truly spurred thee on ? . . . 
 Or didst thou but, as cautious schemers use, 
 Cloak thine ambition with these specious words ? 
 I knew not : just, in either case, the stroke 
 Which laid thee low, for blood requires blood." 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 " We've trod the maze of error round, 
 
 Long wand' ring in the winding glade, 
 And, now the torch of truth is found, 
 
 It only shows us where we've strayed." C RABBI,
 
 " When went there by an age since the great flood, 
 But it was famed with more than with one man /"' 
 
 "And yesterday the bird of night did sit 
 Even at noon-day upon the market-place, 
 Hooting and shrieking.' 1 '' 
 
 'It must be by his death. . . , 
 The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins 
 Remorse from power." 
 
 " I heard a bustling rumor, like a fray, 
 And the wind brings it from the Capitol." 
 
 " Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
 That ever lived in the tide of times." 
 
 "Mischief, thou art afoot, 
 Take thou what course thou wilt f" 
 
 "I think it is the weakness of my mine eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 It comet upon me. Art thou anything ? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil 
 That mak 1 st my blood cold and my hair to stare ?" 
 
 " Why, now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark t 
 The storm is up and all is on the hazard." 
 
 " Time is come round, 
 And where I did begin, there shall I end ; 
 My life is run his compass." 
 
 " The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ! 
 Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds are done" 
 
 " When you do find him, or alive or dead, 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself." 
 
 "Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest, 
 That have but labored to attain this hour." 
 
 "J/is life was gentle, and the elements 
 So mixed in him that Nature might stand up 
 And say to all the world, ' This was a man /' "
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. Rome. A Public Place. A Great Tumult without. 
 Enter CASCA, TREBONIUS, and a rabble of Citizens. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get you home. 
 
 Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not, 
 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
 
 Upon a labouring day without the sign 
 
 Of your profession ? Speak, what trade art thou ? 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule ? 
 You, sir ; what trade are you ? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you 
 would say, a cobbler. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 But what trade art thou ? Answer me directly. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience ; 
 which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
 
 6 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 What trade, thou knave ? thou naughty knave, what trade ? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me ; yet if you 
 be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy 
 fellow ? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl. I meddle 
 with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters : but 
 withal I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when they 
 are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever 
 trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more 
 work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar, and 
 to rejoice in his triumph. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings he home ? 
 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ? 
 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things !
 
 JULIUS CJESAR. 7 
 
 O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 
 Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft 
 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 
 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 
 The livelong day, with patient expectation, 
 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; 
 
 And, when you saw his chariot but appear, 
 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 
 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 
 
 To hear the replication of your sounds 
 
 Made in her concave shores ? 
 
 And do you now cull out a holiday? 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? 
 
 Be gone ! 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, 
 
 Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
 
 Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
 
 Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
 
 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. \_March, 
 
 See whe'r their baser metal be not mov'd ! 
 
 They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
 
 Enter, in procession with music, CAESAR ; ANTONY, for the 
 course ; CALPURNIA, DECIUS, and CASCA, a great crowd 
 following, among them a Soothsayer. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Calpurnia ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. {Music ceases.
 
 8 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Calpurnia ! 
 
 CALPURNIA. 
 
 Here, my lord. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
 When he doth run his course. Antonius ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 Caesar, my lord ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
 To touch Calpurnia ; for our elders say, 
 The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
 Shake off their sterile curse. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 I shall remember ; 
 When Caesar says " Do this," it is perform'd. 
 
 CESAR. 
 Set on, and leave no ceremony out. [Music. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 Caesar ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Ha ! who calls ? 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again ! [Music ceases. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Who is it in the press that calls on me ? 
 I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
 Cry, Caesar. Speak ; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 Beware the ides of March.
 
 JULIUS CJESA.R. 
 CESAR. 
 
 What man is that? 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March. 
 
 CAESAR. 
 Set him before me ; let me see his face. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 Fellow, come from the throng ; look upon Caesar. 
 
 CESAR. 
 What say'st thou to me now ? Speak once again. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 Beware the ides of March. 
 
 CESAR. 
 He is a dreamer ; let us leave him : pass. 
 
 [ March, Exeunt all. Enter BRUTUS and CASSIUS. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Will you go see the order of the' course? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Not I. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I pray you, do. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I am not gamesome ; I do lack some part 
 Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 
 I'll leave you. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Brutus, I do observe you now of late : 
 I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
 And show of love as I was wont to have ; 
 You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over your friend that loves you.
 
 IO JULIUS (LESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 Be not deceiv'd ; if I have veil'd my look, 
 I turn the trouble of my countenance 
 Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
 Of late with passions of some difference, 
 Conceptions only proper to myself, 
 Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours ; 
 But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd 
 Among which number, Cassius, be you one 
 Nor construe any further my neglect, 
 Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
 Forgets the shows of love to other men. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion ; 
 By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
 Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
 Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not itself, 
 But by reflection by some other things. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 'Tis just ; 
 
 And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
 That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
 Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
 That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
 Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
 Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus, 
 And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
 Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, 
 That you would have me seek into myself 
 For that which is not in me ?
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. II 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear ; 
 
 And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
 
 So well as by reflection, I your glass 
 
 Will modestly discover to yourself 
 
 That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
 
 And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 
 
 Were I a common laugher, or did use 
 
 To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
 
 To every new protester ; if you know 
 
 That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
 
 And after scandal them ; or if you know 
 
 That I profess myself in banqueting 
 
 To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Shout. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 What means this shouting? I do fear, the people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Ay, do you fear it ? 
 Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well. 
 But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
 What is it that you would impart to me ? 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honour in one eye, and death i' the other, 
 And I will look on both indifferently; 
 For let the gods so speed me as I love 
 The name of honour more than I fear death. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
 As well as I do know your outward favour. 
 Well, honour is the subject of my story.
 
 12 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 I cannot tell what you and other men 
 
 Think of this life, but, for my single self, 
 
 I had as lief not be as live to be 
 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 
 I was born free as Csesar, so were you ; 
 
 We both have fed as well, and we can both 
 
 Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 
 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
 
 The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
 
 Caesar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
 
 Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
 
 And swim to yonder point? " Upon the word, 
 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 
 And bade him follow ; so, indeed, he did. 
 
 The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
 
 With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, 
 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
 
 Caesar cried, " Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 
 
 I, as ^Eneas, our great ancestor, 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 
 The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 
 
 Did I the tired Csesar. And this man 
 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body 
 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 
 And when the fit was on him I did mark 
 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake ; 
 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly, 
 
 And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world 
 
 Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan ; 
 
 Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him and write his speeches in their books, 
 
 Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius," 
 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 
 And bear the palm alone. \_Shout.
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 13 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Another general shout ! 
 
 I do believe that these applauses are 
 
 For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates ; 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus and Caesar : what should be in that Caesar? 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
 " Brutus " will start a spirit as soon as " Caesar." [Shout. 
 Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
 That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd ! 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
 When could they say till now that talk'd of Rome 
 That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? 
 Now it is Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 O, you and I have heard our fathers say, 
 There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
 As easily as a king ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
 What you would work me to, I have some aim ; 
 How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
 I shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
 
 14 JULIUS CJESAJt. 
 
 Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
 I will consider ; what you have to say, 
 I will with patience hear, and find a time 
 Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 
 
 [March. Shouts nearer. 
 The games are done, and Caesar is returning. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
 And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
 What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, 
 The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Casca will tell us what the matter is. 
 
 [March. Procession returns L. 
 
 CVESAR. 
 
 Antonius ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Csesar ? 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Let me have men about me that are fat, 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights : 
 Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Fear him not, Caesar ; he's not dangerous. 
 He is a noble Roman and well given. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Would he were fatter ! But I fear him not. 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear,
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 15 
 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 
 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 
 Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no plays, 
 
 As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music : 
 
 Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort, 
 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, 
 
 And therefore are they very dangerous. 
 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
 
 Than what I fear ; for always I am Caesar. 
 
 Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, 
 
 And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 
 [March. Exeunt Cxshx. and his train. CASCA remains. 
 
 CASCA. 
 You pull'd me by the cloak ; would you speak with me ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Ay, Casca ; tell me what hath chanc'd to-day, 
 That Caesar looks so sad. 
 
 CASCA. 
 Why, you were with him, were you not? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 I should not then ask Casca what had chanc'd. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Why, there was a crown offered him ; and, being offered 
 him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then 
 the people fell a-shouting. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 What was the second noise for ?
 
 1 6 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 CASCA. 
 Why, for that too. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 They shouted thrice ; what was the last cry for? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Why, for that too. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Was the crown offered him thrice ? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time 
 gentler than other ; and at every putting-by mine honest 
 neighbours shouted. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Who offer'd him the crown? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Why, Antony. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it ; it was 
 mere foolery, I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony 
 offer him a crown; yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas 
 one of these coronets ; and, as I told you, he put it by 
 once ; but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have 
 had it. Then he offered it to him again ; then he put it by 
 again ; but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fin- 
 gers off it. And then he offered it the third time ; he put 
 it the third time by ; and still as he refused it, the rabble- 
 ment shouted, and clapped their chopped hands, and threw 
 up their sweaty nightcaps, and uttered such a deal of stink- 
 ing breath because Caesar refused the crown, that it had 
 almost choked Caesar ; for he swooned, and fell down at it. 
 And, for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of open- 
 ing my lips and receiving the bad air.
 
 JULIUS CyESAR. I? 
 
 CASS1US. 
 
 But, soft, I pray you. What ! did Caesar swoon? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, 
 and was speechless. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Tis very like ; he hath the falling sickness. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I, 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 I know not what you mean by that ; but I am sure Caesar 
 fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss 
 him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they 
 use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 What said he when he came unto himself? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the com- 
 mon herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me 
 ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An 
 I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have 
 taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the 
 rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, 
 he said, if he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired 
 their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four 
 wenches, where I stood, cried, "Alas, good soul!" and 
 forgave him with all their hearts. But there's no heed to 
 be taken of them ; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they 
 would have done no less. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 And after that he came thus sad away ?
 
 iS JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Did Cicero say any thing ? 
 
 CASCA. 
 Ay, he spoke Greek. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 To what effect ? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face 
 again. But those that understood him smiled at one another 
 and shook their heads ; but, for my own part, it was Greek 
 to me. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I 
 could remember it. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? 
 
 CASCA. 
 No, I am promised forth. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Will you dine with me to-morrow? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner 
 worth the eating. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Good ; I will expect you. 
 
 CASCA. 
 Do so. Farewell, both. \_Exit CASCA. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! 
 He was quick mettle when he went to school.
 
 JULIUS C.ESAR. 19 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 So is he now, in execution 
 
 Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 
 With better appetite. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 And so it is. For this time I will leave you : 
 To-morrow if you please to speak with me, 
 I will come home to you ; or, if you will, 
 Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I will do so ; till then, think of the world. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this : 
 Brutus had rather be a villager 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. \_Exit BRUTUS. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
 
 Thy honourable metal may be wrought 
 
 From that it is dispos'd : therefore it is meet 
 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes ; 
 
 For who so firm that cannot be seduc'd ? 
 
 Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus ; 
 
 If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
 
 He should not humour me. I will this night, 
 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 
 Writings all tending to the great opinion 
 
 That Rome holds of his name, wherein obscurely 
 
 Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at ; 
 
 And after this let Caesar seat him sure, 
 
 For we will shake him or worse days endure. 
 
 CURTAIN'.
 
 2O JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Rome. Brutus's Orchard. Lightning. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 What, Lucius ! ho ! 
 I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say ! 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 When, Lucius, when ? Awake, I say ! What, Lucius ! 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 CalFd you, my lord ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Get me a taper in my study, Lucius ; 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 
 I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 It must be by his death ; and, for my part, 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd ; 
 How that might change his nature, there's the question. 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? that ; 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins 
 Remorse from power ; and, to speak truth of Caesar, 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 21 
 
 Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ; 
 
 But when he once attains the upmost round 
 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 
 By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. 
 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 
 Fashion it thus : that what he is, augmented, 
 
 Would run to these and these extremities ; 
 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, 
 
 Which hatch 'd would, as his kind, grow mischievous, 
 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 
 The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 
 This paper thus seal'd up, and, I am sure, 
 
 It did not lie there when I went to bed. [ Gives him the letter. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 I know not, sir. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Look in the calendar, and bring me word. [Exit Lucius. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 The exhalations whizzing in the air 
 Give so much light that I may read by them. 
 
 [ Opens the letter, and reads. 
 "Brutus, thou sleep 1 st ; awake, and see thyself. 
 Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress /" 
 " Brutus, thou sleep'st ; awake ! " 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 Where I have took them up.
 
 22 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 " Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out : 
 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What ! Rome ? 
 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 
 " Speak, strike, redress ! " Am I entreated 
 
 To speak and strike ? O Rome ! I make thee promise, 
 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus. 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 
 Sir, -March is wasted fifteen days. [Knocking within. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 'Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody knocks. 
 
 \_Exit Lucius. 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a phantasma or a hideous dream ; 
 The genius and the mortal instruments 
 Are then in council, and the state of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 
 Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, 
 Who doth desire to see you. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Is he alone? 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 
 No, sir ; there are more with him. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Do you know them ?
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 23 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 
 No, sir ; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, 
 And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
 That by no means I may discover them 
 By any mark of favour. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Let 'em enter. [Exit Lucius. 
 
 They are the faction. O Conspiracy ! 
 Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, 
 When evils are most free? O, then, by day 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
 To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, Conspiracy ; 
 Hide it in smiles and affability ; 
 For, if thou path, thy native semblance on, 
 Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 Enter CASSIUS, CASCA, DECIUS, CINNA, METELLUS CIMBER, 
 and TREBONIUS. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
 Good morrow, Brutus ; do we trouble you ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I have been up this hour, awake all night. 
 Know I these men that come along with you ? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Yes, every man of them ; and no man here 
 But honours you ; and every one doth wish 
 You had but that opinion of yourself 
 Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
 This is Trebonius. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 He is welcome hither. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 This, Decius.
 
 24 JULIUS CLESAK. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 He is welcome too. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; and this, Metellus Cimber. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 They are all welcome. 
 What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
 Bet\vixt your eyes and night? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Shall I entreat a word? [They whisper. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Here lies the east ; doth not the day break here ? 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 No. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 O, pardon, sir, it doth, and yon grey lines 
 That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 You shall confess that you are both deceiv'd. 
 Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ; 
 Which is a great way growing on the south, 
 Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
 Some two months hence up higher toward the north 
 He first presents his fire, and the high east 
 Stands as the Capitol, directly here. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 And let us swear our resolution.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 No, not an oath ! If not the face of men, 
 
 The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, 
 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
 
 And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
 
 So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
 
 Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
 
 To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour 
 
 The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, 
 
 What need we any spur but our own cause 
 
 To prick us to redress? what other bond 
 
 Than secret Romans that have spoke the word, 
 
 And will not palter? and what other oath 
 
 Than honesty to honesty engag'd 
 
 That this shall be, or we will fall for it ? 
 
 Unto bad causes swear 
 
 Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain 
 
 The even virtue of our enterprise, 
 
 Nor the insuppressive metal of our spirits, 
 
 To think that or our cause or our performance 
 
 Did need an oath, when every drop of blood, 
 
 That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy 
 
 If he do break the smallest particle 
 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him ? 
 I think he will stand very strong with us. ' 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 Let us not leave him out. 
 
 CINNA. 
 
 No, by no means. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 O, let us have him, for his silver hairs 
 
 Will purchase us a good opinion, 
 
 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds.
 
 26 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 O, name him not ; let us not break with him, 
 For he will never follow any thing 
 That other men begin. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Then leave him out. 
 
 CASCA. 
 Indeed, he is not fit. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Decius, well urg'd. I think it is not meet 
 Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him 
 A shrewd contriver, and you know his means, 
 If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
 As to annoy us all ; which to prevent, 
 Let Antony and Caesar fall together. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, 
 To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, 
 Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards ; 
 For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. 
 Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar, 
 And in the spirit of men there is no blood ; 
 O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, 
 And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 
 Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, 
 Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
 Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
 Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds. 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
 For he can do no more than Caesar's arm 
 When Caesar's head is off.
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 27 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Yet I fear him, 
 For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; 
 For he will live and laugh at this hereafter. 
 
 \_Clock strikes three. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Peace ! count the clock. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 The clock hath stricken three. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 'Tis time to part. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 But it is doubtful yet 
 
 Whether Caesar will come forth to-day or no ; 
 For he is superstitious grown of late, 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies. 
 It may be, these apparent prodigies, 
 The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
 And the persuasion of his augurers 
 May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Never fear that. If he be so resolv'd, 
 I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear 
 That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, 
 Lions with toils, and men with flatterers : 
 But, when I tell him he hates flatterers. 
 He says he does, being then most flattered. 
 Let me work ; 
 
 For I can give his humour the true bent, 
 And I will bring him to the Capitol.
 
 28 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 By the eighth hour ; is that the uttermost ? 
 
 CASCA. 
 Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
 
 Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey ; 
 
 I wonder none of you have thought of him. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Now, good Trebonius, go along by him : 
 
 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons ; 
 
 Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 The morning comes upon 's ; we'll leave you, Brutus. 
 And, friends, disperse yourselves ; but all remember 
 What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily. 
 Let not our looks put on our purposes ; 
 But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
 With untir'd spirits and formal constancy : 
 And so, good morrow to you every one. 
 
 \_Exeunt all but BRUTUS 
 
 Enter PORTIA. 
 
 PORTIA. 
 Brutus, my lord ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Portia, what mean you? W'herefore rise you now? 
 It is not for your health thus to commit 
 Vour weak condition to the raw cold morning.
 
 JULIUS CLESAR. 29 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus, 
 
 Stole from my bed ; and yesternight, at supper, 
 
 You suddenly arose and walk'd about, 
 
 Musing and sighing, with your arms across ; 
 
 And, when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
 
 You star'd upon me with ungentle looks, 
 
 And with an angry wafture of your hand 
 
 Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did ; 
 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
 
 Which seemed too much enkindled. Dear my lord, 
 
 Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I am not well in health, and that is all. 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 Is Brutus sick? 
 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night, 
 And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
 To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ; 
 You have some sick offence within your mind, 
 Which by the right and virtue of my place 
 I ought to know of: and, upon my knees, 
 I charm you, by my once commended beauty, 
 By all your vows of love and that great vow, 
 Which did incorporate and make us one, 
 That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
 Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 
 Have had resort to you ; for here have been 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
 Even from darkness.
 
 3O JULIUS C/ESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Kneel not, gentle Portia. 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
 Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
 Is it excepted I should know no secrets 
 That appertain to you? Am I yourself 
 But, as it were, in sort or limitation, 
 To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
 And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the suburbs 
 Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
 Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 You are my true and honourable wife, 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
 PORTIA. 
 
 If this were true, then should I know this secret. 
 I grant I am a woman, but withal 
 A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife ; 
 I grant I am a woman, but withal 
 A woman well reputed, Cato's daughter. 
 Think you I am no stronger than my sex, 
 Being so father'd and so husbanded? 
 Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em : 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 
 Here in the thigh ; can I bear that with patience, 
 And not my husband's secrets ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 O ye gods, 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
 
 [Knocking within. 
 
 Hark, hark ! one knocks. Portia, go in a while ; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart.
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 31 
 
 All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
 
 All the charactery of my sad brows. 
 
 Leave me with haste. [Exit PORTIA. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in Ctzsar's Palace. 
 Enter 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night ; 
 
 Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 
 " Help, ho ! they murther Caesar ! " Who's within? 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS. 
 
 FLAVIUS. 
 
 My lord? 
 
 CAESAR. 
 
 Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, 
 And bring me their opinions of success. 
 
 FLAVIUS. 
 
 I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter CALPURNIA. 
 
 CALPURNIA. 
 
 What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth? 
 You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Caesar shall forth. The things that threaten'd me 
 Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see 
 The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 
 
 CALPURNIA. 
 
 Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, 
 Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 
 Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
 
 32 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 The graves have yawn'd and yielded up their dead ; 
 
 Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, 
 
 Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol ; 
 
 The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
 
 And ghosts did shriek and gibber in the streets. 
 
 O Caesar ! these things are beyond all use, 
 
 And I do fear them. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 What can be avoided, 
 
 Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods ? 
 Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 It seems to me most strange that men should fear, 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come when it will come. 
 
 Enter FLAVIUS. 
 What say the augurers ? 
 
 FLAVIUS. 
 
 They would not have you to stir forth to-day. 
 Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
 They could not find a heart within the beast. \_Exit. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 The gods do this in shame of cowardice ; 
 Caesar should be a beast without a heart, 
 If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 CALPURNIA. 
 
 Alas ! my lord, 
 
 Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
 Do not go forth to-day. Call it my fear 
 That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
 We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house, 
 And he shall say you are not well to-day ; 
 Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 33 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Mark Antony shall say I am not well, 
 And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 
 
 Enter DECIUS. 
 Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Caesar, all hail ! Good morrow, worthy Caesar ; 
 I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 And you are come in very happy time 
 To bear my greeting to the senators, 
 And tell them that I will not come to-day. 
 Cannot is false ; and that I dare not, falser ; 
 I will not come to-day. Tell them so, Decius. 
 
 CALPURNIA. 
 Say, he is sick. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Shall Caesar send a lie ? 
 
 Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, 
 To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth ? 
 Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, 
 Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 The cause is in my will ; I will not come : 
 That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
 But, for your private satisfaction, 
 Because I love you, I will let you know. 
 Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home. 
 She dream'd to-night she saw my statua, 
 Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, 
 Did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans
 
 34 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it ; 
 And these does she apply for warnings and portents 
 And evils imminent, and on her knee 
 Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 This dream is all amiss interpreted ; 
 It was a vision fair and fortunate. 
 Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
 In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
 Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
 Reviving blood, and that great men shall press 
 To you for tinctures, stains, and cognizance. 
 This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. 
 
 CAESAR. 
 And this way have you well expounded it. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 I have, when you have heard what I can say ; 
 And know it now. The senate have concluded 
 To give this day a crown to mighty Csesar. 
 If you shall send them word you will not come, 
 Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
 Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, 
 " Break up the senate till another time, 
 When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams." 
 If Csesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
 " Lo, Csesar is afraid " ? 
 Pardon me, Cassar, for my dear, dear love 
 To your proceeding bids me tell you this, 
 And reason to my love is liable. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia ! 
 I am ashamed I did yield to them. 
 
 Enter PUBLIUS CASCA and BRUTUS. 
 And look where other friends are come to fetch me.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 35 
 
 CASCA. . 
 
 Good morrow, Caesar. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Welcome, Publius Casca. 
 What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? 
 I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 
 Enter ANTONY. 
 
 See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
 
 Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 So to most noble Caesar. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Bid them prepare within. 
 I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
 
 Enter CINNA, METELLUS, and TREBONIUS. 
 
 Now Cinna. Now Metellus. What ! Trebonius? 
 I have an hour's talk in store for you : 
 Be near me, that I may remember you. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Csesar, I will. \_Aside~\ And so near will I be, 
 That your best friends shall wish I had been further. 
 
 Good friends, go in and taste some wine with me ; 
 
 And we like friends will straightway go together. \_Exeunt. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 That every like is not the same, O Caesar, 
 The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 36 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE. The Capitol; the Senate sitting. Flourish. 
 
 A crowd of Citizens; OESAR, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, CASCA, 
 DECIUS, METELLUS, TREBONIUS, CINNA, ANTONY, POPILIUS, 
 PUBLIUS, and others discovered. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 Hail, Caesar ! 
 
 OESAR. 
 
 The ides of March are come. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 Ay, Caesar ; but not gone. 
 
 Hail, Caesar ! Read this schedule. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
 At ycur best leisure, this his humble suit. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 O, Caesar, read mine first ; for mine's a suit 
 
 That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar. 
 
 OESAR. 
 What touches us ourself shall be last serv'd. 
 
 SOOTHSAYER. 
 
 Delay not, Caesar ; read it instantly. 
 
 CESAR. 
 What ! is the fellow mad? 
 
 DECIUS. 
 Sirrah, give place. [Exit Soothsayer.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 37 
 
 Enter POPILIUS LENAS. 
 
 POPILIUS. 
 I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 What enterprise, Popilius? 
 
 POPILIUS. 
 Fare you well. \_Advances to CESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 What said Popilius Lena? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 He wished to-day our enterprise might thrive. 
 I fear our purpose is discovered. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Look, how he makes to Caesar ; mark him. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
 Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, 
 Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, 
 For I will slay myself. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Cassius, be constant : 
 
 Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
 For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, Brutus, 
 He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 
 \Exeunt ANTONY and TREBONIUS.
 
 38 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 DECIUS. 
 
 Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go 
 And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 He is address'd ; press near and second him. 
 
 CINNA. 
 Casca, you are the first that rears your hahd. 
 
 CASCA. 
 Are we all ready ? 
 
 CAESAR. 
 
 What is now amiss 
 
 That Caesar and his senate must redress? 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, 
 
 Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
 
 An humble heart. \Kneettng. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 I must prevent thee, Cimber. 
 These couchings and these lowly courtesies 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
 And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
 Into the law of children. Be not fond, 
 To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 With that which melteth fools, I mean sweet words, 
 Low-crooked curtsies, and base spaniel fawning. 
 Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
 If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, 
 I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
 Know, Csesar doth not wrong, nor without cause 
 Will he be satisfied. 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 Is there no voice more worthy than my own, 
 To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear 
 For the repealing of my banish'rl brother?
 
 JULIUS C/ESAR. 39 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar, 
 Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 What, Brutus ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Pardon, Caesar ; Caesar, pardon : 
 As low as to thy foot doth Cassius .fall, 
 To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 I could be well mov'd if I were as you ; 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 
 Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks ; 
 They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 
 But there's but one in all doth hold his place. 
 So, in the world ; 'tis furnish'd well with men, 
 And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
 Yet, in the number, I do know but one 
 That unassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshak'd of motion : and that I am he, 
 Let me a little show it, even in this, 
 That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, 
 And constant do remain to keep him so. 
 
 CINNA. 
 O Caesar ! 
 
 CESAR. 
 
 Hence ! wilt thou lift up Olympus? 
 
 DECIUS. 
 Great Caesar, 
 
 CESAR. 
 Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?
 
 4O JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 CASCA. 
 
 Speak, hands, for me. 
 
 [CASCA stabs C/ESAR in the neck. CAESAR catches hold 
 of his arm. He is then stabbed by several other 
 conspirators, and at last by MARCUS BRUTUS. 
 
 OESAR. 
 
 Et tu, Brute ! Then, fall, Caesar. [Dies. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets : 
 " Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement ! " 
 
 \The Senators and People retire in confusion. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 People, and senators ! be not affrighted ; 
 Fly not ; stand still : ambition's debt is paid. 
 There is no harm intended to your person, 
 Nor to no Roman else ; so tell them, Lenas, 
 And let no man abide this deed, but we 
 The doers. 
 
 Enter TREBONIUS. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Where is Antony? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Fled to his house amaz'd. 
 
 Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run, 
 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Fates ! we will know your pleasures : 
 That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time, 
 And drawing days out, that men stand upon,
 
 JULIUS (LESAR. 41 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life 
 Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Grant that, and then is death a benefit. 
 
 On, Romans, on ! With hands and sword besmeared 
 
 In Caesar's blood, 
 
 Thus walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
 
 Let's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 How many ages hence 
 
 Shall this our lofty scene be acted over 
 
 In states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, 
 That now on Pompey's basis lies along 
 No worthier than the dust ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 So oft as that shall be, 
 So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The men that gave their country liberty. 
 
 CASCA. 
 What ! shall we forth ? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Aye, every man away ; 
 
 Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels 
 With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.
 
 42 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 Enter SERVIUS. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Soft, who comes here ? A friend of Antony's. 
 
 SERVIUS. 
 
 Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ; 
 And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say : 
 Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest ; 
 Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving. 
 Say I love Brutus and I honour him ; 
 Say I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 
 May safely come to him and be resolv'd 
 How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
 So well as Brutus living, but will follow 
 The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
 Thorough the hazards of this untrod state 
 With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
 I never thought him worse. 
 Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
 He shall be satisfied and, by my honour, 
 Depart untouch'd. 
 
 SERVIUS. 
 I'll fetch him presently. \_Exit servant. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 I know that we shall have him well to friend. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I wish we may ; but yet have I a mind 
 That fears him much.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 43 
 
 Enter ANTONY. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 mighty Caesar ! Dost thou lie so low? 
 
 Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well. 
 
 1 know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
 Who else must be let blood, who else is rank ; 
 If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
 
 As Caesar's death's hour, nor no instrument 
 
 Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich 
 
 With the most noble blood of all this world. 
 
 I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, 
 
 Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 
 
 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
 
 I shall not find myself so apt to die ; 
 
 No place will please me so, no mean of death, 
 
 As here by Caesar and by you cut off, 
 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 O Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
 Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
 As, by our hands and this our present act, 
 You see we do, yet see you but our hands. 
 Our hearts you see not : they are pitiful ; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, 
 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony ; 
 And our heart, 
 
 Of brothers' temper, do receive you in, 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Your voice shall be as strong as any man's, 
 In the disposing of new dignities.
 
 44 JULIUS C.-ESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
 The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 
 And then we will deliver you the cause 
 Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 I doubt not of your wisdom. 
 Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ; 
 Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
 Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; now yours, Metellus ; 
 Yours, Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours ; 
 Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. 
 Gentlemen all, alas ! what shall I say ? 
 My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
 That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
 Either a coward or a flatterer. 
 That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true ! 
 If then thy spirit look upon us now, 
 Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, 
 To see thy Antony making his peace, 
 Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 
 Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 
 Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 
 Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
 It would become me better than to close 
 In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
 Pardon me, Julius ! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart ; 
 Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand, 
 Sign'd in thy spoil and crimson'd in thy death. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Mark Antony, 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Pardon me, Caius Cassius : 
 
 The enemies of Caesar shall say this ; 
 
 Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 45 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us ? 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed 
 Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
 Friends am I with you all and love you all, 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons 
 Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Or else were this a savage spectacle. 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 That's all I seek ; 
 
 And am moreover suitor that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place, 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Brutus, a word with you. 
 
 \_Aside\ You know not what you do. Do not consent 
 That Antony speak in his funeral. 
 Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
 By that which he will utter ?
 
 46 JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 By your pardon ; - 
 I will myself into the pulpit first, 
 And show the reason of our Caesar's death ; 
 What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
 He speaks by leave and by permission, 
 And that we are contented Caesar shall 
 Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, 
 But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, 
 And say you do 't by our permission ; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral. And you shall speak 
 In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 
 After my speech is ended. 
 
 I do desire no more. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 Be it so ; 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
 
 \Exeunt all but ANTONY. 
 
 ANTONY 
 
 O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth. 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 Thou art the nuns of the noblest man 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 Woe to the hands that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,
 
 JULIUS (LESAR. 47 
 
 Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue : 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
 Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
 And dreadful objects so familiar, 
 That mothers shall but smile when they behold 
 Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war, 
 All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds ; 
 And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge, 
 With Ate by his side come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
 Cry " Havoc ! " and let slip the dogs of war ; 
 That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
 With carrion men groaning for burial. 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN.
 
 48 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE. Rome. The Forum. A Throng of Plebians. 
 BRUTUS and Crowd of Citizens discovered. 
 
 CITIZENS. 
 We will be satisfied ! We will be satisfied ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Be patient till the last. 
 
 CITIZENS. 
 We will be satisfied ! We will be satisfied ! 
 
 [BRUTUS ascends the pulpit. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause, 
 and be silent, that you may hear ; believe me for mine hon- 
 our, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe ; 
 censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that 
 you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, 
 any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to 
 Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand 
 why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer, Not 
 that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 
 you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that 
 Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Caesar loved me, 
 I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he 
 was valiant, I honour him ; but as he was ambitious, I slew 
 him. There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour 
 for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who is here so 
 base that would be a bondman? If any, speak, for him
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 49 
 
 have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be 
 a Roman ? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who 
 is here so vile that will not love his country ? If any, speak, 
 for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. 
 
 ALL. 
 None, Brutus, none. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Then none have I offended. I have done no more to 
 Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his 
 death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, 
 wherein he was worthy, nor his offences enforced, for which 
 he suffered death. \_March. 
 
 ALL. 
 Brutus ! Brutus ! Brutus ! 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Bring him with triumph home unto his house ; 
 Give him a statue to his ancestors. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN 
 
 Let him be Caesar ! 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Brutus ! Brutus ! Brutus ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Here comes Caesar's body, mourned by Mark Antony ; 
 
 Good countrymen, let me depart alone. 
 
 I do entreat no man of you to stir, 
 
 But for my sake stay here with Antony : 
 
 Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 
 Tending to Caesar's glories, which Mark Antony, 
 
 By our permission, is allowed to make. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Live, Brutus ! live ! live 1
 
 5O JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Let him be Caesar ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 With this I depart, that as I slew 
 My best lover for the good of Rome, 
 I have the same dagger for myself 
 When it shall please my country to need 
 My death. \_Exit BRUTUS. 
 
 ALL. 
 Live, Brutus ! live ! live ! 
 
 \_Ente r guards, bearing CAESAR'S body, ANTONY, SERVIUS, 
 and others. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 What does he say of Brutus? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 He says, for Brutus' sake, he finds himself beholding to us 
 all. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 
 
 [ANTONY ascends pulpit. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 Nay, that's certain ; 
 We are blest that Rome is rid of him.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 51 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Peace, let us hear what Antony can say. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 You gentle Romans, 
 
 ALL. 
 Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 
 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
 
 The evil that men do lives after them, 
 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 
 So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
 
 Hath told you Caesar was ambitious ; 
 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, 
 
 For Brutus is an honourable man, 
 
 So are they all, all honourable men, 
 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 
 Whose ransom did the general coffers fill ; 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept ; 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 You all did see that on the Lupercal 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 
 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 
 And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 
 But here I am to speak what I do know.
 
 52 JULIUS C/ESAR. 
 
 You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 
 
 judgment, thoii art fled to brutish beasts, 
 
 And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me ; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. If thou 
 consider rightly of the matter, Caesar has had great wrong. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 Has he, masters? 
 
 1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take the crown ; 
 Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
 
 Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, 
 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 O masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
 
 JULIUS C.'ESAR. 53 
 
 I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, 
 
 Who, you all know, are honourable men. 
 
 I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 
 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ; 
 
 I found it in his closet ; 'tis his will. 
 
 Let but the commons hear this testament 
 
 Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read 
 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, 
 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
 
 Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. 
 
 ALL. 
 The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's will. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it ; 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 
 Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For if you should, O, what would come of it? 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 Read the will ! we'll hear it, Antony ! 
 You shall read us the will ! Caesar's will ! 
 
 - 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Will you be patient ? Will you stay awhile ? 
 
 I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
 
 I fear I wrong the honourable men 
 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar ; I do fear it.
 
 54 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 They were traitors ! Honourable men ! 
 
 ALL. 
 The will ! the testament ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 They were villains, murtherers ! The will ! Read the will ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 You will compel me, then, to read the will? 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 
 
 ALL. 
 Come down. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Descend. \_He comes doivnfrom the pulpit. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 You shall have leave. 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 A ring ; stand round. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Room for Antony ! most noble Antony ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Stand back ! room ! bear back !
 
 JULIUS CJESAR. 55 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
 
 That day he overcame the Nervii. 
 
 Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through ; 
 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made ; 
 
 Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
 
 And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, 
 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
 
 For, when the noble Csesar saw him stab, 
 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 
 Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 
 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 
 O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel 
 
 The dint of pity ; these are gracious drops. 
 
 Kind souls, what ! weep you when you but behold 
 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 O noble Caesar ! 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 O woful day !
 
 56 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 O traitors, villains ! 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 most bloody sight ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 We will be reveng'd ! 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Revenge ! About ! Seek ! Burn ! Fire ! Kill ! Slay ! 
 Let not a traitor live ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Stay, countrymen. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Peace there ! Hear the noble Antony. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They that have done this deed are honourable. 
 What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, 
 That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable, 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 
 1 come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is, 
 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
 
 That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 
 I tell you that which you yourselves do know, 
 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 
 
 And bid them speak for me : but, were I Brutus,
 
 JULIUS (LESAR. 57 
 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
 
 ALL. 
 We'll mutiny. 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 Away, then ! come, seek the conspirators. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 
 
 ALL. 
 Peace, ho ! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. 
 Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves? 
 Alas, you know not ! I must tell you, then. 
 You have forgot the will I told you of. 
 
 ALL. 
 Most true ; the will ! let's stay, and hear the will. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
 
 To every Roman citizen he gives, 
 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Most noble Caesar ! we'll revenge his death.
 
 58 JULIUS (LESAR. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 O royal Caesar ! 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbours, and new-planted orchards, 
 On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you, 
 And to your heirs forever, common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Caesar ! when comes such another? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Never, never ! Come, away, away ! 
 We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the body. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Go, fetch fire. 
 
 THIRD CITIZEN. 
 
 Pluck down benches. 
 
 FOURTH CITIZEN. 
 
 Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 
 Take thou what course thou wilt ! 
 
 PICTURE. QUICK CURTAIN.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 59 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE. The Tent of Brutus in the camp of Sardis. 
 BRUTUS, TREBONIUS, METELLUS, and Soldiers. Lucius at 
 a distance. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Trebonius, is Cassius near? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 He is at hand, and Pindarus is come 
 To do you salutation from his master. 
 
 \_Flourish. PINDARUS enters and gives letter to BRUTUS. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus, 
 In his own change, or by ill officers, 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Things done undone ; but if he be at hand, 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 PINDARUS. 
 
 I do not doubt 
 
 But that my noble master will appear 
 
 Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 He is not doubted. [Exit PINDARUS.] A word, Trebonius : 
 How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 With courtesy, and with respect enough, 
 But not with such familiar instances, 
 Nor with such free and friendly conference., 
 As he hath us'd of old.
 
 6O JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Thou hast describ'd 
 
 A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Trebonius, 
 When love begins to sicken and decay 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 
 But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, 
 Make gallant show and promise of their mettle, 
 But when they should endure the bloody spur 
 They fall their crests, and like deceitful jades 
 Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 They mean this night in Sard is to be quarter 'd ; 
 The greater part, the horse in general, 
 Are come with Cassius. {Flourish within. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Hark, he is arriv'd. 
 
 Enter CASSIUS and Soldiers. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Stand, ho ! 
 Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine enemies? 
 And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs, 
 And when you do them 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Cassius, be content ; 
 
 Speak your griefs soitly, I do know you well. 
 Before the eyes of both our armies here,
 
 JULIUS CvESAR. 6l 
 
 Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 Let us not wrangle. Bid them move away ; 
 Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
 And I will give you audience. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Pindarus, 
 
 Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
 A little from this ground. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Lucius, do you the like ; and let no man 
 Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt all but BRUTUS and CASSIUS. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein my letter, praying on his side, 
 Because I knew the man, was slighted off. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 In such a time as this it is not meet 
 That every nice offence should bear his comment. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm, 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold 
 To undeservers. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I an itching palm ? 
 
 You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
 
 62 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Chastisement ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Remember March, the ides of March remember ! 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice ? What ! shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world 
 But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus? 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Brutus, bay not me ; 
 I'll not endure it : you forget yourself, 
 To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 I am. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 I say you are not. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Away, slight man !
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 63 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Is't possible ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Hear me, for I will speaX. 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
 Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 ye gods, ye gods ! Must I endure all this ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 All this? Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break ; 
 Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
 Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humour? By the gods, 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
 Though it do split you ; for from this day forth 
 I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Is it come to this? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 You say you are a better soldier : 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
 And it shall please me well. For mine own part, 
 
 1 shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus ; 
 I said an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I say better? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 If you did, I care not. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 When Caesar liv'd he durst not thus have mov'd me.
 
 64 JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Peace, peace you durst not so have tempted him. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 I durst not? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 No. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 What ? durst not tempt him ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 For your life you durst not. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
 I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
 By any indirection. I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions, 
 Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? 
 Should I have ansvver'd Caius Cassius so? 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
 Dash him to pieces !
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 65 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I denied you not. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 You did. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 1 did not ; he was but a fool 
 
 That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv'd my heart ; 
 
 A friend should bear a friend's infirmities, 
 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 You love me not. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I do not like your faults. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius ! 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world ; 
 Hated by one he loves, brav'd by his brother, 
 Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd, 
 Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 If that thou beest a Roman, take it forth.
 
 66 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
 
 Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, 
 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Sheathe your dagger 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
 That carries anger as the flint bears fire, 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 And my heart too. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 O Brutus ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 What's the matter? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Have not you love enough to bear with me, 
 When that rash humour which my mother gave me 
 Makes me forgetful?
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 67 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Yes, Cassius ; and from henceforth, 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 [Enter Lucius with lamp, 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 Bid Metellus and Trebonius hither. \_Exit Lucius. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 I did not think you could have been so angry. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Ha! Portia? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 She is dead. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so? 
 O insupportable and touching loss ! 
 Upon what sickness? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Impatient of my absence, 
 
 And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong ; for with her death 
 That tidings came. With this she fell distract, 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire.
 
 68 JULIUS CJESA.R. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 And died so? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Even so. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Speak no more of her. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 
 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. \_Drinks. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 
 
 1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. \_Drinks. 
 
 Enter TREBONIUS with METELLUS. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Come in, Trebonius. Welcome, good Metellus. 
 Now sit we close about this taper here, 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Portia, art thou gone ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 No more, I pray you. 
 Trebonius, I have here received letters, 
 That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
 Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 Myself have letters of the selfsame tenour.
 
 JULIUS CJESAR. 69 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 With what addition ? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 That by proscription and bills of outlawry, 
 
 Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus 
 
 Have put to death an hundred senators. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
 Mine speak of seventy senators that died 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Cicero one ? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Cicero is dead, 
 
 And by that order of proscription. 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 No, Trebonius. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Nothing, Trebonius. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 That, methinks, is strange. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Why ask you ? Hear you aught of her in yours ? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 No, my lord.
 
 7O JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell ; 
 
 For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Trebonius. 
 With meditating that she must die once, 
 I have the patience to endure it now. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Even so great men great losses should endure. 
 I have as much of this in art as you, 
 But yet my nature could not bear it so. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
 Of marching to Philippi presently? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 I do not think it good. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Your reason? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 This it is : 
 
 'Tis better that the enemy seek us ; 
 So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
 Doing himself offence, whilst we lying still 
 Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Good reasons mast, of force, give place to better. 
 The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
 Do stand but in a forc'd affection, 
 For they have grudg'd us contribution.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 The enemy, marching along by them, 
 
 By them shall make a fuller number up, 
 
 Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd ; 
 
 From which advantage shall we cut him off 
 
 If at Philippi we do face him there, 
 
 These people at our back. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Hear me, good brother. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Under your pardon. You must note beside 
 
 That we have tried the utmost of our friends. 
 
 Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
 
 The enemy increaseth every day ; 
 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat, 
 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Then, with your will, go on ; 
 We'll along ourselves and meet them at Philippi. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
 And nature must obey necessity. 
 Which we will niggard with a litde rest. 
 There is no more to say ? 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 No more. Good night ! 
 Early to-morrow will we rise and hence.
 
 72 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Good night, Trebonius ! Noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good night, and good repose ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 O my dear brother, 
 
 This was an ill beginning of the night ; 
 Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Every thing is well ; Good night ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 Good night, my lord ! 
 
 BRUTUS, 
 Good night, good brother ! 
 
 TREBONIUS and METELLUS. 
 
 Good night, my lords ! 
 
 \_Exeunt CASSIUS, TREBONIUS, and METELLUS. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Lucius ! Lucius ! Lucius ! my book ! 
 Where is thy instrument ? 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 Here in the tent. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 What ! thou speak'st drowsily? 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'erwatched. 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 Ay, my lord, an 't please you.
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 73 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 It does, my boy ; 
 I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
 
 LUCIUS. 
 It is my duty, sir. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
 
 I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 
 
 If I do live, I will be good to thee. [Song. 
 
 This is a sleepy tune. O murtherous slumber, 
 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, 
 
 That plays thee music ! Gentle knave, good night ; 
 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument : 
 
 I'll take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night. 
 
 Let me see, let me see, is not the leaf turn'd down 
 
 Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. \_He sits down. 
 
 Enter the Ghost of Caesar. 
 
 How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here ? 
 I think it is the weakness of my eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 It comes upon me. Art thou any thing ? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare ? 
 Speak to me what thou art. 
 
 GHOST. 
 
 Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Why com'st thou? 
 
 GHOST. 
 
 To tell thee thou shall see me at Philippi. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Well ; then I shall see thee again ?
 
 74 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 GHOST. 
 
 Ay, at Philippi. \_Ghostvanishes. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Why, I will see thee ar, Philippi then. 
 Now I have taken heart, thou vanishes!. 
 Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
 Boy ! Lucius ! Trebonius ! Metellus ! sirs ! 
 Awake, Trebonius ! [Lucius awakes. 
 
 Enter TREBONIUS and METELLUS. 
 
 TREBONIUS and METELLUS. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep ? 
 
 TREBONIUS and METELLUS. 
 
 Did we, my lord ? 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Ay ; saw you any thing ? 
 
 TREBONIUS and METELLUS. 
 
 No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius ; 
 Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
 And we will follow. 
 
 TREBONIUS and METELLUS. 
 
 It shall be done, my lord. \_Exeunt. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 75 
 
 ACT VI. 
 
 SCENE. The Plains of Philippi. 
 Enter OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and soldiers. 
 
 OCfAVIUS. 
 
 Now, Antony, our hopes are answered. 
 You said the enemy would not come down, 
 But keep the hills and upper regions. 
 It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
 They mean to warn us at Philippi here, 
 Answering before we do demand of them. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Tut ! I am in their bosoms, and I know 
 
 Wherefore they do it : they could be content 
 
 To visit other places, and come down 
 
 With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 
 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ; 
 
 But 'tis not so. 
 
 Enter SERVIUS. 
 
 SERVIUS. 
 
 Prepare you, generals : 
 The enemy comes on in gallant show ; 
 Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
 And something to be done immediately. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
 Upon the left hand of the even field. 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 Upon the right hand I ; keep thou the left.
 
 ^6 JULIUS C^ESAR. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Why do you cross me in this exigent ? 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 I do not cross you ; but I will do so. \_March. 
 
 Enter BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and soldiers, 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 They stand and would have parley. 
 Words before blows ; is it so, countrymen ? 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 Not that we love words better, as you do. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words ; 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, 
 Crying, " Long live ! Hail, Caesar ! " 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Antony, 
 
 The posture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
 But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
 And leave them honeyless. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Not stingless too. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 O, yes, and soundless too ; 
 
 For you have stolen their buzzing, Antony, 
 
 And very wisely threat before you sting.
 
 JULIUS CJESAR. 77 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Villains, you did not so when your vile daggers 
 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar : 
 
 You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds, 
 
 And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet, 
 
 Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind, 
 
 Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Flatterers ! Now, Brutus, thank yourself ; 
 This tongue had not offended so to-day, 
 If Cassius might have rul'd. 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 
 Come, come, the cause ; if arguing malce us sweat, 
 
 The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
 
 Look, I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
 
 When think you that the sword goes up again ? 
 
 Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds 
 
 Be well aveng'd, or till another Caesar 
 
 Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, 
 Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 
 So I hope ; 
 I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, 
 
 Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour, 
 Join'd with a masker and a reveller.
 
 78 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 Old Cassius still ! 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 
 Come, Antony ; away ! 
 Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. 
 If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
 If not, when you have stomachs. 
 
 [Exeunt OCTAVIUS, ANTONY, and soldiers. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark ! 
 
 The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 
 
 Now, most noble Brutus, 
 
 The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may, 
 
 Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
 
 But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, 
 
 Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 
 The very last time we shall speak together ; 
 
 What are you then determined to do ? 
 
 BRUfUS. 
 
 Even by the rule of that philosophy 
 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 
 Which he did give himself. I know not how, 
 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile, 
 
 For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
 
 The time of life, arming myself with patience 
 
 To stay the providence of some high powers 
 
 That govern us below. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Then, if we lose this battle, 
 You are contented to be led in triumph 
 Thorough the streets of Rome ?
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 79 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 No, Cassius, no ! think not, thou noble Roman, 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 Must end that work the ides of March begun ; 
 And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take ; 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
 If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; 
 If not, why, then this parting was well made. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
 If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed ; 
 If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Why, then lead on. O that a man might know 
 The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
 But it sufficeth that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known. Come, ho ! away ! 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. Alarums, 
 
 Enter CASSIUS and TREBONIUS. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 O, look, Trebonius, look, the villains fly ! 
 Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy. 
 This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
 I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early, 
 Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
 Took it too eagerly ; his soldiers fell to spoil, 
 Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd.
 
 8O JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 Enter PINDARUS. 
 PINDARUS. 
 
 Fly further off, my lord, fly further off ! 
 Mark Antony is in your tents, rny lord ! 
 Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 This hill is far enough. Look, look, Trebonius ! 
 Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 They are, my lord. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Trebonius, if thou lov'st me, 
 Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him, 
 Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops 
 And here again, that I may rest assur'd 
 Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 I will be here again even with a thought. [Exit. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 
 
 My sight was ever thick ; regard Trebonius, 
 
 And tell me what thou not'st about the field. 
 
 [PINDARUS goes up. 
 
 This day I breathed first : time is come round, 
 And where I did begin, there shall I end ; 
 My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news ? 
 
 PINDARUS \_above\. 
 O my lord ! 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 What news?
 
 JULIUS C&SAR. 8l 
 
 PINDARUS. 
 
 Trebonius is enclosed round about 
 
 With horsemen that make to him on the spur ; 
 
 Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. 
 
 Now, Trebonius ! 
 
 Now some light. O, he lights too. He's ta'en ; and, 
 
 hark! 
 They shout for joy. [Shouts. 
 
 CASSIUS. 
 
 Come down, behold no more. 
 O, coward that I am to live so long, 
 To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 
 
 [PINDARUS comes down. 
 Come hither, sirrah ! 
 In Parthia did I take tliee prisoner ; 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do, 
 Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath ! 
 Now be a freeman ; and with this good sword, 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
 Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 
 And when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, 
 Guide thou the sword. Caesar, thou art reveng'd, 
 Even with the sword that kili'd thee. [Dies. 
 
 PINDARUS. 
 
 So, I am free ; yet would not so have been, 
 Durst I have done my will. O Cassius ! 
 Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
 Where never Roman shall take note of him. 
 
 [Exit. Alarums. 
 
 Enter TITINIUS and TREBONIUS. 
 
 TITINIUS. 
 
 It is but change, Trebonius ; for Octavius 
 Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
 As Cassius' legions are by Antony.
 
 82 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 
 
 TITINIUS. 
 Where did you leave him ? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 All disconsolate, 
 With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 
 
 TITINIUS. 
 Is not that he that lies upon the ground ? 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 
 Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
 What, Pindarus ! Where art thou, Pindarus ? 
 
 TITIXIUS. 
 
 Seek him, Trebonius, whilst I go to bring 
 
 The noble Brutus to this piercing sight. [Exit TITINIUS. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 
 
 Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they 
 
 Put on my brows this wreath of victory, 
 
 And bid me give it thee ? Didst thou not hear their shouts ? 
 
 Alas ! thou hast misconstrued every thing. 
 
 But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow ; 
 
 Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
 
 Will do his bidding. \_Alarums, 
 
 Enter TITINIUS with BRUTUS. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Where, where, Titinius, doth his body lie ?
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 83 
 
 TITIMUS. 
 
 Lo, yonder, and Trebonius mourning it. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 
 In our own proper entrails. \_Low alarums. 
 
 Thou last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
 
 It is impossible that ever Rome 
 
 Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears 
 
 To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
 
 1 shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
 Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body ; 
 His funerals shall not be in our camp, 
 
 Lest it discomfort us. Romans, yet ere night 
 
 We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. A/antms. 
 
 Enter ANTONY, officers ami soldiers, TITINIUS and guards. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 This is not Brutus, friend, but, I assure you, 
 
 A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe, 
 
 Give him all kindness ; I had rather have 
 
 Such men my friends than enemies. \_Exeunt. Alarums. 
 
 Enter BRUTUS and party. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Come, poor remains of friends, let's rest us here. 
 
 Slaying is the word ; it is a deed in fashion. 
 
 Hark thee, Metellus. [ Whispers him. 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 What ! I, my lord ? No, not for all the world.
 
 84 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Peace then ! no words. 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 I'd rather kill myself. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Come hither, good Trebonius ; list a word. 
 The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night ; at Sardis once, 
 And this last night here in Philippi fields. 
 I know my hour is come. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 Not so, my lord. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Nay, I am sure it is, Trebonius. 
 
 Thou seest the world, Trebonius, how it goes ; 
 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit ; 
 
 It is more worthy to leap in ourselves 
 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Trebonius, 
 
 Thou know'st that we two went to school together; 
 
 Even for that our love of old, I prithee, 
 
 Hold thou my sword-hilts whilst I run on it. 
 
 TREBONIUS. 
 
 That's not an office for a friend, my lord. [Alarum still. 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 Fly, fly, my lord ! there is no tarrying here. 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Farewell to you ; and you ; and you, countrymen. 
 
 My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
 
 I found no man but he was true to me. 
 
 I shall have glory by this losing day, 
 
 More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. [Alarums.
 
 JULIUS CJESAR. 85 
 
 METELLUS. 
 
 Fly, my lord, fly ! 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 So, fare you well at once ! for Brutus' tongue 
 
 Hath almost ended his life's history. 
 
 Night hangs upon my eyes ; my bones would rest, 
 
 That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 
 
 Hence ! I will follow. Caesar, now be still ; [They retire, 
 
 I killed not thee with half so good a will. 
 
 [Dies. Alarums. 
 
 Enter ANTONY, OCTAVIUS, officers and soldiers. 
 
 OCTAVIUS. 
 Where is thy master ? 
 
 ANTONY. 
 
 This was the noblest Roman of them all. 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
 
 He only, in a general honest thought 
 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 
 His life was gentle, and the elements 
 
 So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
 
 And say to all the world, " This was a man ! " 
 
 CURTAIN'.
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 I. THE TRAGEDY AND THE CHARACTERS. 
 
 The reference to Shakespeare made by Ben Jonson, in his "Tim- 
 ber," is one of the most significant and valuable tributes to the great 
 poet that have survived from his time. 
 BEN JONSON : 
 
 " I remember the Players have often mentioned it as an honour to 
 Shakespeare that in his Writing, whatsoever he penned, he never 
 blotted out a Line. My answer hath been, Would he had blotted a 
 thousand. Which they thought a malevolent Speech. I had not told 
 Posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chose that Circumstance to 
 commend their Friend by, wherein he most faulted. And to justifie 
 mine own Candor, for I loved the Man and do honour his Memory, on 
 this side Idolatry, as much as any. He was, indeed, honest and of 
 an open and free Nature ; had an excellent Phantsie, brave Notions, 
 and gentle Expressions ; wherein he flowed with that facility that 
 sometime it was necessary he should be stopped : Stifflaminandus erat, 
 as Augustus said of Haterius. His Wit was in his own Power ; would 
 the Rule of it had been so too. Many times he fell into those things 
 could not escape laughter : As when he said in the Person of Caesar, 
 one speaking to him, C&sar, thou dost me wrong. He replied : C&sar 
 did never wrong, but with just cause : and such like ; which were 
 ridiculous. But he redeemed his Vices with his Virtues. There was 
 ever more in him to be praised than to be pardoned." 
 
 MRS. ELIZABETH MONTAGU: 
 
 "Our author," says Mrs. Montagu, in her discriminative essay on 
 Shakespeare, which is a worthy and reverent composition, notwith- 
 standing the playful sarcasm of her friend, Dr. Johnson, "who follows 
 with great exactness every circumstance mentioned by Plutarch, would, 
 86
 
 APPENDIX. 87 
 
 probably, have attempted to 'give to Antony the pomp of Asiatic elo- 
 quence, if his good sense had not informed him that to be pathetic it is 
 necessary to be simple." 
 
 EDWARD DOWDEN : 
 
 " Brutus acts as an idealist and theorizer might, with no eye for the 
 actual bearing of facts and no sense of the true importance of persons. 
 Intellectual doctrines and moral ideals rule the life of Brutus ; and his 
 life is most noble, high, and stainless, but his public action is a series 
 of practical mistakes : yet even while he errs we admire him, for all 
 his errors are those of a pure and lofty spirit. * * * Brutus, with 
 all his stoicism, is gentle and tender : he can strike down Caesar, if 
 Caesar be a tyrant, but he cannot roughly rouse a sleeping boy. * * * 
 All the practical gifts, insight, and tact which Brutus lacks are pos- 
 sessed by Cassius. * * * Antony is a man of genius, with many 
 splendid and some generous qualities, but very indulgent, pleasure- 
 loving, and a daring adventurer rather than a great leader of the State. 
 * * * Brutus lives in the abstraction, in the idea ; Cassius lives 
 in the concrete, in the fact. * * * It is the spirit of Caesar which 
 is the dominant power of the tragedy ; against this the spirit of Caesar 
 Brutus fought ; but Brutus, who forever errs in practical politics, suc- 
 ceeded only in striking down Caesar's body ; he who had been weak 
 now rises as pure spirit, strong and terrible, and revenges himself upon 
 the conspirators. * * * Antony does not judge men by a severe 
 moral code, but he feels in an aesthetic way the grace, the splendor, 
 the piteous interest of the actors in the exciting drama of life, or their 
 impertinence, ineptitude, and comicality ; and he feels that the play 
 is poorer by the loss of so noble a figure as that of Brutus. * * * 
 No relation of man and woman in the plays of Shakespeare is altogether 
 so noble as that of Portia and Brutus. * * * Portia, while per- 
 fectly a woman, must be to him more than a woman ; she must be an 
 ideal of august and adorable heroism. * * * We read of no em- 
 brace, no touch of hands or lips, between Brutus and Portia ; but we 
 know that their souls have met and that they are inseparably one and 
 absolutely equal. * * * And because she yields less than others, 
 she may snap the more suddenly. 'It is the strongest hearts,' said 
 Landor, ' that are soonest broken.' "
 
 88 APPENDIX. 
 
 GERVINUS : 
 
 " The Poet, if he intended to make the attempt of the Republicans 
 his main theme, could not have ventured to create too great an interest 
 in Csesar ; it was necessary to keep him in the background, and to 
 present that view of him which gave a reason for the conspiracy." 
 
 WARBURTON : 
 
 " It is observable with what judgment Shakespeare draws the char- 
 acter of Octavius. Antony was his hero ; so the other was not to 
 shine : yet, being an historical character, there was a necessity to draw 
 him like. He was, therefore, compelled to admit the great strokes of 
 his character, but has, notwithstanding, contrived to leave him feeble 
 and ineffective." 
 
 HAZLITT: 
 
 "We do not much admire the representation here given of Julius 
 Caesar, nor do we think it answers to the portrait given of him in his 
 Commentaries. He makes several vaporing and rather pedantic 
 speeches, and does nothing. Indeed, he has nothing to do. So far, 
 the fault of the character might be the fault of the plot. 
 
 * * * a The whole design to liberate their country fails, from 
 the gracious temper and unswerving confidence of Brutus in the good- 
 ness of their cause and the assistance of others. Thus it has always 
 been. Those who mean well themselves think well of others, and fall 
 a prey to their security. * * * Cassius was better cut out for a 
 conspirator. * * * The mixed nature of his motives made him 
 fitter to contend with bad men." 
 
 II. " JULIUS OESAR" ON THE OLD ENGLISH STAGE. 
 Mohun is praised by Downes for his fine performance of Cassius, 
 and that achievement is also commended by Wilmot, Lord Rochester, 
 (1647-1680). Mohun was remarkable for dignity of demeanor and 
 grace of movement. Hart, who acted with him, was accounted great 
 in Brutus. Bowman, at four-score, played Ligarius, and played it so 
 well as to annoy Quin, who was the Brutus, by his excellence in that 
 little part. Barton Booth was noble in Brutus ; it is recorded that he
 
 APPENDIX. 89 
 
 caused a prodigious effect by his steadfast look at Cassius, when deliv- 
 ering the words " No, on your soul you durst not," words which he 
 spoke in a voice scarcely raised above a whisper. Quin, on the con- 
 trary, was somewhat loud and violent, at this point. One of Quin's 
 finest strokes, as Brutus, appears to have been his pathetic utterance of 
 " Portia is dead." He spoke those words with extreme simplicity, 
 after a most expressive pause. Quin adopted Warburton's reading, 
 "death" instead of "both" in the second of the two subjoined 
 lines. 
 
 " Set honor in one eye and death in the other, 
 And I will look on death indifferently." 
 
 Thomas Davies, in his " Dramatic Miscellanies," 1784, says : 
 " Julius Caesar was one of the three plays acted, by the desire of the 
 prime nobility in Queen Anne's time, with the united strength of the 
 then two companies. Casca, if I remember right, was acted by a 
 principal comedian. Above five and forty years since Winstone was 
 selected for that character, when Quin acted Brutus and the elder Mills 
 Cassius, Mil ward Marc Antony, and W. Mills Julius Caesar. The 
 assumed doggedness and sourness of Casca sat well upon Winstone. 
 The four principal parts have not since that time been equally well 
 presented. Mr. Garrick, pleased with the spirit and fire of Cassius, 
 once determined to have tried his skill in that part, but whether he 
 thought he should only swell the consequence of his competitor, Quin, 
 in Brutus, or from what other cause I know not, he relinquished his inten- 
 tion, nor was this excellent play revived during his management of the 
 stage, though I am of opinion he wanted not actors of merit to do con- 
 siderable justice to the play. * * * 
 
 " Who acted the part of Julius Caesar originally is not known, nor is 
 it a matter of importance, but soon after the junction of the-King's and 
 the Duke of York's company, about the year 1682, this tragedy was, 
 in all its parts, so acted as it never had been, perhaps, before, and cer- 
 tainly has not since. Betterton, Brutus ; Smith, Cassius ; Marc 
 Antony by Kynaston ; and Julius Caesar by Goodman. Griffin, Mount- 
 fort, Williams, Gallow, Jevon, Underbill, and Leigh, all very eminent 
 actors, thought it no diminution of their consequence to play the infe- 
 rior parts. * * * '
 
 90 APPENDIX. 
 
 This performance occurred at the old Theatre Royal, in 1684. 
 Griffin played Casca. 
 
 " Wilks, who above fifty years since acted Marc Antony, as soon as 
 he entered the stage without taking any notice of the conspirators walked 
 swiftly up to the dead body of Caesar and knelt down ; he paused some 
 time before he spoke ; and, after surveying the corpse with manifest 
 tokens of the deepest sorrow, he addressed it in the most affecting and 
 pathetic manner. A graceful dignity accompanied the action and de- 
 portment of this actor. * * * 
 
 " The action of Wilks, in Antony, from the beginning to the end of 
 the oration, was critically adapted to produce the intended consequences 
 of the speaker. His address, through the whole, was easy and ele- 
 gant, but his voice wanted that fullness and variety requisite to impress 
 the sentiments and pathos with which the speech abounds ; besides, 
 Wilks was apt to strike the syllables too forcibly as well as uniformly." 
 
 " Mr. Barry's fine person and pleasing manner were well adapted to 
 Marc Antony, but his utterance, in recitation, was not sufficiently 
 sonorous, nor his voice flexible enough to express the full meaning of 
 the author, in the opening of the address. When roused by passion 
 Barry rose superior to all speakers. His close of the harangue was as 
 warm and glowing as the beginning was cold and deficient. 
 
 " The only man, in my memory, whose powers were perfectly suited 
 to all parts of this celebrated harangue was William Milward. * * 
 
 * In Marc Antony he had everything for him which nature could 
 bestow, person, look, voice ; his action and address were easy with- 
 out art, and his deportment, though not absolutely perfect, was far from 
 ungraceful ; he opened the preparatory of the oration in a low but dis- 
 tinct and audible voice, * * * and, by gradual progress, rose to 
 such a height as not only to inflame the populace on the stage, but to 
 touch the audience with a kind of enthusiastic rapture." 
 
 III. MACREADY IN " JULIUS CESAR." 
 That great actor, Macready (1793-1873), in his Reminiscences and 
 
 Diaries, records his experience with Cassius, in which character he was 
 
 accounted pre-eminently excellent. 
 
 1818-19. "This year I studied, in ' Julius Caesar, ' the 'lean and 
 
 wrinkled Cassius,' a part in the representation of which I have, through
 
 APPENDIX. 91 
 
 my professional life, taken peculiar pleasure, as one among Shake- 
 speare's most perfect specimens of idiosyncrasy." 
 
 1822. "The season (at Covent Garden, London) dragged its slow 
 length along, but received an impetus from the performance of 
 'Julius Caesar,' Young acting Brutus, myself Cassius, Charles Kemble 
 Marc Antony, and Fawcett Casca. The receipt of the first night 
 exceeded, it was said, six hundred pounds (^600), and the house was 
 crowded to its several repetitions. On this occasion I entered con 
 amore into the study of the character of Cassius, identifying myself 
 with the eager ambition, the keen penetration, and the restless envy 
 of the determined conspirator, which from that time I made one of my 
 most real presentations." 
 
 At the Theatre Royal in Glasgow, in 1813-14, Macready acted Marc 
 Antony, in " Julius Caesar." He had previously, 1811-12, played the 
 Antony of " Antony and Cleopatra," but he had not succeeded in it ; 
 he was then only eighteen, and too young for such a character. In 
 1833 he again acted Antony, in "Julius Caesar," but he was never as 
 good in that part, or as much esteemed in it, as he was in Cassius, or, 
 later, in Brutus. 
 
 November 1 8, 1836, Macready writes: "Acted Brutus. * * * 
 It is one of those characters that require peculiar care, which only 
 repetition can give, but it never can be a part that can inspire a person 
 with an eager desire to go to a theatre to see it represented." 
 
 London, April 5, 1848. " Acted Brutus in a very masterly manner. 
 I do not think I ever acted it with the same feeling, force, and 
 reality." 
 
 On February I, 1850, Macready acted Brutus, before Queen Victoria 
 and her court, at Windsor, and was brilliantly successful. 
 
 November 18, 1850, Macready writes : "Acted Brutus, in my own 
 opinion, in my own judgment, far beyond any performance I ever gave 
 of the character ; it was my last, to many, and I wished it to be im- 
 pressive. I do not think the audience, in the aggregate, were equal to 
 the performance. They applauded warmly the salient passages, but 
 they did not seem to watch the gentle, loving, self-subdued mind of 
 Brutus, which I tried to make manifest before them." 
 
 January 24, 1851. "Acted Brutus, as I never no, never acted it 
 before, in regard to dignified familiarity of language or enthusiastic 
 inspiration of lofty purpose. The tenderness, the reluctance to deeds
 
 92 APPENDIX. 
 
 of violence, the instinctive abhorrence of tyranny, the open simplicity 
 of heart and natural grandeur of soul, I never so perfectly, so con- 
 sciously, portrayed before. I think the audience felt it." 
 
 In the course of Macready's management of Covent Garden, Sep- 
 tember 30, 1837, to July 6, 1839, Vandenhoff distinguished himself as 
 Antony. At Drury Lane, May I, 1843, James Anderson acted Antony ; 
 Macready was Brutus, and Samuel Phelps, Cassius. Phelps, who 
 managed Sadler's Wells Theatre, Islington, London, from May 27, 
 1844, to November 6, 1862, several times presented "Julius Caesar," 
 and took his farewell benefit in it, on the closing night, playing Brutus. 
 William Creswick played Cassius, and Edward Phelps played Antony. 
 
 IV. FAMOUS CASTS OF " JULIUS C/ESAR." 
 
 Various interesting and instructive facts in the stage history of 
 "Julius Caesar" may be indicated by a sequent exhibition of the more 
 famous casts with which, at various times, the tragedy has been repre- 
 sented. In most instances only the principal features are given, but in 
 a few cases the casts are complete : 
 Theatre Royal, London, 1682. 
 
 Brutus, Hart 
 
 Cassius Mohun 
 
 Antony, Kynaston 
 
 Caesar, Bell 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Corbet 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs. Marshall 
 
 TTieatre Royal, London, 1684. 
 
 Brutus Betterton 
 
 Cassius Smith 
 
 Antony, Kynaston 
 
 Caesar, Goodman 
 
 Casca, Griffin 
 
 Octavius, Perm 
 
 Ligarius, Bowman 
 
 Decius, Williams 
 
 Cimber, . Mountfort 
 
 Portia, M rs . Cook 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs. Slingsby
 
 APPENDIX. 
 Haymarket Theatre, London, January 14, 770,5. 
 
 Brutus > Betterton 
 
 Cassius > Verbruggen 
 
 Anton > r ' Wilks 
 
 Caesar, ... T> ., 
 Booth 
 
 Casca ' Keen 
 
 Octavius ' Mills 
 
 Ll e arius ' Bowman 
 
 Portia ' Mrs. Bracegirdle 
 
 Calphurnia Mrs Barry 
 
 Drury Lane, London, January 34, /7/j. 
 
 ? rutus Booth 
 
 Elrington 
 
 Wilks 
 
 CxsM ' Mills 
 
 Portla ' Mrs. Porter 
 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, March z, 1718. 
 
 Brutus - Keen 
 
 Cassius Ryan 
 
 Quin 
 
 Leigh 
 
 >rtla > Mrs. Rogers 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs. Knight 
 
 Drury Lane, London, November 8, 1734. 
 
 Brutus > Quin 
 
 Cassius, Mills 
 
 Antony, Milward 
 
 C3esar W. Mills 
 
 Casca ' T. Gibber 
 
 Octavius . Salway 
 
 Trebonius, Winstone 
 
 Li g arius > Bowman 
 
 Portia " Mrs. Thurmond 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs- Butler
 
 94 APPENDIX. 
 
 Covent Garden, London, November 24, i75- 
 
 Brutus, .................. Quin 
 
 Cassius, ................. Ryan 
 
 Antony, ................. Barry 
 
 Portia, .............. Peg Woffington 
 
 Covent Garden, London, January 28, 
 
 Brutus ................. Sheridan 
 
 Cassius, ................. Ryan 
 
 Antony, ................. Smith 
 
 Portia, ............. Mrs. Hamilton 
 
 Covent Garden, London, January ji, i"j66. 
 
 Brutus, ........ . ........ Walker 
 
 Cassius, ....... .......... Smith 
 
 Antony, .................. Ross 
 
 Csesar, .................. Clarke 
 
 Portia, ............... Mrs. Bellamy 
 
 Covent Garden, London, May 4, /77J. 
 
 Brutus, ................ Bensley 
 
 Cassius .......... . ........ Hull 
 
 Csesar, ............ . ..... Clarke 
 
 Casca, ................. Gardner 
 
 Octavius, ... ............ Wroughton 
 
 Portia, ............... Mrs. Hartley 
 
 Calphurnia, ............. Mrs. Vincent 
 
 Drury Lane, London, January 24, 1780. 
 
 Brutus, ....... .... ...... Palmer 
 
 Cassius, ................. Henry 
 
 Antony, ................. Smith 
 
 Csesar, .................. Packer 
 
 Casca, .................. Aiken 
 
 Octavius, ......... . ....... Farren 
 
 Portia, .............. Mrs. Baddeley 
 
 Calphurnia, .............. Miss Sherry
 
 APPENDIX. 95 
 
 Cwent Garden, London, February 29, 1812. 
 
 Brutus, John Philip Kemble 
 
 Cassias, Young 
 
 Antony, Charles Kemble 
 
 Caesar, Egerton 
 
 Casca, Fawcett 
 
 Octavius, Hamerton 
 
 Lepidus, , Murray 
 
 Trebonius, Banymore 
 
 Decius Brunton 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Powell 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs. Weston 
 
 With reference to Kemble's revival of "Julius Caesar," his biog- 
 rapher, Boaden, says : " Mr. Kemble had, as usual, made some very 
 judicious alterations and arrangements in the piece, and in his own 
 performance of Brutus exhibited all that purity of patriotism and phi- 
 losophy which has been, not without some hesitation, attributed to that 
 illustrious name." 
 
 Kemble's greatest Roman was Coriolanus. Boaden ranks his 
 Cato in Addison's tragedy above his Brutus. Dr. Doran {Annals 
 of the English Stage] says that his Brutus was "perfect in conception 
 and execution." 
 
 Covent Garden, London, June 8, 1819. 
 
 Brutus, Young 
 
 Cassius, Macready. {First time.) 
 
 Casca. Yates. (First time.) 
 
 Drury Lane, London, December 7, 1820. 
 
 Brutus, Wallack. (First time.) 
 
 Cassius, J. B. Booth. (First time.) 
 
 Antony, Cooper. (First time.) 
 
 Caesar, Pope 
 
 Portia, Mrs. W. West
 
 96 APPENDIX. 
 
 Cffvent Garden, London, September 26, 1825. 
 
 Brutus, Warde 
 
 Cassius, Cooper 
 
 Antony, Charles Kemble 
 
 Caesar, Egerton 
 
 Casca, Fawcett 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Hartley 
 
 Covent Garden, London, May ib, fSj8. 
 
 Brutus, . Macready 
 
 Cassius, Samuel Phelps 
 
 Antony, Elton 
 
 Octavius, James Anderson 
 
 Portia, Helen Faucit 
 
 "JULIUS CESAR" IN AMERICA. 
 
 John Street TTieatre, New York, March 14, 1794. 
 
 This was the first performance of 'Julius Csesar " in New York. 
 
 Brutus, Hallam 
 
 Cassius, Henry 
 
 Antony, Hodgkinson 
 
 Caesar, Richards 
 
 Casca, King 
 
 Trebonius, Woolls 
 
 Pindarus, Hammond 
 
 Decius Ashton 
 
 Cimber, Ryan 
 
 Lucius, Bergman 
 
 Cinna, Prigmore 
 
 Marcellus, Blisset 
 
 Titinius, Durang 
 
 Lucilius, West 
 
 Artimedorus, O'Reilley 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Melmoth 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs. Hallam
 
 APPENDIX. 97 
 
 Chatham Theatre, New York, June 26, 1826. 
 
 Brutus Conway 
 
 Cassius, Duff 
 
 Antony, Henry Wallack 
 
 Caesar J. R. Scott 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Duff 
 
 Calphurnia, '. Mrs. H. Wallack 
 
 Bowery Theatre, New York, January 15, 1834. 
 
 This cait, surely, has never been surpassed, if, indeed, it was ever equaled. 
 
 Brutus, Hamblin 
 
 Cassius, Cooper 
 
 Antony, Edwin Forrest 
 
 Caesar, George Jones 
 
 Casca, Henry Wallack 
 
 Octavius, E. S. Conner 
 
 Trebonius, Maclure 
 
 Citizen, Gates 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Flynn 
 
 Calphurnia, Mrs. Herring 
 
 Park Theatre, New York, November 13, 1843. 
 
 Brutus, Wallack 
 
 Cassius, J. B. Booth 
 
 Antony Wheatley 
 
 Caesar, Barry 
 
 Casca, Chippendale 
 
 Octavius, Lovell 
 
 Portia, Mrs. Sloman 
 
 Calphurnia, Miss McBride 
 
 Astor Place Opera House, New York, October 16, 1848. 
 
 Brutus, Macready 
 
 Cassius, John Ryder 
 
 Antony, George Vandenhoff 
 
 Portia, Miss C. Wemyss 
 
 Niblo's Garden, New York, June //, 1859. 
 
 Brutus, E. L. Davenport, 
 
 Cassius, Edward Eddy. 
 
 Antony Harry Perry. 
 
 7
 
 98 APPENDIX. 
 
 Niblo's Garden , New York, September 5, i8jo. 
 
 Brutus, E. L. Davenport 
 
 Cassius, Lawrence Barrett 
 
 Antony, Walter Montgomery 
 
 Caesar, F. C. Bangs 
 
 Casca, Mark Smith 
 
 Portia, Mme. Ponisi 
 
 Calphurnia, Louisa Moore 
 
 Booth's Theatre, New York, Christmas Night, 1871. 
 
 Brutus Edwin Booth 
 
 Cassius, Lawrence Barrett 
 
 Antony, F. C. Bangs 
 
 Casca, James Stark 
 
 Caesar D. W. Waller 
 
 Octavius, John W. Norton 
 
 Trebonius, John Wilson 
 
 Decius, Nelson Decker 
 
 Cimber, Frederick Bernard 
 
 Cinna, Frederick Monroe 
 
 Popilius J. Rooney 
 
 Soothsayer, Augustus W. Fenno 
 
 Titinius i . . J. P. Deuel 
 
 Ligarius, David C. Anderson 
 
 Flavius, Henry Hogan 
 
 Varro, Charles North 
 
 Pindarus, G. H. Harris 
 
 Lepidus, John Taylor 
 
 Servius (Servant to Antony), .... T. F. Brennan 
 
 Strato, F. Intropidi 
 
 Clitus, A. Curtis 
 
 Lucius, Frank Little 
 
 First Citizen, Robert Pateman 
 
 Second Citizen, Charles Rosene 
 
 Portia, Bella Pateman 
 
 Calphurnia, Theresa Selden
 
 APPENDIX. 99 
 
 Edwin Booth's presentment of "Julius Caesar' 1 was one of the most 
 impressive spectacles ever seen upon the stage. First given on Christ- 
 mas night, 1871, and continued until March 16, 1872, the tragedy 
 was kept before the New York public for twelve weeks, and it had 
 eighty-five consecutive representations. On February 19, 1872, 
 J. B. Booth, Edwin's elder brother, succeeded Lawrence Barrett as 
 Cassius. On March 4 Edwin Booth assumed Cassius and William 
 Creswick appeared as Brutus. On March II Creswick played Cassius, 
 Bangs assumed Brutus, and Edwin Booth presented Antony. Thus, 
 in the course of the run, Edwin Booth was seen in all three of the 
 great characters of the tragedy. Booth retired from Booth's Theatre 
 in 1873, and the theatre finally passed out of his hands in 1874. 
 
 Booth's Theatre, New York, Jarrett 6 Palmer, Managers, December 
 
 Brutus, . ............ E. L. Davenport. 
 
 Cassius,' .......... ... Lawrence Barrett. 
 
 Antony, .............. F. C. Bangs. 
 
 Caesar, .............. Milnes Levick. 
 
 Casca, .............. H. A. Weaver. 
 
 Portia, ............... Mary Wells. 
 
 Calphurnia, ............. Rosa Rand. 
 
 The tragedy, on this occasion, was performed until April I, 1876, 
 and it had one hundred and three consecutive representations. Jarrett 
 & Palmer managed Booth's Theatre from May I, 1874 (they did 
 not open it till August 15), to April, 1877. Their revival of "Julius 
 Csesar" was made with the scenery that Booth had provided, but 
 they added, at the end, a funeral pyre, which originally had been used 
 to conclude their setting of " Coriolanus," at Niblo's Garden. Booth's 
 Theatre stood on the southeast corner of Twenty-third Street and 
 Sixth Avenue, New York. It was opened on February 3, 1869, with 
 "Romeo and Juliet" Edwin Booth playing Romeo, and Mary
 
 TOO APPENDIX. 
 
 McVicker, afterwards Mrs. E. Booth, playing Juliet and it was finally 
 closed, with the same play, Mme. Modjeska presenting Juliet, on 
 April 30, 1883 ; and subsequently it was demolished to make way for 
 shops. One of the most beautiful performances of Brutus ever given 
 was that of John McCullough, which was first seen in New York, at 
 Booth's Theatre, May 24, 1878. 
 
 The present writer witnessed, recorded, and reviewed all the per- 
 formances above mentioned, at Booth's Theatre, of "Julius Caesar." 
 His comments on the one hundredth representation of the play, with 
 Davenport and Barrett in the cast, may appropriately be reproduced 
 here : 
 
 ' The acting showed no signs of indifference or decline. Mr. Barrett, 
 Mr. Davenport, Mr. Bangs, Mr. Levick, Mr. Weaver, Miss Wells, 
 and Miss Rand (they are all dead now, 1899, except Mr. Bangs) bore 
 the parts with which they have become identified, and bore them 
 ' with untired spirits and formal constancy.' There was a melancholy 
 grace, a sad abstraction, in the mood in which Mr. Davenport in- 
 terpreted Brutus, which made him very pathetic as a type of nobleness 
 foredoomed to ruin, and it seemed that he finished every part of the 
 embodiment with more than commonly precise tints of truth. There 
 was a touching vein of regret in the attitude toward Caesar, and much 
 vigor of imagination in the awful ghost scene. Mr. Barrett more and 
 more shows himself to be almost a spiritualized intellect. He pervaded 
 the play like the indomitable and remorseless figure of Fate, and he 
 presented Cassius with such subtlety of thought, such power of intel- 
 lectual passion, such vigorous and sonorous eloquence, and such force 
 of identification and spontaneity as could not and did not fail to 
 command the warmest admiration and sympathy. Mr. Bangs also 
 partook of the excitement of this interesting occasion, and gave 
 Antony with vehement spirit. At the end of the ghost scene, Mr. 
 Davenport, Mr. Barrett, Mr. Bangs, and Mr. Levick were called 
 before the curtain, and speeches were given by each of them. Mr. 
 Barrett spoke of the run of ' Julius Caesar ' as ' glorious to our stage, 
 complimentary to our public, and grateful to the actors. ' Mr. Davenport 
 was facetious as well as serious. Mr. Levick modestly spoke the line 
 from 'Hamlet,' 'I am poor even in thanks, but I thank you.' 
 There was a loud call for Mr. J. H. Tooker (the acting manager), but
 
 APPENDIX. 10 1 
 
 he did not appear. A ship of flowers, laden with a harp, was pre- 
 sented to Lawrence Barrett.' 
 
 Music Hall, Cincinnati, Ohio, Dramatic Festival, April 30, 1883. 
 
 Cassar, Louis James 
 
 Octavius, Otis Skinner 
 
 Antony, James E. Murdock 
 
 Brutus, John McCullough 
 
 Cassias, Lawrence Barrett 
 
 Casca, H. A. Langdon 
 
 Trebonius, F. C. Mosley 
 
 Decius, B. G. Rogers 
 
 Cimber, H. C. Barton 
 
 Cinna, F. Little 
 
 Popilius, Homer Cope 
 
 Titinius, A. T. Riddle 
 
 Lucius, M. Willett 
 
 Pindarus, Charles Rolfe 
 
 Soothsayer, Errol Dunbar 
 
 Servius, Charles Plunkett 
 
 First Citizen, C. W. Vance 
 
 Second Citizen, Charles Plunkett 
 
 Calphurnia, Marie Wainwright 
 
 Portia, Kate Forsyth 
 
 Gould, in " The Tragedian," mentions a performance of Cassius, by 
 Junius Brutus Booth, Edwin's father, given in Boston, in or about 
 1837, with Edwin Forrest as Antony : 
 
 " The noble head, the mobile features, the spare figure of Booth 
 gave him a singular external fitness for the part. * * * His 
 Cassius was signalized by one action of characteristic excellence and 
 originality. After Caesar had been encompassed and stabbed by the 
 conspirators, and lay extended on the floor of the senate house, Booth 
 strode right across the dead body and out of the scene, in silent and 
 disdainful triumph." 
 
 This "business" was adopted by Edwin Booth when he played 
 Gloster ; he used to stride over the corpse of Henry VI, whom he had 
 just killed.
 
 102 APPENDIX. 
 
 The reader is referred to my Life and Art of Edwin Booth, for an 
 estimate of Booth's embodiments of Brutus, Cassius, and Antony. 
 
 Edwin Booth and Lawrence Barrett formed a professional alliance 
 in the summer of 1886, when the former actor was visiting the latter, 
 at his sea-side home, in Cohassett, Massachusetts. The alliance was 
 suggested by Barrett. The first Booth and Barrett season began on 
 September 12, 1886, at Buffalo, N. Y., but Booth and Barrett did not 
 act together, under this new compact, till the season of 1887-88. Bar- 
 rett was the manager, and he traveled with a company of his own. 
 " Julius Caesar" was presented by Booth, at Buffalo, to begin the sea- 
 son. Mr. John A. Lane, Mr. Benjamin G. Rogers, Mr. Owen Fawcett, 
 Mr. Edward J. Buckley, Mr. Hanford, Miss Minnie Gale, Miss Ger- 
 trude Kellogg, Miss Elizabeth Robins, and others were in the com- 
 pany. When at length the two stars joined their forces, Booth played 
 Brutus and Barrett played Cassius, as they had done when at Booth's 
 Theatre, in 1871-72. This alliance continued, and it was a source of 
 much pleasure to the public, till the death of Barrett, to the deep and 
 lasting grief of many friends, on March 20, 1891. Booth died, 
 universally lamented on June 7, 1893. In the season of 1889-90 the 
 beautiful Mme. Modjeska was associated with Booth. 
 
 This is one of the casts of "Julius Caesar" as given by Booth & 
 Barrett : 
 
 Brutus, Edwin Booth 
 
 Cassius, Lawrence Barrett 
 
 Marc Antony, Charles B. Hanford 
 
 Julius Caesar, John A. Lane 
 
 Decius, . - Charles Collins 
 
 Casca, Benjamin G. Rogers 
 
 Octavius Caesar, Lawrence Hanky 
 
 Metellus Cimber, William Stafford 
 
 Popilius Lenas, M. C. Stone 
 
 Titinius, James Morris 
 
 Trebonius, Frederic Vroom 
 
 Cinna, . Beaumont Smith 
 
 Soothsayer, W. H. DeWitt 
 
 Pindarus, Charles Koehler 
 
 Servius, Walter Thomas
 
 APPENDIX. 103 
 
 Flavins, Melvin Field 
 
 Lucius, Agnes Acres 
 
 First Citizen, Owen Fawcett 
 
 Second Citizen, Oliver Dowd 
 
 Portia, Minna K. Gale 
 
 Calphurnia, Gertrude Kellogg 
 
 Julius Cjcsar was tall, fair, well formed, and had rather a full face, 
 and black eyes (Suetonius). He was bald, and he wore a laurel 
 crown to conceal his baldness : the Roman senate gave permission 
 that he should do this. He wore a purple tunic, with sleeves that 
 were gathered at the wrists, and the tunic was loosely girdled. He 
 also wore a red sash, to signify his decent from the Albanian kings. 
 
 Octavius was five feet nine inches in height, of a fair complexion, 
 a little inclining to brown, and he had an aquiline nose, small ears, 
 and yellow hair, inclining to curl. His eyes were clear and fine. He 
 wore the usual toga, and, in winter, four tunics beneath it, as \ell as 
 a shirt and a flannel stomacher and wrappings. His shoes were made 
 with unusually thick soles, so as to increase his height ; and he 
 commonly wore a broad-brimmed hat. For information as to Roman 
 costume the student is referred to the Appendix to Edwin Booth's 
 Prompt-Book of ''Brutus," in this series, and to Planche, and to 
 Thomas Hope's Costumes of the Ancients.
 
 104 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 The PERSONS REPRESENTED, 35 in number, as designated in the 
 Library Editions of Shakespeare, are set down in the following order, 
 and with the following nomenclature and descriptions : 
 
 A Soothsayer. 
 
 Cinna, a Poet. 
 
 Another Poet. 
 
 Lucilius, 
 
 Titinius, 
 
 Messala, 
 
 Young Cato, 
 
 Volumnius, 
 
 Varro, 
 
 Clitus, 
 
 Claudius, 
 
 Strato, 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 Dardanius, 
 
 Pindarus, Servant to Cassius. 
 
 Calphurnia, Wife to Caesar. 
 
 Portia, Wife to Brutus. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Octavius Caesar, -v Triumvirs, after 
 
 Marcus Antonius, I the Death of 
 
 M. JEnal Lepidus, J Caesar. 
 
 Cicero, -v 
 
 Publius, > Senators. 
 
 Popilius Lenas, J 
 
 Marcus Brutus, 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 Conspirators 
 Against 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Trebonius, 
 
 Ligarius, 
 
 Decius Brutus, 
 
 Metellus Cimber, 
 
 Cinna, 
 
 Flavius, j 
 
 Marullus, ) 
 
 Artemidorus, a Sophist of Cnidos. 
 
 Friends to Brutus 
 and Cassius. 
 
 Servants to 
 Brutus. 
 
 Edwin Booth's stage version of the tragedy omits Cicero, Publius, 
 Marullus, Artemidorus, the poet Cinna and Another Poet, Lucilius, 
 Messala, Young Cato, Volumnius, Claudius, and Dardanius. The 
 name of Servius is a stage-manager's coinage, given to the servant of 
 Antony who brings Antony's message to the Conspirators, after the 
 murder of Caesar. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER. 
 
 NEW YORK, January, 1899.
 
 THE 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 VOL. I
 
 preface. 
 
 * 
 
 1 1 > T~*HE Merchant of Venice " is mentioned by Meres 
 * [jj(?8~\, and it was first published in 1600. The 
 sovrces to which it is thought that Shakespeare resorted for 
 the main incidents of its plot are: a collection of tales 
 called " II Pecorone" written by Ser Giovanni, a notary of 
 Florence, about 1378, and first published in 1558, at 
 Milan ; and the popular collection of stories called the 
 " Gesta Romanorum." The ballad of Gernutus, which 
 embodies the incident of the bond, and which may be 
 found in Percy's " Reliques" and in several modern collec- 
 tions of old poetry, was also, probably, extant in Shake- 
 speare's day, and known to him. It is conjectured, too, 
 that an earlier play, mentioned by Stephen Gossan [1579] 
 as " shewn at the Bull," and as " representing the greedy- 
 ness of worldly choosers, and the bloody minds of usurers" 
 may have dealt with some of the old materials which served 
 Shakespeare for his comedy. The savage, relentless Jew is 
 one of the most ancient persons of fiction. " The story of 
 the caskets" says Dowden, " is first found in the mediceval 
 Greek romance of ' Barlaam and Josaphat,' by Joannes 
 Damascenus (about 800} ; in another form it is told by 
 the English poet Gower, and the Italian novelist Boccaccio." 
 These matters are solely or chiefly interesting as tending to 
 direct study upon the wonderful genius with which Shake- 
 speare transfigured all that he touched. His originality is 
 not that of the maker of themes and bald facts, but that of
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 the shaper and interpreter. " In the management of the 
 plot" says Hallam, "which is sufficiently complex without 
 the slightest confusion or incoherence,! do not conceive that 
 it has been surpassed in the annals of any theatre." " The 
 union of the two actions in one event" says Dr. Johnson, 
 " is, in this drama, eminently happy. Dryden was much 
 pleased with his own address in connecting the two plots of 
 his ' Spanish Friar, 1 which yet, I believe, the critic will find 
 excelled by this play" 
 
 The supremacy of Shakespeare as the poet of nature is 
 conspicuously seen in any comparison between " The Mer- 
 chant of Venice" and its popular predecessor on the old 
 London stage, " The Rich Jew of Malta" by Christopher 
 Marlowe [1594]. The Jew in Marlowe's piece, a thor- 
 oughly diabolical character, was acted by Alleyne, the 
 founder of Dulwich College still standing, with his tomb 
 in the middle of its hall of paintings on the Surrey 
 side of the Thames. An alteration of " The Merchant of 
 Venice" made by Lord Lansdowne, and first acted at 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields, was published in 1701 ; and this held 
 the stage till 1741, when Macklin effected his restoration of 
 Shylock. Lord Lansdowne's piece begins with a prologue, 
 in which the ghosts of Shakespeare and Dryden rise, 
 crowned with laurel; and its second act contains a musical 
 masque, called Peleus and Thetis. A banquet scene is also 
 introduced, in which the Jew, seated at a separate table, 
 drinks to his Money as his Only Mistress. Shylock, which 
 in that version was acted by Thomas Doggett [ 
 
 was made a comic character, and wore a red wig. Macklin 's 
 great performance reinstated the part as one of tragical 
 conception, and had the effect of banishing Lansdow?ie > s 
 distortion forever from the stage. John Philip Kemble 
 made an acting copy of " The Merchant of Venice" in 1795. 
 The original representative of Shylock was Burbage
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 who dressed it with a red wig and a false nose. Shylock 
 has been greatly acted by Henderson, George Frederick 
 Cooke, Edmund Kean, and Junius Brutus Booth. Of 
 Kean in Shylock in which part, at Drury Lane, he 
 made his first great hit \_January 26th, 1814], Douglas 
 Jerrold used to say that he impressed his audience " like a 
 chapter of Genesis." " The elder Booth's Shylock" says 
 Gould, " was the representative Hebrew" " a type of the 
 religion of the law" and instinct with " the might of a 
 people whom neither time, nor scorn, nor political oppres- 
 sion could subdue" Bogumil Dawison, on the German 
 stage, was famous as the Jew ; and the Shylock of James 
 W. Wallack, likewise, is memorable among the most 
 affecting personations that have graced the stage in this 
 century. 
 
 W. W. 
 New York, October jot A, 1878. 
 
 note. 
 
 As originally published, in 1878, Edwin Booth? s Prompt- 
 Book of ' ' The Merchant of Venice ' ' comprised only four 
 acts of Shakespeare 1 s comedy, and it ended with Shylock? 's 
 exit after the Trial, the last line spoken being Gratiano's 
 "To bring thee to the gallows, not the font.'" In 1887, 
 however, after forming his professional alliance with Law- 
 rence Barrett, he amended his Prompt-Book of this play by 
 restoring the conclusion of the fourth act and the whole of 
 the fifth. My Preface to the original book contained this 
 paragraph : 
 
 To the reverential student of Shakespeare this version
 
 & NOTfi. 
 
 of 'The Merchant of Venice' will seem little better than a 
 mutilation. While, however, much has been omitted, noth- 
 ing has been introduced. If the piece does not go as far as 
 might be desired, it is, at least, faithful to Shakespeare, as 
 far as it goes. The object sought has been the construction 
 of an acting copy, suitable for the use of leading tragedians, 
 in which the position of chief prominence is assigned to the 
 character of Shy lock. l The Merchant of Venice' aside 
 from some aspects of the treatment of the Jew is pure 
 comedy ; and, when given entire, it should be acted by a 
 company of excellent comedians. The part of Shy lock would 
 naturally fall to the 'character* actor in such a company ; 
 but it would not largely overshadow its companion parts 
 supposing every portion of the piece to receive competent and 
 careful treatment. When, on the other hand, this play is 
 acted chiefly for the purpose of illustrating Shylock, a judi- 
 cious compression of the scenes is found not only expedient 
 but highly desirable. Such a compression with this view 
 and for this reason has been attempted here. It will be 
 found, though, that the story, while told with brevity, has 
 not been impaired in substance. The incidents of the bond 
 and the caskets are duly displayed, and the poef s great skill 
 in combining them is suitably exhibited. This version is in 
 four acts, and it can be represented in two hours and a 
 quarter. W. W.
 
 "She was a form of life and light 
 Thai seen became a fart of sight, 
 And rose, where'er I turned mine eye, 
 The morning-star of memory. 1 '' BYRON. 
 
 " Sweet pain of love, bind thou with fetters fleet 
 The heart that on the dew of hope must pine." GOETHE. 
 
 1 ' O happy hoitr ! and happier hours 
 Await them. Many a merry face 
 Salutes them, maidens of the place, 
 That pelt us in the porch with flowers.' 1 '' TENNYSON. 
 
 " Wilt thou go on -with me ? 
 The moon is bright, the sea is calm, 
 And I know well the ocean paths. * * * 
 Thou wilt go on with me /"' SouTHEY. 
 
 " The hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat, loves its young the despised 
 and persecuted race of Abraham love their children. * * * Wfien the 
 day comes, and I ask my own, then what hear I but damned Jew, and 
 the curse of Egypt on your tribe.' 11 SCOTT. 
 
 "fie hath his armour on 
 / am his sword, shield, helm ; I but enclose 
 Myself, and my own heart, and heart 1 s blood, when 
 I thus encompass him * * * 
 
 Each for the other thus, 
 And in that other for his dearer self." 
 
 BANIM IN " DAMON AND PYTHIAS." 
 
 "And at the last ten thousand crowns 
 
 They offered him to save : 
 Gernutus said, '/ will no gold, 
 My forfeit I will have.'' " 
 
 THE BALLAD OF GERNUTUS. 
 
 "Gentle deed 
 Makes gentle bleid." 
 
 OLD SCOTTISH PROVERB. 
 
 "Anguish is come upon me, because my life is yet whole in me. * * * 
 I was sure that he could not live, after that he was fallen.' 1 '' II SAM- 
 UEL, /, 9, 10.
 
 persons IRepresenteo* 
 
 DUKE OF VENICE. 
 
 ANTONIO, the Merchant of Venice, Friend to Bassanio. 
 
 BASSANIO, Friend to Antonio. 
 
 GRATIANO, ^ 
 
 Venetian Gentlemen. Friends to Antonio and 
 SALARINO, > 
 
 Bassanio. 
 SOLANIO, 
 
 SALERIO, 
 SHYLOCK, a Jew. 
 TUBAL, a Jew, Friend to Shy lock. 
 LAUNCELOT GOBBO, Servant to Shylock. 
 OLD GOBBO, Father to Launcelot. 
 LEONARDO, Servant to Bassanio. 
 BALTHAZAR, Servant to Portia. 
 PORTIA, a rich Heiress. 
 NERISSA, her Friend and Companion. 
 JESSICA, Daughter to Shylock. 
 
 MAGNIFICOES OF VENICE, OFFICERS OF THE COURT or 
 JUSTICE, LORDS, LADIES and ATTENDANTS. 
 
 place ano Uime. 
 
 SCENE. Partly in Venice, and partly at Portia's villa, 
 
 named Belmont, on the adjacent main- land. 
 PERIOD. The Sixteenth Century. 
 TIME OF ACTION. A little more than three months.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, 
 
 ffctft. 
 
 JFtret. VENICE. A STREET. 
 
 [Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Solanio, 
 Ant. 
 
 In sooth, I know not why I am so sad : 
 It wearies me ; you say it wearies you : 
 But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
 What stuff 't is made of, whereof it is born, 
 I am to learn; 
 
 And such a want- wit sadness makes of me, 
 That I have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 There, where your argosies with portly sail 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
 The better part of my affections would
 
 12 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind ; 
 Peering into maps for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
 And every object that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, 
 Would make sad. 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 My wind, cooling my broth, 
 
 Would blow me to an ague when I thought 
 
 What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
 
 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run 
 
 But I should think of shallows and of flats, 
 
 And see her wealthy Andrew docked in sand, 
 
 Veiling her high top lower than her ribs, 
 
 To kiss her burial. 
 
 Shall I have the thought 
 
 To think on this ? and shall I lack the thought, 
 
 That such a thing, bechanced, would make me sad? 
 
 But tell not me ; I know Antonio 
 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 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 merchandise makes me not sad. 
 
 Salarino. 
 Why, then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. 
 Fie, fie t
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 13 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 Not in love neither ? Then let us say, you are sad 
 Because you are not merry. And 't were as easy 
 For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, 
 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time : 
 Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 
 And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper ; 
 And others of such vinegar aspect, 
 That they '11 not show their teeth in way of smile, 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare you well ; 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 I would have stayed till I had made you merry, [Crosses. 
 If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it your own business calls on you, 
 And you embrace th" occasion to depart. 
 
 \Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano L. 3 E. 
 
 Salarino. \To them. 
 
 Good-morrow, my good lords. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say, when ? 
 You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so?
 
 14 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Salarino, 
 
 We '11 make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 
 [Exeunt Salarino and Solanio R. i. E. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, 
 We two will leave you ; but at dinner-time 
 I pray you have in mind where we must meet. 
 
 Bass. 
 I will not fail you. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
 You have too much respect upon the world : 
 They lose it that do buy it with much care. 
 Believe me, you are marvellously changed. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
 A stage, where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Let me play the Fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man whose blood is warm within 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
 Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice 
 By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks, 
 There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 With purpose to be dressed 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 ! "
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 15 
 
 O, 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, 
 
 Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 
 
 I '11 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 a while ; 
 
 I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner-time : 
 I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Well, keep me company but two years more, 
 Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 
 
 Ant. 
 Farewell : I '11 grow a talker for this gear. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only commendable 
 In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
 
 \Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo R. 
 
 Ant. 
 Is that any thing now ? 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than 
 any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of 
 wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; you shall seek all day 
 ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not 
 worth the search. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Well, tell me now, what lady is the same 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to-day promised to tell me of?
 
 1 6 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 'T is 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 I now make moan to be abridged 
 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 I have a warranty 
 To unburthen all my plots and purposes, 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; 
 And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honour, be assured 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
 Lie all unlocked to your occasions. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 
 The self-same way, with more advised watch 
 
 To find the other forth ; and, by adventuring both, 
 
 I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 
 
 Because what follows is pure innocence. 
 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 
 
 That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
 
 To shoot another arrow that self-way 
 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both, 
 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 You know me well, and herein spend but time, 
 To wind about my love with circumstance j
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 17 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 In Belmont is a lady richly left, 
 
 And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
 
 Of wond'rous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes 
 
 I did receive fair speechless messages : 
 
 Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued 
 
 To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
 
 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
 
 For the four winds blow in from every coast 
 
 Renowned suitors. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 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 racked, even to the uttermost, 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is ; and I no question make, 
 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. 
 
 [Exeunt, Antonio L., and Bassanio R. 
 
 >ec0nU. BELMONT. A ROOM IN PORTIA'S HOUSE. 
 
 [Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 Par. 
 
 By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- weary of this 
 great world.
 
 1 8 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in 
 the same abundance as your good fortunes are. And yet, 
 for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too much, 
 as they that starve with nothing. It is no small happi- 
 ness, therefore, to be seated in the mean ; superfluity comes 
 sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 
 
 For. 
 Good sentences, and well pronounced. 
 
 Ner. 
 They would be better, if well followed. 
 
 For. 
 
 If to do were as easy as to know what were good to 
 do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages 
 princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own 
 instructions. I can easier teach twenty what were good 
 to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own 
 teaching. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to 
 choose me a husband : O me, the word choose ! I may 
 neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ; 
 so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a 
 dead father. Is it not hard, Nerissa, that I cannot choose 
 one, nor refuse none ? 
 
 Ner. 
 
 Your 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 
 who you shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in 
 your affection towards any of these princely suitors that 
 are already come ? 
 
 For. 
 
 I pray thee, overname them; and as thou namest them 
 I will describe them; and according to my description 
 level at my affection.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 19 
 
 Ner. 
 
 First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 For. 
 
 Ay, that 's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing but talk 
 of his horse; and he makes it a great appropriation to his 
 own good parts that he can shoe him himself. I am 
 much afraid my lady his mother played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. 
 Then, is there the County Palatine. 
 
 For. 
 
 He doth nothing but frown; as who should say, "An 
 you will not have me, choose." He hears merry tales, 
 and smiles not : I fear he will prove the weeping philoso- 
 pher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly sad- 
 ness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death's 
 head with a bone in his mouth than to either of these. 
 Heaven defend me from these two ! 
 
 Ner. 
 How say you by the French lord, Monsieur le Bon ? 
 
 For. 
 
 Heaven made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony's 
 nephew ? 
 
 For. 
 
 Very vilely in the morning, when he is sober; and most 
 vilely in the afternoon, when he is drunk : when he is best 
 he is a little worse than a man ; and when he is worst he 
 is little better than a beast. An the worst fall that ever 
 fell, I hope 1 shall make shift to go without him.
 
 2O THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 If he should offer to choose, and choose the right casket, 
 you should refuse to perform your father's will, if you 
 should refuse to accept him. 
 
 Por. 
 
 Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep 
 glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary casket : for, if the 
 devil be within, and that temptation without, I know he 
 will choose it. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 You need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords; 
 they have acquainted me with their determinations : which 
 is, indeed, to return to their home, and to trouble you 
 with no more suit; unless you may be won by some 
 other sort than your father's imposition, depending on the 
 caskets. 
 
 Por. 
 
 If I live to be as old as Sibylla I will die as chaste as 
 Diana, unless I be obtained by the manner of my father's 
 will. I am glad this parcel of wooers are so reasonable; 
 for there is not one among them but I dote on his very 
 absence, and I wish them a fair departure. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a 
 Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in 
 company of the Marquis of Montferrat ? 
 
 Por. 
 
 Yes, yes ; it was Bassanio ; as I think, so was he 
 called. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 True, madam ; he, of all the men that ever my foolish 
 eyes looked upon, was the best deserving a fair lady.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 21 
 
 For. 
 
 I remember him well ; and I remember him worthy of 
 thy praise. 
 
 [Enter Balthazar L. I.E. 
 How now ? what news ? [ To hint. 
 
 Bal. 
 
 The four strangers seek 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 mas 
 ter, will be here to-night. 
 
 Por. 
 
 , If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I 
 can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his 
 approach : if he have the condition of a saint, and the 
 complexion of a devil, I had rather he should shrive me 
 than wive me. 
 
 Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. [To Balthazar, 
 
 Whiles we shut the gate upon one wooer, another 
 
 knocks at the door. \Exeunt L. I, E. 
 
 S>cene 2C(rir&. VENICE. A STREET. 
 
 [Enter Bassanio and Sky lock R. u. E 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Three thousand ducats, well. 
 
 Bass. 
 Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. 
 For three months, well. 
 
 Bass. 
 For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.
 
 22 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Antonio shall become bound, well. 
 Bass. 
 
 May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? Shall I 
 know your answer ? 
 
 Shy, 
 
 Three thousand ducats, for three months, and Antonio 
 bound. 
 
 Bass. 
 Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. 
 Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? 
 Shy. 
 
 no, no, no, no; my meaning in saying he is a 
 good man is, to have you understand me that he is suffi- 
 cient: yet his means are in supposition: he hath an 
 argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I under- 
 stand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at 
 Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he 
 hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but boards, 
 sailors but men : there be land-rats and water-rats, water- 
 thieves and Ian d- thieves ; I mean, pirates; and then, there 
 is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks : the man is, not- 
 withstanding, sufficient ; three thousand ducats ; I 
 think I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. 
 Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 1 will be assured I may ; and that I may be assured, I 
 will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio ? 
 
 Bass. 
 If it please you to dine with us.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 23 
 
 Shy. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Bass. 
 
 This is signior Antonio. [Exit Bassanio L. i. E. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
 
 I hate him for he is a Christian : 
 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 
 Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe 
 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 [Re-enter Bassanio with Antonio L. i. E. 
 
 Bass. 
 Shylock, do you hear ? 
 
 Shy. 
 
 I am debating of my present store : 
 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 
 Of full three thousand ducats. What of that ? 
 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
 
 Will furnish me. But, soft ; how many months 
 
 Do you desire ? 
 
 Rest you fair, good signior : [ To Antonio. 
 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
 
 24 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
 By taking nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
 I '11 break a custom : Is he yet possessed 
 How much you would ? [To Bassanio. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 And for three months. [To Shylock. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 I had forgot, three months; you told me so. 
 
 [To Bassanio 
 
 Well then, your bond ; and, let me see. 
 But hear you. [ To Antonio. 
 
 Methought you said, you neither lend nor borrow 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Ant. 
 I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban's sheep, 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf) 
 The third possessor; ay, he was the third. 
 
 Ant. 
 And what of him ? did he take interest ? 
 
 Sky. 
 
 No, not take interest ; not, as you would say, 
 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 
 When Laban and himself were compromised, 
 
 That all the eanlings which were streaked and pied 
 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire, 
 
 The skilful shepherd pilled me certain wands, 
 
 And, in the doing of the deed of kind,
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 25 
 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, 
 Who, then conceiving, did in eaning-time 
 Fall parti-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. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 This was a venture, sir, that Jacob served for; 
 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
 
 But swayed and fashioned by the hand of Heaven. 
 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 
 Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams ? 
 
 Shy. 
 I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart. 
 O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 
 
 Shy. [Aside. 
 
 Three thousand ducats, 't is a good round sum. 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you ? 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Signior Antonio, many a time, and oft 
 In the Rialto, you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances : 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, 
 For suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe : 
 
 [Showing his ye How cap.
 
 26 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 You call me " misbeliever," " cut-throat dog," 
 And spet 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 j 
 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 spet on me on Wednesday last ; 
 You spurned me such a day ; another time 
 You called me dog ; and for these courtesies 
 I '11 lend you thus much monies ? " 
 
 Ant. 
 
 I am as like to call thee so again, 
 
 To spet 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 of barren metal of his friend ?) 
 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
 
 Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face 
 
 Exact the penalties. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Why, look you, how you storm ! 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love ; 
 
 Forget the shames that you have stained me with ; 
 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 
 Of usance for my monies, and you '11 not hear me : 
 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 Ant. 
 This were kindness.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 27 
 
 Shy. 
 
 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 
 Expressed 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. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Content, in faith ; I '11 seal to such a bond, 
 And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bass. [ Coming down, 
 
 You shall not seal to such a bond for me ; 
 I '11 rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it : 
 Within these two months, that 's a month before 
 This bond expires, I do expect return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 O father Abraham ! what these 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 I extend this friendship ; 
 
 If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
 
 And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 
 
 Ant. 
 Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
 
 28 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
 Give him direction for this merry bond, 
 And I will go and purse the ducats straight j 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
 I will be with you. [Going. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Hie thee, gentle Jew. [Antonio and Bassanio cross to R. 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 I like not fair terms and a villain's mind. 
 Ant. 
 
 Come on ; in this there can be no dismay ; 
 My ships come home a month before the day. 
 
 [Exeunt Antonio and Bassanio R. i. E. Shy lock 
 gazes after them. Picture. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 jr. < VENICE. A STREET, IN FRONT OF SHY- 
 t xiw. j LQCK>S HOUSE- 
 
 [Enter Launcelot Gobbo from house R. 3. E. 
 Laun. 
 
 Certainly my conscience will serve me to run from this 
 Jew, my master. The fiend is at mine elbow, and tempts 
 me ; saying to me, " Gobbo, Launcelot Gobbo, good 
 Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or good Launcelot Gobbo, 
 use your legs, take the start, run away." My conscience 
 says, " No ; take heed, honest Launcelot ; take heed, 
 honest Gobbo ; or (as aforesaid) honest Launcelot Gobbo ; 
 do not run : scorn running with thy heels." Well, the 
 most courageous fiend bids me pack. " Via ! " says the 
 fiend; "away!" says the fiend, " for the heavens ; rouse 
 up a brave mind," says the fiend, " and run." Well, my 
 conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very 
 wisely to me, " My honest friend, Launcelot, being an 
 honest man's son," or rather an honest woman's son ; 
 for, indeed, my father did something smack, something 
 grow to, he had a kind of taste; well, my conscience 
 says, " Launcelot, 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 (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. Cer- 
 tainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation : and, in
 
 30 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 my conscience, my conscience is a kind of hard con- 
 science, 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, R. I.E. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Master, young man, you, I pray you ; which is the way 
 to master Jew's ? 
 
 Latin. [Aside. 
 
 O heavens, this is my true-begotten father ! who, being 
 more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not : 
 I will try confusions with him. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Master, young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way 
 to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Turn upon your right hand at the next turning, but, at 
 the next turning of all, on your left ; marry, at the very 
 next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to 
 the Jew's house. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 By sonties, 't will be a hard way to hit. Can you tell 
 me whether one Launcelot that dwells with him dwell 
 with him, or no ? 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Talk you of young master Launcelot? Mark me 
 now [Aside.] now will I raise the waters : [To Gobbo\ 
 Talk you of young master Launcelot ? 
 
 Gob. 
 
 No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his father, though 
 I say't, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, heaven 
 be thanked, well to live.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 31 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Well, let his father be what 'a will, we talk of young 
 master Launcelot. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 
 Laun. 
 
 But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I beseech you, talk 
 you of young master Launcelot 3 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership. 
 Laun. 
 
 Ergo, master Launcelot ; talk not of master Launcelot, 
 father ; for the young gentleman (according to fates and 
 destinies, and such odd sayings, the sisters three, and such 
 branches of learning) is, indeed, deceased ; or, as you 
 would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Marry, heaven forbid ; the boy was the very staff of 
 my age, my very prop. 
 
 Laun. [Aside. 
 
 Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a 
 prop ? [To Gobbo.] Do you know me, father ? 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Alack the day ! I know you not, young gentleman : but, 
 I pray you, tell me, is my boy (heaven rest his soul !J 
 alive or dead ? 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Do you not know me, father ? 
 Gob. 
 Alack, sir, I am sand-blind ; I know you not.
 
 32 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the 
 knowing me : it is a wise father that knows his own child. 
 Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son : Give me 
 your blessing : truth will come to light ; murder cannot 
 be hid long ; a man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will 
 out. \Launcelot kneels with his back towards Gobbo. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure you are not Launce- 
 lot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Pray you, let 's have no more fooling about it, but give 
 me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your boy that was, 
 your son that is, your child that shall be. 
 
 Gob. 
 I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 I know not what I shall think of that : but I am Laun- 
 celot, the Jew's man ; and I am sure Margery, your wife, 
 is my mother. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Her name is Margery, indeed ; I '11 be sworn, if thou be 
 Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and blood. Lord 
 worshipped might he be ! what a beard hast thou got ! 
 thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin, my 
 phill-horse, has on his tail. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail grows back- 
 ward ; I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have 
 of my face, when I last saw him. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou and thy 
 master agree ? I have brought him a present. How 
 'gree you now ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 33 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Well, well ; but for mine own part, as I have set up my 
 rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some 
 ground. My master 's a very Jew. Give him a present ? 
 give him a halter! I am famished in his service; you 
 may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am 
 glad you are come : give me your present to one master 
 Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries; if I serve 
 not him, I will run as far as heaven has any ground. O 
 rare fortune ! here comes the man ; to him, father; for I 
 am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer. 
 
 \Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo and another 
 Servant R. u. E. 
 
 Bass. [To Servant. 
 
 See these letters delivered : put the liveries to making ; 
 and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. 
 
 [ Gives letters. Exit Servant. 
 
 Laun. 
 To him, father. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 Heaven bless your worship ! [To Bassanio. 
 
 Bass. 
 Gramercy ! wouldst thou aught with me ? 
 
 Gob. 
 Here 's my son, sir, a poor boy 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man ; that would, 
 sir, as my father shall specify 
 
 Gob. 
 
 He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to 
 serve
 
 34 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and 
 have a desire, as my father shall specify 
 
 Gob. 
 
 His master and he (saving your worship's reverence) are 
 
 scarce cater-cousins 
 
 Laun. 
 
 To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew having done 
 me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, being I hope an 
 old man, shall frutify unto you 
 
 Gob. 
 
 I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon 
 your worship ; and my suit is 
 
 Laun. 
 
 In very brief, the suit is impertinent to myself, as your 
 worship shall know by this honest old man ; and, though 
 I say it, though old man, yet, poor man, my father. 
 
 Bass. 
 One speak for both : What would you ? 
 
 Laun. 
 Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. 
 
 That is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. [To Launcelot. 
 
 I know thee well ; thou hast obtained thy suit : 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, 
 And hath preferred thee, if it be preferment, 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 The old proverb is very well parted between my master 
 Shylock and you, sir ; you have the grace of God, sir, and 
 he hath enough.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 35 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Thou speak'st it well. Go, father, with thy son : 
 Take leave of thy old master, and inquire 
 My lodging out : give him a livery. [To Leonardo. 
 More guarded than his fellows' : see it done. 
 
 [Bassanio and Leonardo retire up. 
 
 Laun. \To Gobbo. 
 
 Father, in: I cannot get a service, no! I have 
 ne'er a tongue in my head! Well [looking on his palm]; 
 if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to 
 swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune. Go to, 
 here '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 edge of a feather-bed ; here are simple 'scapes ! Well, 
 if fortune be a woman, she 's a good wench for this gear. 
 Father, come. I '11 take my leave of the Jew in the twink- 
 ling of an eye. 
 
 [Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo into house R. 
 Bassanio and Leonardo come down. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this; 
 These things being bought, and orderly bestowed, 
 Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
 My best-esteemed acquaintance : hie thee, go. 
 
 [Exit Bassanio L. i. E. 
 Leon. 
 
 My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
 
 [Enter Gratiano. 
 Gra. [ To Leonardo. 
 
 Where 's your master ? 
 
 Leon. 
 Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Leonardo R. 
 
 Gra. 
 Signior Bassanio [Re-enter Bassanio L,
 
 36 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Bass. 
 Gratiano ! 
 
 Gra. 
 
 I have a suit to you. 
 
 Bass. 
 You have obtained it. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 You must not deny me : I must go with you to Belmont 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Why, then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano ; 
 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; 
 
 Parts that become thee happily enough, 
 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; 
 
 But where thou art not known, why, there they show 
 
 Something too liberal : Pray thee take pain 
 
 To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 
 Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild behaviour, 
 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to, 
 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Signior Bassanio, hear me : 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit, 
 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
 
 Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyes 
 
 Thus with my hat, and sigh and say amen ; 
 
 Use all the observance of civility, 
 
 Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
 
 To please his grandam, never trust me more. 
 
 Bass. 
 Well, we shall see your bearing. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Nay, but I bar to-night ; you shall not gauge me 
 By what we do to-night.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 37 
 
 Bass. 
 
 No, that were pity ; 
 
 I would entreat you rather to put on 
 
 Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 
 That purpose merriment. But fare you well, 
 
 I have some business. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 And I must to Lorenzo and the rest ; 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. 
 
 [Exeunt BasSiinio L. i. E., and Gratiano L. u. E, 
 
 [Enter Jessica and Launcelot from house R. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so ; 
 Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
 Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness. 
 But fare thee well : there is a ducat for thee : 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
 Give him this letter; do it secretly, 
 And so farewell ; I would not have my father 
 See me in talk with thee. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Adieu ! tears exhibit my tongue. Most beautiful 
 Pagan, most sweet Jew ! If a Christian did not play the 
 knave and get thee, I am much deceived. But, adieu! 
 these foolish diops do somewhat drown my manly spirit: 
 adieu ! 
 
 Jes. 
 
 Farewell, good Launcelot. [Exit Launcelot. 
 
 Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, 
 
 To be ashamed 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 into house R.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 &econ&. VENICE. A STREET. 
 
 [Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Solanit 
 
 L. I. E. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Nay, we will slink away in supper-time; 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 We have not made good preparation. 
 
 Salarino. 
 We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 
 
 Solanio, 
 
 'T is vile, unless it may be quaintly ordered ; 
 And better, in my mind, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 'T is now but four o'clock ; we have two hours 
 To furnish us. 
 
 [Enter Launcelot, with a letter, L. i. E. 
 Friend Launcelot, what 's the news ? 
 
 Laun. 
 
 An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to 
 signify. [Delivers letter. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 I know the hand : in faith, 't is a fair hand ; 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun. 
 By your leave, sir. [Going. 
 
 Lor. 
 Whither goest thou ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 39 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to sup to- 
 night with my new master, the Christian. 
 
 Lor, [ Giving a piece of money. 
 
 Hold here, take this : tell gentle Jessica, 
 
 I will not fail her; speak it privately: 
 
 Go. [Exit Launcelot B 
 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ? 
 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 
 Salarino. 
 Ay, marry, I '11 be gone about it straight. 
 
 Solanio. 
 And so will I. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Meet me and Gratiano 
 At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 
 
 Salarino. 
 'T is good we do so. 
 
 [Exeunt Salarino and Solanio R. i. E, 
 
 Gra. 
 Was not that letter from fair Jessica ? 
 
 Lor. 
 
 I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed 
 How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
 What gold and jewels she is furnished 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,
 
 4 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Unless she do it under this excuse, 
 That she is issue to &. faithless Jew. 
 Come, go with me ; peruse this as thou goest : 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. 
 
 \Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo L. i. E. 
 
 C&trtl. A STREET BEFORE SHYLOCK'S HOUSE. 
 DUSK. 
 
 \Enter Shy lock and Launcelot from house R. 
 Shy. 
 
 Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : 
 What, Jessica ! thou shalt not gormandize, 
 As thou hast done with me; What, Jessica! 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; 
 Why, Jessica, I say ! 
 
 Laun. 
 Why, Jessica ! 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call. 
 Laun. 
 
 Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing 
 without bidding. 
 
 [Enter Jessica from house, 
 Jes. 
 
 Call you ? What is your will ? 
 Shy. 
 
 I am bid forth to supper, Jessica; 
 
 There are my keys. But wherefore should I go ? 
 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me :
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 41 
 
 But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
 The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, 
 Look to my house : I am right loath to go ; 
 There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth expect your 
 reproach. 
 
 Shy. 
 So do I his. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 And they have conspired together; I will not say, 
 you shall see a masque ; but if you do, then it was not for 
 nothing that my nose fell a bleeding on Black-Monday 
 last, at six o'clock i' the morning, falling out that year on 
 Ash-Wednesday was four year in the afternoon. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 What ! are there masques ? Hear you me, Jessica: 
 Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry-necked fife, 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street, 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnished faces : 
 But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements; 
 Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 My sober house. By Jacob's staff I swear, 
 I have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
 But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah ; [ To Launcelot. 
 Say, I will come. 
 
 f Shy lock crosses toivard house. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 I will go before, sir. 
 
 Mistress, look out at window for all this ; [ To Jessica. 
 There will come a Christian by, 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Launcelot R. i. E.
 
 42 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shy. 
 What says that fool of Hagar's offspring ? ha ? 
 
 Jes. 
 His words were, Farewell, mistress; nothing else, 
 
 Shy. 
 
 The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder, 
 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 
 More than the wild cat : drones hive not with me; 
 
 Therefore I part with him, and part with him 
 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 
 
 His borrowed purse. Well, Jessica, go in; 
 
 Perhaps I will return immediately ; 
 
 Do as I bid you : Shut doors after you : 
 
 Fast bind, fast find ; 
 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. 
 
 [Exit Shy lock R. i. E, 
 Jes. [Alone. 
 
 Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crossed, 
 
 I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit into house. 
 
 [Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masked, L. u. E. 
 Gra. 
 
 This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
 Desired us to make stand. 
 
 Salarino. 
 His hour is almost past. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
 For lovers ever run before the clock. 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 
 To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont 
 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited I
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 43 
 
 Gra. 
 
 That ever holds. 
 
 [Enter Lorenzo in Gondola, L. u. E. 
 
 Salarino. 
 Here comes Lorenzo. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode: 
 Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait. 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wires, 
 I '11 watch as long for you then. Approach; 
 Here dwells my father Jew. 
 
 [A song is sometimes introduced here.\ 
 
 [Enter Jessica to window. 
 Jes. 
 
 Who are you ? Tell me, for more certainty, 
 Albeit I '11 swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. 
 Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
 
 For who love I so much ? And now who knows 
 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours ? 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Heaven, and my thoughts, are witness that thou art 1 
 
 Jes. 
 
 Here, catch this casket ; it is worth the pains. 
 
 [ Throwing casket. 
 Lor. 
 
 Come at once; 
 
 For the close night doth play the runaway, 
 And we are stayed for at Bassanio's feast
 
 44 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
 
 \Exit from window. 
 Gra. 
 
 Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Beshrew me, but I love her heartily : 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
 And true she is, as she hath proved 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. 
 
 [They embark in gondola. Music as it starts. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 SCct 
 
 VENICE. A STREET. 
 
 [Enter Salarino and Soeanio L. u. E, 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
 With him is Gratiano gone along ; 
 And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke, 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio's 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. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 I never heard a passion so confused, 
 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
 
 " My daughter ! O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 
 
 Fled with a Christian ? O my Christian ducats ! 
 
 Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 
 
 Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 Marry, well remembered : I reasoned with a Frenchman 
 yesterday, who told me that Antonio hath a ship of rich 
 lading wrecked on the narrow seas, the Goodwins, I 
 think they call the place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, 
 where the carcasses of many a tall ship lie buried, as 
 they say, if my gossip Report be an honest woman of her 
 word.
 
 46 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 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 that the 
 good Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title 
 good enough to keep his name company ! 
 
 Salarino. 
 Come, the full stop. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 Why, the end is, he hath lost a ship. 
 
 Salarino. 
 I would it might prove the end of his losses ! 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer; 
 for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. 
 
 [ They cross to R. Enter Shy lock L. u. E. 
 How now, Shylock ? what news among the merchants ? 
 
 Shy. 
 
 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. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was 
 fledged; and then it is the complexion of them all to 
 leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 She is damned for it. 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 That 's certain, if the devil may be her judge.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 47 
 
 Sky. 
 
 My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Salaritw. 
 
 But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any 
 loss at sea or no ? 
 
 Shy. 
 
 There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, a prodi- 
 gal, who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto ; a beg- 
 gar, that was used to come so smug upon the mart. Let 
 him look to his bond ! he was wont to call me usurer \ 
 let him look to his bond : he was wont to lend money for 
 a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond! 
 
 Salarino. 
 
 Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his 
 flesh ? What 's that good for ? 
 
 Shy. 
 
 To bait fish withal ! if it will feed 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 nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled 
 my friends, heated mine enemies ; and what 's his reason ? 
 I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes ? hath not a Jew 
 hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions ? 
 fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, sub- 
 ject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a 
 Christian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? if you 
 tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, do we not 
 die ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? If we 
 are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. 
 If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge. 
 If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be 
 by Christian example ? why, revenge. The villainy you 
 teach me I will execute ; and it shall go hard but I will 
 better the instruction.
 
 48 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 Here comes another of the tribe : a third cannot be 
 matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. 
 
 [Exeunt Solanio and Salarino R. i. E. Enter 
 Tubal L. i. E. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 How now, Tubal ? what news from Genoa ? hast thou 
 found my daughter ? 
 
 Tub. 
 
 I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find 
 her. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Why, there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost 
 me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never 
 fell upon our nation till now ; I never felt it till now : 
 two thousand ducats in that ; and other precious, precious 
 jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and 
 the jewels in her ear ! would she were hearsed at my foot, 
 and the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them ? Why, 
 so : and I know not what 's spent in the search. Why, 
 thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so much, and 
 so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge: 
 nor no ill luck stirring but what lights o' my shoulders ; 
 no sighs, but o' my breathing ; no tears, but o' my shed- 
 ding. 
 
 Tub. 
 
 Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard 
 
 in Genoa 
 
 Shy. 
 
 What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? 
 
 Tub. 
 Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. 
 
 Shy. 
 I thank God ! I thank God ! Is it true ? is it true ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 49 
 
 Tub. 
 
 I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. 
 Shy. 
 
 I thank thee, good Tubal; Good news, good news! 
 ha ! ha ! Where ? in Genoa ? 
 
 Tub. 
 
 Your daughter spent in Genoa, as, I heard, one night, 
 fourscore ducats. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Thou stick'st a dagger in me! I shall never see my 
 gold again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting! fourscore 
 ducats! 
 
 Tub. 
 
 There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my com- 
 pany to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 I am very glad of it. I '11 plague him; I '11 torture him. 
 I am glad of it. 
 
 Tub. 
 
 One of them showed me a ring, that he had of your 
 daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : it was my 
 turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was a bachelor : I 
 would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys. 
 
 Tub. 
 
 But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 Shy. 
 
 Nay, that 's true, that 's very true. Go, Tubal, fee me 
 an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight before : I will have 
 the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for were he out of Venice 
 I can make what merchandise I will. Go, Tubal, and 
 meet me at our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our syna- 
 gogue, Tubal. [Exeunt, 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 5Hct f oujert), 
 
 C BELMONT. A ROOM IN PORTIA'S HOUSE. 
 THREE CASKETS, GOLD, SILVER AND 
 Jiret. < LEAD, ON TABLE, c. BASSANIO, POR- 
 TIA, GRATIANO, NERISSA, AND ATTEND- 
 
 (_ ANTS DISCOVERED. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 I am enjoined by oath to observe three things : 
 
 First, never to unfold to any one 
 
 Which casket 't was 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. 
 
 fbr. 
 
 To these injunctions every one doth swear 
 That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 And so have I addressed me : Fortune no\r 
 To my heart's hope ! 
 
 Par. 
 
 I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two, 
 Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
 I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
 There 's something tells me, but it is not love, 
 I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 51 
 
 I could teach you 
 
 How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
 
 So will I never be : so may you miss me ; 
 
 But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin, 
 
 That I had been forsworn. 
 
 I speak too long ; but 't is to peize the time, 
 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Let me choose ; 
 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 For. 
 
 Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 None but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love. 
 
 For. 
 
 Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men enforced do speak anything. 
 
 Bass. 
 Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
 
 For. 
 Well then, confess, and live. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Confess and love 
 
 Had been the very sum of my confession. 
 O happy torment, when my torturer
 
 52 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Doth teach me answers for deliverance : 
 Come, let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 For. 
 
 Away then. 
 
 I am locked in one of them ; 
 
 If you do love me you will find me out. 
 
 Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. [They retire. 
 
 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 
 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, 
 
 And watery death-bed for him. \JMusic. 
 
 Now he goes with no less presence, but with much more 
 
 love, 
 
 Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
 The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
 To the sea monster ! I stand for sacrifice ; 
 The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
 With bleared visages, come forth to view 
 The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
 Live thou, I live : with much more dismay 
 I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Some good direct my judgment ! Let me see. 
 
 " Who chooseth me shall gain ) r v , , . 
 
 TIT. , Reads on casket. 
 
 What many men desire. j 
 
 That may be meant 
 
 Of the fool multitude that choose by show. 
 The world is still deceived with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text. 
 Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 53 
 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 
 Veiling an Indian beauty. 
 
 Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee. 
 
 " Who chooseth me shall get ) {Reads on second 
 As much as he deserves." j casket. 
 
 And well said, too : for who shall go about 
 
 To cozen fortune, and be honourable 
 
 Without the stamp of merit? 
 
 O, that estates, degrees, and offices 
 
 Were not derived corruptly ! and that clear honour 
 
 Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! 
 
 How many then should cover that stand bare ! 
 
 How many be commanded that command ! 
 
 And how much honour 
 
 Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times, 
 
 To be new varnished ! 
 
 " Much as he deserves." 
 
 I'll not assume desert. 
 
 " Who chooseth me must give \ [Reads on third. 
 And hazard all he hath." j casket. 
 
 I'll none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 Tween man and man. But thou, thou meagre lead, 
 Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, 
 Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, 
 And here choose I. Joy be the consequence ! 
 
 For. 
 
 How all the other passions fleet to air ! 
 
 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy ; 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing ; make it less, 
 For fear I surfeit !
 
 54 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 [ Opening the leaden casket. 
 
 What find I here? 
 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit? 
 
 What demi-god hath come so near creation ? 
 
 Move these eyes? 
 
 Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 
 Seemed they in motion ? Here are severed lips, 
 
 Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 
 Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hair 
 
 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 them ? having made one, 
 
 Methinks it should have power to steal both his, 
 
 And leave itself unfurnished. 
 
 Yet look, how far the substance 
 
 Of my praise doth wrong his shadow 
 
 In underprising it, so far this shadow 
 
 Doth limp behind the substance. 
 
 Here's the scroll, 
 
 The continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 " You that choose not by the view, 
 
 Chance as fair, and choose as true : 
 
 Since this fortune falls to you, 
 
 Be content, and seek no new. Reads on 
 
 If you be well pleased with this, scroll. 
 
 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 : \To Portia. 
 I come by note, to give and to receive ; 
 Yet doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 Until confirmed, signed, ratified by you. 
 
 \He kneels and kisses her hand. Music ceases.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 55 
 
 For. 
 
 You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
 
 Such as I am : though, for myself alone, 
 
 I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
 
 To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 
 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich : 
 
 That, only to stand high in your account, 
 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
 
 Exceed account. But 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 myself 
 
 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. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Madam, you have bereft me of all words ; 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
 But when this ring 
 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence ; 
 O, then be bold to say, Bassanio 's dead. 
 
 Ner. 
 
 My lord and lady, it is now our time, 
 
 That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper, 
 
 To cry, good joy ! Good joy, my lord and lady ! 
 
 Gra. 
 
 My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish, 
 For I am sure you can wish none from me :
 
 56 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 And when your honours mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Bass. 
 With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 I thank your lordship ; you have got me one. 
 
 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
 
 You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
 
 You loved, I loved ; for intermission 
 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 
 Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
 
 And so did mine too, as the matter falls : 
 
 For wooing here, until I sweat again, 
 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 
 With oaths of love, at last, if promise last, 
 
 I got a promise of this fair one here, 
 
 To have her love, provided that your fortune 
 
 Achieved her mistress. 
 
 For. 
 Is this true, Nerissa? 
 
 Ner. 
 Madam, it is, so you stand pleased withal. 
 
 Bass. 
 And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? 
 
 Gra. 
 Yes, faith, my lord. 
 
 Bass. 
 Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 57 
 
 Gra. 
 
 But who comes here ? Lorenzo, and his infidel ? 
 What ! and my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? 
 
 [Enter Lorenzo and Jessica; after them Salerio, 
 
 L. I. E. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 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. 
 
 For. 
 
 So do I, my lord ; 
 They are entirely welcome. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 I thank your honour : [To Portia. 
 
 For my part, my lord, 
 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
 
 He did entreat me, past all saying nay, 
 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Salerio. 
 
 I did, my lord, 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. [ Gives Bassanio a letter. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Ere I ope his letter, 
 I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. 
 
 Salerio. 
 
 Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. \Bassanio opens letter. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. 
 
 \Nerissa goes to Jessica.
 
 58 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Your hand, Salerio. What 's the news from Venice ? 
 How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ? 
 I know he will be glad of our success ; 
 We are the Jasons ; we have won the fleece. 
 
 Salerio. 
 
 I would you had won the fleece that he hath lost ! 
 
 Por. 
 
 There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper 
 That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek; 
 Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
 Could turn so much the constitution 
 Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ? 
 With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, 
 And I must freely have the half of any thing 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 sweet Portia, 
 
 Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words 
 That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 
 When I did first impart my love to you, 
 
 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, 
 
 Raring myself at nothing, you shall see 
 
 How much I was a braggart. When I told you 
 
 My state was nothing, I should then have told you 
 
 That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
 
 I have engaged myself to a dear friend, 
 
 Engaged 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 ? 
 
 Have all his ventures failed ? What, not one hit ? 
 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 
 Of merchant-marring rocks ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 59 
 
 Salerio. 
 
 Not one, my lord. 
 
 Besides, it should appear that if he had 
 The present money to discharge the Jew, 
 He would not take it. Never did I know 
 A creature that did bear the shape of man, 
 So keen and greedy to confound a man. 
 He plies the duke at morning, and at night, 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 
 If they deny him justice : twenty merchants, 
 The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
 Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 fbr. 
 
 Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble ? 
 Bass. 
 
 The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
 The best conditioned and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honour more appears, 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 
 For. 
 What sum owes he the Jew ? 
 
 Bass. 
 For me, three thousand ducats. 
 
 For. 
 
 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 my Bassanio's fault. 
 
 Then, love, away to Venice to your friend ;
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
 With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
 To pay the petty debt twenty times over; 
 When it is paid, bring your true friend along : 
 My maid Nerissa, and myself, meantime 
 Will live as maids and widows. Come, away; 
 For you shall hence upon your wedding-day 
 Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer ; 
 Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. \Reads. 
 
 " Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my 
 creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to 
 the Jew is forfeit ; and since, in paying it, it is impossible 
 I should live, all debts are cleared between you and I, 
 if I might but see you at my death : notwithstanding, use 
 your pleasure : if your love do not persuade you to come, 
 let not my letter." 
 
 For. 
 O love, despatch all business, and be gone. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 
 I will make haste ; but, till I come again, 
 
 No bed shall ere be guilty of my stay, 
 
 Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt R. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Madam, although I speak it in your presence, 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of godlike amity ; which appears most strongly
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 6 1 
 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 But, if you knew to whom you show this honour, 
 How true a gentleman you send relief, 
 How dear a lover of my lord, your husband, 
 I know you would be prouder of the work, 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you. 
 
 For. 
 
 I never did repent for doing good, 
 
 Nor shall not now : 
 
 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 breathed a secret vow 
 
 To live in prayer and contemplation, 
 
 Only attended by Nerissa here, 
 
 Until her husband and my lord's return : 
 
 There is a monastery two miles off, 
 
 And there we will abide. I do desire you 
 
 Not to deny this imposition, 
 
 The which my love, and some necessity, 
 
 Now lays upon you. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Madam, with all my heart, 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 For. 
 
 My people will acknowledge you and Jessica 
 In place of Lord Bassanio and myself: 
 And so, farewell till we shall meet again. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you !
 
 62 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Jes. 
 I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 For. 
 
 I thank you for your wish, and am well pleased 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. 
 
 \Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo L. I.E. Enter Bal- 
 thazar R. I.E. 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true, 
 So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, 
 And use thou all the endeavour of a man 
 In speed to Padua ; see thou render this 
 Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario; 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined 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. 
 
 Balth. 
 Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit R. i. E. 
 
 For. 
 
 Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand 
 
 That you yet know not of: we '11 see our husbands 
 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 Ner. 
 Shall they see us ? 
 
 For. 
 
 They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit, 
 That they shall think we are accomplished 
 With that we lack. I'll 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 ;
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 63 
 
 And speak between the change of man and boy, 
 
 With a reed voice ; and speak of frays, 
 
 Like a fine bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies, 
 
 How honourable ladies sought my love, 
 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died : 
 
 And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 
 
 That men shall swear I've discontinued school 
 
 Above a twelvemonth. I have within my mind 
 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging jacks 
 
 Which I will practise : 
 
 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. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 f iftf). 
 
 {VENICE. A COURT OF JUSTICE. THE 
 DUKE, THE MAGNIFICOES, ANTONIO, 
 BASSANIO, GRATIANO, SALARINO, So- 
 LANIO, SALERIO, AND OTHERS DISCOV- 
 ERED. 
 
 Duke. 
 What, is Antonio here ? 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Ready, so please your grace. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I 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. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 I have heard 
 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
 And that no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 My patience to his fury ; and am armed 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Duke. 
 Go one, and call the Jew into the court
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 65 
 
 Solanio. 
 
 He 's ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 
 
 [Enter Shy lock R. i. E, 
 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, 't is thought, 
 
 Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
 
 Than is chy strange apparent cruelty : 
 
 And where thou now exact'st the penalty 
 
 (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh), 
 
 Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
 
 But, touched with human gentleness and love, 
 
 Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
 
 That have of late so huddled on his back, 
 
 Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 
 From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, 
 
 From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never trained. 
 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 I have possessed your grace of what I purpose; 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
 If you deny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 
 You '11 ask me why I rather choose to have 
 A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
 Three thousand ducats. I '11 not answer that : 
 But, say, it is my humour : Is it answered ? 
 What if my house be troubled with a rat, 
 And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 
 To have it baned ? What, are you answered yet ? 
 Some men there are love not a gaping pig ; 
 Some, that are mad if they behold a cat :
 
 66 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Now, for your answer : 
 
 As there is no firm reason to be rendered, 
 
 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; 
 
 Why he, a harmless necessary cat; 
 
 So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 
 
 More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing, 
 
 I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answered ? 
 
 Bass. 
 
 This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shy. 
 I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 
 
 Bass. 
 Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 
 
 Shy. 
 Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 
 
 Bass. 
 Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shy. 
 What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice ? 
 
 Ant. 
 
 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 may as well use question with the wolf, 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ;
 
 THE MERCHA>T OF VE2OCE. 67 
 
 You may as wdl do any thing most hard, 
 As seek to soften that (than which what 7 s border ?) 
 His Jewish heart : Therefore, I do beseech you, 
 Make no more offers, use no further means, 
 Bat; with all brief and plain conveniency, 
 -Let me have judgment, and the Jew his 
 
 Bass. 
 
 For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 
 Sky. 
 
 If every ducat in sis thousand ducats 
 
 Were in sis parts, and every part a ducat, 
 
 I would not draw them, I would have my bond. 
 
 Dmke. 
 
 How shah thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none ? 
 
 Sky. 
 
 What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong ? 
 You have among you many a purchased slave, 
 Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and 
 You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
 Because you bought them : Shall I say to you, 
 Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 
 Why sweat they under burthens ? let their beds 
 Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
 Be seasoned with such viands ? You wfll answer, 
 The slaves are ours : So do I answer you : 
 The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
 Is dearly bought ; ? t is mine, and I wiH have it : 
 If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
 I stand for judgment : answer, shall I have it ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, 
 Unless Beflario, a learned doctor, 
 
 ra I have sent for to determine this, 
 Come here to-day.
 
 68 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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. 
 
 [Exeunt Solanio and Salarino. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ! courage yet ! 
 The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
 Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
 Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
 You cannot better be employed, Bassanio, 
 Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 
 
 [Re-enter Solanio and Salarino with Nerissa, 
 
 who is dressed like a lawyer's clerk. Shylock 
 
 kneels to whet his knife. 
 
 Duke. \ToNerissa. 
 
 Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 
 
 Ner. 
 
 From both, my lord : Bellario greets your grace. 
 
 [Presents a letter, and then sits at table c. 
 
 Bass. [To Shylock, 
 
 Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 
 
 Shy. 
 To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
 Thou mak'st thy knife keen. 
 Can no prayers pierce thee ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 69 
 
 Shy. 
 
 No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 
 Gra. 
 
 O, be thou damned, inexorable dog ! 
 
 And for thy life let justice be accused. 
 
 Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
 
 To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 
 Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
 
 Governed a wolf, who, hanged for human slaughter 
 
 Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
 
 And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallowed dam, 
 
 Infused itself in thee ; for thy desires 
 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
 Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
 Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
 To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 This letter from Bellario doth commend 
 A young and learned doctor to our court : 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Ner. [Rises. 
 
 He attendeth here hard by, 
 
 To know your answer, whether you '11 admit him. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 With all my heart : Go, some of you, 
 
 And give him courteous conduct to this place. 
 
 [Exeunt Salarino, Solanio, and Gratiano R. i. E. 
 Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. [Reads. 
 
 "Your grace shall understand that, at the receipt of 
 your letter, I am very sick : but in the instant that your
 
 70 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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 to- 
 gether : he is furnished with my opinion ; which, bettered 
 with his own learning ( 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 impediment to let him lack a 
 reverend estimation ; for I never knew so young a body 
 with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious accept- 
 ance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation." 
 
 You hear the learned Bellario what he writes : 
 
 \Re-enter Gratiano. 
 And here, I take it, is the doctor come. 
 
 [Re-enter Salarino and Solanio, with Portia, who 
 
 is dressed like a Doctor of Laws. 
 Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ? 
 
 Par. 
 I did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 You are welcome : take your place. [Portia goes to desk R. 
 Are you acquainted with the difference 
 That holds this present question in the court ? 
 
 For. 
 
 I am informed throughly of the cause. 
 
 Which is the Merchant here, and which the Jew ? 
 
 Duke. 
 
 Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 
 
 [Antonio and Shylock advance. 
 
 Por. 
 Is your name Shylock ? 
 
 Shy. 
 Shylock is my name.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. * t 
 
 For. 
 
 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 ? [To Antonw. 
 
 Ant. 
 Ay, so he says. 
 
 Par. 
 Do you confess the bond ? 
 
 Ant. 
 I do. 
 
 Por. 
 Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. 
 On what compulsion must I ? tell me that 
 
 Por. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed ; 
 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 
 T is mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 
 The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 
 But mercy is above this sceptered 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 ;
 
 J2 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 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. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Por. 
 Is he not able to discharge the money ? 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
 
 Yea, thrice 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 you, 
 
 Wrest once the law to your authority : 
 
 To do a great right, do a little wrong, 
 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. 
 
 Por. 
 
 It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 
 'T will be recorded for a precedent ; 
 
 And many an error, by the same example, 
 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
 
 wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 
 
 Por. 
 
 1 pray you, let me look upon the bond.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 73 
 
 Shy. 
 Here 't is, most reverend doctor ; here it is. 
 
 [Gives bond to Portia, 
 For. 
 
 Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
 Por. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 Most heartily I do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 Por. 
 
 Why, then, thus it is : 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife 
 
 Shy. 
 O noble judge ! O excellent young man !
 
 74 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For. 
 
 For the intent and purpose of the law 
 
 Hath full relation to the penalty, 
 
 Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 'T is very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 
 
 For. 
 
 Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 
 
 Shy. {Takes bond from Portia. 
 Ay, his breast : 
 
 So says the bond ; Doth it not, noble judge ? 
 Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 
 
 {Returns bond to Portia. 
 
 For. 
 
 It is so. Are there balance here to weigh the flesh ? 
 
 Shy. 
 
 I have them ready. 
 
 For. 
 
 Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 
 Shy. {Takes bond from Portia. 
 Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
 
 For. 
 
 It is not so expressed ; but what of that ? 
 'T were good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 I cannot find it; 't is not in the bond. 
 
 {Returns bond to Portia.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 75 
 
 Par. \To Antonio. 
 
 Come, merchant, have you anything to say ? 
 
 Ant. 
 
 But little ; I am armed, and well prepared. 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
 
 \Portia leaves desk, crosses to the Duke, confers 
 
 with him, and shows bond. 
 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 outlive his wealth, 
 To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
 An age of poverty ; from which ling'ring penance 
 Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
 Commend me to your honourable wife : 
 Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
 Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
 And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
 Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
 Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
 And he repents not that he pays your debt; 
 For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Antonio, I am married to a wife, 
 Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
 But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
 Are not with me esteemed above thy life ; 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
 
 \During this speech Portia returns to desk. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love ; 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew.
 
 76 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Sky. 
 
 These be the Christian husbands ! I have a daughter ; 
 Would any of the stock of Barrabas 
 Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! [Aside. 
 We trifle time ; I pray thee pursue sentence. 
 
 For. 
 
 A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ; 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 
 Shy. 
 Most rightful judge ! 
 
 Por. 
 
 And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Most learned judge ! 
 A sentence ! come, prepare ! 
 
 \To Antonio , who advances to c. and kneels. 
 All shrink back. 
 
 Por. 
 
 Tarry a little; there is something else. 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
 
 {All start. 
 
 The words expressly are, a pound of flesh : 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
 But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 Unto the state of Venice. 
 
 [All express delight. Antonio rises and embraces 
 Bassanio. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 O upright judge ! Mark, Jew ! O learned judge ! 
 
 Shy. 
 Is that the law ?
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 77 
 
 For. 
 
 Thyself shall see the act : 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 
 Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest 
 
 Gra. 
 
 learned judge ! Mark, Jew; a learned judge ! 
 
 Shy. 
 
 1 take this offer then, pay the bond thrice, 
 And let the Christian go. 
 
 ass. 
 Here is the money. [Gratiano interposes. 
 
 For. 
 
 Soft! 
 
 The Jew shall have all justice; soft; no haste; 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. 
 O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 
 
 For. [To Shy lock. 
 
 Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
 
 But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more, 
 
 Or less, than a just pound, be it but so much 
 
 As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 
 Of one poor scruple, nay, if the scale do turn 
 
 But in the estimation of a hair, 
 
 Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 A second Daniel ; a Daniel, Jew ! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 
 
 For. 
 Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture.
 
 78 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shy. 
 Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 
 JSass. 
 
 I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 
 [Shy lock takes a bag of money ; Gratiano seizes 
 and takes it from him. 
 
 For. 
 
 He hath refused it in the open court ; 
 
 He shall have merely justice, and his bond. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 [Pushing Shy lock towards L. 
 A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel ! 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 
 Shy. 
 Shall I not have barely my principal ? 
 
 For. 
 
 Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
 
 [Portia comes from desk, gives bond to Shy lock, and 
 
 goes to table c. 
 To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
 1 11 stay no longer question. 
 
 [ Going R. Gratiano stops him. 
 
 Por. 
 Tarry, Jew; 
 
 The law hath yet another hold on you. 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
 If it be proved against an alien,
 
 THE MERCHANT OF TENICE. 
 
 That by direct, or indirect, attempts, 
 He seek the life of any citizen, 
 The part)' 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
 Shall seize one half his goods ; the other Ka]f 
 Comes to the privy coffer of the state; 
 And the offenders life hes in the mercy 
 Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
 In which predicament, I say, then stand* st : 
 For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
 That, indirecdy, and direcdy too, 
 Thou hast contrived against the very fife, 
 Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred 
 The danger formerly by me rehearsed. 
 Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke, 
 
 Gra. 
 
 79 
 
 \Skylockisakmttokncfl; Gr 
 
 ike shoulder, during the rat of this speech, 
 
 then drops him. 
 
 Beg that thou may'st hare leave to hang thyself: 
 And yet, thy wealth being fr^frrj to the ** a *y, 
 Thou hast not left die value of a cord; 
 Therefore, thou must be hanged at the state's charge. 
 
 DuJu. 
 
 That thou shalt see the difiprrncp of oar spirit, 
 I pardon thee thy life before thon ask k: 
 For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; 
 The other half comes to the general state, 
 Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 
 
 Par. 
 
 for the state; not for Antonio. 
 Sky. 
 
 Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
 You take my house, when you do take the prop 
 That doth sustain my boose; you take my life, 
 When vou do take the means wbaeby I hVe.
 
 So THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For. 
 
 What mercy can you render him, Antonio ? 
 
 \Shylock rises 
 Gra. 
 
 A halter gratis; nothing else, for heaven's sake! 
 
 Ant. 
 
 So please my lord the duke, and all the court, 
 
 To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 
 
 I am content, so he will let me have 
 
 The other half in use, to render it, 
 
 Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
 
 That lately stole his daughter ; 
 
 Two things provided more, that, for this favour, 
 
 He presently become a Christian ; 
 
 The other, that he do record a gift, 
 
 Here in the court, of all he dies possessed, 
 
 Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
 The pardon that I late pronounced here. 
 
 Por. [Advances. To Shybck. 
 Art thou contented, Jew ; what dost thou say ? 
 
 Shy. 
 I am content. 
 
 &>r. [Goes up. 
 
 Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
 Shy. 
 
 1 pray you give me leave to go from hence : 
 I am not well. Send the deed after me, 
 And I will sign it.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 8 1 
 
 Duke. 
 Get thee gone, but do it. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 [As Shylock is going, Gratiano seizes his left arm. 
 In christ'ning, thou shalt have two godfathers ; 
 Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 
 
 [Exit Shylock R. i. E. 
 
 Duke. [To Portia. 
 
 Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
 
 For. 
 
 I humbly do desire your grace of pardon. 
 I must away this night toward Padua, 
 And it is meet I presently set forth. 
 
 Duke. 
 
 I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 
 
 For in my mind you are much bound to him. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke and Attendants. 
 Bass. 
 
 Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
 Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
 Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 
 Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 And stand indebted, over and above, 
 In love and service to you evermore.
 
 82 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For. 
 
 He is well paid that is well satisfied ; 
 
 And I, delivering you, am satisfied. 
 
 I pray you, know me when we meet again. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute. 
 Not as a fee. 
 
 For. 
 
 Well, for your love, I'll take this ring from you. 
 Do not draw back your hand : I'll take no more* 
 And you in love shall not deny me this. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 This ring, good sir, alas, it is a trifle ; 
 I will not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 For. 
 
 I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 There's more depends on this than on the value t 
 The dearest ring in Venice will I give you ; 
 Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 For. 
 
 I see, sir, you are liberal in offers : 
 
 You taught me first to beg, and now methinks 
 
 You teach me how a beggar should be answered. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife ; 
 And when she put it on, she made me vow 
 That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 83 
 
 For. 
 
 That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. 
 
 An if your wife be not a mad woman, 
 
 And know how well I have deserved this ring, 
 
 She would not hold out enemy forever 
 
 For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you I 
 
 \_Exeunt Portia and Nerissa 
 
 Ant. 
 
 My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring ; 
 
 Let his deservings, and my love withal, 
 
 Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him ; 
 Give him the ring. Away ! make haste ! 
 And in the morning early will we both 
 Fly towards Belmont. Come, Antonio. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 SUct 
 
 THE GARDEN AT BELMONT. 
 
 [Enter Jessica and Launcelot. Lorenzo at distance. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Yes, truly : for, look you, the sins of the father are to 
 be laid upon the children ; therefore I promise you, I fear 
 you. I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my 
 agitation of the matter : therefore be of good cheer ; for 
 truly, I think you are damned. There 's but one hope 
 in it that can do you any good, and that is but a kind of 
 bastard hope neither. 
 
 Jes. 
 And what hope is that, I pray thee ? 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you 
 not, that you are not the Jew's daughter. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed ; so the sins 
 of my mother should be visited upon me. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Truly, then, I fear you are damned both by father and 
 mother : thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into 
 Charybdis, your mother. Well, you are gone both ways.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 85 
 
 Jes. 
 
 I shall be saved by my husband : he hath made me a 
 Christian. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Truly, the more to blame he : we were Christians 
 enough before ; e'en as many as could well live one by 
 another. This making of Christians will raise the price of 
 hogs ; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly 
 have a rasher on the coals for money. 
 
 Jes. 
 I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say. 
 
 Lor. [ Comes down. 
 
 I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, if you 
 thus get my wife into corners. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 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. 
 
 Lor. 
 Go in, sirrah ! bid them prepare for dinner. 
 
 Laun. 
 That is done, sir : they have all stomachs. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! Then bid 
 them prepare dinner.
 
 86 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Laitn. 
 That is done too, sir ; only cover is the word. 
 
 Lor. 
 Will you cover then, sir ? 
 
 Laun. 
 Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Yet more quarrelling with occasion? Wilt thou show 
 the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? I pray thee, 
 understand a plain man in his plain meaning. Go to thy 
 fellows, bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and 
 we will come in to dinner. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; for the meat, 
 sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming in to dinner, sir, 
 why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. 
 
 \_Exit Launcelot. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 The moon shines bright. In such a night as this, 
 When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
 And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 
 And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 In such a night 
 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew, 
 And saw the lion'? shadow ere himself, 
 And ran dismayed away.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 87 
 
 Lor. 
 
 In such a night 
 
 Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand, 
 Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jes. 
 
 In such a night 
 
 Medea gathered the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old 
 
 Lor. 
 
 In such a night 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 yes. 
 
 In such a night 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he loved her well : 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, 
 And ne'er a true one. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 And in such a night 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
 Slander her love, and he forgave her ! 
 
 Jes. 
 
 I would outnight you, did nobody come ; 
 But hark ! I hear the footing of a man. 
 
 [Enter Balthazar and servants. 
 
 Lor. 
 Who comes so fast in silence of the night ?
 
 88 THE MERCHANT *OF VENICE. 
 
 Bal. 
 A friend. 
 
 Lor. 
 A friend ? What friend ? Your name, I pray you, friend. 
 
 Bal. 
 
 Balthazar is my name ; and I bring word 
 My mistress will, before the break of day, 
 Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 But who comes with her? 
 
 Bal. 
 
 None but a holy hermit and her maid. 
 I pray you, is my master yet returned ? 
 
 Lor. 
 
 He is not, nor we have not heard from him. 
 
 But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
 
 And ceremoniously let us prepare 
 
 Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 
 
 Laun. \Without 
 
 Sola, sola, too ha, ho, sola, sola ! 
 
 Lor. 
 \Vhocalls? \EnterLauncelot. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Sola ! did you see Master Lorenzo and Mistress 
 Lorenzo ? Sola, sola !
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 89 
 
 Lor. 
 Leave holloaing, man, here. 
 
 Laun. 
 Sola ! Where ? where ? 
 
 Lor. 
 Here. 
 
 Laun. 
 
 Tell him there 's a post come from my master, with his 
 horn full of good news : my master will be here ere 
 morning. \Exit. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Sweet soul, let 's in, and there expect their coming. 
 And yet no matter ; why should we go in ? 
 My friend Balthazar, signify, I pray you, 
 Within the house, your mistress is at hand ; 
 And bring your music forth into the air. 
 
 {Exit Balthazar. 
 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears. Soft stillness and the night 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ! 
 There 's not the smallest orb which thou belioldest 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 
 Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn : 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
 And draw her home with music. [Music.
 
 90 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Jes. 
 I am never merry when I hear music. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 The reason is, your spirits are attentive. 
 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, 
 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood : 
 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to modest gaze 
 
 By the sweet power of music. 
 
 Therefore the poet 
 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 
 
 Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 
 
 But music for the time doth change his nature. 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 
 Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus, 
 
 Let no such man be trusted. 
 
 Mark the music. [Enter Portia and Nerissa, 
 
 For. 
 
 That light we see burning in my hall, 
 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
 
 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 Ner. 
 When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. 
 
 For. 
 
 So doth the greater glory dim the less : 
 A substitute shines brightly as the king
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 91 
 
 Until a king be by ; and then his state 
 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
 Into the main of waters. 
 Music ! hark ! 
 
 Ner. 
 It is your music, madam, of the house. 
 
 For. 
 
 Nothing is good, I see, without respect : 
 Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 
 
 Ner. 
 Silence bestows that virtue on it, madame. 
 
 For. 
 
 The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark 
 
 When neither is attended ; and I think 
 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
 
 When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
 
 No better a musician than a wren. 
 
 How many things by season seasoned are 
 
 To their right praise and true perfection ! 
 
 Peace, ho ! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 
 And would not be awak'd. [Music ceases. 
 
 Lor, 
 
 That is the voice, or I am much deceived, 
 Of Portia. 
 
 For. 
 
 He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo, 
 By die bad voice. 
 
 Lor. 
 Dear lady, welcome home.
 
 92 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For. 
 
 We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
 Are they returned ? 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Madam, they are not yet ; 
 
 But there is come a messenger before 
 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 For. 
 
 Go in, Nerissa : 
 
 Give order to my servants that they take 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
 Nor you, Lorenzo ; Jessica, nor you. [ Trumpet. 
 
 Lor. 
 
 Your husband is at hand : I hear his trumpet. 
 We are no tell-tales, madam : fear you not. 
 
 For. 
 
 This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick ; 
 It looks a little paler : 't is a day 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 [Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, 
 and their followers. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 We should hold day with the antipodes 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 For. 
 
 Let me give light, but let me not be light ; 
 
 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
 
 And never be Bassanio so for me. 
 
 But God sort all ! You are welcome home, my lord.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 93 
 
 Bass. 
 
 I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my triend. 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. 
 
 For. 
 
 You should in all sense be much bound to him ; 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Ant. 
 No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 For. 
 
 Sir, you are very welcome to our house. 
 It must apoear in other ways than words, 
 Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. 
 
 Gra. \_To Ntnssa. 
 
 By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong : 
 In faith I gave it to the judge's clerk. 
 
 For. 
 A quarrel, ho, already ? What 's the matter ? 
 
 Gra. 
 
 About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
 That she did give to me ; whose posy was, 
 For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
 Upon a knife, " Love me, and leave me not." 
 
 Ner. 
 
 What talk you of the posy, or the value ? 
 You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
 That you would wear it till your hour of death. 
 And that it should lie with you in your grave.
 
 94 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths 
 You should have been respective, and have kept it 
 Gave it a judge's clerk ! but well I know 
 The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face 
 That had it. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
 Ner. 
 Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, 
 A kind of boy : a little scrubbed boy 
 No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ! 
 A prating boy, that begged it as a fee ; 
 I could not for my heart deny it him. 
 
 For. 
 
 You are to blame, I must be plain with you, 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift, 
 A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
 And riveted so with faith unto your flesh. 
 I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
 Never to part with it ; and here he stands : 
 I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, 
 Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
 That the world masters. Now in faith, Gratiano, 
 You gave your wife too unkind a cause of grief; 
 An 't were to me, I should be mad at it. 
 
 Bass. \Aside 
 
 Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, 
 And swear I lost the ring defending it.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 Gra. 
 
 My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begged it, and indeed 
 Deserved it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
 That took some pains, he begged mine ; 
 And neither man nor master would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 For. 
 
 \Yhat ring gave you, my lord ? 
 
 \ot that, I hope, which you received of me? 
 
 Bass. 
 
 If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 
 I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
 
 Hath not a ring upon it, it is gone. 
 
 For. 
 Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 
 When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
 
 You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 
 
 For. 
 
 If you had known the value of the ring, 
 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
 
 Or your own honour to retain the ring, 
 
 You would not then have parted with the ring. 
 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe : 
 
 I'll die for 't, but some woman had the ring.
 
 96 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, 
 
 No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 
 
 Even he that had held up the very life 
 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady ? 
 
 I was enforced to send it after him. 
 
 I was beset with shame and courtesy : 
 
 My honour would not let ingratitude 
 
 So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady, 
 
 And by these blessed candles of the night, 
 
 Had you been there, I think you would have begged 
 
 The ring of me, to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 For. 
 
 Let not that doctor e'er come near my house ; 
 Since he hath got the jewel that I loved, 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 I will become as liberal as you : 
 I'll not deny him anything I have. 
 
 Ant. 
 I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 
 
 For. 
 Sir, grieve not you : you are welcome, notwithstanding. 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
 And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine fair eyes, 
 Wherein I see myself, 
 
 For. 
 
 Mark you but that ! 
 
 In both my eyes he doubly sees himself; 
 In each eye, one. Swear by your double self, 
 And there "s an oath of credit.
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 97 
 
 Bass. 
 
 Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Ant. 
 
 I once did lend my body for his wealth, 
 Which but for him that had your husband's ring 
 Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 For. 
 
 Then you shall be his surety : give him this, 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant. 
 Here, Lord Bassanio : swear to keep this ring. 
 
 Bass. [Amazed. 
 
 By heaven ! it is the same I gave the doctor ! 
 
 For. 
 
 You are all amazed. 
 
 Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
 
 There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, 
 
 Nerissa, there, her clerk. Unseal this letter soon ; 
 
 There you shall find three of your argosies 
 
 Are richly come to harbour suddenly. 
 
 Bass. 
 Were you the doctor, and I knew you not?
 
 98 THE MERCHANT OK VENICE. 
 
 Gra. 
 Were you the clerk, and I knew you not ? 
 
 Por. 
 
 It is almost morning, 
 And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full : let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon inter'gatories,. 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. THE PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS. 
 
 "The Helots of Sparta, the Pariahs of India, the Ghiaours of Tur- 
 key, the Negroes of America, have suffered less than the Jews in 
 Christian Europe. This unhappy people have had to bewail their fate 
 during centuries of prejudice, not extinguished even in our times, 
 which renders the children responsible for the good or bad actions of 
 their parents. In the eyes of Christian nations this people was always 
 the same populace who demanded of Pilate the murder of God in His 
 mortality. Every Christian had against the Jew a personal grievance, 
 and retained a feeling of enmity against him on account of the crime 
 committed by Judas. The Israelite was thrust out from the pale of 
 humanity ; it was an act of piety to injure, molest, and ill-treat him. 
 Different governments, far from checking the popular prejudice, en- 
 couraged and sanctioned it. From the year 615 the Council of Paris 
 had declared the Jews to be incapable of performing any civil function ; 
 other councils had forbidden them to work for Christians ; royal edicts 
 had interdicted them the right to possess landed property. Thus 
 harassed by legislation, hunted away from trade, spurned from the 
 paths of industry, excommunicated from the fields of labor, the Jew 
 had to tax his ingenuity to be enabled to exist. He eluded by cunning 
 the code that proposed to starve him ; he converted all his property 
 into ready money and traded in specie ; he accumulated gold, monopo- 
 lized the sale of it, and obtained whatever price he asked for it he 
 became a usurer. This degrading commerce, to which the Christian 
 had forcibly reduced him, was used by him against the Christian, and 
 the overflowings of the cup of his despair were employed as the instru 
 ment of his revenge. The Christian had forbidden him to obtain an 
 honest livelihood ; he made, at the expense of the Christian, an in- 
 ordinate and unjust profit. The Christian would ruin him ; he enriched 
 himself by the ruin of the Christian. 
 
 99
 
 100 APPENDIX. 
 
 " But this very success was fatal to the Israelites. The opulence of 
 the infidels excited the cupidity of the faithful. Was a Catholic lord, 
 prince, or baron embarrassed in his finance, without having recourse to 
 the form of any legal process he seized some moneyed man from the 
 tribe, and exacted money from him by torture. Thus, in the year 1210, 
 John, King of England, borrowed ten thousand marks of a Hebrew, in 
 Bristol, by causing ten of his teeth to be extracted. The Jew was as a 
 princely and fertile farm that was well cultivated by the despot. Ac- 
 cording to Matthew Paris, this same John, being in want of ready 
 money, lent on hire for several years to his brother Richard all the 
 Jews on his estates, ut quos rex excoriaverat, comes evisceraret, so that, 
 after being fleeced by the king, they should be stripped of what was 
 left them by the earl ; it was but a circumstance of the most trifling 
 nature. In 1262 the lords revolted against Henry III, and only ob- 
 tained the support of the people by promising them the pillage of the 
 Jewish quarter in London. Three hundred houses were sacked and 
 seven hundred persons, men, women, and children, were assassinated. 
 The triumphant populace exercised during that year sovereign rights. 
 France was not less tender to the Jews than England. In order to 
 prevent their escaping confiscation by abjuration, St. Louis caused the 
 Synod of Melun to confirm the edict which confiscated to the benefit 
 of the seigneur the property of every converted Israelite. At the same 
 time, with atrocious contradiction, the pious king permitted, in Paris 
 and the provinces, the massacre of all the Israelites who refused to be 
 converted. In Brie, Touraine, Anjou, Poitou, and Maine two thousand 
 five hundred Jews were massacred. This took place during the Easter 
 week of the year of grace 1238 that is to say, if I am not mistaken, 
 three hundred and thirty-four years before Saint Bartholomew. One 
 thus sees that it is not only by date that Louis IX is a predecessor 
 of Charles IX. The Valois caused the Jews to be the victims of a 
 skilful process of periodical depredation ; every now and then they 
 were exiled to be plundered and then were recalled to be robbed. 
 The Catholic kings turned the reprobates to account as ingeniously as 
 the very Christian kings. They were dispossessed of their property, 
 then allowed again to enrich themselves, to be again despoiled. The 
 upright Torquemada put an end to this sanguinary system : he de- 
 manded of Ferdinand the perpetual banishment of all the Jews who 
 bad not abjured their faith at the expiration of four months. The
 
 APPENDIX. lot 
 
 Jews, informed of this, offered the king thirty thousand ducats for his 
 consent to allow them to remain. Ferdinand hesitated to sign the 
 decree, when the monk entered, crucirix in hand, exclaiming : 'Judas 
 Iscariot sold his God for thirty deniers ; you you would sell him for 
 thirty thousand !" The king signed, and according to Mariana's cal 
 culation, eight hundred thousand Hebrews were expatriated. What 
 became of them ? Seek for them in miser)', in distress, in epidemics, 
 in pestilence, in famine ; seek for them in the tempests of the ocean ; 
 seek for them from the lions of Atlas ; ask for them from the men of 
 Portugal . 
 
 " Decimated by massacre at Lisbon, hunted by the edict of Charles 
 VI from France, from England by the statute of Edward I, from Ger- 
 many hy the rescript of Maximilian I, the circumcised crept their way 
 to the north of Europe, to the furthest part of Bohemia, to Mecklen- 
 burg and Poland. Here and there, however, some liberal and sov- 
 ereign states admitted them : Metz, Nuremburg, Florence, and Venice. 
 Pontincial Rome, in permitting their sojourn, drew on them the 
 enormous bolt of the Ghetto. But even in these tolerant cities the 
 Israelites were compelled to wear the badge of infamy ; they were 
 obliged to be dressed in the degrading attire ordered by the Council of 
 Basle ; a rowel on the shoulder or the breast, and the yellow cap which 
 everywhere distinguished them for the hootings of the children and the 
 barkings of the dogs. For a moment the unfortunate race had a gleam 
 of hope : they thought that the Reformation would release them from 
 the anathema through which they were prostrated by Catholicism. 
 They requested permission to enter those German States that had 
 thrown off their allegiance to the Holy See. Luther opposed this. 
 The excommunicated excommunicated the accursed. They implored 
 of Queen Elizabeth their recall to England. Elizabeth refused, and 
 her refusal increased her popularity. Protestantism, instead of allaying 
 the prejudices then existing against the Jews, fanaticized them : 
 Protestants sought to prove their orthodoxy in exaggerating the horror 
 they entertained against the pretended murderers of Christ. Their 
 zealous credulity lent additional strength to the old stories accusing the 
 fews of poisoning rivers and fountains, of communicating leprosy, and of 
 sacrificing at their Passover children stolen from Christians. The poets 
 repeated in verse the calumnies that the preachers reiterated in prose. 
 The stage -boards of the theatre echoed the pulpits of the church. In
 
 102 APPENDIX. 
 
 1590 Christopher Marlowe caused the troop of the 'Cockpit' to per- 
 form a drama in which a certain Jew of Malta, called Barabbas (the 
 name is well chosen), poisons all the inmates of a convent in order 
 that he may assure the poisoning ol his daughter Abigail, who has been 
 recently converted. 
 
 ** * * * ****** 
 " In giving to the conduct of Shylock the motive that elevates heroes 
 patriotism in furnishing him with excuses not only for his personal 
 grief but for the secular troubles of an entire people, Shakespeare has 
 thereby amnestied the Jew. It is not Shylock who is impeached by 
 the judgment of Portia ; in reality that judgment condemns the law of 
 retaliation, that rigorous justice which is but a rigorous injustice, that 
 vindictive legislation which had been promulgated in all edicts of sov- 
 ereigns, and applied without mercy by all judicial constituted authori- 
 ties parliaments, special commissions, prevotal courts, assize courts, 
 star chambers ; it is directed against that system of reprisals which 
 torments, racks, quarters, hangs, decapitates, assassinates the assassin, 
 washes blood with blood, and punishes a fault by the commission of a 
 crime. The condemned is not the Jew, it is Judaism. Such, in fact, 
 is the actual import of the pronounced sentence. Shylock has gained 
 what is better than his cause he has gained the cause of an entire 
 people. He has caused the unknown rights of his race to be recog- 
 nized, and enabled them to prevail by the exemplary condemnation of 
 that exterminatory code which hitherto had kept them in abeyance." 
 
 VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 II. THE CHARACTER OF SHYLOCK. 
 
 " When heaven sends a prophet like Shakespeare to an ignorant 
 world, it commissions him not merely to teach us how to read. 
 Shakespeare's mission was neither to preach nor to teach ; and if ever 
 he did desire to act the schoolmaster, it was to the Christians and not 
 the Jews that he addressed the lesson of ' The Merchant of Venice.' 
 Due respect to Shylock' s Judaism ! a morality that despises all trivial 
 passions. But there is something grand and sublime in his nature, 
 which looks down with haughty scorn upon his meanness. Shylock is 
 an exalted Jew and an avenging angel. He has reached such a height 
 of sensibility that he is capable of doing a magnanimous deed not in
 
 APPENDIX. 103 
 
 the way of mere usury, to increase his gains, but for the benefit of man- 
 kind, lie desires to revenge his abused and down-trodden race upon 
 its tormentors, the Christians. We despise in Shylock the devil of 
 avarice ; but the distressed and suffering man we pity ; and we admire 
 and even love the avenger of inhuman persecution. * * * Who 
 can say that Shylock would really have executed his threat ! We do 
 not forget the sacriiice that he is willing to make to his revenge. 
 Shylock will give all, and more than all that profit which to the Jew 
 is more than possession for his revenge. He has trusted to the gods 
 of vengeance, to tke wild winds and the cruel sea, and they have not 
 deceived him. Nor must we be misled by Shylock' s saying that he 
 hates Antonio 
 
 " ' For that in low simplicity, 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice.' 
 
 Shylock did not hate Antonio for that. The Christian mercantile and 
 commercial world of Venice surely was not composed of only good and 
 noble Antonios ; and one man, be he ever so rich, cannot reduce the 
 value of money. No ; Shylock is a Jew : he feels a secret shame in 
 sacrificing money to a phantasy ; he wants to excuse his conduct to 
 himself and the excuse that he finds is couched in the words we 
 have quoted. He does not persecute the foe of usury in Antonio : 
 but the foe of his faith he persecutes, and in his feverish infatuation he 
 sacrifices wealth to an airy fancy. The actor who would personate 
 Shylock may herein find the key to the character. The blood-thirsty 
 hatred of the Jew should terrify us, as every mad fanaticism naturally 
 does ; but Shylock must not be so interpreted as to awaken disgust 
 and aversion, as does a loathsome bodily disease. Shylock's execrable 
 avarice, and the spasms into which self-interest hurls his soul, may 
 revolt us ; but the Jew must not herein be made ridiculous. In the 
 presence of a very demon it is no time for laughter. Now, to show us 
 the god in the demon, to pass through a desert of sin wherein, not far 
 distant, murmurs concealed a well-spring of love this, surely, is a 
 sufficiently hard and great task for the actor. Shakespeare, unlike 
 common men and common poets, who desire to make everything 
 pleasant to their feelings and conformable to their notions of art, does 
 not mingle elements like a chemist, representing clear characters,
 
 104 APPENDIX. 
 
 these lovely, those hateful, these attractive, those repulsive : this 
 Shakespeare never does. He sides with no party. He ascribes the 
 palm only to virtue. He lets his characters quarrel among themselves 
 and never mingles in the quarrel. He has explained the nature of the 
 Jew's hatred of the Christian and equally laid bare the springs of the 
 Christian's hatred of the Jew. Why should not Shylock hate Antonio 
 hate him the more for his very nobility ? Antonio is a good, noble, 
 generous man, but not to the Jew. Him he abuses at all times. 
 Even at the very moment of asking his aid he cannot conceal his con- 
 tempt for Shylock. The good, the noble Antonio, who is willing to 
 sacrifice everything upon the altar of friendship, cannot even speak a 
 kind word to the Jew. After all this, a scapegrace of a Christian runs 
 away with Shylock's daughter ; and she, intending to become a Chris- 
 tian, enters upon conversion by despising her father because he is a 
 Jew. Such injustice, such cruelty might well convert the nature of 
 a dove into that of a dragon. In his hatred of the Christian Shylock 
 revenges upon himself insulted virtue He throws away money to 
 avenge his race, and he learns and teaches that gold is not, as the 
 Jews would have it, the monarch of the world, but that love is mightier 
 than avarice, even in a Jew. 
 
 " Whenever I read Shakespeare it grieves me that he does not live 
 in our age, to make it clear to us. Events seem unreal, when the 
 great master is wanting, to state them to us in a great manner. A 
 character which that great poet has not described to us, because it was 
 unknown to him, is like a book without a title, that we must read 
 before we can know its subject. It often happens that great periods 
 have no great historians, nor poets, nor artists, capable of worthily 
 describing or representing them. The great events are too grand, too 
 restless, or too busy to pose quietly before common artists. These can 
 but briefly snatch their outlines, or must wait till the time be dead, in 
 order to make a lifeless cast. But, before an artist like Shakespeare, 
 times stand still, well knowing that nature owes its immortality to art. 
 How would Shakespeare have described our Shylocks, the great 
 Christian Shylocks, with badges of their order upon their gaberdines ? 
 How would he have described those paper-flying Shylocks, without 
 gaberdines, who hold in notes the flesh and blood of nations, and who 
 do not make paper out of rags but rags out of paper? How would he 
 have portrayed those profligates to whom God is a minister of finance,
 
 APPENDIX. IOC 
 
 who said, ' Be created,' and lo ! there was a world of paper; Adam 
 the first banker ; Paradise a blessed place of State papers ; the fall of 
 man the first fall of stocks ; the day of judgment an ultimatum ? A 
 Shakespeare would have unveiled the mysterious ways of these great 
 brokers of exchange between nature and art, who stake the gold of 
 the one against the paper of the other. What did that Venetian Shy- 
 lock do ! He gave three thousand ducats for a poor pound of Christian 
 flesh. That, at least, was dearly bought. But our Shylocks demand, 
 for one small eighth, entire Hellas." 
 
 LUDWIG BCERNE. 
 
 III. MACKLIN' s RESTORATION OF SHYLOCK. 
 
 " Macklin, being freed from all pecuniary engagements with his 
 manager, found himself more at liberty to look after the theatrical 
 concerns of the company, which at this time Fleetwood entirely com- 
 mitted to his care. In this pursuit he did not neglect his own reputa- 
 tion. He very properly considered he was then in a situation which, 
 by assiduity and enterprise, might add something to his rising fame as 
 an actor, which at no other time of his life before he had such an 
 opportunity of attempting, and that ' there was no lucky minute after 
 the first opportunity.' He therefore cast about in his mind what new 
 part he should adopt, and to this purpose carefully looked over the 
 stock list, as well as several obsolete plays, to find out one which he 
 thought appropriate to his own powers and conception. 
 
 " Chance presented ' The Merchant of Venice ' to his notice, which, 
 however, strange now to conceive, had laid upon the shelf since the 
 year 1701, to make room for an alteration from the same play, by 'Lord 
 Lansdowne, called ' The Jew of Venice,' in which the celebrated 
 Dogget performed the Jew almost in the style of broad farce. Macklin 
 saw this part with other eyes, and very much to the credit of his taste 
 and understanding, as well as a proper estimation of his own powers, 
 he found he could rebuild a reputation by reviving the original of 
 Shakespeare, and playing the character of Shylock in a different man- 
 ner. The attempt was arduous and subject to many miscarriages, and 
 in particular to public prejudice ; but a consciousness of being right 
 will generally give great confidence. Macklin felt this consciousness, 
 and was determined on the trial.
 
 106 APPENDIX. 
 
 "As soon as resolved he communicated his design to the manager, 
 who gave his consent to bringing it out merely as a revival piece, which 
 might bring money to the treasury. The play was therefore announced 
 to be in preparation, and Macklin, who always loved the character of a 
 Theatrical Drill Sergeant, now entered into it with all his heart and 
 mind, by casting the parts himself, ordering frequent rehearsals, etc., 
 etc. ; but when he came to affix to himself the character of Shylock 
 and intimated his design to play it seriously, the laugh was universal. 
 His best friends shook their heads at the attempt, whilst his rivals 
 chuckled in secret, and flattered him with ideas of success, the surer to 
 work out his destruction. 
 
 " His keen observation and suspicious temper clearly saw the train 
 that was laying for him, which he not only seemingly overlooked, but 
 so far assisted that at every rehearsal, whilst he enjoined the rest of the 
 performers to do their best, he himself played both under his voice and 
 general powers, carefully reserving his fire till the night of representa- 
 tion. His fellow performers were by his conduct completely trapped, 
 insomuch that many of them threw off all reserve, and publicly said, 
 ' that this hot-headed, conceited Irishman, who had got some little 
 reputation in a few parts, had now availed himself of the manager's 
 favor to bring himself and the Theatre into disgrace.' 
 
 " Fleetwood heard this, and seriously applied to Macklin to give up 
 the part ; but the latter was too conscious of his own excellence to lose 
 such an opportunity. He frankly told the manager that he was deceiv- 
 ing a set of men who envied him, but that he would pledge his life on 
 the success of the play, and that in the end it would be highly service- 
 able to them both. 
 
 "The long-expected night at last arrived [January II, 1741], and 
 the house was crowded from top to bottom with the first company in 
 town. The two front rows of the pit, as usual, were full of critics, ' Who, 
 sir ' (said the veteran), ' I eyed through the slit of the curtain, and was 
 glad to see there, as I wished in such a cause to be tried by a special 
 jury. When I made my appearance in the green-room, dressed for the 
 part, with my red hat on my head, my piqued beard, loose black gown, 
 etc., and with a confidence which I never before assumed, the per- 
 formers all stared at one another, and evidently with a stare of dis- 
 appointment. Well, sir, hitherto all was right till the last bell rung 
 then, I confess, my heart began to beat a little : however, I mustered
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 107 
 
 up all the courage I could, and, recommending my cause to Providence, 
 threw myself boldly on the stage, and was received by one of the 
 loudest thunders of applause I ever before experienced. 
 
 " ' The opening scenes being rather tame and level, I could not 
 expect much applause ; but I found myself well listened to I could 
 hear distinctly in the pit the words, " Very well very well, indeed. 
 This man seems to know what he is about," etc., etc. These enco- 
 miums warmed me, but did not overset me. I knew where I should 
 have the pull, which was in the third act, and reserved myself accord- 
 ingly. At this period I threw out all my fire, and as the contrasted 
 passions of joy for the merchant's losses and grief for the elopement of 
 Jessica open a fine field for an actor's powers, I had the good fortune to 
 please beyond my warmest expectations. The whole house was in an 
 uproar of applause, and I was obliged to pause between the speeches 
 to give it vent, so as to be heard. When I went behind the scenes 
 after this act, the Manager met me and complimented me very highly 
 on my performance, and significantly added : ' ' Macklin, you was right 
 at last." My brethren in the green-room joined in his eulogium, but 
 with different views. He was thinking of the increase of his treasury, 
 they only for saving appearances, wishing at the same time that I had 
 broken my neck in the attempt. The trial scene wound up the fulness 
 of my reputation ; here I was well listened to, and here I made such a 
 silent yet forcible impression on my audience that I retired from this 
 great attempt most perfectly satisfied. 
 
 " 'On my return to the green-room, after the play was over, it was 
 crowded with nobility and critics, who all complimented me in the 
 warmest and unbounded manner, and the situation I felt myself in, I 
 must confess, was one of the most flattering and intoxicating of my 
 whole life. No money no title could purchase what I felt. And let 
 no man tell me after this what fame will not inspire a man to do, and 
 how far the attainment of it will not remunerate his greatest labors. 
 By G d, sir, although I was not worth fifty pounds in the world at 
 that time, yet, let me tell you, I was Charles the Great for that night.' 
 
 "A few days afterwards Macklin received an invitation from Lord 
 Bolingbroke to dine with him at Battersea. He attended the rendez- 
 vous, and there found Pope and a select party, who complimented him 
 very highly on the part of Shylock, and questioned him about many 
 little particulars relative to his getting up the play, etc. Pope particu-
 
 I08 APPENDIX. 
 
 larly asked him why he wore a red hat, and he answered, because he 
 had read that Jews in Italy, particularly in Venice, wore hats of that 
 color. 'And pray, Mr. Macklin,' said Pope, 'do players in general 
 take such pains?' ' I do not know, sir, that they do ; but as I had 
 staked my reputation on the character, I was determined to spare no 
 trouble in getting at the best information. Pope nodded, and said, ' It 
 was very laudable.' 
 
 " Macklin took this play for his benefit on the nineteenth night, and 
 had an overflowing audience. Several noblemen of the first distinction 
 took what is commonly called gold tickets, and Lord Bolingbroke made 
 him a present of twenty guineas. 
 
 " The play had a successful run through the whole of the season, 
 and for many seasons afterwards ; it established his reputation as an 
 actor, and not a little added to his discernment as a critic, in reviving 
 a piece which, perhaps, except for his research, might have been lost 
 
 to the stage forever." 
 
 COOKE'S LIFE OF MACKLIN. 
 
 IV. COSTUME FOR "THE MERCHANT OF VENICE." 
 
 The dresses suitable to be worn in representing " The Merchant of 
 Venice" are Venetian, of the time of Shakespeare. The garments 
 of the Duke of Venice, in the sixteenth century, according to Caesar 
 Vecellio, were usually composed of cloth of silver, cloth of gold, and 
 crimson velvet. The cap, robe, and mantle were of the same color. 
 On days sacred to the Holy Virgin the Duke appeared in white. " He 
 hath his head covered with a thin coif," says an old writer, "and on 
 his forehead he wears a crimson kind of mitre, with a gold border, and 
 behind it turns up in form of a horn ; on his shoulders he carries 
 ermine skins, to the middle ; on his feet he wears embroidered san- 
 dals, tied with gold buttons, and about his middle a most rich belt, 
 embroidered with costly jewels." Vecellio says that the Duke wore, 
 not sandals, but slippers. The three chiefs of the Council of Ten 
 wore red gowns, with long sleeves, either of cloth, camlet, or damask, 
 according to the weather, with a flap of the same color over their left 
 shoulders ; also red stockings and slippers. The rest of the Ten wore 
 black camlet gowns with long sleeves. The young nobles in general 
 wore gowns of black cloth faced with black taffeta. Little black caps
 
 APPENDIX. 109 
 
 of felt were worn, without brims. The doublet cut to fit closely to 
 the body was made of rich black taffeta or satin, and trimmed with 
 costly lace. The Knights of St. Mark wore red apparel under their 
 black gowns. "Young lovers," says Vecellio, "wear generally a 
 doublet and breeches of satin, tabby, or other silk, cut or slashed, in 
 the form of crosses or stars, through which slashes is seen the lining, 
 of colored taffeta ; gold buttons, a lace ruff, a bonnet of rich velvet or 
 silk, with an ornamental band, a silk cloak, and silk stockings, Span- 
 ish morocco shoes, a flower in one hand and their gloves and handker- 
 chief in the other." This habit was commonly worn by young 
 noblemen previous to the time in their eighteenth or twentieth year 
 when they put on the gown with sleeves, called "acomito." In 
 the costume of the ladies of Venice a distinguishing peculiarity was 
 the veil, which was worn very long. Wives and widows wore black 
 veils, and this custom was imitated by courtesans. Wives, however, 
 also wore white veils edged with lace. Maids wore thin silk veils, 
 either white or yellowish. The veils of the Jewish women were 
 yellow, but in other respects their costume was not exceptional. All 
 Italian women in this period wore train dresses, of satin, silk, or 
 other material, with high, pointed corsage, ruff, long puffed sleeves, 
 and embroidered stomacher. The dress of a doctor of laws consisted 
 of an upper robe of black damask cloth, velvet, or silk, an under robe 
 of black silk, with a silk sash, the ends of the sash hanging down to 
 the middle of the leg, stockings of black cloth or velvet, and a cap 
 of velvet or silk. The Jews, according to Vecellio, wore dresses 
 identical with those of the Venetians, but were distinguished by the 
 yellow bonnet or cap the badge of suffrance which they were by 
 law enjoined to carry as a mark of their disgraced condition. It is 
 not known that the "Jewish gaberdine" differed from the Venetian 
 gown. Strict accuracy in dressing this play as in some other pieces 
 might lead to comical results. A tasteful allowance in these matters 
 is not only allowable but necessary. 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER.
 
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