From f4cff31a19bb241310a30943ef1a96237f89527d Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: s444379 Date: Sun, 22 Nov 2020 13:37:26 +0100 Subject: [PATCH] fix a01 --- TaskA01/Makefile | 0 TaskA01/description.txt | 6 + TaskA01/run | 13 + TaskA01/shakespeare.exp | 106 + TaskA01/shakespeare.in | 169442 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ TaskA01/simple.exp | 2 + TaskA01/simple.in | 3 + 7 files changed, 169572 insertions(+) create mode 100644 TaskA01/Makefile create mode 100644 TaskA01/description.txt create mode 100644 TaskA01/run create mode 100644 TaskA01/shakespeare.exp create mode 100644 TaskA01/shakespeare.in create mode 100644 TaskA01/simple.exp create mode 100644 TaskA01/simple.in diff --git a/TaskA01/Makefile b/TaskA01/Makefile new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e69de29 diff --git a/TaskA01/description.txt b/TaskA01/description.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8229897 --- /dev/null +++ b/TaskA01/description.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ +Write a program to find lines containing the word "Hamlet". +Do not use regular expressions, just the simplest capabilities +of a programming language. + +POINTS: 2 +DEADLINE: 2020-11-08 23:59:59 diff --git a/TaskA01/run b/TaskA01/run new file mode 100644 index 0000000..abcb434 --- /dev/null +++ b/TaskA01/run @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +#!/usr/bin/python3 + +import sys + +def line_c_h(line): + if 'Hamlet' in line: + return True + else: + return False + +for line in sys.stdin: + if line_c_h(line): + print(line, end='') diff --git a/TaskA01/shakespeare.exp b/TaskA01/shakespeare.exp new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69f6f7d --- /dev/null +++ b/TaskA01/shakespeare.exp @@ -0,0 +1,106 @@ +CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark, Hamlet’s uncle. +The GHOST of the late king, Hamlet’s father. +GERTRUDE, the Queen, Hamlet’s mother, now wife of Claudius. +HORATIO, Friend to Hamlet. +Dar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet, +His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, +Unto young Hamlet; for upon my life, + Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, +Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death +But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son— +Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, +’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, +Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. +This gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] +For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, +So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. +Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, +As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. + Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus. +That I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee Hamlet, + [_Ghost beckons Hamlet._] + [_Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet._] + Enter Ghost and Hamlet. +Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear. +O Hamlet, what a falling off was there, +Adieu, adieu, adieu. Hamlet, remember me. +[_Within._] Lord Hamlet. +And what so poor a man as Hamlet is +Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d, +Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it, +And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. +The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy. +Came this from Hamlet to her? +‘Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star. + Enter Hamlet, reading. +How does my good Lord Hamlet? +You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is. +For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, +Of Hamlet’s wildness: so shall I hope your virtues + Enter Hamlet. +You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said, + Enter Hamlet and certain Players. +How fares our cousin Hamlet? +I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. +Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio._] + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + Enter Hamlet. + Enter Hamlet. +Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. +Why, how now, Hamlet? +O Hamlet, speak no more. +No more, sweet Hamlet. +Speak to her, Hamlet. +O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. + [_Exit Hamlet dragging out Polonius._] +What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? +Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, + Enter Hamlet. +[_Within._] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! +What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. + Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. +Now, Hamlet, where’s Polonius? +Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,— +Ay, Hamlet. +Thy loving father, Hamlet. +The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; + Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern &c. + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] +I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. +Letters, my lord, from Hamlet. +From Hamlet! Who brought them? +’Tis Hamlet’s character. ’Naked!’ +And that in Hamlet’s hearing, for a quality +Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy +Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake +Hamlet return’d shall know you are come home: + Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. +Hamlet o’ercame Fortinbras. +that young Hamlet was born,—he that is mad, and sent into England. +I hop’d thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife; +Hamlet the Dane. +Hamlet! Hamlet! + Enter Hamlet and Horatio. + [_Hamlet moves him to put on his hat._] +Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. + [_The King puts Laertes’s hand into Hamlet’s._] +Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet. +If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away, +Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. +Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d; +His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy. +Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, +If Hamlet give the first or second hit, +The King shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath, +‘Now the King drinks to Hamlet.’ Come, begin. +Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; +Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows. +The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. + [_Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and + Hamlet wounds Laertes._] +No, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! +It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain. +Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. +Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage, diff --git a/TaskA01/shakespeare.in b/TaskA01/shakespeare.in new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5fcb58 --- /dev/null +++ b/TaskA01/shakespeare.in @@ -0,0 +1,169442 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, by William Shakespeare + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll +have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using +this ebook. + + +Title: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare + +Author: William Shakespeare + +Release Date: January 1994 [EBook #100] +Last Updated: August 6, 2020 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE *** + + + + +The Complete Works of William Shakespeare + + + +by William Shakespeare + + + + + Contents + + + + THE SONNETS + + ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL + + THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA + + AS YOU LIKE IT + + THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + + THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS + + CYMBELINE + + THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + + THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH + + THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH + + THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + + THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + + KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + + KING JOHN + + THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR + + THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR + + LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST + + THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH + + MEASURE FOR MEASURE + + THE MERCHANT OF VENICE + + THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR + + A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM + + MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING + + THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, MOOR OF VENICE + + PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE + + KING RICHARD THE SECOND + + KING RICHARD THE THIRD + + THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET + + THE TAMING OF THE SHREW + + THE TEMPEST + + THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS + + THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS + + THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA + + TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL + + THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA + + THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN + + THE WINTER’S TALE + + A LOVER’S COMPLAINT + + THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM + + THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE + + THE RAPE OF LUCRECE + + VENUS AND ADONIS + + + + + + +THE SONNETS + + 1 + +From fairest creatures we desire increase, +That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, +But as the riper should by time decease, +His tender heir might bear his memory: +But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, +Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel, +Making a famine where abundance lies, +Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: +Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament, +And only herald to the gaudy spring, +Within thine own bud buriest thy content, +And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding: + Pity the world, or else this glutton be, + To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee. + + + 2 + +When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, +And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, +Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now, +Will be a tattered weed of small worth held: +Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, +Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; +To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, +Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. +How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use, +If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine +Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’ +Proving his beauty by succession thine. + This were to be new made when thou art old, + And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold. + + + 3 + +Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, +Now is the time that face should form another, +Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, +Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. +For where is she so fair whose uneared womb +Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? +Or who is he so fond will be the tomb +Of his self-love to stop posterity? +Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee +Calls back the lovely April of her prime, +So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, +Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. + But if thou live remembered not to be, + Die single and thine image dies with thee. + + + 4 + +Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, +Upon thy self thy beauty’s legacy? +Nature’s bequest gives nothing but doth lend, +And being frank she lends to those are free: +Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, +The bounteous largess given thee to give? +Profitless usurer why dost thou use +So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? +For having traffic with thy self alone, +Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive, +Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, +What acceptable audit canst thou leave? + Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, + Which used lives th’ executor to be. + + + 5 + +Those hours that with gentle work did frame +The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell +Will play the tyrants to the very same, +And that unfair which fairly doth excel: +For never-resting time leads summer on +To hideous winter and confounds him there, +Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, +Beauty o’er-snowed and bareness every where: +Then were not summer’s distillation left +A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, +Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft, +Nor it nor no remembrance what it was. + But flowers distilled though they with winter meet, + Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet. + + + 6 + +Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface, +In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled: +Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place, +With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed: +That use is not forbidden usury, +Which happies those that pay the willing loan; +That’s for thy self to breed another thee, +Or ten times happier be it ten for one, +Ten times thy self were happier than thou art, +If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: +Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, +Leaving thee living in posterity? + Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair, + To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir. + + + 7 + +Lo in the orient when the gracious light +Lifts up his burning head, each under eye +Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, +Serving with looks his sacred majesty, +And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, +Resembling strong youth in his middle age, +Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, +Attending on his golden pilgrimage: +But when from highmost pitch with weary car, +Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, +The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are +From his low tract and look another way: + So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon: + Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. + + + 8 + +Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? +Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: +Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly, +Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy? +If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, +By unions married do offend thine ear, +They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds +In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear: +Mark how one string sweet husband to another, +Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; +Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, +Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: + Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, + Sings this to thee, ‘Thou single wilt prove none’. + + + 9 + +Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye, +That thou consum’st thy self in single life? +Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, +The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, +The world will be thy widow and still weep, +That thou no form of thee hast left behind, +When every private widow well may keep, +By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind: +Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend +Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; +But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end, +And kept unused the user so destroys it: + No love toward others in that bosom sits + That on himself such murd’rous shame commits. + + + 10 + +For shame deny that thou bear’st love to any +Who for thy self art so unprovident. +Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, +But that thou none lov’st is most evident: +For thou art so possessed with murd’rous hate, +That ’gainst thy self thou stick’st not to conspire, +Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate +Which to repair should be thy chief desire: +O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, +Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? +Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, +Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove, + Make thee another self for love of me, + That beauty still may live in thine or thee. + + + 11 + +As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow’st, +In one of thine, from that which thou departest, +And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st, +Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest, +Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, +Without this folly, age, and cold decay, +If all were minded so, the times should cease, +And threescore year would make the world away: +Let those whom nature hath not made for store, +Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: +Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more; +Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: + She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, + Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. + + + 12 + +When I do count the clock that tells the time, +And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, +When I behold the violet past prime, +And sable curls all silvered o’er with white: +When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, +Which erst from heat did canopy the herd +And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves +Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: +Then of thy beauty do I question make +That thou among the wastes of time must go, +Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, +And die as fast as they see others grow, + And nothing ’gainst Time’s scythe can make defence + Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence. + + + 13 + +O that you were your self, but love you are +No longer yours, than you your self here live, +Against this coming end you should prepare, +And your sweet semblance to some other give. +So should that beauty which you hold in lease +Find no determination, then you were +Your self again after your self’s decease, +When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. +Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, +Which husbandry in honour might uphold, +Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day +And barren rage of death’s eternal cold? + O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know, + You had a father, let your son say so. + + + 14 + +Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, +And yet methinks I have astronomy, +But not to tell of good, or evil luck, +Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality, +Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell; +Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, +Or say with princes if it shall go well +By oft predict that I in heaven find. +But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, +And constant stars in them I read such art +As truth and beauty shall together thrive +If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert: + Or else of thee this I prognosticate, + Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date. + + + 15 + +When I consider every thing that grows +Holds in perfection but a little moment. +That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows +Whereon the stars in secret influence comment. +When I perceive that men as plants increase, +Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky: +Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, +And wear their brave state out of memory. +Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, +Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, +Where wasteful time debateth with decay +To change your day of youth to sullied night, + And all in war with Time for love of you, + As he takes from you, I engraft you new. + + + 16 + +But wherefore do not you a mightier way +Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time? +And fortify your self in your decay +With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? +Now stand you on the top of happy hours, +And many maiden gardens yet unset, +With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, +Much liker than your painted counterfeit: +So should the lines of life that life repair +Which this (Time’s pencil) or my pupil pen +Neither in inward worth nor outward fair +Can make you live your self in eyes of men. + To give away your self, keeps your self still, + And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill. + + + 17 + +Who will believe my verse in time to come +If it were filled with your most high deserts? +Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb +Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: +If I could write the beauty of your eyes, +And in fresh numbers number all your graces, +The age to come would say this poet lies, +Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces. +So should my papers (yellowed with their age) +Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue, +And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage, +And stretched metre of an antique song. + But were some child of yours alive that time, + You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme. + + + 18 + +Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? +Thou art more lovely and more temperate: +Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, +And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: +Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, +And often is his gold complexion dimmed, +And every fair from fair sometime declines, +By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed: +But thy eternal summer shall not fade, +Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, +Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, +When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st, + So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, + So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + + 19 + +Devouring Time blunt thou the lion’s paws, +And make the earth devour her own sweet brood, +Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws, +And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood, +Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st, +And do whate’er thou wilt swift-footed Time +To the wide world and all her fading sweets: +But I forbid thee one most heinous crime, +O carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow, +Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen, +Him in thy course untainted do allow, +For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men. + Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, + My love shall in my verse ever live young. + + + 20 + +A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted, +Hast thou the master mistress of my passion, +A woman’s gentle heart but not acquainted +With shifting change as is false women’s fashion, +An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling: +Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth, +A man in hue all hues in his controlling, +Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth. +And for a woman wert thou first created, +Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, +And by addition me of thee defeated, +By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. + But since she pricked thee out for women’s pleasure, + Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure. + + + 21 + +So is it not with me as with that muse, +Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, +Who heaven it self for ornament doth use, +And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, +Making a couplement of proud compare +With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems: +With April’s first-born flowers and all things rare, +That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems. +O let me true in love but truly write, +And then believe me, my love is as fair, +As any mother’s child, though not so bright +As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air: + Let them say more that like of hearsay well, + I will not praise that purpose not to sell. + + + 22 + +My glass shall not persuade me I am old, +So long as youth and thou are of one date, +But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, +Then look I death my days should expiate. +For all that beauty that doth cover thee, +Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, +Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me, +How can I then be elder than thou art? +O therefore love be of thyself so wary, +As I not for my self, but for thee will, +Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary +As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. + Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain, + Thou gav’st me thine not to give back again. + + + 23 + +As an unperfect actor on the stage, +Who with his fear is put beside his part, +Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, +Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart; +So I for fear of trust, forget to say, +The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, +And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, +O’ercharged with burthen of mine own love’s might: +O let my looks be then the eloquence, +And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, +Who plead for love, and look for recompense, +More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. + O learn to read what silent love hath writ, + To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit. + + + 24 + +Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled, +Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart, +My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, +And perspective it is best painter’s art. +For through the painter must you see his skill, +To find where your true image pictured lies, +Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still, +That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes: +Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done, +Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me +Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun +Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; + Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, + They draw but what they see, know not the heart. + + + 25 + +Let those who are in favour with their stars, +Of public honour and proud titles boast, +Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars +Unlooked for joy in that I honour most; +Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread, +But as the marigold at the sun’s eye, +And in themselves their pride lies buried, +For at a frown they in their glory die. +The painful warrior famoused for fight, +After a thousand victories once foiled, +Is from the book of honour razed quite, +And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: + Then happy I that love and am beloved + Where I may not remove nor be removed. + + + 26 + +Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage +Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit; +To thee I send this written embassage +To witness duty, not to show my wit. +Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine +May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it; +But that I hope some good conceit of thine +In thy soul’s thought (all naked) will bestow it: +Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, +Points on me graciously with fair aspect, +And puts apparel on my tattered loving, +To show me worthy of thy sweet respect, + Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, + Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. + + + 27 + +Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, +The dear respose for limbs with travel tired, +But then begins a journey in my head +To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired. +For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) +Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, +And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, +Looking on darkness which the blind do see. +Save that my soul’s imaginary sight +Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, +Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night) +Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. + Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, + For thee, and for my self, no quiet find. + + + 28 + +How can I then return in happy plight +That am debarred the benefit of rest? +When day’s oppression is not eased by night, +But day by night and night by day oppressed. +And each (though enemies to either’s reign) +Do in consent shake hands to torture me, +The one by toil, the other to complain +How far I toil, still farther off from thee. +I tell the day to please him thou art bright, +And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: +So flatter I the swart-complexioned night, +When sparkling stars twire not thou gild’st the even. + But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, + And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger + + + 29 + +When in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes, +I all alone beweep my outcast state, +And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, +And look upon my self and curse my fate, +Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, +Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, +Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope, +With what I most enjoy contented least, +Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, +Haply I think on thee, and then my state, +(Like to the lark at break of day arising +From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate, + For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, + That then I scorn to change my state with kings. + + + 30 + +When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, +I summon up remembrance of things past, +I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, +And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste: +Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow) +For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, +And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe, +And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight. +Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, +And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er +The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, +Which I new pay as if not paid before. + But if the while I think on thee (dear friend) + All losses are restored, and sorrows end. + + + 31 + +Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, +Which I by lacking have supposed dead, +And there reigns love and all love’s loving parts, +And all those friends which I thought buried. +How many a holy and obsequious tear +Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye, +As interest of the dead, which now appear, +But things removed that hidden in thee lie. +Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, +Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, +Who all their parts of me to thee did give, +That due of many, now is thine alone. + Their images I loved, I view in thee, + And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. + + + 32 + +If thou survive my well-contented day, +When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover +And shalt by fortune once more re-survey +These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover: +Compare them with the bett’ring of the time, +And though they be outstripped by every pen, +Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, +Exceeded by the height of happier men. +O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought, +’Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age, +A dearer birth than this his love had brought +To march in ranks of better equipage: + But since he died and poets better prove, + Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love’. + + + 33 + +Full many a glorious morning have I seen, +Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, +Kissing with golden face the meadows green; +Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy: +Anon permit the basest clouds to ride, +With ugly rack on his celestial face, +And from the forlorn world his visage hide +Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: +Even so my sun one early morn did shine, +With all triumphant splendour on my brow, +But out alack, he was but one hour mine, +The region cloud hath masked him from me now. + Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth, + Suns of the world may stain, when heaven’s sun staineth. + + + 34 + +Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, +And make me travel forth without my cloak, +To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way, +Hiding thy brav’ry in their rotten smoke? +’Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, +To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, +For no man well of such a salve can speak, +That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: +Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief, +Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss, +Th’ offender’s sorrow lends but weak relief +To him that bears the strong offence’s cross. + Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, + And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. + + + 35 + +No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, +Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, +Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, +And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. +All men make faults, and even I in this, +Authorizing thy trespass with compare, +My self corrupting salving thy amiss, +Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: +For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, +Thy adverse party is thy advocate, +And ’gainst my self a lawful plea commence: +Such civil war is in my love and hate, + That I an accessary needs must be, + To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. + + + 36 + +Let me confess that we two must be twain, +Although our undivided loves are one: +So shall those blots that do with me remain, +Without thy help, by me be borne alone. +In our two loves there is but one respect, +Though in our lives a separable spite, +Which though it alter not love’s sole effect, +Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight. +I may not evermore acknowledge thee, +Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, +Nor thou with public kindness honour me, +Unless thou take that honour from thy name: + But do not so, I love thee in such sort, + As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. + + + 37 + +As a decrepit father takes delight, +To see his active child do deeds of youth, +So I, made lame by Fortune’s dearest spite +Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. +For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, +Or any of these all, or all, or more +Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, +I make my love engrafted to this store: +So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, +Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, +That I in thy abundance am sufficed, +And by a part of all thy glory live: + Look what is best, that best I wish in thee, + This wish I have, then ten times happy me. + + + 38 + +How can my muse want subject to invent +While thou dost breathe that pour’st into my verse, +Thine own sweet argument, too excellent, +For every vulgar paper to rehearse? +O give thy self the thanks if aught in me, +Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, +For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, +When thou thy self dost give invention light? +Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth +Than those old nine which rhymers invocate, +And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth +Eternal numbers to outlive long date. + If my slight muse do please these curious days, + The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. + + + 39 + +O how thy worth with manners may I sing, +When thou art all the better part of me? +What can mine own praise to mine own self bring: +And what is’t but mine own when I praise thee? +Even for this, let us divided live, +And our dear love lose name of single one, +That by this separation I may give: +That due to thee which thou deserv’st alone: +O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove, +Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, +To entertain the time with thoughts of love, +Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive. + And that thou teachest how to make one twain, + By praising him here who doth hence remain. + + + 40 + +Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all, +What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? +No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, +All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more: +Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, +I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest, +But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest +By wilful taste of what thy self refusest. +I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief +Although thou steal thee all my poverty: +And yet love knows it is a greater grief +To bear greater wrong, than hate’s known injury. + Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, + Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. + + + 41 + +Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, +When I am sometime absent from thy heart, +Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, +For still temptation follows where thou art. +Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, +Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed. +And when a woman woos, what woman’s son, +Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? +Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, +And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth, +Who lead thee in their riot even there +Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth: + Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, + Thine by thy beauty being false to me. + + + 42 + +That thou hast her it is not all my grief, +And yet it may be said I loved her dearly, +That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, +A loss in love that touches me more nearly. +Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye, +Thou dost love her, because thou know’st I love her, +And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, +Suff’ring my friend for my sake to approve her. +If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain, +And losing her, my friend hath found that loss, +Both find each other, and I lose both twain, +And both for my sake lay on me this cross, + But here’s the joy, my friend and I are one, + Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone. + + + 43 + +When most I wink then do mine eyes best see, +For all the day they view things unrespected, +But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, +And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. +Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright +How would thy shadow’s form, form happy show, +To the clear day with thy much clearer light, +When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! +How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made, +By looking on thee in the living day, +When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade, +Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! + All days are nights to see till I see thee, + And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. + + + 44 + +If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, +Injurious distance should not stop my way, +For then despite of space I would be brought, +From limits far remote, where thou dost stay, +No matter then although my foot did stand +Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, +For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, +As soon as think the place where he would be. +But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought +To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, +But that so much of earth and water wrought, +I must attend, time’s leisure with my moan. + Receiving nought by elements so slow, + But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe. + + + 45 + +The other two, slight air, and purging fire, +Are both with thee, wherever I abide, +The first my thought, the other my desire, +These present-absent with swift motion slide. +For when these quicker elements are gone +In tender embassy of love to thee, +My life being made of four, with two alone, +Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy. +Until life’s composition be recured, +By those swift messengers returned from thee, +Who even but now come back again assured, +Of thy fair health, recounting it to me. + This told, I joy, but then no longer glad, + I send them back again and straight grow sad. + + + 46 + +Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, +How to divide the conquest of thy sight, +Mine eye, my heart thy picture’s sight would bar, +My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right, +My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, +(A closet never pierced with crystal eyes) +But the defendant doth that plea deny, +And says in him thy fair appearance lies. +To side this title is impanelled +A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, +And by their verdict is determined +The clear eye’s moiety, and the dear heart’s part. + As thus, mine eye’s due is thy outward part, + And my heart’s right, thy inward love of heart. + + + 47 + +Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, +And each doth good turns now unto the other, +When that mine eye is famished for a look, +Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother; +With my love’s picture then my eye doth feast, +And to the painted banquet bids my heart: +Another time mine eye is my heart’s guest, +And in his thoughts of love doth share a part. +So either by thy picture or my love, +Thy self away, art present still with me, +For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, +And I am still with them, and they with thee. + Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight + Awakes my heart, to heart’s and eye’s delight. + + + 48 + +How careful was I when I took my way, +Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, +That to my use it might unused stay +From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! +But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, +Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, +Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, +Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. +Thee have I not locked up in any chest, +Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, +Within the gentle closure of my breast, +From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part, + And even thence thou wilt be stol’n I fear, + For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. + + + 49 + +Against that time (if ever that time come) +When I shall see thee frown on my defects, +When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, +Called to that audit by advised respects, +Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, +And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, +When love converted from the thing it was +Shall reasons find of settled gravity; +Against that time do I ensconce me here +Within the knowledge of mine own desert, +And this my hand, against my self uprear, +To guard the lawful reasons on thy part, + To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws, + Since why to love, I can allege no cause. + + + 50 + +How heavy do I journey on the way, +When what I seek (my weary travel’s end) +Doth teach that case and that repose to say +’Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.’ +The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, +Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, +As if by some instinct the wretch did know +His rider loved not speed being made from thee: +The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, +That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, +Which heavily he answers with a groan, +More sharp to me than spurring to his side, + For that same groan doth put this in my mind, + My grief lies onward and my joy behind. + + + 51 + +Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, +Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, +From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? +Till I return of posting is no need. +O what excuse will my poor beast then find, +When swift extremity can seem but slow? +Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, +In winged speed no motion shall I know, +Then can no horse with my desire keep pace, +Therefore desire (of perfect’st love being made) +Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race, +But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade, + Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, + Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go. + + + 52 + +So am I as the rich whose blessed key, +Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, +The which he will not every hour survey, +For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. +Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, +Since seldom coming in that long year set, +Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, +Or captain jewels in the carcanet. +So is the time that keeps you as my chest +Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, +To make some special instant special-blest, +By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. + Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, + Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope. + + + 53 + +What is your substance, whereof are you made, +That millions of strange shadows on you tend? +Since every one, hath every one, one shade, +And you but one, can every shadow lend: +Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, +Is poorly imitated after you, +On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set, +And you in Grecian tires are painted new: +Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, +The one doth shadow of your beauty show, +The other as your bounty doth appear, +And you in every blessed shape we know. + In all external grace you have some part, + But you like none, none you for constant heart. + + + 54 + +O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, +By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! +The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem +For that sweet odour, which doth in it live: +The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, +As the perfumed tincture of the roses, +Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, +When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses: +But for their virtue only is their show, +They live unwooed, and unrespected fade, +Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, +Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: + And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, + When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth. + + + 55 + +Not marble, nor the gilded monuments +Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, +But you shall shine more bright in these contents +Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. +When wasteful war shall statues overturn, +And broils root out the work of masonry, +Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire shall burn: +The living record of your memory. +’Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity +Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room, +Even in the eyes of all posterity +That wear this world out to the ending doom. + So till the judgment that your self arise, + You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes. + + + 56 + +Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said +Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, +Which but to-day by feeding is allayed, +To-morrow sharpened in his former might. +So love be thou, although to-day thou fill +Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, +To-morrow see again, and do not kill +The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness: +Let this sad interim like the ocean be +Which parts the shore, where two contracted new, +Come daily to the banks, that when they see: +Return of love, more blest may be the view. + Or call it winter, which being full of care, + Makes summer’s welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. + + + 57 + +Being your slave what should I do but tend, +Upon the hours, and times of your desire? +I have no precious time at all to spend; +Nor services to do till you require. +Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, +Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, +Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, +When you have bid your servant once adieu. +Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, +Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, +But like a sad slave stay and think of nought +Save where you are, how happy you make those. + So true a fool is love, that in your will, + (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. + + + 58 + +That god forbid, that made me first your slave, +I should in thought control your times of pleasure, +Or at your hand th’ account of hours to crave, +Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. +O let me suffer (being at your beck) +Th’ imprisoned absence of your liberty, +And patience tame to sufferance bide each check, +Without accusing you of injury. +Be where you list, your charter is so strong, +That you your self may privilage your time +To what you will, to you it doth belong, +Your self to pardon of self-doing crime. + I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, + Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. + + + 59 + +If there be nothing new, but that which is, +Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, +Which labouring for invention bear amis +The second burthen of a former child! +O that record could with a backward look, +Even of five hundred courses of the sun, +Show me your image in some antique book, +Since mind at first in character was done. +That I might see what the old world could say, +To this composed wonder of your frame, +Whether we are mended, or whether better they, +Or whether revolution be the same. + O sure I am the wits of former days, + To subjects worse have given admiring praise. + + + 60 + +Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, +So do our minutes hasten to their end, +Each changing place with that which goes before, +In sequent toil all forwards do contend. +Nativity once in the main of light, +Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, +Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight, +And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. +Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, +And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow, +Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth, +And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. + And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand + Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. + + + 61 + +Is it thy will, thy image should keep open +My heavy eyelids to the weary night? +Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, +While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? +Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee +So far from home into my deeds to pry, +To find out shames and idle hours in me, +The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? +O no, thy love though much, is not so great, +It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, +Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, +To play the watchman ever for thy sake. + For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, + From me far off, with others all too near. + + + 62 + +Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, +And all my soul, and all my every part; +And for this sin there is no remedy, +It is so grounded inward in my heart. +Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, +No shape so true, no truth of such account, +And for my self mine own worth do define, +As I all other in all worths surmount. +But when my glass shows me my self indeed +beated and chopt with tanned antiquity, +Mine own self-love quite contrary I read: +Self, so self-loving were iniquity. + ’Tis thee (my self) that for my self I praise, + Painting my age with beauty of thy days. + + + 63 + +Against my love shall be as I am now +With Time’s injurious hand crushed and o’erworn, +When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow +With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn +Hath travelled on to age’s steepy night, +And all those beauties whereof now he’s king +Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, +Stealing away the treasure of his spring: +For such a time do I now fortify +Against confounding age’s cruel knife, +That he shall never cut from memory +My sweet love’s beauty, though my lover’s life. + His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, + And they shall live, and he in them still green. + + + 64 + +When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced +The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age, +When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased, +And brass eternal slave to mortal rage. +When I have seen the hungry ocean gain +Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, +And the firm soil win of the watery main, +Increasing store with loss, and loss with store. +When I have seen such interchange of State, +Or state it self confounded, to decay, +Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate +That Time will come and take my love away. + This thought is as a death which cannot choose + But weep to have, that which it fears to lose. + + + 65 + +Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, +But sad mortality o’ersways their power, +How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, +Whose action is no stronger than a flower? +O how shall summer’s honey breath hold out, +Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days, +When rocks impregnable are not so stout, +Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays? +O fearful meditation, where alack, +Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid? +Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, +Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? + O none, unless this miracle have might, + That in black ink my love may still shine bright. + + + 66 + +Tired with all these for restful death I cry, +As to behold desert a beggar born, +And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, +And purest faith unhappily forsworn, +And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, +And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, +And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, +And strength by limping sway disabled +And art made tongue-tied by authority, +And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, +And simple truth miscalled simplicity, +And captive good attending captain ill. + Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, + Save that to die, I leave my love alone. + + + 67 + +Ah wherefore with infection should he live, +And with his presence grace impiety, +That sin by him advantage should achieve, +And lace it self with his society? +Why should false painting imitate his cheek, +And steal dead seeming of his living hue? +Why should poor beauty indirectly seek, +Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? +Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is, +Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins, +For she hath no exchequer now but his, +And proud of many, lives upon his gains? + O him she stores, to show what wealth she had, + In days long since, before these last so bad. + + + 68 + +Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, +When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, +Before these bastard signs of fair were born, +Or durst inhabit on a living brow: +Before the golden tresses of the dead, +The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, +To live a second life on second head, +Ere beauty’s dead fleece made another gay: +In him those holy antique hours are seen, +Without all ornament, it self and true, +Making no summer of another’s green, +Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, + And him as for a map doth Nature store, + To show false Art what beauty was of yore. + + + 69 + +Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view, +Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: +All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, +Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. +Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned, +But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, +In other accents do this praise confound +By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. +They look into the beauty of thy mind, +And that in guess they measure by thy deeds, +Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind) +To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: + But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, + The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. + + + 70 + +That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, +For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair, +The ornament of beauty is suspect, +A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air. +So thou be good, slander doth but approve, +Thy worth the greater being wooed of time, +For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, +And thou present’st a pure unstained prime. +Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days, +Either not assailed, or victor being charged, +Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, +To tie up envy, evermore enlarged, + If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, + Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. + + + 71 + +No longer mourn for me when I am dead, +Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell +Give warning to the world that I am fled +From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: +Nay if you read this line, remember not, +The hand that writ it, for I love you so, +That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, +If thinking on me then should make you woe. +O if (I say) you look upon this verse, +When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, +Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; +But let your love even with my life decay. + Lest the wise world should look into your moan, + And mock you with me after I am gone. + + + 72 + +O lest the world should task you to recite, +What merit lived in me that you should love +After my death (dear love) forget me quite, +For you in me can nothing worthy prove. +Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, +To do more for me than mine own desert, +And hang more praise upon deceased I, +Than niggard truth would willingly impart: +O lest your true love may seem false in this, +That you for love speak well of me untrue, +My name be buried where my body is, +And live no more to shame nor me, nor you. + For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, + And so should you, to love things nothing worth. + + + 73 + +That time of year thou mayst in me behold, +When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang +Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, +Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. +In me thou seest the twilight of such day, +As after sunset fadeth in the west, +Which by and by black night doth take away, +Death’s second self that seals up all in rest. +In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, +That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, +As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, +Consumed with that which it was nourished by. + This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong, + To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. + + + 74 + +But be contented when that fell arrest, +Without all bail shall carry me away, +My life hath in this line some interest, +Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. +When thou reviewest this, thou dost review, +The very part was consecrate to thee, +The earth can have but earth, which is his due, +My spirit is thine the better part of me, +So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, +The prey of worms, my body being dead, +The coward conquest of a wretch’s knife, +Too base of thee to be remembered, + The worth of that, is that which it contains, + And that is this, and this with thee remains. + + + 75 + +So are you to my thoughts as food to life, +Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground; +And for the peace of you I hold such strife +As ’twixt a miser and his wealth is found. +Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon +Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, +Now counting best to be with you alone, +Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure, +Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, +And by and by clean starved for a look, +Possessing or pursuing no delight +Save what is had, or must from you be took. + Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, + Or gluttoning on all, or all away. + + + 76 + +Why is my verse so barren of new pride? +So far from variation or quick change? +Why with the time do I not glance aside +To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? +Why write I still all one, ever the same, +And keep invention in a noted weed, +That every word doth almost tell my name, +Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? +O know sweet love I always write of you, +And you and love are still my argument: +So all my best is dressing old words new, +Spending again what is already spent: + For as the sun is daily new and old, + So is my love still telling what is told. + + + 77 + +Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, +Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste, +These vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear, +And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste. +The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, +Of mouthed graves will give thee memory, +Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst know, +Time’s thievish progress to eternity. +Look what thy memory cannot contain, +Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find +Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, +To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. + These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, + Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. + + + 78 + +So oft have I invoked thee for my muse, +And found such fair assistance in my verse, +As every alien pen hath got my use, +And under thee their poesy disperse. +Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, +And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, +Have added feathers to the learned’s wing, +And given grace a double majesty. +Yet be most proud of that which I compile, +Whose influence is thine, and born of thee, +In others’ works thou dost but mend the style, +And arts with thy sweet graces graced be. + But thou art all my art, and dost advance + As high as learning, my rude ignorance. + + + 79 + +Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, +My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, +But now my gracious numbers are decayed, +And my sick muse doth give an other place. +I grant (sweet love) thy lovely argument +Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, +Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, +He robs thee of, and pays it thee again, +He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word, +From thy behaviour, beauty doth he give +And found it in thy cheek: he can afford +No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. + Then thank him not for that which he doth say, + Since what he owes thee, thou thy self dost pay. + + + 80 + +O how I faint when I of you do write, +Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, +And in the praise thereof spends all his might, +To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame. +But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) +The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, +My saucy bark (inferior far to his) +On your broad main doth wilfully appear. +Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, +Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride, +Or (being wrecked) I am a worthless boat, +He of tall building, and of goodly pride. + Then if he thrive and I be cast away, + The worst was this, my love was my decay. + + + 81 + +Or I shall live your epitaph to make, +Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, +From hence your memory death cannot take, +Although in me each part will be forgotten. +Your name from hence immortal life shall have, +Though I (once gone) to all the world must die, +The earth can yield me but a common grave, +When you entombed in men’s eyes shall lie, +Your monument shall be my gentle verse, +Which eyes not yet created shall o’er-read, +And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, +When all the breathers of this world are dead, + You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) + Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. + + + 82 + +I grant thou wert not married to my muse, +And therefore mayst without attaint o’erlook +The dedicated words which writers use +Of their fair subject, blessing every book. +Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, +Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, +And therefore art enforced to seek anew, +Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. +And do so love, yet when they have devised, +What strained touches rhetoric can lend, +Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathized, +In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend. + And their gross painting might be better used, + Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused. + + + 83 + +I never saw that you did painting need, +And therefore to your fair no painting set, +I found (or thought I found) you did exceed, +That barren tender of a poet’s debt: +And therefore have I slept in your report, +That you your self being extant well might show, +How far a modern quill doth come too short, +Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. +This silence for my sin you did impute, +Which shall be most my glory being dumb, +For I impair not beauty being mute, +When others would give life, and bring a tomb. + There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, + Than both your poets can in praise devise. + + + 84 + +Who is it that says most, which can say more, +Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you? +In whose confine immured is the store, +Which should example where your equal grew. +Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, +That to his subject lends not some small glory, +But he that writes of you, if he can tell, +That you are you, so dignifies his story. +Let him but copy what in you is writ, +Not making worse what nature made so clear, +And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, +Making his style admired every where. + You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, + Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. + + + 85 + +My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still, +While comments of your praise richly compiled, +Reserve their character with golden quill, +And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. +I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, +And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen, +To every hymn that able spirit affords, +In polished form of well refined pen. +Hearing you praised, I say ’tis so, ’tis true, +And to the most of praise add something more, +But that is in my thought, whose love to you +(Though words come hindmost) holds his rank before, + Then others, for the breath of words respect, + Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. + + + 86 + +Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, +Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you, +That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, +Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? +Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, +Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? +No, neither he, nor his compeers by night +Giving him aid, my verse astonished. +He nor that affable familiar ghost +Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, +As victors of my silence cannot boast, +I was not sick of any fear from thence. + But when your countenance filled up his line, + Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine. + + + 87 + +Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, +And like enough thou know’st thy estimate, +The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing: +My bonds in thee are all determinate. +For how do I hold thee but by thy granting, +And for that riches where is my deserving? +The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, +And so my patent back again is swerving. +Thy self thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing, +Or me to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking, +So thy great gift upon misprision growing, +Comes home again, on better judgement making. + Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter, + In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. + + + 88 + +When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, +And place my merit in the eye of scorn, +Upon thy side, against my self I’ll fight, +And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn: +With mine own weakness being best acquainted, +Upon thy part I can set down a story +Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted: +That thou in losing me, shalt win much glory: +And I by this will be a gainer too, +For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, +The injuries that to my self I do, +Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. + Such is my love, to thee I so belong, + That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong. + + + 89 + +Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, +And I will comment upon that offence, +Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt: +Against thy reasons making no defence. +Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill, +To set a form upon desired change, +As I’ll my self disgrace, knowing thy will, +I will acquaintance strangle and look strange: +Be absent from thy walks and in my tongue, +Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, +Lest I (too much profane) should do it wronk: +And haply of our old acquaintance tell. + For thee, against my self I’ll vow debate, + For I must ne’er love him whom thou dost hate. + + + 90 + +Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now, +Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, +join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, +And do not drop in for an after-loss: +Ah do not, when my heart hath ’scaped this sorrow, +Come in the rearward of a conquered woe, +Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, +To linger out a purposed overthrow. +If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, +When other petty griefs have done their spite, +But in the onset come, so shall I taste +At first the very worst of fortune’s might. + And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, + Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so. + + + 91 + +Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, +Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force, +Some in their garments though new-fangled ill: +Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse. +And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, +Wherein it finds a joy above the rest, +But these particulars are not my measure, +All these I better in one general best. +Thy love is better than high birth to me, +Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ costs, +Of more delight than hawks and horses be: +And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast. + Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take, + All this away, and me most wretchcd make. + + + 92 + +But do thy worst to steal thy self away, +For term of life thou art assured mine, +And life no longer than thy love will stay, +For it depends upon that love of thine. +Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, +When in the least of them my life hath end, +I see, a better state to me belongs +Than that, which on thy humour doth depend. +Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, +Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie, +O what a happy title do I find, +Happy to have thy love, happy to die! + But what’s so blessed-fair that fears no blot? + Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. + + + 93 + +So shall I live, supposing thou art true, +Like a deceived husband, so love’s face, +May still seem love to me, though altered new: +Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place. +For there can live no hatred in thine eye, +Therefore in that I cannot know thy change, +In many’s looks, the false heart’s history +Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. +But heaven in thy creation did decree, +That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell, +Whate’er thy thoughts, or thy heart’s workings be, +Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell. + How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, + If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show. + + + 94 + +They that have power to hurt, and will do none, +That do not do the thing, they most do show, +Who moving others, are themselves as stone, +Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow: +They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces, +And husband nature’s riches from expense, +Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces, +Others, but stewards of their excellence: +The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet, +Though to it self, it only live and die, +But if that flower with base infection meet, +The basest weed outbraves his dignity: + For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds, + Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds. + + + 95 + +How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, +Which like a canker in the fragrant rose, +Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! +O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! +That tongue that tells the story of thy days, +(Making lascivious comments on thy sport) +Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise, +Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. +O what a mansion have those vices got, +Which for their habitation chose out thee, +Where beauty’s veil doth cover every blot, +And all things turns to fair, that eyes can see! + Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege, + The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. + + + 96 + +Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, +Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport, +Both grace and faults are loved of more and less: +Thou mak’st faults graces, that to thee resort: +As on the finger of a throned queen, +The basest jewel will be well esteemed: +So are those errors that in thee are seen, +To truths translated, and for true things deemed. +How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, +If like a lamb he could his looks translate! +How many gazers mightst thou lead away, +if thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! + But do not so, I love thee in such sort, + As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. + + + 97 + +How like a winter hath my absence been +From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! +What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! +What old December’s bareness everywhere! +And yet this time removed was summer’s time, +The teeming autumn big with rich increase, +Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, +Like widowed wombs after their lords’ decease: +Yet this abundant issue seemed to me +But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit, +For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, +And thou away, the very birds are mute. + Or if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer, + That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near. + + + 98 + +From you have I been absent in the spring, +When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim) +Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing: +That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. +Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell +Of different flowers in odour and in hue, +Could make me any summer’s story tell: +Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: +Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, +Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, +They were but sweet, but figures of delight: +Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. + Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, + As with your shadow I with these did play. + + + 99 + +The forward violet thus did I chide, +Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, +If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride +Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells, +In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed. +The lily I condemned for thy hand, +And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair, +The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, +One blushing shame, another white despair: +A third nor red, nor white, had stol’n of both, +And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, +But for his theft in pride of all his growth +A vengeful canker eat him up to death. + More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, + But sweet, or colour it had stol’n from thee. + + + 100 + +Where art thou Muse that thou forget’st so long, +To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? +Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song, +Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? +Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem, +In gentle numbers time so idly spent, +Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, +And gives thy pen both skill and argument. +Rise resty Muse, my love’s sweet face survey, +If time have any wrinkle graven there, +If any, be a satire to decay, +And make time’s spoils despised everywhere. + Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, + So thou prevent’st his scythe, and crooked knife. + + + 101 + +O truant Muse what shall be thy amends, +For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? +Both truth and beauty on my love depends: +So dost thou too, and therein dignified: +Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, +’Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, +Beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth to lay: +But best is best, if never intermixed’? +Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? +Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, +To make him much outlive a gilded tomb: +And to be praised of ages yet to be. + Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how, + To make him seem long hence, as he shows now. + + + 102 + +My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming, +I love not less, though less the show appear, +That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming, +The owner’s tongue doth publish every where. +Our love was new, and then but in the spring, +When I was wont to greet it with my lays, +As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing, +And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: +Not that the summer is less pleasant now +Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, +But that wild music burthens every bough, +And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. + Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue: + Because I would not dull you with my song. + + + 103 + +Alack what poverty my muse brings forth, +That having such a scope to show her pride, +The argument all bare is of more worth +Than when it hath my added praise beside. +O blame me not if I no more can write! +Look in your glass and there appears a face, +That over-goes my blunt invention quite, +Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. +Were it not sinful then striving to mend, +To mar the subject that before was well? +For to no other pass my verses tend, +Than of your graces and your gifts to tell. + And more, much more than in my verse can sit, + Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. + + + 104 + +To me fair friend you never can be old, +For as you were when first your eye I eyed, +Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold, +Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride, +Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned, +In process of the seasons have I seen, +Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, +Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. +Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand, +Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived, +So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand +Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. + For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred, + Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead. + + + 105 + +Let not my love be called idolatry, +Nor my beloved as an idol show, +Since all alike my songs and praises be +To one, of one, still such, and ever so. +Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, +Still constant in a wondrous excellence, +Therefore my verse to constancy confined, +One thing expressing, leaves out difference. +Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, +Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words, +And in this change is my invention spent, +Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. + Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone. + Which three till now, never kept seat in one. + + + 106 + +When in the chronicle of wasted time, +I see descriptions of the fairest wights, +And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, +In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, +Then in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, +Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, +I see their antique pen would have expressed, +Even such a beauty as you master now. +So all their praises are but prophecies +Of this our time, all you prefiguring, +And for they looked but with divining eyes, +They had not skill enough your worth to sing: + For we which now behold these present days, + Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. + + + 107 + +Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul, +Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, +Can yet the lease of my true love control, +Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. +The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, +And the sad augurs mock their own presage, +Incertainties now crown themselves assured, +And peace proclaims olives of endless age. +Now with the drops of this most balmy time, +My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, +Since spite of him I’ll live in this poor rhyme, +While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes. + And thou in this shalt find thy monument, + When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent. + + + 108 + +What’s in the brain that ink may character, +Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit, +What’s new to speak, what now to register, +That may express my love, or thy dear merit? +Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine, +I must each day say o’er the very same, +Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, +Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. +So that eternal love in love’s fresh case, +Weighs not the dust and injury of age, +Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, +But makes antiquity for aye his page, + Finding the first conceit of love there bred, + Where time and outward form would show it dead. + + + 109 + +O never say that I was false of heart, +Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, +As easy might I from my self depart, +As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: +That is my home of love, if I have ranged, +Like him that travels I return again, +Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, +So that my self bring water for my stain, +Never believe though in my nature reigned, +All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, +That it could so preposterously be stained, +To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: + For nothing this wide universe I call, + Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all. + + + 110 + +Alas ’tis true, I have gone here and there, +And made my self a motley to the view, +Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, +Made old offences of affections new. +Most true it is, that I have looked on truth +Askance and strangely: but by all above, +These blenches gave my heart another youth, +And worse essays proved thee my best of love. +Now all is done, have what shall have no end, +Mine appetite I never more will grind +On newer proof, to try an older friend, +A god in love, to whom I am confined. + Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, + Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. + + + 111 + +O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, +The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, +That did not better for my life provide, +Than public means which public manners breeds. +Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, +And almost thence my nature is subdued +To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand: +Pity me then, and wish I were renewed, +Whilst like a willing patient I will drink, +Potions of eisel ’gainst my strong infection, +No bitterness that I will bitter think, +Nor double penance to correct correction. + Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye, + Even that your pity is enough to cure me. + + + 112 + +Your love and pity doth th’ impression fill, +Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow, +For what care I who calls me well or ill, +So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow? +You are my all the world, and I must strive, +To know my shames and praises from your tongue, +None else to me, nor I to none alive, +That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong. +In so profound abysm I throw all care +Of others’ voices, that my adder’s sense, +To critic and to flatterer stopped are: +Mark how with my neglect I do dispense. + You are so strongly in my purpose bred, + That all the world besides methinks are dead. + + + 113 + +Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, +And that which governs me to go about, +Doth part his function, and is partly blind, +Seems seeing, but effectually is out: +For it no form delivers to the heart +Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch, +Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, +Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: +For if it see the rud’st or gentlest sight, +The most sweet favour or deformed’st creature, +The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night: +The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. + Incapable of more, replete with you, + My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. + + + 114 + +Or whether doth my mind being crowned with you +Drink up the monarch’s plague this flattery? +Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, +And that your love taught it this alchemy? +To make of monsters, and things indigest, +Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, +Creating every bad a perfect best +As fast as objects to his beams assemble: +O ’tis the first, ’tis flattery in my seeing, +And my great mind most kingly drinks it up, +Mine eye well knows what with his gust is ’greeing, +And to his palate doth prepare the cup. + If it be poisoned, ’tis the lesser sin, + That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. + + + 115 + +Those lines that I before have writ do lie, +Even those that said I could not love you dearer, +Yet then my judgment knew no reason why, +My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer, +But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents +Creep in ’twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, +Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents, +Divert strong minds to the course of alt’ring things: +Alas why fearing of time’s tyranny, +Might I not then say ‘Now I love you best,’ +When I was certain o’er incertainty, +Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? + Love is a babe, then might I not say so + To give full growth to that which still doth grow. + + + 116 + +Let me not to the marriage of true minds +Admit impediments, love is not love +Which alters when it alteration finds, +Or bends with the remover to remove. +O no, it is an ever-fixed mark +That looks on tempests and is never shaken; +It is the star to every wand’ring bark, +Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. +Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks +Within his bending sickle’s compass come, +Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, +But bears it out even to the edge of doom: + If this be error and upon me proved, + I never writ, nor no man ever loved. + + + 117 + +Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all, +Wherein I should your great deserts repay, +Forgot upon your dearest love to call, +Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day, +That I have frequent been with unknown minds, +And given to time your own dear-purchased right, +That I have hoisted sail to all the winds +Which should transport me farthest from your sight. +Book both my wilfulness and errors down, +And on just proof surmise, accumulate, +Bring me within the level of your frown, +But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: + Since my appeal says I did strive to prove + The constancy and virtue of your love. + + + 118 + +Like as to make our appetite more keen +With eager compounds we our palate urge, +As to prevent our maladies unseen, +We sicken to shun sickness when we purge. +Even so being full of your ne’er-cloying sweetness, +To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; +And sick of welfare found a kind of meetness, +To be diseased ere that there was true needing. +Thus policy in love t’ anticipate +The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, +And brought to medicine a healthful state +Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured. + But thence I learn and find the lesson true, + Drugs poison him that so feil sick of you. + + + 119 + +What potions have I drunk of Siren tears +Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, +Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, +Still losing when I saw my self to win! +What wretched errors hath my heart committed, +Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never! +How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted +In the distraction of this madding fever! +O benefit of ill, now I find true +That better is, by evil still made better. +And ruined love when it is built anew +Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. + So I return rebuked to my content, + And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent. + + + 120 + +That you were once unkind befriends me now, +And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, +Needs must I under my transgression bow, +Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. +For if you were by my unkindness shaken +As I by yours, y’have passed a hell of time, +And I a tyrant have no leisure taken +To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. +O that our night of woe might have remembered +My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, +And soon to you, as you to me then tendered +The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! + But that your trespass now becomes a fee, + Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. + + + 121 + +’Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, +When not to be, receives reproach of being, +And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, +Not by our feeling, but by others’ seeing. +For why should others’ false adulterate eyes +Give salutation to my sportive blood? +Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, +Which in their wills count bad what I think good? +No, I am that I am, and they that level +At my abuses, reckon up their own, +I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; +By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown + Unless this general evil they maintain, + All men are bad and in their badness reign. + + + 122 + +Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain +Full charactered with lasting memory, +Which shall above that idle rank remain +Beyond all date even to eternity. +Or at the least, so long as brain and heart +Have faculty by nature to subsist, +Till each to razed oblivion yield his part +Of thee, thy record never can be missed: +That poor retention could not so much hold, +Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score, +Therefore to give them from me was I bold, +To trust those tables that receive thee more: + To keep an adjunct to remember thee + Were to import forgetfulness in me. + + + 123 + +No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change, +Thy pyramids built up with newer might +To me are nothing novel, nothing strange, +They are but dressings Of a former sight: +Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire, +What thou dost foist upon us that is old, +And rather make them born to our desire, +Than think that we before have heard them told: +Thy registers and thee I both defy, +Not wond’ring at the present, nor the past, +For thy records, and what we see doth lie, +Made more or less by thy continual haste: + This I do vow and this shall ever be, + I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. + + + 124 + +If my dear love were but the child of state, +It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfathered, +As subject to time’s love or to time’s hate, +Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. +No it was builded far from accident, +It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls +Under the blow of thralled discontent, +Whereto th’ inviting time our fashion calls: +It fears not policy that heretic, +Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, +But all alone stands hugely politic, +That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. + To this I witness call the fools of time, + Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. + + + 125 + +Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy, +With my extern the outward honouring, +Or laid great bases for eternity, +Which proves more short than waste or ruining? +Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour +Lose all, and more by paying too much rent +For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, +Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent? +No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, +And take thou my oblation, poor but free, +Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art, +But mutual render, only me for thee. + Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul + When most impeached, stands least in thy control. + + + 126 + +O thou my lovely boy who in thy power, +Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour: +Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st, +Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st. +If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack) +As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back, +She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill +May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. +Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure, +She may detain, but not still keep her treasure! + Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, + And her quietus is to render thee. + + + 127 + +In the old age black was not counted fair, +Or if it were it bore not beauty’s name: +But now is black beauty’s successive heir, +And beauty slandered with a bastard shame, +For since each hand hath put on nature’s power, +Fairing the foul with art’s false borrowed face, +Sweet beauty hath no name no holy bower, +But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. +Therefore my mistress’ eyes are raven black, +Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem, +At such who not born fair no beauty lack, +Slandering creation with a false esteem, + Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, + That every tongue says beauty should look so. + + + 128 + +How oft when thou, my music, music play’st, +Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds +With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st +The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, +Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, +To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, +Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, +At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand. +To be so tickled they would change their state +And situation with those dancing chips, +O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, +Making dead wood more blest than living lips, + Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, + Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. + + + 129 + +Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame +Is lust in action, and till action, lust +Is perjured, murd’rous, bloody full of blame, +Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, +Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight, +Past reason hunted, and no sooner had +Past reason hated as a swallowed bait, +On purpose laid to make the taker mad. +Mad in pursuit and in possession so, +Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme, +A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe, +Before a joy proposed behind a dream. + All this the world well knows yet none knows well, + To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. + + + 130 + +My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun, +Coral is far more red, than her lips red, +If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun: +If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head: +I have seen roses damasked, red and white, +But no such roses see I in her cheeks, +And in some perfumes is there more delight, +Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. +I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, +That music hath a far more pleasing sound: +I grant I never saw a goddess go, +My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. + And yet by heaven I think my love as rare, + As any she belied with false compare. + + + 131 + +Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, +As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; +For well thou know’st to my dear doting heart +Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. +Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, +Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; +To say they err, I dare not be so bold, +Although I swear it to my self alone. +And to be sure that is not false I swear, +A thousand groans but thinking on thy face, +One on another’s neck do witness bear +Thy black is fairest in my judgment’s place. + In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, + And thence this slander as I think proceeds. + + + 132 + +Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, +Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, +Have put on black, and loving mourners be, +Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. +And truly not the morning sun of heaven +Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, +Nor that full star that ushers in the even +Doth half that glory to the sober west +As those two mourning eyes become thy face: +O let it then as well beseem thy heart +To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, +And suit thy pity like in every part. + Then will I swear beauty herself is black, + And all they foul that thy complexion lack. + + + 133 + +Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan +For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; +Is’t not enough to torture me alone, +But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be? +Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, +And my next self thou harder hast engrossed, +Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken, +A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed: +Prison my heart in thy steel bosom’s ward, +But then my friend’s heart let my poor heart bail, +Whoe’er keeps me, let my heart be his guard, +Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol. + And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, + Perforce am thine and all that is in me. + + + 134 + +So now I have confessed that he is thine, +And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, +My self I’ll forfeit, so that other mine, +Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: +But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, +For thou art covetous, and he is kind, +He learned but surety-like to write for me, +Under that bond that him as fist doth bind. +The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, +Thou usurer that put’st forth all to use, +And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake, +So him I lose through my unkind abuse. + Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, + He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. + + + 135 + +Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, +And Will to boot, and Will in overplus, +More than enough am I that vex thee still, +To thy sweet will making addition thus. +Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious, +Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? +Shall will in others seem right gracious, +And in my will no fair acceptance shine? +The sea all water, yet receives rain still, +And in abundance addeth to his store, +So thou being rich in will add to thy will +One will of mine to make thy large will more. + Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill, + Think all but one, and me in that one Will. + + + 136 + +If thy soul check thee that I come so near, +Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, +And will thy soul knows is admitted there, +Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil. +Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, +Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one, +In things of great receipt with case we prove, +Among a number one is reckoned none. +Then in the number let me pass untold, +Though in thy store’s account I one must be, +For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold, +That nothing me, a something sweet to thee. + Make but my name thy love, and love that still, + And then thou lov’st me for my name is Will. + + + 137 + +Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, +That they behold and see not what they see? +They know what beauty is, see where it lies, +Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. +If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks, +Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, +Why of eyes’ falsehood hast thou forged hooks, +Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? +Why should my heart think that a several plot, +Which my heart knows the wide world’s common place? +Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not +To put fair truth upon so foul a face? + In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, + And to this false plague are they now transferred. + + + 138 + +When my love swears that she is made of truth, +I do believe her though I know she lies, +That she might think me some untutored youth, +Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties. +Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, +Although she knows my days are past the best, +Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue, +On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: +But wherefore says she not she is unjust? +And wherefore say not I that I am old? +O love’s best habit is in seeming trust, +And age in love, loves not to have years told. + Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, + And in our faults by lies we flattered be. + + + 139 + +O call not me to justify the wrong, +That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, +Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, +Use power with power, and slay me not by art, +Tell me thou lov’st elsewhere; but in my sight, +Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside, +What need’st thou wound with cunning when thy might +Is more than my o’erpressed defence can bide? +Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows, +Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, +And therefore from my face she turns my foes, +That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: + Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, + Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. + + + 140 + +Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press +My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: +Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, +The manner of my pity-wanting pain. +If I might teach thee wit better it were, +Though not to love, yet love to tell me so, +As testy sick men when their deaths be near, +No news but health from their physicians know. +For if I should despair I should grow mad, +And in my madness might speak ill of thee, +Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, +Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. + That I may not be so, nor thou belied, + Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. + + + 141 + +In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, +For they in thee a thousand errors note, +But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise, +Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. +Nor are mine cars with thy tongue’s tune delighted, +Nor tender feeling to base touches prone, +Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited +To any sensual feast with thee alone: +But my five wits, nor my five senses can +Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, +Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, +Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be: + Only my plague thus far I count my gain, + That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. + + + 142 + +Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, +Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, +O but with mine, compare thou thine own state, +And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, +Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, +That have profaned their scarlet ornaments, +And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, +Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents. +Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those, +Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee, +Root pity in thy heart that when it grows, +Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. + If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, + By self-example mayst thou be denied. + + + 143 + +Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch, +One of her feathered creatures broke away, +Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch +In pursuit of the thing she would have stay: +Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, +Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent, +To follow that which flies before her face: +Not prizing her poor infant’s discontent; +So run’st thou after that which flies from thee, +Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind, +But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me: +And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind. + So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, + If thou turn back and my loud crying still. + + + 144 + +Two loves I have of comfort and despair, +Which like two spirits do suggest me still, +The better angel is a man right fair: +The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. +To win me soon to hell my female evil, +Tempteth my better angel from my side, +And would corrupt my saint to be a devil: +Wooing his purity with her foul pride. +And whether that my angel be turned fiend, +Suspect I may, yet not directly tell, +But being both from me both to each friend, +I guess one angel in another’s hell. + Yet this shall I ne’er know but live in doubt, + Till my bad angel fire my good one out. + + + 145 + +Those lips that Love’s own hand did make, +Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’, +To me that languished for her sake: +But when she saw my woeful state, +Straight in her heart did mercy come, +Chiding that tongue that ever sweet, +Was used in giving gentle doom: +And taught it thus anew to greet: +‘I hate’ she altered with an end, +That followed it as gentle day, +Doth follow night who like a fiend +From heaven to hell is flown away. + ‘I hate’, from hate away she threw, + And saved my life saying ‘not you’. + + + 146 + +Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth, +My sinful earth these rebel powers array, +Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth +Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? +Why so large cost having so short a lease, +Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? +Shall worms inheritors of this excess +Eat up thy charge? is this thy body’s end? +Then soul live thou upon thy servant’s loss, +And let that pine to aggravate thy store; +Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; +Within be fed, without be rich no more, + So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men, + And death once dead, there’s no more dying then. + + + 147 + +My love is as a fever longing still, +For that which longer nurseth the disease, +Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, +Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please: +My reason the physician to my love, +Angry that his prescriptions are not kept +Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, +Desire is death, which physic did except. +Past cure I am, now reason is past care, +And frantic-mad with evermore unrest, +My thoughts and my discourse as mad men’s are, +At random from the truth vainly expressed. + For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, + Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. + + + 148 + +O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, +Which have no correspondence with true sight, +Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, +That censures falsely what they see aright? +If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, +What means the world to say it is not so? +If it be not, then love doth well denote, +Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: no, +How can it? O how can love’s eye be true, +That is so vexed with watching and with tears? +No marvel then though I mistake my view, +The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears. + O cunning love, with tears thou keep’st me blind, + Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. + + + 149 + +Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not, +When I against my self with thee partake? +Do I not think on thee when I forgot +Am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake? +Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, +On whom frown’st thou that I do fawn upon, +Nay if thou lour’st on me do I not spend +Revenge upon my self with present moan? +What merit do I in my self respect, +That is so proud thy service to despise, +When all my best doth worship thy defect, +Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? + But love hate on for now I know thy mind, + Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind. + + + 150 + +O from what power hast thou this powerful might, +With insufficiency my heart to sway, +To make me give the lie to my true sight, +And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? +Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, +That in the very refuse of thy deeds, +There is such strength and warrantise of skill, +That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? +Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, +The more I hear and see just cause of hate? +O though I love what others do abhor, +With others thou shouldst not abhor my state. + If thy unworthiness raised love in me, + More worthy I to be beloved of thee. + + + 151 + +Love is too young to know what conscience is, +Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? +Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss, +Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. +For thou betraying me, I do betray +My nobler part to my gross body’s treason, +My soul doth tell my body that he may, +Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason, +But rising at thy name doth point out thee, +As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride, +He is contented thy poor drudge to be, +To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. + No want of conscience hold it that I call, + Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. + + + 152 + +In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn, +But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing, +In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn, +In vowing new hate after new love bearing: +But why of two oaths’ breach do I accuse thee, +When I break twenty? I am perjured most, +For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee: +And all my honest faith in thee is lost. +For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness: +Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, +And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, +Or made them swear against the thing they see. + For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I, + To swear against the truth so foul a be. + + + 153 + +Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep, +A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, +And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep +In a cold valley-fountain of that ground: +Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, +A dateless lively heat still to endure, +And grew a seeting bath which yet men prove, +Against strange maladies a sovereign cure: +But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired, +The boy for trial needs would touch my breast, +I sick withal the help of bath desired, +And thither hied a sad distempered guest. + But found no cure, the bath for my help lies, + Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress’ eyes. + + + 154 + +The little Love-god lying once asleep, +Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, +Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep, +Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand, +The fairest votary took up that fire, +Which many legions of true hearts had warmed, +And so the general of hot desire, +Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed. +This brand she quenched in a cool well by, +Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual, +Growing a bath and healthful remedy, +For men discased, but I my mistress’ thrall, + Came there for cure and this by that I prove, + Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love. + + +THE END + + + +ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene II. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. +Scene III. Rossillon. A Room in the Palace. + + +ACT II +Scene I. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. +Scene II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene III. Paris. The King’s palace. +Scene IV. Paris. The King’s palace. +Scene V. Another room in the same. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Florence. A room in the Duke’s palace. +Scene II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene III. Florence. Before the Duke’s palace. +Scene IV. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene V. Without the walls of Florence. +Scene VI. Camp before Florence. +Scene VII. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. Without the Florentine camp. +Scene II. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. +Scene III. The Florentine camp. +Scene IV. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. +Scene V. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + +ACT V +Scene I. Marseilles. A street. +Scene II. Rossillon. The inner court of the Countess’s palace. +Scene III. The same. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + + Dramatis Personæ + +KING OF FRANCE. +THE DUKE OF FLORENCE. +BERTRAM, Count of Rossillon. +LAFEW, an old Lord. +PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram. +Several young French Lords, that serve with Bertram in the Florentine +War. +RYNALDO, servant to the Countess of Rossillon. +Clown, servant to the Countess of Rossillon. +A Page, servant to the Countess of Rossillon. +COUNTESS OF ROSSILLON, mother to Bertram. +HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess. +An old WIDOW of Florence. +DIANA, daughter to the Widow. +VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow. +MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow. + +Lords attending on the KING; Officers; Soldiers, &c., French and +Florentine. + +SCENE: Partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rossillon, Helena, and Lafew, all in + black. + +COUNTESS. +In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. + +BERTRAM. +And I in going, madam, weep o’er my father’s death anew; but I must +attend his majesty’s command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in +subjection. + +LAFEW. +You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father. He +that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his +virtue to you, whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, +rather than lack it where there is such abundance. + +COUNTESS. +What hope is there of his majesty’s amendment? + +LAFEW. +He hath abandon’d his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath +persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process +but only the losing of hope by time. + +COUNTESS. +This young gentlewoman had a father—O that “had!”, how sad a passage +’tis!—whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch’d +so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for +lack of work. Would for the king’s sake he were living! I think it +would be the death of the king’s disease. + +LAFEW. +How called you the man you speak of, madam? + +COUNTESS. +He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be +so: Gerard de Narbon. + +LAFEW. +He was excellent indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him +admiringly, and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have liv’d still, +if knowledge could be set up against mortality. + +BERTRAM. +What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? + +LAFEW. +A fistula, my lord. + +BERTRAM. +I heard not of it before. + +LAFEW. +I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of +Gerard de Narbon? + +COUNTESS. +His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those +hopes of her good that her education promises her dispositions she +inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind +carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are +virtues and traitors too. In her they are the better for their +simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. + +LAFEW. +Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. + +COUNTESS. +’Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance +of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows +takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no +more, lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have. + +HELENA. +I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. + +LAFEW. +Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the +enemy to the living. + +COUNTESS. +If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. + +BERTRAM. +Madam, I desire your holy wishes. + +LAFEW. +How understand we that? + +COUNTESS. +Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father +In manners, as in shape! Thy blood and virtue +Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness +Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, +Do wrong to none. Be able for thine enemy +Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend +Under thy own life’s key. Be check’d for silence, +But never tax’d for speech. What heaven more will, +That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, +Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord, +’Tis an unseason’d courtier; good my lord, +Advise him. + +LAFEW. +He cannot want the best +That shall attend his love. + +COUNTESS. +Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. + + [_Exit Countess._] + +BERTRAM. +The best wishes that can be forg’d in your thoughts be servants to you! +[_To Helena._] Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make +much of her. + +LAFEW. +Farewell, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father. + + [_Exeunt Bertram and Lafew._] + +HELENA. +O, were that all! I think not on my father, +And these great tears grace his remembrance more +Than those I shed for him. What was he like? +I have forgot him; my imagination +Carries no favour in’t but Bertram’s. +I am undone: there is no living, none, +If Bertram be away. ’Twere all one +That I should love a bright particular star, +And think to wed it, he is so above me. +In his bright radiance and collateral light +Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. +Th’ambition in my love thus plagues itself: +The hind that would be mated by the lion +Must die for love. ’Twas pretty, though a plague, +To see him every hour; to sit and draw +His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, +In our heart’s table,—heart too capable +Of every line and trick of his sweet favour. +But now he’s gone, and my idolatrous fancy +Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? + + Enter Parolles. + +One that goes with him: I love him for his sake, +And yet I know him a notorious liar, +Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; +Yet these fix’d evils sit so fit in him +That they take place when virtue’s steely bones +Looks bleak i’ th’ cold wind: withal, full oft we see +Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. + +PAROLLES. +Save you, fair queen! + +HELENA. +And you, monarch! + +PAROLLES. +No. + +HELENA. +And no. + +PAROLLES. +Are you meditating on virginity? + +HELENA. +Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question. +Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? + +PAROLLES. +Keep him out. + +HELENA. +But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence, yet +is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance. + +PAROLLES. +There is none. Man setting down before you will undermine you and blow +you up. + +HELENA. +Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no +military policy how virgins might blow up men? + +PAROLLES. +Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up; marry, in +blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your +city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve +virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase, and there was never +virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is +metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times +found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost. ’Tis too cold a companion. +Away with it! + +HELENA. +I will stand for’t a little, though therefore I die a virgin. + +PAROLLES. +There’s little can be said in’t; ’tis against the rule of nature. To +speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most +infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity +murders itself, and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified +limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds +mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so +dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, +proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the +canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by’t. Out with’t! Within +the year it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the +principal itself not much the worse. Away with it! + +HELENA. +How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? + +PAROLLES. +Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that ne’er it likes. ’Tis a +commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less +worth. Off with’t while ’tis vendible; answer the time of request. +Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion, richly +suited, but unsuitable, just like the brooch and the toothpick, which +wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in +your cheek. And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our +French wither’d pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, ’tis a +wither’d pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet ’tis a wither’d pear. +Will you anything with it? + +HELENA. +Not my virginity yet. +There shall your master have a thousand loves, +A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, +A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, +A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, +A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear: +His humble ambition, proud humility, +His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, +His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world +Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms +That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he— +I know not what he shall. God send him well! +The court’s a learning-place; and he is one. + +PAROLLES. +What one, i’ faith? + +HELENA. +That I wish well. ’Tis pity— + +PAROLLES. +What’s pity? + +HELENA. +That wishing well had not a body in’t +Which might be felt, that we, the poorer born, +Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, +Might with effects of them follow our friends, +And show what we alone must think, which never +Returns us thanks. + + Enter a Page. + +PAGE. +Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. + + [_Exit Page._] + +PAROLLES. +Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember thee, I will think of thee at +court. + +HELENA. +Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. + +PAROLLES. +Under Mars, I. + +HELENA. +I especially think, under Mars. + +PAROLLES. +Why under Mars? + +HELENA. +The wars hath so kept you under, that you must needs be born under +Mars. + +PAROLLES. +When he was predominant. + +HELENA. +When he was retrograde, I think rather. + +PAROLLES. +Why think you so? + +HELENA. +You go so much backward when you fight. + +PAROLLES. +That’s for advantage. + +HELENA. +So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition +that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and +I like the wear well. + +PAROLLES. +I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return +perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize +thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier’s counsel, and understand +what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine +unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When +thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy +friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee. So, +farewell. + + [_Exit._] + +HELENA. +Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, +Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky +Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull +Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. +What power is it which mounts my love so high, +That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? +The mightiest space in fortune nature brings +To join like likes, and kiss like native things. +Impossible be strange attempts to those +That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose +What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove +To show her merit that did miss her love? +The king’s disease,—my project may deceive me, +But my intents are fix’d, and will not leave me. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. + + Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and + others attending. + +KING. +The Florentines and Senoys are by th’ ears; +Have fought with equal fortune, and continue +A braving war. + +FIRST LORD. +So ’tis reported, sir. + +KING. +Nay, ’tis most credible, we here receive it, +A certainty, vouch’d from our cousin Austria, +With caution, that the Florentine will move us +For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend +Prejudicates the business, and would seem +To have us make denial. + +FIRST LORD. +His love and wisdom, +Approv’d so to your majesty, may plead +For amplest credence. + +KING. +He hath arm’d our answer, +And Florence is denied before he comes: +Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see +The Tuscan service, freely have they leave +To stand on either part. + +SECOND LORD. +It well may serve +A nursery to our gentry, who are sick +For breathing and exploit. + +KING. +What’s he comes here? + + Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles. + +FIRST LORD. +It is the Count Rossillon, my good lord, +Young Bertram. + +KING. +Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face; +Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, +Hath well compos’d thee. Thy father’s moral parts +Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. + +BERTRAM. +My thanks and duty are your majesty’s. + +KING. +I would I had that corporal soundness now, +As when thy father and myself in friendship +First tried our soldiership. He did look far +Into the service of the time, and was +Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long, +But on us both did haggish age steal on, +And wore us out of act. It much repairs me +To talk of your good father; in his youth +He had the wit which I can well observe +Today in our young lords; but they may jest +Till their own scorn return to them unnoted +Ere they can hide their levity in honour +So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness +Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, +His equal had awak’d them, and his honour, +Clock to itself, knew the true minute when +Exception bid him speak, and at this time +His tongue obey’d his hand. Who were below him +He us’d as creatures of another place, +And bow’d his eminent top to their low ranks, +Making them proud of his humility, +In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man +Might be a copy to these younger times; +Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now +But goers backward. + +BERTRAM. +His good remembrance, sir, +Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; +So in approof lives not his epitaph +As in your royal speech. + +KING. +Would I were with him! He would always say,— +Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words +He scatter’d not in ears, but grafted them +To grow there and to bear,—“Let me not live,” +This his good melancholy oft began +On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, +When it was out,—“Let me not live” quoth he, +“After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff +Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses +All but new things disdain; whose judgments are +Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies +Expire before their fashions.” This he wish’d. +I, after him, do after him wish too, +Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, +I quickly were dissolved from my hive +To give some labourers room. + +SECOND LORD. +You’re lov’d, sir; +They that least lend it you shall lack you first. + +KING. +I fill a place, I know’t. How long is’t, Count, +Since the physician at your father’s died? +He was much fam’d. + +BERTRAM. +Some six months since, my lord. + +KING. +If he were living, I would try him yet;— +Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out +With several applications; nature and sickness +Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count; +My son’s no dearer. + +BERTRAM. +Thank your majesty. + + [_Exeunt. Flourish._] + +SCENE III. Rossillon. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Countess, Steward and Clown. + +COUNTESS. +I will now hear. What say you of this gentlewoman? + +STEWARD. +Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found +in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, +and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we +publish them. + +COUNTESS. +What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have +heard of you I do not all believe; ’tis my slowness that I do not; for +I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to +make such knaveries yours. + +CLOWN. +’Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. + +COUNTESS. +Well, sir. + +CLOWN. +No, madam, ’tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are +damned; but if I may have your ladyship’s good will to go to the world, +Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. + +COUNTESS. +Wilt thou needs be a beggar? + +CLOWN. +I do beg your good will in this case. + +COUNTESS. +In what case? + +CLOWN. +In Isbel’s case and mine own. Service is no heritage, and I think I +shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue of my body; for +they say barnes are blessings. + +COUNTESS. +Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. + +CLOWN. +My poor body, madam, requires it; I am driven on by the flesh, and he +must needs go that the devil drives. + +COUNTESS. +Is this all your worship’s reason? + +CLOWN. +Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. + +COUNTESS. +May the world know them? + +CLOWN. +I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood +are; and indeed I do marry that I may repent. + +COUNTESS. +Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. + +CLOWN. +I am out of friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife’s +sake. + +COUNTESS. +Such friends are thine enemies, knave. + +CLOWN. +Y’are shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that +for me which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and +gives me leave to in the crop: if I be his cuckold, he’s my drudge. He +that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that +cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my +flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my +friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no +fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the +papist, howsome’er their hearts are sever’d in religion, their heads +are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer i’ the herd. + +COUNTESS. +Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth’d and calumnious knave? + +CLOWN. +A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: + _For I the ballad will repeat, + Which men full true shall find; + Your marriage comes by destiny, + Your cuckoo sings by kind._ + +COUNTESS. +Get you gone, sir; I’ll talk with you more anon. + +STEWARD. +May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to +speak. + +COUNTESS. +Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean. + +CLOWN. +[_Sings._] +_ Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, + Why the Grecians sacked Troy? + Fond done, done fond, + Was this King Priam’s joy? + With that she sighed as she stood, + With that she sighed as she stood, + And gave this sentence then: + Among nine bad if one be good, + Among nine bad if one be good, + There’s yet one good in ten._ + +COUNTESS. +What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah. + +CLOWN. +One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o’ the song. Would +God would serve the world so all the year! We’d find no fault with the +tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth ’a! And we might +have a good woman born but or every blazing star, or at an earthquake, +’twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out ere he +pluck one. + +COUNTESS. +You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you! + +CLOWN. +That man should be at woman’s command, and yet no hurt done! Though +honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the +surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, +forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. + + [_Exit._] + +COUNTESS. +Well, now. + +STEWARD. +I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. + +COUNTESS. +Faith I do. Her father bequeath’d her to me, and she herself, without +other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds; +there is more owing her than is paid, and more shall be paid her than +she’ll demand. + +STEWARD. +Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wish’d me; alone +she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; +she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch’d not any stranger sense. +Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, +that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, +that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana +no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris’d, +without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she +deliver’d in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e’er I heard virgin +exclaim in, which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; +sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to +know it. + +COUNTESS. +You have discharg’d this honestly; keep it to yourself; many +likelihoods inform’d me of this before, which hung so tottering in the +balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you leave me; +stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care. I will +speak with you further anon. + + [_Exit Steward._] + + Enter Helena. + +Even so it was with me when I was young; +If ever we are nature’s, these are ours; this thorn +Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; +Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; +It is the show and seal of nature’s truth, +Where love’s strong passion is impress’d in youth. +By our remembrances of days foregone, +Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. +Her eye is sick on’t; I observe her now. + +HELENA. +What is your pleasure, madam? + +COUNTESS. +You know, Helen, +I am a mother to you. + +HELENA. +Mine honourable mistress. + +COUNTESS. +Nay, a mother. +Why not a mother? When I said a mother, +Methought you saw a serpent. What’s in mother, +That you start at it? I say I am your mother, +And put you in the catalogue of those +That were enwombed mine. ’Tis often seen +Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds +A native slip to us from foreign seeds. +You ne’er oppress’d me with a mother’s groan, +Yet I express to you a mother’s care. +God’s mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood +To say I am thy mother? What’s the matter, +That this distempered messenger of wet, +The many-colour’d Iris, rounds thine eye? +—Why, that you are my daughter? + +HELENA. +That I am not. + +COUNTESS. +I say, I am your mother. + +HELENA. +Pardon, madam; +The Count Rossillon cannot be my brother. +I am from humble, he from honoured name; +No note upon my parents, his all noble, +My master, my dear lord he is; and I +His servant live, and will his vassal die. +He must not be my brother. + +COUNTESS. +Nor I your mother? + +HELENA. +You are my mother, madam; would you were— +So that my lord your son were not my brother,— +Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, +I care no more for than I do for heaven, +So I were not his sister. Can’t no other, +But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? + +COUNTESS. +Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. +God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother +So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again? +My fear hath catch’d your fondness; now I see +The mystery of your loneliness, and find +Your salt tears’ head. Now to all sense ’tis gross +You love my son; invention is asham’d, +Against the proclamation of thy passion +To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true; +But tell me then, ’tis so; for, look, thy cheeks +Confess it, t’one to th’other; and thine eyes +See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, +That in their kind they speak it; only sin +And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, +That truth should be suspected. Speak, is’t so? +If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; +If it be not, forswear’t: howe’er, I charge thee, +As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, +To tell me truly. + +HELENA. +Good madam, pardon me. + +COUNTESS. +Do you love my son? + +HELENA. +Your pardon, noble mistress. + +COUNTESS. +Love you my son? + +HELENA. +Do not you love him, madam? + +COUNTESS. +Go not about; my love hath in’t a bond +Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose +The state of your affection, for your passions +Have to the full appeach’d. + +HELENA. +Then I confess, +Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, +That before you, and next unto high heaven, +I love your son. +My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love. +Be not offended; for it hurts not him +That he is lov’d of me; I follow him not +By any token of presumptuous suit, +Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; +Yet never know how that desert should be. +I know I love in vain, strive against hope; +Yet in this captious and inteemable sieve +I still pour in the waters of my love +And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, +Religious in mine error, I adore +The sun that looks upon his worshipper, +But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, +Let not your hate encounter with my love, +For loving where you do; but if yourself, +Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, +Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, +Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian +Was both herself and love; O then, give pity +To her whose state is such that cannot choose +But lend and give where she is sure to lose; +That seeks not to find that her search implies, +But riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies! + +COUNTESS. +Had you not lately an intent,—speak truly,— +To go to Paris? + +HELENA. +Madam, I had. + +COUNTESS. +Wherefore? tell true. + +HELENA. +I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. +You know my father left me some prescriptions +Of rare and prov’d effects, such as his reading +And manifest experience had collected +For general sovereignty; and that he will’d me +In heedfull’st reservation to bestow them, +As notes whose faculties inclusive were +More than they were in note. Amongst the rest +There is a remedy, approv’d, set down, +To cure the desperate languishings whereof +The king is render’d lost. + +COUNTESS. +This was your motive +For Paris, was it? Speak. + +HELENA. +My lord your son made me to think of this; +Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, +Had from the conversation of my thoughts +Haply been absent then. + +COUNTESS. +But think you, Helen, +If you should tender your supposed aid, +He would receive it? He and his physicians +Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him; +They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit +A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, +Embowell’d of their doctrine, have let off +The danger to itself? + +HELENA. +There’s something in’t +More than my father’s skill, which was the great’st +Of his profession, that his good receipt +Shall for my legacy be sanctified +By th’ luckiest stars in heaven; and would your honour +But give me leave to try success, I’d venture +The well-lost life of mine on his grace’s cure. +By such a day, an hour. + +COUNTESS. +Dost thou believe’t? + +HELENA. +Ay, madam, knowingly. + +COUNTESS. +Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, +Means and attendants, and my loving greetings +To those of mine in court. I’ll stay at home, +And pray God’s blessing into thy attempt. +Be gone tomorrow; and be sure of this, +What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the King with young Lords taking leave for the + Florentine war; Bertram, Parolles and Attendants. + +KING. +Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles +Do not throw from you; and you, my lords, farewell; +Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, +The gift doth stretch itself as ’tis receiv’d, +And is enough for both. + +FIRST LORD. +’Tis our hope, sir, +After well-ent’red soldiers, to return +And find your grace in health. + +KING. +No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart +Will not confess he owes the malady +That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords. +Whether I live or die, be you the sons +Of worthy Frenchmen; let higher Italy,— +Those bated that inherit but the fall +Of the last monarchy—see that you come +Not to woo honour, but to wed it, when +The bravest questant shrinks: find what you seek, +That fame may cry you loud. I say farewell. + +SECOND LORD. +Health, at your bidding serve your majesty! + +KING. +Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; +They say our French lack language to deny +If they demand; beware of being captives +Before you serve. + +BOTH. +Our hearts receive your warnings. + +KING. +Farewell.—Come hither to me. + + [_The King retires to a couch._] + +FIRST LORD. +O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! + +PAROLLES. +’Tis not his fault; the spark. + +SECOND LORD. +O, ’tis brave wars! + +PAROLLES. +Most admirable! I have seen those wars. + +BERTRAM. +I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, +“Too young”, and “the next year” and “’tis too early”. + +PAROLLES. +An thy mind stand to’t, boy, steal away bravely. + +BERTRAM. +I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, +Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, +Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn +But one to dance with. By heaven, I’ll steal away. + +FIRST LORD. +There’s honour in the theft. + +PAROLLES. +Commit it, count. + +SECOND LORD. +I am your accessary; and so farewell. + +BERTRAM. +I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur’d body. + +FIRST LORD. +Farewell, captain. + +SECOND LORD. +Sweet Monsieur Parolles! + +PAROLLES. +Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a +word, good metals. You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one +Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his +sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrench’d it. Say to him I +live; and observe his reports for me. + +FIRST LORD. +We shall, noble captain. + +PAROLLES. +Mars dote on you for his novices! + + [_Exeunt Lords._] + +What will ye do? + +BERTRAM. +Stay the king. + +PAROLLES. +Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrain’d +yourself within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more expressive to +them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time; there do muster +true gait; eat, speak, and move, under the influence of the most +receiv’d star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be +followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell. + +BERTRAM. +And I will do so. + +PAROLLES. +Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. + + [_Exeunt Bertram and Parolles._] + + Enter Lafew. + +LAFEW. +Pardon, my lord [_kneeling_], for me and for my tidings. + +KING. +I’ll fee thee to stand up. + +LAFEW. +Then here’s a man stands that has brought his pardon. +I would you had kneel’d, my lord, to ask me mercy, +And that at my bidding you could so stand up. + +KING. +I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, +And ask’d thee mercy for’t. + +LAFEW. +Good faith, across; +But, my good lord, ’tis thus: will you be cur’d +Of your infirmity? + +KING. +No. + +LAFEW. +O, will you eat +No grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will +My noble grapes, and if my royal fox +Could reach them. I have seen a medicine +That’s able to breathe life into a stone, +Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary +With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch +Is powerful to araise King Pippen, nay, +To give great Charlemain a pen in’s hand +And write to her a love-line. + +KING. +What ‘her’ is this? + +LAFEW. +Why, doctor ‘she’! My lord, there’s one arriv’d, +If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour, +If seriously I may convey my thoughts +In this my light deliverance, I have spoke +With one that in her sex, her years, profession, +Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz’d me more +Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, +For that is her demand, and know her business? +That done, laugh well at me. + +KING. +Now, good Lafew, +Bring in the admiration; that we with thee +May spend our wonder too, or take off thine +By wond’ring how thou took’st it. + +LAFEW. +Nay, I’ll fit you, +And not be all day neither. + + [_Exit Lafew._] + +KING. +Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. + + Enter Lafew with Helena. + +LAFEW. +Nay, come your ways. + +KING. +This haste hath wings indeed. + +LAFEW. +Nay, come your ways. +This is his majesty, say your mind to him. +A traitor you do look like, but such traitors +His majesty seldom fears; I am Cressid’s uncle, +That dare leave two together. Fare you well. + + [_Exit._] + +KING. +Now, fair one, does your business follow us? + +HELENA. +Ay, my good lord. +Gerard de Narbon was my father, +In what he did profess, well found. + +KING. +I knew him. + +HELENA. +The rather will I spare my praises towards him. +Knowing him is enough. On his bed of death +Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, +Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, +And of his old experience the only darling, +He bade me store up as a triple eye, +Safer than mine own two; more dear I have so, +And hearing your high majesty is touch’d +With that malignant cause, wherein the honour +Of my dear father’s gift stands chief in power, +I come to tender it, and my appliance, +With all bound humbleness. + +KING. +We thank you, maiden, +But may not be so credulous of cure, +When our most learned doctors leave us, and +The congregated college have concluded +That labouring art can never ransom nature +From her inaidable estate. I say we must not +So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, +To prostitute our past-cure malady +To empirics, or to dissever so +Our great self and our credit, to esteem +A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. + +HELENA. +My duty then shall pay me for my pains. +I will no more enforce mine office on you, +Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts +A modest one to bear me back again. + +KING. +I cannot give thee less, to be call’d grateful. +Thou thought’st to help me; and such thanks I give +As one near death to those that wish him live. +But what at full I know, thou know’st no part; +I knowing all my peril, thou no art. + +HELENA. +What I can do can do no hurt to try, +Since you set up your rest ’gainst remedy. +He that of greatest works is finisher +Oft does them by the weakest minister. +So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, +When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown +From simple sources, and great seas have dried +When miracles have by the great’st been denied. +Oft expectation fails, and most oft there +Where most it promises; and oft it hits +Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits. + +KING. +I must not hear thee. Fare thee well, kind maid. +Thy pains, not us’d, must by thyself be paid; +Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. + +HELENA. +Inspired merit so by breath is barr’d. +It is not so with Him that all things knows +As ’tis with us that square our guess by shows; +But most it is presumption in us when +The help of heaven we count the act of men. +Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; +Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. +I am not an impostor, that proclaim +Myself against the level of mine aim, +But know I think, and think I know most sure, +My art is not past power nor you past cure. + +KING. +Art thou so confident? Within what space +Hop’st thou my cure? + +HELENA. +The greatest grace lending grace. +Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring +Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, +Ere twice in murk and occidental damp +Moist Hesperus hath quench’d her sleepy lamp; +Or four and twenty times the pilot’s glass +Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; +What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, +Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. + +KING. +Upon thy certainty and confidence +What dar’st thou venture? + +HELENA. +Tax of impudence, +A strumpet’s boldness, a divulged shame, +Traduc’d by odious ballads; my maiden’s name +Sear’d otherwise; ne worse of worst extended +With vildest torture, let my life be ended. + +KING. +Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak +His powerful sound within an organ weak; +And what impossibility would slay +In common sense, sense saves another way. +Thy life is dear, for all that life can rate +Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: +Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all +That happiness and prime can happy call. +Thou this to hazard needs must intimate +Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. +Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, +That ministers thine own death if I die. + +HELENA. +If I break time, or flinch in property +Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, +And well deserv’d. Not helping, death’s my fee; +But if I help, what do you promise me? + +KING. +Make thy demand. + +HELENA. +But will you make it even? + +KING. +Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. + +HELENA. +Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand +What husband in thy power I will command: +Exempted be from me the arrogance +To choose from forth the royal blood of France, +My low and humble name to propagate +With any branch or image of thy state; +But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know +Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. + +KING. +Here is my hand; the premises observ’d, +Thy will by my performance shall be serv’d; +So make the choice of thy own time, for I, +Thy resolv’d patient, on thee still rely. +More should I question thee, and more I must, +Though more to know could not be more to trust: +From whence thou cam’st, how tended on; but rest +Unquestion’d welcome, and undoubted bless’d. +Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed +As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Countess and Clown. + +COUNTESS. +Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. + +CLOWN. +I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. I know my business is +but to the court. + +COUNTESS. +To the court! Why, what place make you special, when you put off that +with such contempt? But to the court! + +CLOWN. +Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it +off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off’s cap, kiss his hand, +and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such +a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have +an answer will serve all men. + +COUNTESS. +Marry, that’s a bountiful answer that fits all questions. + +CLOWN. +It is like a barber’s chair, that fits all buttocks—the pin-buttock, +the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock. + +COUNTESS. +Will your answer serve fit to all questions? + +CLOWN. +As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French +crown for your taffety punk, as Tib’s rush for Tom’s forefinger, as a +pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his +hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling +knave, as the nun’s lip to the friar’s mouth; nay, as the pudding to +his skin. + +COUNTESS. +Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? + +CLOWN. +From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any +question. + +COUNTESS. +It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. + +CLOWN. +But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth +of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to’t. Ask me if I am a +courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn. + +COUNTESS. +To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to +be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? + +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! There’s a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of +them. + +COUNTESS. +Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. + +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Thick, thick; spare not me. + +COUNTESS. +I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. + +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to’t, I warrant you. + +COUNTESS. +You were lately whipp’d, sir, as I think. + +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Spare not me. + +COUNTESS. +Do you cry ‘O Lord, sir!’ at your whipping, and ‘spare not me’? Indeed +your ‘O Lord, sir!’ is very sequent to your whipping. You would answer +very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to’t. + +CLOWN. +I ne’er had worse luck in my life in my ‘O Lord, sir!’ I see things may +serve long, but not serve ever. + +COUNTESS. +I play the noble housewife with the time, to entertain it so merrily +with a fool. + +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Why, there’t serves well again. + +COUNTESS. +An end, sir! To your business. Give Helen this, +And urge her to a present answer back. +Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. +This is not much. + +CLOWN. +Not much commendation to them? + +COUNTESS. +Not much employment for you. You understand me? + +CLOWN. +Most fruitfully. I am there before my legs. + +COUNTESS. +Haste you again. + + [_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE III. Paris. The King’s palace. + + Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles. + +LAFEW. +They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons to +make modern and familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it +that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming +knowledge when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. + +PAROLLES. +Why, ’tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our +latter times. + +BERTRAM. +And so ’tis. + +LAFEW. +To be relinquish’d of the artists,— + +PAROLLES. +So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. + +LAFEW. +Of all the learned and authentic fellows,— + +PAROLLES. +Right; so I say. + +LAFEW. +That gave him out incurable,— + +PAROLLES. +Why, there ’tis; so say I too. + +LAFEW. +Not to be helped. + +PAROLLES. +Right; as ’twere a man assur’d of a— + +LAFEW. +Uncertain life and sure death. + +PAROLLES. +Just; you say well. So would I have said. + +LAFEW. +I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. + +PAROLLES. +It is indeed; if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in what +do you call there? + +LAFEW. +A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. + +PAROLLES. +That’s it; I would have said the very same. + +LAFEW. +Why, your dolphin is not lustier; fore me, I speak in respect— + +PAROLLES. +Nay, ’tis strange, ’tis very strange; that is the brief and the tedious +of it; and he’s of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge +it to be the— + +LAFEW. +Very hand of heaven. + +PAROLLES. +Ay, so I say. + +LAFEW. +In a most weak— + +PAROLLES. +And debile minister, great power, great transcendence, which should +indeed give us a further use to be made than alone the recov’ry of the +king, as to be— + +LAFEW. +Generally thankful. + +PAROLLES. +I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. + + Enter King, Helena and Attendants. + +LAFEW. +Lustique, as the Dutchman says. I’ll like a maid the better, whilst I +have a tooth in my head. Why, he’s able to lead her a coranto. + +PAROLLES. +_Mor du vinager!_ is not this Helen? + +LAFEW. +Fore God, I think so. + +KING. +Go, call before me all the lords in court. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +Sit, my preserver, by thy patient’s side, +And with this healthful hand, whose banish’d sense +Thou has repeal’d, a second time receive +The confirmation of my promis’d gift, +Which but attends thy naming. + + Enter several Lords. + +Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful parcel +Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, +O’er whom both sovereign power and father’s voice +I have to use. Thy frank election make; +Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. + +HELENA. +To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress +Fall, when love please! Marry, to each but one! + +LAFEW. +I’d give bay curtal and his furniture +My mouth no more were broken than these boys’, +And writ as little beard. + +KING. +Peruse them well. +Not one of those but had a noble father. + + She addresses her to a Lord. + +HELENA. +Gentlemen, +Heaven hath through me restor’d the king to health. + +ALL. +We understand it, and thank heaven for you. + +HELENA. +I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest +That I protest I simply am a maid. +Please it, your majesty, I have done already. +The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me: +“We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, +Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever, +We’ll ne’er come there again.” + +KING. +Make choice; and, see, +Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. + +HELENA. +Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, +And to imperial Love, that god most high, +Do my sighs stream. [_To first Lord._] Sir, will you hear my suit? + +FIRST LORD. +And grant it. + +HELENA. +Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. + +LAFEW. +I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. + +HELENA. +[_To second Lord._] The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, +Before I speak, too threat’ningly replies. +Love make your fortunes twenty times above +Her that so wishes, and her humble love! + +SECOND LORD. +No better, if you please. + +HELENA. +My wish receive, +Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave. + +LAFEW. +Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I’d have them whipp’d; +or I would send them to th’ Turk to make eunuchs of. + +HELENA. +[_To third Lord._] Be not afraid that I your hand should take; +I’ll never do you wrong for your own sake. +Blessing upon your vows, and in your bed +Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! + +LAFEW. +These boys are boys of ice, they’ll none have her. Sure, they are +bastards to the English; the French ne’er got ’em. + +HELENA. +[_To fourth Lord._] You are too young, too happy, and too good, +To make yourself a son out of my blood. + +FOURTH LORD. +Fair one, I think not so. + +LAFEW. +There’s one grape yet. I am sure thy father drank wine. But if thou +beest not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. + +HELENA. +[_To Bertram._] I dare not say I take you, but I give +Me and my service, ever whilst I live, +Into your guiding power. This is the man. + +KING. +Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she’s thy wife. + +BERTRAM. +My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, +In such a business give me leave to use +The help of mine own eyes. + +KING. +Know’st thou not, Bertram, +What she has done for me? + +BERTRAM. +Yes, my good lord, +But never hope to know why I should marry her. + +KING. +Thou know’st she has rais’d me from my sickly bed. + +BERTRAM. +But follows it, my lord, to bring me down +Must answer for your raising? I know her well; +She had her breeding at my father’s charge: +A poor physician’s daughter my wife! Disdain +Rather corrupt me ever! + +KING. +’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which +I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, +Of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together, +Would quite confound distinction, yet stands off +In differences so mighty. If she be +All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik’st, +A poor physician’s daughter,—thou dislik’st— +Of virtue for the name. But do not so. +From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, +The place is dignified by the doer’s deed. +Where great additions swell’s, and virtue none, +It is a dropsied honour. Good alone +Is good without a name; vileness is so: +The property by what it is should go, +Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; +In these to nature she’s immediate heir; +And these breed honour: that is honour’s scorn +Which challenges itself as honour’s born, +And is not like the sire. Honours thrive +When rather from our acts we them derive +Than our fore-goers. The mere word’s a slave, +Debauch’d on every tomb, on every grave +A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb +Where dust and damn’d oblivion is the tomb +Of honour’d bones indeed. What should be said? +If thou canst like this creature as a maid, +I can create the rest. Virtue and she +Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. + +BERTRAM. +I cannot love her, nor will strive to do ’t. + +KING. +Thou wrong’st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. + +HELENA. +That you are well restor’d, my lord, I am glad. +Let the rest go. + +KING. +My honour’s at the stake, which to defeat, +I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, +Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, +That dost in vile misprision shackle up +My love and her desert; that canst not dream +We, poising us in her defective scale, +Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know +It is in us to plant thine honour where +We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt; +Obey our will, which travails in thy good; +Believe not thy disdain, but presently +Do thine own fortunes that obedient right +Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; +Or I will throw thee from my care for ever +Into the staggers and the careless lapse +Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate +Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, +Without all terms of pity. Speak! Thine answer! + +BERTRAM. +Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit +My fancy to your eyes. When I consider +What great creation, and what dole of honour +Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late +Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now +The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, +Is as ’twere born so. + +KING. +Take her by the hand, +And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise +A counterpoise; if not to thy estate, +A balance more replete. + +BERTRAM. +I take her hand. + +KING. +Good fortune and the favour of the king +Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony +Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, +And be perform’d tonight. The solemn feast +Shall more attend upon the coming space, +Expecting absent friends. As thou lov’st her, +Thy love’s to me religious; else, does err. + + [_Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Attendants._] + +LAFEW. +Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you. + +PAROLLES. +Your pleasure, sir. + +LAFEW. +Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. + +PAROLLES. +Recantation! My lord! My master! + +LAFEW. +Ay. Is it not a language I speak? + +PAROLLES. +A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. +My master! + +LAFEW. +Are you companion to the Count Rossillon? + +PAROLLES. +To any count; to all counts; to what is man. + +LAFEW. +To what is count’s man: count’s master is of another style. + +PAROLLES. +You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. + +LAFEW. +I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring +thee. + +PAROLLES. +What I dare too well do, I dare not do. + +LAFEW. +I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou +didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass. Yet the scarfs +and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing +thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose +thee again I care not. Yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and +that thou art scarce worth. + +PAROLLES. +Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee— + +LAFEW. +Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; +which if—Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of +lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look +through thee. Give me thy hand. + +PAROLLES. +My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. + +LAFEW. +Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. + +PAROLLES. +I have not, my lord, deserv’d it. + +LAFEW. +Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. + +PAROLLES. +Well, I shall be wiser. + +LAFEW. +Ev’n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o’ th’ +contrary. If ever thou beest bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt +find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my +acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the +default, “He is a man I know.” + +PAROLLES. +My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. + +LAFEW. +I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal; for +doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me +leave. + + [_Exit._] + +PAROLLES. +Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, +filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of +authority. I’ll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any +convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I’ll have no more +pity of his age than I would have of—I’ll beat him, and if I could but +meet him again. + + Enter Lafew. + +LAFEW. +Sirrah, your lord and master’s married; there’s news for you; you have +a new mistress. + +PAROLLES. +I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of +your wrongs. He is my good lord; whom I serve above is my master. + +LAFEW. +Who? God? + +PAROLLES. +Ay, sir. + +LAFEW. +The devil it is that’s thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o’ +this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants so? Thou +wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if +I were but two hours younger, I’d beat thee. Methink’st thou art a +general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast +created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. + +PAROLLES. +This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. + +LAFEW. +Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a +pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller. You are more +saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your +birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, +else I’d call you knave. I leave you. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Bertram. + +PAROLLES. +Good, very good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it be conceal’d +awhile. + +BERTRAM. +Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! + +PAROLLES. +What’s the matter, sweetheart? + +BERTRAM. +Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, +I will not bed her. + +PAROLLES. +What, what, sweetheart? + +BERTRAM. +O my Parolles, they have married me! +I’ll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. + +PAROLLES. +France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits +The tread of a man’s foot: to the wars! + +BERTRAM. +There’s letters from my mother; what th’ import is +I know not yet. + +PAROLLES. +Ay, that would be known. To th’ wars, my boy, to th’ wars! +He wears his honour in a box unseen +That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, +Spending his manly marrow in her arms, +Which should sustain the bound and high curvet +Of Mars’s fiery steed. To other regions! +France is a stable; we that dwell in’t, jades, +Therefore, to th’ war! + +BERTRAM. +It shall be so; I’ll send her to my house, +Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, +And wherefore I am fled; write to the king +That which I durst not speak. His present gift +Shall furnish me to those Italian fields +Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife +To the dark house and the detested wife. + +PAROLLES. +Will this caprichio hold in thee, art sure? + +BERTRAM. +Go with me to my chamber and advise me. +I’ll send her straight away. Tomorrow +I’ll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. + +PAROLLES. +Why, these balls bound; there’s noise in it. ’Tis hard: +A young man married is a man that’s marr’d. +Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go. +The king has done you wrong; but hush ’tis so. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Paris. The King’s palace. + + Enter Helena and Clown. + +HELENA. +My mother greets me kindly: is she well? + +CLOWN. +She is not well, but yet she has her health; she’s very merry, but yet +she is not well. But thanks be given, she’s very well, and wants +nothing i’ the world; but yet she is not well. + +HELENA. +If she be very well, what does she ail that she’s not very well? + +CLOWN. +Truly, she’s very well indeed, but for two things. + +HELENA. +What two things? + +CLOWN. +One, that she’s not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! The other, +that she’s in earth, from whence God send her quickly! + + Enter Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +Bless you, my fortunate lady! + +HELENA. +I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune. + +PAROLLES. +You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them +still. O, my knave how does my old lady? + +CLOWN. +So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you +say. + +PAROLLES. +Why, I say nothing. + +CLOWN. +Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man’s tongue shakes out his +master’s undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and +to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a +very little of nothing. + +PAROLLES. +Away! Thou art a knave. + +CLOWN. +You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is +before me thou art a knave. This had been truth, sir. + +PAROLLES. +Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. + +CLOWN. +Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The +search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to +the world’s pleasure and the increase of laughter. + +PAROLLES. +A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed. +Madam, my lord will go away tonight; +A very serious business calls on him. +The great prerogative and right of love, +Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; +But puts it off to a compell’d restraint; +Whose want, and whose delay, is strew’d with sweets; +Which they distil now in the curbed time, +To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy +And pleasure drown the brim. + +HELENA. +What’s his will else? + +PAROLLES. +That you will take your instant leave o’ the king, +And make this haste as your own good proceeding, +Strengthen’d with what apology you think +May make it probable need. + +HELENA. +What more commands he? + +PAROLLES. +That, having this obtain’d, you presently +Attend his further pleasure. + +HELENA. +In everything I wait upon his will. + +PAROLLES. +I shall report it so. + +HELENA. +I pray you. Come, sirrah. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another room in the same. + + Enter Lafew and Bertram. + +LAFEW. +But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. + +BERTRAM. +Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. + +LAFEW. +You have it from his own deliverance. + +BERTRAM. +And by other warranted testimony. + +LAFEW. +Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting. + +BERTRAM. +I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and +accordingly valiant. + +LAFEW. +I have, then, sinned against his experience and transgressed against +his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find +in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you make us friends; I +will pursue the amity + + Enter Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +[_To Bertram._] These things shall be done, sir. + +LAFEW. +Pray you, sir, who’s his tailor? + +PAROLLES. +Sir! + +LAFEW. +O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good +tailor. + +BERTRAM. +[_Aside to Parolles._] Is she gone to the king? + +PAROLLES. +She is. + +BERTRAM. +Will she away tonight? + +PAROLLES. +As you’ll have her. + +BERTRAM. +I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, +Given order for our horses; and tonight, +When I should take possession of the bride, +End ere I do begin. + +LAFEW. +A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one +that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand +nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten.— God save you, +Captain. + +BERTRAM. +Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? + +PAROLLES. +I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord’s displeasure. + +LAFEW. +You have made shift to run into ’t, boots and spurs and all, like him +that leapt into the custard; and out of it you’ll run again, rather +than suffer question for your residence. + +BERTRAM. +It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. + +LAFEW. +And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, +my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernal in this light +nut; the soul of this man is his clothes; trust him not in matter of +heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. +Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken better of you than you have or will +to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. + + [_Exit._] + +PAROLLES. +An idle lord, I swear. + +BERTRAM. +I think so. + +PAROLLES. +Why, do you not know him? + +BERTRAM. +Yes, I do know him well; and common speech +Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. + + Enter Helena. + +HELENA. +I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, +Spoke with the king, and have procur’d his leave +For present parting; only he desires +Some private speech with you. + +BERTRAM. +I shall obey his will. +You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, +Which holds not colour with the time, nor does +The ministration and required office +On my particular. Prepared I was not +For such a business; therefore am I found +So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you; +That presently you take your way for home, +And rather muse than ask why I entreat you: +For my respects are better than they seem; +And my appointments have in them a need +Greater than shows itself at the first view +To you that know them not. This to my mother. + + [_Giving a letter._] + +’Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so +I leave you to your wisdom. + +HELENA. +Sir, I can nothing say +But that I am your most obedient servant. + +BERTRAM. +Come, come, no more of that. + +HELENA. +And ever shall +With true observance seek to eke out that +Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail’d +To equal my great fortune. + +BERTRAM. +Let that go. +My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home. + +HELENA. +Pray, sir, your pardon. + +BERTRAM. +Well, what would you say? + +HELENA. +I am not worthy of the wealth I owe; +Nor dare I say ’tis mine, and yet it is; +But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal +What law does vouch mine own. + +BERTRAM. +What would you have? + +HELENA. +Something; and scarce so much; nothing indeed. +I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith, yes, +Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss. + +BERTRAM. +I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. + +HELENA. +I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. +Where are my other men, monsieur? +Farewell, + + [_Exit Helena._] + +BERTRAM. +Go thou toward home, where I will never come +Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. +Away, and for our flight. + +PAROLLES. +Bravely, coragio! + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. Florence. A room in the Duke’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence attended; two French Lords, and + Soldiers. + +DUKE. +So that, from point to point, now have you heard +The fundamental reasons of this war, +Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, +And more thirsts after. + +FIRST LORD. +Holy seems the quarrel +Upon your Grace’s part; black and fearful +On the opposer. + +DUKE. +Therefore we marvel much our cousin France +Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom +Against our borrowing prayers. + +SECOND LORD. +Good my lord, +The reasons of our state I cannot yield, +But like a common and an outward man +That the great figure of a council frames +By self-unable motion; therefore dare not +Say what I think of it, since I have found +Myself in my incertain grounds to fail +As often as I guess’d. + +DUKE. +Be it his pleasure. + +FIRST LORD. +But I am sure the younger of our nature, +That surfeit on their ease, will day by day +Come here for physic. + +DUKE. +Welcome shall they be; +And all the honours that can fly from us +Shall on them settle. You know your places well; +When better fall, for your avails they fell. +Tomorrow to the field. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Countess and Clown. + +COUNTESS. +It hath happen’d all as I would have had it, save that he comes not +along with her. + +CLOWN. +By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. + +COUNTESS. +By what observance, I pray you? + +CLOWN. +Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask +questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this +trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. + +COUNTESS. +Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. + + [_Opening a letter._] + +CLOWN. +I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our +Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’ +th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knock’d out, and I begin to love, +as an old man loves money, with no stomach. + +COUNTESS. +What have we here? + +CLOWN. +E’en that you have there. + + [_Exit._] + +COUNTESS. +[_Reads._] _I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath recovered the +king and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to +make the “not” eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before +the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a +long distance. My duty to you. + Your unfortunate son,_ + BERTRAM. + +This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, +To fly the favours of so good a king, +To pluck his indignation on thy head +By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous +For the contempt of empire. + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young +lady. + +COUNTESS. +What is the matter? + +CLOWN. +Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not +be kill’d so soon as I thought he would. + +COUNTESS. +Why should he be kill’d? + +CLOWN. +So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in +standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of +children. Here they come will tell you more. For my part, I only hear +your son was run away. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Helena and the two Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Save you, good madam. + +HELENA. +Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Do not say so. + +COUNTESS. +Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,— +I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief +That the first face of neither on the start +Can woman me unto ’t. Where is my son, I pray you? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence; +We met him thitherward, for thence we came, +And, after some despatch in hand at court, +Thither we bend again. + +HELENA. +Look on this letter, madam; here’s my passport. + +[_Reads._] _When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never +shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am +father to, then call me husband; but in such a “then” I write a +“never”._ +This is a dreadful sentence. + +COUNTESS. +Brought you this letter, gentlemen? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Ay, madam; And for the contents’ sake, are sorry for our pains. + +COUNTESS. +I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer; +If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, +Thou robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son, +But I do wash his name out of my blood, +And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Ay, madam. + +COUNTESS. +And to be a soldier? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Such is his noble purpose, and, believe’t, +The duke will lay upon him all the honour +That good convenience claims. + +COUNTESS. +Return you thither? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. + +HELENA. +[_Reads._] _Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France._ +’Tis bitter. + +COUNTESS. +Find you that there? + +HELENA. +Ay, madam. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +’Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not +consenting to. + +COUNTESS. +Nothing in France until he have no wife! +There’s nothing here that is too good for him +But only she, and she deserves a lord +That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, +And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +A servant only, and a gentleman which I have sometime known. + +COUNTESS. +Parolles, was it not? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Ay, my good lady, he. + +COUNTESS. +A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. +My son corrupts a well-derived nature +With his inducement. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Indeed, good lady, +The fellow has a deal of that too much, +Which holds him much to have. + +COUNTESS. +Y’are welcome, gentlemen. +I will entreat you, when you see my son, +To tell him that his sword can never win +The honour that he loses: more I’ll entreat you +Written to bear along. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +We serve you, madam, +In that and all your worthiest affairs. + +COUNTESS. +Not so, but as we change our courtesies. +Will you draw near? + + [_Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen._] + +HELENA. +“Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.” +Nothing in France until he has no wife! +Thou shalt have none, Rossillon, none in France; +Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is’t I +That chase thee from thy country, and expose +Those tender limbs of thine to the event +Of the none-sparing war? And is it I +That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou +Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark +Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, +That ride upon the violent speed of fire, +Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, +That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. +Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; +Whoever charges on his forward breast, +I am the caitiff that do hold him to’t; +And though I kill him not, I am the cause +His death was so effected. Better ’twere +I met the ravin lion when he roar’d +With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere +That all the miseries which nature owes +Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rossillon, +Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, +As oft it loses all. I will be gone; +My being here it is that holds thee hence. +Shall I stay here to do’t? No, no, although +The air of paradise did fan the house, +And angels offic’d all. I will be gone, +That pitiful rumour may report my flight +To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day; +For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, + Soldiers, Parolles. + +DUKE. +The general of our horse thou art, and we, +Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence +Upon thy promising fortune. + +BERTRAM. +Sir, it is +A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet +We’ll strive to bear it for your worthy sake +To th’extreme edge of hazard. + +DUKE. +Then go thou forth; +And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, +As thy auspicious mistress! + +BERTRAM. +This very day, +Great Mars, I put myself into thy file; +Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove +A lover of thy drum, hater of love. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Countess and Steward. + +COUNTESS. +Alas! and would you take the letter of her? +Might you not know she would do as she has done, +By sending me a letter? Read it again. + +STEWARD. +[_Reads._] _I am Saint Jaques’ pilgrim, thither gone. +Ambitious love hath so in me offended +That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, +With sainted vow my faults to have amended. +Write, write, that from the bloody course of war +My dearest master, your dear son, may hie. +Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far +His name with zealous fervour sanctify. +His taken labours bid him me forgive; +I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth +From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, +Where death and danger dog the heels of worth. +He is too good and fair for death and me; +Whom I myself embrace to set him free._ + +COUNTESS. +Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! +Rynaldo, you did never lack advice so much +As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her, +I could have well diverted her intents, +Which thus she hath prevented. + +STEWARD. +Pardon me, madam; +If I had given you this at over-night, +She might have been o’erta’en; and yet she writes +Pursuit would be but vain. + +COUNTESS. +What angel shall +Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive, +Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear +And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath +Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rynaldo, +To this unworthy husband of his wife; +Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, +That he does weigh too light; my greatest grief, +Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. +Dispatch the most convenient messenger. +When haply he shall hear that she is gone +He will return; and hope I may that she, +Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, +Led hither by pure love. Which of them both +Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense +To make distinction. Provide this messenger. +My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; +Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Without the walls of Florence. + + Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana and other + Citizens. + +WIDOW. +Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the +sight. + +DIANA. +They say the French count has done most honourable service. + +WIDOW. +It is reported that he has taken their great’st commander, and that +with his own hand he slew the duke’s brother. + + [_A tucket afar off._] + +We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark! you may +know by their trumpets. + +MARIANA. +Come, let’s return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. +Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl; the honour of a maid is her +name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. + +WIDOW. +I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his +companion. + +MARIANA. +I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles; a filthy officer he is in +those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their +promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, +are not the things they go under; many a maid hath been seduced by +them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck +of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they +are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to +advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you +are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is +so lost. + +DIANA. +You shall not need to fear me. + + Enter Helena in the dress of a pilgrim. + +WIDOW. +I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house; +thither they send one another; I’ll question her. God save you, +pilgrim! Whither are bound? + +HELENA. +To Saint Jaques le Grand. +Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? + +WIDOW. +At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. + +HELENA. +Is this the way? + + [_A march afar._] + +WIDOW. +Ay, marry, is’t. Hark you, they come this way. +If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, +But till the troops come by, +I will conduct you where you shall be lodg’d; +The rather for I think I know your hostess +As ample as myself. + +HELENA. +Is it yourself? + +WIDOW. +If you shall please so, pilgrim. + +HELENA. +I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. + +WIDOW. +You came, I think, from France? + +HELENA. +I did so. + +WIDOW. +Here you shall see a countryman of yours +That has done worthy service. + +HELENA. +His name, I pray you. + +DIANA. +The Count Rossillon. Know you such a one? + +HELENA. +But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; +His face I know not. + +DIANA. +Whatsome’er he is, +He’s bravely taken here. He stole from France, +As ’tis reported, for the king had married him +Against his liking. Think you it is so? + +HELENA. +Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. + +DIANA. +There is a gentleman that serves the count +Reports but coarsely of her. + +HELENA. +What’s his name? + +DIANA. +Monsieur Parolles. + +HELENA. +O, I believe with him, +In argument of praise, or to the worth +Of the great count himself, she is too mean +To have her name repeated; all her deserving +Is a reserved honesty, and that +I have not heard examin’d. + +DIANA. +Alas, poor lady! +’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife +Of a detesting lord. + +WIDOW. +Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe’er she is, +Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her +A shrewd turn, if she pleas’d. + +HELENA. +How do you mean? +Maybe the amorous count solicits her +In the unlawful purpose. + +WIDOW. +He does indeed, +And brokes with all that can in such a suit +Corrupt the tender honour of a maid; +But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard +In honestest defence. + + Enter, with a drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, + Bertram and Parolles. + +MARIANA. +The gods forbid else! + +WIDOW. +So, now they come. +That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son; +That Escalus. + +HELENA. +Which is the Frenchman? + +DIANA. +He; +That with the plume; ’tis a most gallant fellow. +I would he lov’d his wife; if he were honester +He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentleman? + +HELENA. +I like him well. + +DIANA. +’Tis pity he is not honest. Yond’s that same knave +That leads him to these places. Were I his lady +I would poison that vile rascal. + +HELENA. +Which is he? + +DIANA. +That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy? + +HELENA. +Perchance he’s hurt i’ the battle. + +PAROLLES. +Lose our drum! Well. + +MARIANA. +He’s shrewdly vex’d at something. Look, he has spied us. + +WIDOW. +Marry, hang you! + +MARIANA. +And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! + + [_Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers._] + +WIDOW. +The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you +Where you shall host; of enjoin’d penitents +There’s four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, +Already at my house. + +HELENA. +I humbly thank you. +Please it this matron and this gentle maid +To eat with us tonight; the charge and thanking +Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, +I will bestow some precepts of this virgin, +Worthy the note. + +BOTH. +We’ll take your offer kindly. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. + + Enter Bertram and the two French Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Nay, good my lord, put him to’t; let him have his way. + +SECOND LORD. +If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your +respect. + +FIRST LORD. +On my life, my lord, a bubble. + +BERTRAM. +Do you think I am so far deceived in him? + +FIRST LORD. +Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, +but to speak of him as my kinsman, he’s a most notable coward, an +infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no +one good quality worthy your lordship’s entertainment. + +SECOND LORD. +It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which +he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business, in a main +danger fail you. + +BERTRAM. +I would I knew in what particular action to try him. + +SECOND LORD. +None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so +confidently undertake to do. + +FIRST LORD. +I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise him; such I will +have whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy; we will bind and +hoodwink him so that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried +into the leaguer of the adversaries when we bring him to our own tents. +Be but your lordship present at his examination; if he do not for the +promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer +to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against +you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never +trust my judgment in anything. + +SECOND LORD. +O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a +stratagem for’t. When your lordship sees the bottom of his success +in’t, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if +you give him not John Drum’s entertainment, your inclining cannot be +removed. Here he comes. + + Enter Parolles. + +FIRST LORD. +O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let +him fetch off his drum in any hand. + +BERTRAM. +How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your disposition. + +SECOND LORD. +A pox on ’t; let it go; ’tis but a drum. + +PAROLLES. +But a drum! Is’t but a drum? A drum so lost! There was excellent +command, to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend +our own soldiers. + +SECOND LORD. +That was not to be blam’d in the command of the service; it was a +disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had +been there to command. + +BERTRAM. +Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in +the loss of that drum, but it is not to be recovered. + +PAROLLES. +It might have been recovered. + +BERTRAM. +It might, but it is not now. + +PAROLLES. +It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is seldom +attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or +another, or _hic jacet_. + +BERTRAM. +Why, if you have a stomach, to’t, monsieur, if you think your mystery +in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native +quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace the +attempt for a worthy exploit; if you speed well in it, the duke shall +both speak of it and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, +even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. + +PAROLLES. +By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. + +BERTRAM. +But you must not now slumber in it. + +PAROLLES. +I’ll about it this evening; and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, +encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal +preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. + +BERTRAM. +May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? + +PAROLLES. +I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow. + +BERTRAM. +I know th’art valiant; and to the possibility of thy soldiership, will +subscribe for thee. Farewell. + +PAROLLES. +I love not many words. + + [_Exit._] + +FIRST LORD. +No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, +that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is +not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damn’d than to +do’t. + +SECOND LORD. +You do not know him, my lord, as we do; certain it is that he will +steal himself into a man’s favour, and for a week escape a great deal +of discoveries, but when you find him out, you have him ever after. + +BERTRAM. +Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this, that so +seriously he does address himself unto? + +FIRST LORD. +None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two +or three probable lies; but we have almost embossed him; you shall see +his fall tonight; for indeed he is not for your lordship’s respect. + +SECOND LORD. +We’ll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first +smok’d by the old Lord Lafew; when his disguise and he is parted, tell +me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very +night. + +FIRST LORD. +I must go look my twigs. He shall be caught. + +BERTRAM. +Your brother, he shall go along with me. + +FIRST LORD. +As’t please your lordship. I’ll leave you. + + [_Exit._] + +BERTRAM. +Now will I lead you to the house, and show you +The lass I spoke of. + +SECOND LORD. +But you say she’s honest. + +BERTRAM. +That’s all the fault. I spoke with her but once, +And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her +By this same coxcomb that we have i’ the wind +Tokens and letters which she did re-send, +And this is all I have done. She’s a fair creature; +Will you go see her? + +SECOND LORD. +With all my heart, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + Enter Helena and Widow. + +HELENA. +If you misdoubt me that I am not she, +I know not how I shall assure you further, +But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. + +WIDOW. +Though my estate be fall’n, I was well born, +Nothing acquainted with these businesses, +And would not put my reputation now +In any staining act. + +HELENA. +Nor would I wish you. +First give me trust, the count he is my husband, +And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken +Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, +By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, +Err in bestowing it. + +WIDOW. +I should believe you, +For you have show’d me that which well approves +Y’are great in fortune. + +HELENA. +Take this purse of gold, +And let me buy your friendly help thus far, +Which I will over-pay, and pay again +When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter +Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, +Resolv’d to carry her; let her in fine consent, +As we’ll direct her how ’tis best to bear it. +Now his important blood will naught deny +That she’ll demand; a ring the county wears, +That downward hath succeeded in his house +From son to son, some four or five descents +Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds +In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire, +To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, +Howe’er repented after. + +WIDOW. +Now I see +The bottom of your purpose. + +HELENA. +You see it lawful then; it is no more +But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, +Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; +In fine, delivers me to fill the time, +Herself most chastely absent. After, +To marry her, I’ll add three thousand crowns +To what is pass’d already. + +WIDOW. +I have yielded. +Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, +That time and place with this deceit so lawful +May prove coherent. Every night he comes +With musics of all sorts, and songs compos’d +To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us +To chide him from our eaves; for he persists +As if his life lay on ’t. + +HELENA. +Why then tonight +Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, +Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, +And lawful meaning in a lawful act, +Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact. +But let’s about it. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. + + Enter first Lord with five or six Soldiers in ambush. + +FIRST LORD. +He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon +him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it +not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, +unless someone among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Good captain, let me be th’ interpreter. + +FIRST LORD. +Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +No sir, I warrant you. + +FIRST LORD. +But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +E’en such as you speak to me. + +FIRST LORD. +He must think us some band of strangers i’ the adversary’s +entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, +therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what +we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our +purpose: choughs’ language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, +interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! Here he comes; +to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies +he forges. + + Enter Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +Ten o’clock. Within these three hours ’twill be time enough to go home. +What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that +carries it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have of late knock’d +too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy, but my heart +hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the +reports of my tongue. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] This is the first truth that e’er thine own tongue was +guilty of. + +PAROLLES. +What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, +being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such +purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit; +yet slight ones will not carry it. They will say “Came you off with so +little?” and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what’s the +instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman’s mouth, and buy +myself another of Bajazet’s mule, if you prattle me into these perils. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? + +PAROLLES. +I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the +breaking of my Spanish sword. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] We cannot afford you so. + +PAROLLES. +Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in stratagem. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] ’Twould not do. + +PAROLLES. +Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] Hardly serve. + +PAROLLES. +Though I swore I leap’d from the window of the citadel,— + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] How deep? + +PAROLLES. +Thirty fathom. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. + +PAROLLES. +I would I had any drum of the enemy’s; I would swear I recover’d it. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] You shall hear one anon. + +PAROLLES. +A drum now of the enemy’s! + + [_Alarum within._] + +FIRST LORD. +_Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo._ + +ALL. +_Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo._ + + [_They seize and blindfold him._] + +PAROLLES. +O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Boskos thromuldo boskos._ + +PAROLLES. +I know you are the Muskos’ regiment, +And I shall lose my life for want of language. +If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch, +Italian, or French, let him speak to me, +I’ll discover that which shall undo the Florentine. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Boskos vauvado._ I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. +_Kerelybonto._ Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards +are at thy bosom. + +PAROLLES. +O! + +FIRST SOLDIER. +O, pray, pray, pray! +_Manka revania dulche._ + +FIRST LORD. +_Oscorbidulchos volivorco._ + +FIRST SOLDIER. +The General is content to spare thee yet; +And, hoodwink’d as thou art, will lead thee on +To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform +Something to save thy life. + +PAROLLES. +O, let me live, +And all the secrets of our camp I’ll show, +Their force, their purposes; nay, I’ll speak that +Which you will wonder at. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +But wilt thou faithfully? + +PAROLLES. +If I do not, damn me. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Acordo linta._ +Come on; thou art granted space. + + [_Exit, with Parolles guarded._] + + A short alarum within. + +FIRST LORD. +Go tell the Count Rossillon and my brother +We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled +Till we do hear from them. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Captain, I will. + +FIRST LORD. +’A will betray us all unto ourselves; +Inform on that. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +So I will, sir. + +FIRST LORD. +Till then I’ll keep him dark, and safely lock’d. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + Enter Bertram and Diana. + +BERTRAM. +They told me that your name was Fontybell. + +DIANA. +No, my good lord, Diana. + +BERTRAM. +Titled goddess; +And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, +In your fine frame hath love no quality? +If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, +You are no maiden but a monument; +When you are dead, you should be such a one +As you are now; for you are cold and stern, +And now you should be as your mother was +When your sweet self was got. + +DIANA. +She then was honest. + +BERTRAM. +So should you be. + +DIANA. +No. +My mother did but duty; such, my lord, +As you owe to your wife. + +BERTRAM. +No more a’ that! +I pr’ythee do not strive against my vows; +I was compell’d to her; but I love thee +By love’s own sweet constraint, and will for ever +Do thee all rights of service. + +DIANA. +Ay, so you serve us +Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, +You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, +And mock us with our bareness. + +BERTRAM. +How have I sworn? + +DIANA. +’Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, +But the plain single vow that is vow’d true. +What is not holy, that we swear not by, +But take the highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me, +If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes +I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths +When I did love you ill? This has no holding, +To swear by him whom I protest to love +That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths +Are words and poor conditions; but unseal’d,— +At least in my opinion. + +BERTRAM. +Change it, change it. +Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy; +And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts +That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, +But give thyself unto my sick desires, +Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever +My love as it begins shall so persever. + +DIANA. +I see that men make hopes in such a case, +That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. + +BERTRAM. +I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power +To give it from me. + +DIANA. +Will you not, my lord? + +BERTRAM. +It is an honour ’longing to our house, +Bequeathed down from many ancestors, +Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world +In me to lose. + +DIANA. +Mine honour’s such a ring; +My chastity’s the jewel of our house, +Bequeathed down from many ancestors, +Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world +In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom +Brings in the champion honour on my part +Against your vain assault. + +BERTRAM. +Here, take my ring; +My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, +And I’ll be bid by thee. + +DIANA. +When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window; +I’ll order take my mother shall not hear. +Now will I charge you in the band of truth, +When you have conquer’d my yet maiden-bed, +Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me. +My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them +When back again this ring shall be deliver’d; +And on your finger in the night, I’ll put +Another ring, that what in time proceeds +May token to the future our past deeds. +Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won +A wife of me, though there my hope be done. + +BERTRAM. +A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. + + [_Exit._] + +DIANA. +For which live long to thank both heaven and me! +You may so in the end. +My mother told me just how he would woo, +As if she sat in’s heart. She says all men +Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me +When his wife’s dead; therefore I’ll lie with him +When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, +Marry that will, I live and die a maid. +Only, in this disguise, I think’t no sin +To cozen him that would unjustly win. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. The Florentine camp. + + Enter the two French Lords and two or three Soldiers. + +FIRST LORD. +You have not given him his mother’s letter? + +SECOND LORD. +I have deliv’red it an hour since; there is something in’t that stings +his nature; for on the reading it, he chang’d almost into another man. + +FIRST LORD. +He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife +and so sweet a lady. + +SECOND LORD. +Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, +who had even tun’d his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you +a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. + +FIRST LORD. +When you have spoken it, ’tis dead, and I am the grave of it. + +SECOND LORD. +He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most +chaste renown, and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her +honour; he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made +in the unchaste composition. + +FIRST LORD. +Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, what things are we! + +SECOND LORD. +Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, +we still see them reveal themselves till they attain to their abhorr’d +ends; so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in +his proper stream, o’erflows himself. + +FIRST LORD. +Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our unlawful +intents? We shall not then have his company tonight? + +SECOND LORD. +Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. + +FIRST LORD. +That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his company +anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein +so curiously he had set this counterfeit. + +SECOND LORD. +We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the +whip of the other. + +FIRST LORD. +In the meantime, what hear you of these wars? + +SECOND LORD. +I hear there is an overture of peace. + +FIRST LORD. +Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. + +SECOND LORD. +What will Count Rossillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return +again into France? + +FIRST LORD. +I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. + +SECOND LORD. +Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal of his act. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house. Her pretence +is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with +most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and there residing, the +tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a +groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. + +SECOND LORD. +How is this justified? + +FIRST LORD. +The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, +even to the point of her death. Her death itself, which could not be +her office to say is come, was faithfully confirm’d by the rector of +the place. + +SECOND LORD. +Hath the count all this intelligence? + +FIRST LORD. +Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full +arming of the verity. + +SECOND LORD. +I am heartily sorry that he’ll be glad of this. + +FIRST LORD. +How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! + +SECOND LORD. +And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great +dignity that his valour hath here acquir’d for him shall at home be +encountered with a shame as ample. + +FIRST LORD. +The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our +virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes +would despair if they were not cherish’d by our virtues. + + Enter a Messenger. + +How now? Where’s your master? + +MESSENGER. +He met the duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken a solemn +leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered +him letters of commendations to the king. + +SECOND LORD. +They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they +can commend. + + Enter Bertram. + +FIRST LORD. +They cannot be too sweet for the king’s tartness. Here’s his lordship +now. How now, my lord, is’t not after midnight? + +BERTRAM. +I have tonight despatch’d sixteen businesses, a month’s length apiece; +by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu +with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn’d for her, writ to my lady +mother I am returning, entertained my convoy, and between these main +parcels of despatch effected many nicer needs: the last was the +greatest, but that I have not ended yet. + +SECOND LORD. +If the business be of any difficulty and this morning your departure +hence, it requires haste of your lordship. + +BERTRAM. +I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. +But shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and the Soldier? Come, +bring forth this counterfeit module has deceiv’d me like a +double-meaning prophesier. + +SECOND LORD. +Bring him forth. + + [_Exeunt Soldiers._] + +Has sat i’ the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. + +BERTRAM. +No matter; his heels have deserv’d it, in usurping his spurs so long. +How does he carry himself? + +FIRST LORD. +I have told your lordship already; the stocks carry him. But to answer +you as you would be understood: he weeps like a wench that had shed her +milk; he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a +friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster +of his setting i’ the stocks. And what think you he hath confessed? + +BERTRAM. +Nothing of me, has he? + +SECOND LORD. +His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your +lordship be in’t, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to +hear it. + + Enter Soldiers with Parolles. + +BERTRAM. +A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me; hush, hush! + +FIRST LORD. +Hoodman comes! _Portotartarossa._ + +FIRST SOLDIER. +He calls for the tortures. What will you say without ’em? + +PAROLLES. +I will confess what I know without constraint. If ye pinch me like a +pasty I can say no more. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Bosko chimurcho._ + +FIRST LORD. +_Boblibindo chicurmurco._ + +FIRST SOLDIER. +You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall +ask you out of a note. + +PAROLLES. +And truly, as I hope to live. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +‘First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.’ What say you +to that? + +PAROLLES. +Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are +all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation +and credit, and as I hope to live. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Shall I set down your answer so? + +PAROLLES. +Do. I’ll take the sacrament on ’t, how and which way you will. + +BERTRAM. +All’s one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! + +FIRST LORD. +You are deceived, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant +militarist (that was his own phrase), that had the whole theoric of war +in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. + +SECOND LORD. +I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean, nor believe +he can have everything in him by wearing his apparel neatly. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, that’s set down. + +PAROLLES. +‘Five or six thousand horse’ I said—I will say true—or thereabouts, set +down,—for I’ll speak truth. + +FIRST LORD. +He’s very near the truth in this. + +BERTRAM. +But I con him no thanks for’t in the nature he delivers it. + +PAROLLES. +Poor rogues, I pray you say. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, that’s set down. + +PAROLLES. +I humbly thank you, sir; a truth’s a truth, the rogues are marvellous +poor. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +‘Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.’ What say you to that? + +PAROLLES. +By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell +true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty, Sebastian, so many; +Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and +Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, +Bentii, two hundred fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and +sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the +which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks lest they shake +themselves to pieces. + +BERTRAM. +What shall be done to him? + +FIRST LORD. +Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what +credit I have with the duke. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, that’s set down. ‘You shall demand of him whether one Captain +Dumaine be i’ the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the +duke, what his valour, honesty and expertness in wars; or whether he +thinks it were not possible with well-weighing sums of gold to corrupt +him to a revolt.’ What say you to this? What do you know of it? + +PAROLLES. +I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter’gatories. +Demand them singly. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Do you know this Captain Dumaine? + +PAROLLES. +I know him: he was a botcher’s ’prentice in Paris, from whence he was +whipped for getting the shrieve’s fool with child, a dumb innocent that +could not say him nay. + + [_First Lord lifts up his hand in anger._] + +BERTRAM. +Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are +forfeit to the next tile that falls. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence’s camp? + +PAROLLES. +Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. + +FIRST LORD. +Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What is his reputation with the duke? + +PAROLLES. +The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine, and writ to +me this other day to turn him out o’ the band. I think I have his +letter in my pocket. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Marry, we’ll search. + +PAROLLES. +In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it is upon a +file, with the duke’s other letters, in my tent. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Here ’tis; here’s a paper; shall I read it to you? + +PAROLLES. +I do not know if it be it or no. + +BERTRAM. +Our interpreter does it well. + +FIRST LORD. +Excellently. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +[_Reads._] _Dian, the Count’s a fool, and full of gold._ + +PAROLLES. +That is not the duke’s letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a +proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of +one Count Rossillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. +I pray you, sir, put it up again. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Nay, I’ll read it first by your favour. + +PAROLLES. +My meaning in’t, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; +for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is +a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. + +BERTRAM. +Damnable both sides rogue! + +FIRST SOLDIER. +[_Reads._] +_When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; +After he scores, he never pays the score. +Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; +He ne’er pays after-debts, take it before. +And say a soldier, ‘Dian,’ told thee this: +Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss; +For count of this, the count’s a fool, I know it, +Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. +Thine, as he vow’d to thee in thine ear,_ + PAROLLES. + +BERTRAM. +He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in’s forehead. + +SECOND LORD. +This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist, and the +armipotent soldier. + +BERTRAM. +I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he’s a cat to me. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +I perceive, sir, by our general’s looks we shall be fain to hang you. + +PAROLLES. +My life, sir, in any case. Not that I am afraid to die, but that, my +offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature. Let me +live, sir, in a dungeon, i’ the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +We’ll see what may be done, so you confess freely. Therefore, once more +to this Captain Dumaine: you have answer’d to his reputation with the +duke, and to his valour. What is his honesty? + +PAROLLES. +He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments +he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking +them he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such +volubility that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his +best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk, and in his sleep he does +little harm, save to his bedclothes about him; but they know his +conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of +his honesty; he has everything that an honest man should not have; what +an honest man should have, he has nothing. + +FIRST LORD. +I begin to love him for this. + +BERTRAM. +For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he’s more +and more a cat. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What say you to his expertness in war? + +PAROLLES. +Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English tragedians,—to belie +him I will not,—and more of his soldiership I know not, except in that +country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called +Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files. I would do the man +what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. + +FIRST LORD. +He hath out-villain’d villainy so far that the rarity redeems him. + +BERTRAM. +A pox on him! He’s a cat still. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold +will corrupt him to revolt. + +PAROLLES. +Sir, for a quart d’ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, +the inheritance of it, and cut the entail from all remainders, and a +perpetual succession for it perpetually. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What’s his brother, the other Captain Dumaine? + +SECOND LORD. +Why does he ask him of me? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What’s he? + +PAROLLES. +E’en a crow o’ the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in +goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a +coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a +retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? + +PAROLLES. +Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rossillon. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +I’ll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. + +PAROLLES. +[_Aside._] I’ll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem +to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious +young boy the count, have I run into this danger: yet who would have +suspected an ambush where I was taken? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. The general says you that +have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army, and made such +pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no +honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. + +PAROLLES. +O Lord! sir, let me live, or let me see my death. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. + + [_Unmuffling him._] + +So, look about you; know you any here? + +BERTRAM. +Good morrow, noble captain. + +SECOND LORD. +God bless you, Captain Parolles. + +FIRST LORD. +God save you, noble captain. + +SECOND LORD. +Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafew? I am for France. + +FIRST LORD. +Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana +in behalf of the Count Rossillon? And I were not a very coward I’d +compel it of you; but fare you well. + + [_Exeunt Bertram, Lords &c._] + +FIRST SOLDIER. +You are undone, captain: all but your scarf; that has a knot on’t yet. + +PAROLLES. +Who cannot be crushed with a plot? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +If you could find out a country where but women were that had received +so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir. I +am for France too; we shall speak of you there. + + [_Exeunt._] + +PAROLLES. +Yet am I thankful. If my heart were great +’Twould burst at this. Captain I’ll be no more, +But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft +As captain shall. Simply the thing I am +Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, +Let him fear this; for it will come to pass +That every braggart shall be found an ass. +Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles live +Safest in shame; being fool’d, by foolery thrive. +There’s place and means for every man alive. +I’ll after them. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + Enter Helena, Widow and Diana. + +HELENA. +That you may well perceive I have not wrong’d you +One of the greatest in the Christian world +Shall be my surety; fore whose throne ’tis needful, +Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. +Time was I did him a desired office, +Dear almost as his life; which gratitude +Through flinty Tartar’s bosom would peep forth, +And answer thanks. I duly am inform’d +His grace is at Marseilles; to which place +We have convenient convoy. You must know +I am supposed dead. The army breaking, +My husband hies him home, where, heaven aiding, +And by the leave of my good lord the king, +We’ll be before our welcome. + +WIDOW. +Gentle madam, +You never had a servant to whose trust +Your business was more welcome. + +HELENA. +Nor you, mistress, +Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour +To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven +Hath brought me up to be your daughter’s dower, +As it hath fated her to be my motive +And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! +That can such sweet use make of what they hate, +When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts +Defiles the pitchy night; so lust doth play +With what it loathes, for that which is away. +But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, +Under my poor instructions yet must suffer +Something in my behalf. + +DIANA. +Let death and honesty +Go with your impositions, I am yours +Upon your will to suffer. + +HELENA. +Yet, I pray you; +But with the word the time will bring on summer, +When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, +And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; +Our waggon is prepar’d, and time revives us. +All’s well that ends well; still the fine’s the crown. +Whate’er the course, the end is the renown. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Clown, Countess and Lafew. + +LAFEW. +No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, +whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbak’d and doughy +youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law had been alive at +this hour, and your son here at home, more advanc’d by the king than by +that red-tail’d humble-bee I speak of. + +COUNTESS. +I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous +gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had +partaken of my flesh and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I +could not have owed her a more rooted love. + +LAFEW. +’Twas a good lady, ’twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand salads ere +we light on such another herb. + +CLOWN. +Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or, rather, the +herb of grace. + +LAFEW. +They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. + +CLOWN. +I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. + +LAFEW. +Whether dost thou profess thyself,—a knave or a fool? + +CLOWN. +A fool, sir, at a woman’s service, and a knave at a man’s. + +LAFEW. +Your distinction? + +CLOWN. +I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. + +LAFEW. +So you were a knave at his service indeed. + +CLOWN. +And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. + +LAFEW. +I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool. + +CLOWN. +At your service. + +LAFEW. +No, no, no. + +CLOWN. +Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you +are. + +LAFEW. +Who’s that? a Frenchman? + +CLOWN. +Faith, sir, ’a has an English name; but his phisnomy is more hotter in +France than there. + +LAFEW. +What prince is that? + +CLOWN. +The black prince, sir; alias the prince of darkness; alias the devil. + +LAFEW. +Hold thee, there’s my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from +thy master thou talk’st of; serve him still. + +CLOWN. +I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire, and the +master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But sure he is the prince of +the world; let his nobility remain in’s court. I am for the house with +the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some +that humble themselves may, but the many will be too chill and tender, +and they’ll be for the flow’ry way that leads to the broad gate and the +great fire. + +LAFEW. +Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee; and I tell thee so before, +because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be +well look’d to, without any tricks. + +CLOWN. +If I put any tricks upon ’em, sir, they shall be jades’ tricks, which +are their own right by the law of nature. + + [_Exit._] + +LAFEW. +A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. + +COUNTESS. +So he is. My lord that’s gone made himself much sport out of him; by +his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his +sauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs where he will. + +LAFEW. +I like him well; ’tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I +heard of the good lady’s death, and that my lord your son was upon his +return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my +daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty out of a +self-gracious remembrance did first propose. His highness hath promis’d +me to do it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against +your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? + +COUNTESS. +With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected. + +LAFEW. +His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he +number’d thirty; he will be here tomorrow, or I am deceived by him that +in such intelligence hath seldom fail’d. + +COUNTESS. +It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters +that my son will be here tonight. I shall beseech your lordship to +remain with me till they meet together. + +LAFEW. +Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. + +COUNTESS. +You need but plead your honourable privilege. + +LAFEW. +Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds +yet. + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +O madam, yonder’s my lord your son with a patch of velvet on’s face; +whether there be a scar under’t or no, the velvet knows; but ’tis a +goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a +half, but his right cheek is worn bare. + +LAFEW. +A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so +belike is that. + +CLOWN. +But it is your carbonado’d face. + +LAFEW. +Let us go see your son, I pray you. I long to talk with the young noble +soldier. + +CLOWN. +Faith, there’s a dozen of ’em, with delicate fine hats, and most +courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. + + Enter Helena, Widow and Diana with two Attendants. + +HELENA. +But this exceeding posting day and night +Must wear your spirits low. We cannot help it. +But since you have made the days and nights as one, +To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, +Be bold you do so grow in my requital +As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;— + + Enter a Gentleman. + +This man may help me to his majesty’s ear, +If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. + +GENTLEMAN. +And you. + +HELENA. +Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. + +GENTLEMAN. +I have been sometimes there. + +HELENA. +I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen +From the report that goes upon your goodness; +And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, +Which lay nice manners by, I put you to +The use of your own virtues, for the which +I shall continue thankful. + +GENTLEMAN. +What’s your will? + +HELENA. +That it will please you +To give this poor petition to the king, +And aid me with that store of power you have +To come into his presence. + +GENTLEMAN. +The king’s not here. + +HELENA. +Not here, sir? + +GENTLEMAN. +Not indeed. +He hence remov’d last night, and with more haste +Than is his use. + +WIDOW. +Lord, how we lose our pains! + +HELENA. +All’s well that ends well yet, +Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. +I do beseech you, whither is he gone? + +GENTLEMAN. +Marry, as I take it, to Rossillon; +Whither I am going. + +HELENA. +I do beseech you, sir, +Since you are like to see the king before me, +Commend the paper to his gracious hand, +Which I presume shall render you no blame, +But rather make you thank your pains for it. +I will come after you with what good speed +Our means will make us means. + +GENTLEMAN. +This I’ll do for you. + +HELENA. +And you shall find yourself to be well thank’d, +Whate’er falls more. We must to horse again. +Go, go, provide. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rossillon. The inner court of the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Clown and Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafew this letter; I have ere now, +sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with +fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in Fortune’s mood, and +smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. + +CLOWN. +Truly, Fortune’s displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly +as thou speak’st of. I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune’s +buttering. Pr’ythee, allow the wind. + +PAROLLES. +Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir. I spake but by a metaphor. + +CLOWN. +Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose, or against +any man’s metaphor. Pr’ythee, get thee further. + +PAROLLES. +Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. + +CLOWN. +Foh, pr’ythee stand away. A paper from Fortune’s close-stool to give to +a nobleman! Look here he comes himself. + + Enter Lafew. + +Here is a pur of Fortune’s, sir, or of Fortune’s cat, but not a +musk-cat, that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, +and as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you +may, for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally +knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him +to your lordship. + + [_Exit._] + +PAROLLES. +My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch’d. + +LAFEW. +And what would you have me to do? ’Tis too late to pare her nails now. +Wherein have you played the knave with Fortune that she should scratch +you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive +long under her? There’s a quart d’ecu for you. Let the justices make +you and Fortune friends; I am for other business. + +PAROLLES. +I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. + +LAFEW. +You beg a single penny more. Come, you shall ha’t; save your word. + +PAROLLES. +My name, my good lord, is Parolles. + +LAFEW. +You beg more than word then. Cox my passion! Give me your hand. How +does your drum? + +PAROLLES. +O my good lord, you were the first that found me. + +LAFEW. +Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost thee. + +PAROLLES. +It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring +me out. + +LAFEW. +Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of +God and the devil? One brings the in grace, and the other brings thee +out. + + [_Trumpets sound._] + +The king’s coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further +after me. I had talk of you last night; though you are a fool and a +knave, you shall eat. Go to; follow. + +PAROLLES. +I praise God for you. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafew, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards &c. + +KING. +We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem +Was made much poorer by it; but your son, +As mad in folly, lack’d the sense to know +Her estimation home. + +COUNTESS. +’Tis past, my liege, +And I beseech your majesty to make it +Natural rebellion, done i’ the blaze of youth, +When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force, +O’erbears it and burns on. + +KING. +My honour’d lady, +I have forgiven and forgotten all, +Though my revenges were high bent upon him, +And watch’d the time to shoot. + +LAFEW. +This I must say,— +But first, I beg my pardon,—the young lord +Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, +Offence of mighty note; but to himself +The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife +Whose beauty did astonish the survey +Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; +Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn’d to serve +Humbly call’d mistress. + +KING. +Praising what is lost +Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; +We are reconcil’d, and the first view shall kill +All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon; +The nature of his great offence is dead, +And deeper than oblivion do we bury +Th’ incensing relics of it. Let him approach +A stranger, no offender; and inform him +So ’tis our will he should. + +GENTLEMAN. +I shall, my liege. + + [_Exit Gentleman._] + +KING. +What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke? + +LAFEW. +All that he is hath reference to your highness. + +KING. +Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me +That sets him high in fame. + + Enter Bertram. + +LAFEW. +He looks well on ’t. + +KING. +I am not a day of season, +For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail +In me at once. But to the brightest beams +Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; +The time is fair again. + +BERTRAM. +My high-repented blames +Dear sovereign, pardon to me. + +KING. +All is whole. +Not one word more of the consumed time. +Let’s take the instant by the forward top; +For we are old, and on our quick’st decrees +Th’inaudible and noiseless foot of time +Steals ere we can effect them. You remember +The daughter of this lord? + +BERTRAM. +Admiringly, my liege. At first +I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart +Durst make too bold herald of my tongue: +Where the impression of mine eye infixing, +Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, +Which warp’d the line of every other favour, +Scorn’d a fair colour, or express’d it stolen, +Extended or contracted all proportions +To a most hideous object. Thence it came +That she whom all men prais’d, and whom myself, +Since I have lost, have lov’d, was in mine eye +The dust that did offend it. + +KING. +Well excus’d: +That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away +From the great compt: but love that comes too late, +Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, +To the great sender turns a sour offence, +Crying, That’s good that’s gone. Our rash faults +Make trivial price of serious things we have, +Not knowing them until we know their grave. +Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, +Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: +Our own love waking cries to see what’s done, +While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. +Be this sweet Helen’s knell, and now forget her. +Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin. +The main consents are had, and here we’ll stay +To see our widower’s second marriage-day. + +COUNTESS. +Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! +Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! + +LAFEW. +Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name +Must be digested; give a favour from you, +To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, +That she may quickly come. + + [_Bertram gives a ring to Lafew._] + +By my old beard, +And ev’ry hair that’s on ’t, Helen that’s dead +Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, +The last that e’er I took her leave at court, +I saw upon her finger. + +BERTRAM. +Hers it was not. + +KING. +Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, +While I was speaking, oft was fasten’d to it. +This ring was mine; and when I gave it Helen +I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood +Necessitied to help, that by this token +I would relieve her. Had you that craft to ’reave her +Of what should stead her most? + +BERTRAM. +My gracious sovereign, +Howe’er it pleases you to take it so, +The ring was never hers. + +COUNTESS. +Son, on my life, +I have seen her wear it; and she reckon’d it +At her life’s rate. + +LAFEW. +I am sure I saw her wear it. + +BERTRAM. +You are deceiv’d, my lord; she never saw it. +In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, +Wrapp’d in a paper, which contain’d the name +Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought +I stood engag’d; but when I had subscrib’d +To mine own fortune, and inform’d her fully +I could not answer in that course of honour +As she had made the overture, she ceas’d, +In heavy satisfaction, and would never +Receive the ring again. + +KING. +Plutus himself, +That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, +Hath not in nature’s mystery more science +Than I have in this ring. ’Twas mine, ’twas Helen’s, +Whoever gave it you. Then if you know +That you are well acquainted with yourself, +Confess ’twas hers, and by what rough enforcement +You got it from her. She call’d the saints to surety +That she would never put it from her finger +Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, +Where you have never come, or sent it us +Upon her great disaster. + +BERTRAM. +She never saw it. + +KING. +Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honour, +And mak’st conjectural fears to come into me +Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove +That thou art so inhuman,—’twill not prove so: +And yet I know not, thou didst hate her deadly. +And she is dead; which nothing but to close +Her eyes myself, could win me to believe +More than to see this ring. Take him away. + + [_Guards seize Bertram._] + +My fore-past proofs, howe’er the matter fall, +Shall tax my fears of little vanity, +Having vainly fear’d too little. Away with him. +We’ll sift this matter further. + +BERTRAM. +If you shall prove +This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy +Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, +Where she yet never was. + + [_Exit, guarded._] + +KING. +I am wrapp’d in dismal thinkings. + + Enter a Gentleman. + +GENTLEMAN. +Gracious sovereign, +Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: +Here’s a petition from a Florentine, +Who hath for four or five removes come short +To tender it herself. I undertook it, +Vanquish’d thereto by the fair grace and speech +Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, +Is here attending: her business looks in her +With an importing visage, and she told me +In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern +Your highness with herself. + +KING. +[_Reads._] _Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was +dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rossillon a +widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour’s paid to him. He +stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country +for justice. Grant it me, O king, in you it best lies; otherwise a +seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone._ + DIANA CAPILET. + +LAFEW. +I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this. I’ll none of +him. + +KING. +The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafew, +To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors. +Go speedily, and bring again the count. + + [_Exeunt Gentleman and some Attendants._] + +I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, +Was foully snatch’d. + +COUNTESS. +Now, justice on the doers! + + Enter Bertram, guarded. + +KING. +I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, +And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, +Yet you desire to marry. What woman’s that? + + Enter Widow and Diana. + +DIANA. +I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, +Derived from the ancient Capilet; +My suit, as I do understand, you know, +And therefore know how far I may be pitied. + +WIDOW. +I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour +Both suffer under this complaint we bring, +And both shall cease, without your remedy. + +KING. +Come hither, count; do you know these women? + +BERTRAM. +My lord, I neither can nor will deny +But that I know them. Do they charge me further? + +DIANA. +Why do you look so strange upon your wife? + +BERTRAM. +She’s none of mine, my lord. + +DIANA. +If you shall marry, +You give away this hand, and that is mine, +You give away heaven’s vows, and those are mine, +You give away myself, which is known mine; +For I by vow am so embodied yours +That she which marries you must marry me, +Either both or none. + +LAFEW. +[_To Bertram_] Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are +no husband for her. + +BERTRAM. +My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature +Whom sometime I have laugh’d with. Let your highness +Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour +Than for to think that I would sink it here. + +KING. +Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend +Till your deeds gain them; fairer prove your honour +Than in my thought it lies! + +DIANA. +Good my lord, +Ask him upon his oath, if he does think +He had not my virginity. + +KING. +What say’st thou to her? + +BERTRAM. +She’s impudent, my lord, +And was a common gamester to the camp. + +DIANA. +He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so +He might have bought me at a common price. +Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, +Whose high respect and rich validity +Did lack a parallel; yet for all that +He gave it to a commoner o’ the camp, +If I be one. + +COUNTESS. +He blushes, and ’tis it. +Of six preceding ancestors, that gem +Conferr’d by testament to th’ sequent issue, +Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; +That ring’s a thousand proofs. + +KING. +Methought you said +You saw one here in court could witness it. + +DIANA. +I did, my lord, but loath am to produce +So bad an instrument; his name’s Parolles. + +LAFEW. +I saw the man today, if man he be. + +KING. +Find him, and bring him hither. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +BERTRAM. +What of him? +He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave, +With all the spots o’ the world tax’d and debauch’d: +Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. +Am I or that or this for what he’ll utter, +That will speak anything? + +KING. +She hath that ring of yours. + +BERTRAM. +I think she has. Certain it is I lik’d her +And boarded her i’ the wanton way of youth. +She knew her distance, and did angle for me, +Madding my eagerness with her restraint, +As all impediments in fancy’s course +Are motives of more fancy; and in fine, +Her infinite cunning with her modern grace, +Subdu’d me to her rate; she got the ring, +And I had that which any inferior might +At market-price have bought. + +DIANA. +I must be patient. +You that have turn’d off a first so noble wife +May justly diet me. I pray you yet,— +Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband— +Send for your ring, I will return it home, +And give me mine again. + +BERTRAM. +I have it not. + +KING. +What ring was yours, I pray you? + +DIANA. +Sir, much like +The same upon your finger. + +KING. +Know you this ring? This ring was his of late. + +DIANA. +And this was it I gave him, being abed. + +KING. +The story then goes false you threw it him +Out of a casement. + +DIANA. +I have spoke the truth. + + Enter Attendant with Parolles. + +BERTRAM. +My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. + +KING. +You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you. +Is this the man you speak of? + +DIANA. +Ay, my lord. + +KING. +Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true I charge you, +Not fearing the displeasure of your master, +Which on your just proceeding, I’ll keep off,— +By him and by this woman here what know you? + +PAROLLES. +So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman. +Tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. + +KING. +Come, come, to the purpose. Did he love this woman? + +PAROLLES. +Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? + +KING. +How, I pray you? + +PAROLLES. +He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. + +KING. +How is that? + +PAROLLES. +He lov’d her, sir, and lov’d her not. + +KING. +As thou art a knave and no knave. +What an equivocal companion is this! + +PAROLLES. +I am a poor man, and at your majesty’s command. + +LAFEW. +He’s a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. + +DIANA. +Do you know he promised me marriage? + +PAROLLES. +Faith, I know more than I’ll speak. + +KING. +But wilt thou not speak all thou know’st? + +PAROLLES. +Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them as I said; but more +than that, he loved her, for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of +Satan, and of Limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet I was in +that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed; +and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would +derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. + +KING. +Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married; +but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This +ring, you say, was yours? + +DIANA. +Ay, my good lord. + +KING. +Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you? + +DIANA. +It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. + +KING. +Who lent it you? + +DIANA. +It was not lent me neither. + +KING. +Where did you find it then? + +DIANA. +I found it not. + +KING. +If it were yours by none of all these ways, +How could you give it him? + +DIANA. +I never gave it him. + +LAFEW. +This woman’s an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. + +KING. +This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. + +DIANA. +It might be yours or hers for ought I know. + +KING. +Take her away, I do not like her now. +To prison with her. And away with him. +Unless thou tell’st me where thou hadst this ring, +Thou diest within this hour. + +DIANA. +I’ll never tell you. + +KING. +Take her away. + +DIANA. +I’ll put in bail, my liege. + +KING. +I think thee now some common customer. + +DIANA. +By Jove, if ever I knew man, ’twas you. + +KING. +Wherefore hast thou accus’d him all this while? + +DIANA. +Because he’s guilty, and he is not guilty. +He knows I am no maid, and he’ll swear to’t: +I’ll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. +Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life; +I am either maid, or else this old man’s wife. + + [_Pointing to Lafew._] + +KING. +She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. + +DIANA. +Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir; + + [_Exit Widow._] + +The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, +And he shall surety me. But for this lord +Who hath abus’d me as he knows himself, +Though yet he never harm’d me, here I quit him. +He knows himself my bed he hath defil’d; +And at that time he got his wife with child. +Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; +So there’s my riddle: one that’s dead is quick, +And now behold the meaning. + + Enter Widow with Helena. + +KING. +Is there no exorcist +Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? +Is’t real that I see? + +HELENA. +No, my good lord; +’Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, +The name, and not the thing. + +BERTRAM. +Both, both. O, pardon! + +HELENA. +O, my good lord, when I was like this maid; +I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, +And, look you, here’s your letter. This it says, +‘When from my finger you can get this ring, +And is by me with child, &c.’ This is done; +Will you be mine now you are doubly won? + +BERTRAM. +If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, +I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. + +HELENA. +If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, +Deadly divorce step between me and you! +O my dear mother, do I see you living? + +LAFEW. +Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. +[_to Parolles_] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher. +So, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I’ll make sport with thee. +Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. + +KING. +Let us from point to point this story know, +To make the even truth in pleasure flow. +[_To Diana._] If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower, +Choose thou thy husband, and I’ll pay thy dower; +For I can guess that by thy honest aid, +Thou kept’st a wife herself, thyself a maid. +Of that and all the progress more and less, +Resolvedly more leisure shall express. +All yet seems well, and if it end so meet, +The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. + + [_Flourish._] + +[EPILOGUE] + +_The king’s a beggar, now the play is done; +All is well ended if this suit be won, +That you express content; which we will pay +With strife to please you, day exceeding day. +Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; +Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts._ + + [_Exeunt omnes._] + + + + +ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. +Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. +Scene II. +Alexandria. Another Room in Cleopatra’s palace. +Scene III. +Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. +Scene IV. +Rome. An Apartment in Caesar’s House +Scene V. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. +Messina. A Room in Pompey’s house. +Scene II. +Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus. +Scene III. +Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. +Scene IV. +Rome. A street. +Scene V. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene VI. +Near Misenum. +Scene VII. +On board Pompey’s Galley, lying near Misenum. + +ACT III +Scene I. +A plain in Syria. +Scene II. +Rome. An Ante-chamber in Caesar’s house. +Scene III. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene IV. +Athens. A Room in Antony’s House. +Scene V. +Athens. Another Room in Antony’s House. +Scene VI. +Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. +Scene VII. +Antony’s Camp near the Promontory of Actium. +Scene VIII. +A plain near Actium. +Scene IX. +Another part of the Plain. +Scene X. +Another part of the Plain. +Scene XI. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene XII. +Caesar’s camp in Egypt. +Scene XIII. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT IV +Scene I. +Caesar’s Camp at Alexandria. +Scene II. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene III. +Alexandria. Before the Palace. +Scene IV. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene V. +Antony’s camp near Alexandria. +Scene VI. +Alexandria. Caesar’s camp. +Scene VII. +Field of battle between the Camps. +Scene VIII. +Under the Walls of Alexandria. +Scene IX. +Caesar’s camp. +Scene X. +Ground between the two Camps. +Scene XI. +Another part of the Ground. +Scene XII. +Another part of the Ground. +Scene XIII. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene XIV. +Alexandria. Another Room. +Scene XV. +Alexandria. A monument. + +ACT V +Scene I. +Caesar’s Camp before Alexandria. +Scene II. +Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. + + +Dramatis Personæ + +MARK ANTONY, Triumvir +OCTAVIUS CAESAR, Triumvir +LEPIDUS, Triumvir +SEXTUS POMPEIUS, +DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, friend to Antony +VENTIDIUS, friend to Antony +EROS, friend to Antony +SCARUS, friend to Antony +DERCETUS, friend to Antony +DEMETRIUS, friend to Antony +PHILO, friend to Antony +MAECENAS, friend to Caesar +AGRIPPA, friend to Caesar +DOLABELLA, friend to Caesar +PROCULEIUS, friend to Caesar +THIDIAS, friend to Caesar +GALLUS, friend to Caesar +MENAS, friend to Pompey +MENECRATES, friend to Pompey +VARRIUS, friend to Pompey +TAURUS, Lieutenant-General to Caesar +CANIDIUS, Lieutenant-General to Antony +SILIUS, an Officer in Ventidius’s army +EUPHRONIUS, an Ambassador from Antony to Caesar +ALEXAS, attendant on Cleopatra +MARDIAN, attendant on Cleopatra +SELEUCUS, attendant on Cleopatra +DIOMEDES, attendant on Cleopatra +A SOOTHSAYER +A CLOWN + +CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt +OCTAVIA, sister to Caesar and wife to Antony +CHARMIAN, Attendant on Cleopatra +IRAS, Attendant on Cleopatra + +Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants + +SCENE: Dispersed, in several parts of the Roman Empire. + + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. + + Enter Demetrius and Philo. + +PHILO. +Nay, but this dotage of our general’s +O’erflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes, +That o’er the files and musters of the war +Have glowed like plated Mars, now bend, now turn +The office and devotion of their view +Upon a tawny front. His captain’s heart, +Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst +The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper +And is become the bellows and the fan +To cool a gipsy’s lust. + + Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, her Ladies, the Train, with + Eunuchs fanning her. + +Look where they come: +Take but good note, and you shall see in him +The triple pillar of the world transform’d +Into a strumpet’s fool. Behold and see. + +CLEOPATRA. +If it be love indeed, tell me how much. + +ANTONY. +There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned. + +CLEOPATRA. +I’ll set a bourn how far to be beloved. + +ANTONY. +Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +News, my good lord, from Rome. + +ANTONY. +Grates me, the sum. + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, hear them, Antony. +Fulvia perchance is angry; or who knows +If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent +His powerful mandate to you: “Do this or this; +Take in that kingdom and enfranchise that. +Perform’t, or else we damn thee.” + +ANTONY. +How, my love? + +CLEOPATRA. +Perchance! Nay, and most like. +You must not stay here longer; your dismission +Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. +Where’s Fulvia’s process?—Caesar’s I would say? Both? +Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt’s queen, +Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine +Is Caesar’s homager; else so thy cheek pays shame +When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers! + +ANTONY. +Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch +Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space. +Kingdoms are clay. Our dungy earth alike +Feeds beast as man. The nobleness of life +Is to do thus [_Embracing_]; when such a mutual pair +And such a twain can do’t, in which I bind, +On pain of punishment, the world to weet +We stand up peerless. + +CLEOPATRA. +Excellent falsehood! +Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? +I’ll seem the fool I am not. Antony +Will be himself. + +ANTONY. +But stirred by Cleopatra. +Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours, +Let’s not confound the time with conference harsh. +There’s not a minute of our lives should stretch +Without some pleasure now. What sport tonight? + +CLEOPATRA. +Hear the ambassadors. + +ANTONY. +Fie, wrangling queen! +Whom everything becomes—to chide, to laugh, +To weep; whose every passion fully strives +To make itself, in thee fair and admired! +No messenger but thine, and all alone +Tonight we’ll wander through the streets and note +The qualities of people. Come, my queen, +Last night you did desire it. Speak not to us. + + [_Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra with the Train._] + +DEMETRIUS. +Is Caesar with Antonius prized so slight? + +PHILO. +Sir, sometimes when he is not Antony, +He comes too short of that great property +Which still should go with Antony. + +DEMETRIUS. +I am full sorry +That he approves the common liar who +Thus speaks of him at Rome, but I will hope +Of better deeds tomorrow. Rest you happy! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Alexandria. Another Room in Cleopatra’s palace. + + Enter Enobarbus, a Soothsayer, Charmian, Iras, Mardian and Alexas. + +CHARMIAN. +Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost most absolute +Alexas, where’s the soothsayer that you praised so to th’ queen? O, +that I knew this husband which you say must charge his horns with +garlands! + +ALEXAS. +Soothsayer! + +SOOTHSAYER. +Your will? + +CHARMIAN. +Is this the man? Is’t you, sir, that know things? + +SOOTHSAYER. +In nature’s infinite book of secrecy +A little I can read. + +ALEXAS. +Show him your hand. + +ENOBARBUS. +Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough +Cleopatra’s health to drink. + +CHARMIAN. +Good, sir, give me good fortune. + +SOOTHSAYER. +I make not, but foresee. + +CHARMIAN. +Pray, then, foresee me one. + +SOOTHSAYER. +You shall be yet far fairer than you are. + +CHARMIAN. +He means in flesh. + +IRAS. +No, you shall paint when you are old. + +CHARMIAN. +Wrinkles forbid! + +ALEXAS. +Vex not his prescience. Be attentive. + +CHARMIAN. +Hush! + +SOOTHSAYER. +You shall be more beloving than beloved. + +CHARMIAN. +I had rather heat my liver with drinking. + +ALEXAS. +Nay, hear him. + +CHARMIAN. +Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to three kings in a +forenoon and widow them all. Let me have a child at fifty, to whom +Herod of Jewry may do homage. Find me to marry me with Octavius Caesar, +and companion me with my mistress. + +SOOTHSAYER. +You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. + +CHARMIAN. +O, excellent! I love long life better than figs. + +SOOTHSAYER. +You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune +Than that which is to approach. + +CHARMIAN. +Then belike my children shall have no names. Prithee, how many boys and +wenches must I have? + +SOOTHSAYER. +If every of your wishes had a womb, +And fertile every wish, a million. + +CHARMIAN. +Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. + +ALEXAS. +You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. + +CHARMIAN. +Nay, come, tell Iras hers. + +ALEXAS. +We’ll know all our fortunes. + +ENOBARBUS. +Mine, and most of our fortunes tonight, shall be drunk to bed. + +IRAS. +There’s a palm presages chastity, if nothing else. + +CHARMIAN. +E’en as the o’erflowing Nilus presageth famine. + +IRAS. +Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. + +CHARMIAN. +Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot +scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but workaday fortune. + +SOOTHSAYER. +Your fortunes are alike. + +IRAS. +But how, but how? give me particulars. + +SOOTHSAYER. +I have said. + +IRAS. +Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? + +CHARMIAN. +Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you +choose it? + +IRAS. +Not in my husband’s nose. + +CHARMIAN. +Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas—come, his fortune! his +fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech +thee, and let her die too, and give him a worse, and let worse follow +worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, +fiftyfold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny +me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee! + +IRAS. +Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as it is a +heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly +sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded. Therefore, dear Isis, keep +decorum and fortune him accordingly! + +CHARMIAN. +Amen. + +ALEXAS. +Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make +themselves whores but they’d do’t! + + Enter Cleopatra. + +ENOBARBUS. +Hush, Here comes Antony. + +CHARMIAN. +Not he, the queen. + +CLEOPATRA. +Saw you my lord? + +ENOBARBUS. +No, lady. + +CLEOPATRA. +Was he not here? + +CHARMIAN. +No, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden +A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus! + +ENOBARBUS. +Madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +Seek him and bring him hither. Where’s Alexas? + +ALEXAS. +Here, at your service. My lord approaches. + + Enter Antony with a Messenger. + +CLEOPATRA. +We will not look upon him. Go with us. + + [_Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas and + Soothsayer._] + +MESSENGER. +Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. + +ANTONY. +Against my brother Lucius. + +MESSENGER. +Ay. +But soon that war had end, and the time’s state +Made friends of them, jointing their force ’gainst Caesar, +Whose better issue in the war from Italy +Upon the first encounter drave them. + +ANTONY. +Well, what worst? + +MESSENGER. +The nature of bad news infects the teller. + +ANTONY. +When it concerns the fool or coward. On. +Things that are past are done with me. ’Tis thus: +Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, +I hear him as he flattered. + +MESSENGER. +Labienus— +This is stiff news—hath with his Parthian force +Extended Asia from Euphrates +His conquering banner shook from Syria +To Lydia and to Ionia, +Whilst— + +ANTONY. +“Antony”, thou wouldst say— + +MESSENGER. +O, my lord! + +ANTONY. +Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue. +Name Cleopatra as she is called in Rome; +Rail thou in Fulvia’s phrase, and taunt my faults +With such full licence as both truth and malice +Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds +When our quick minds lie still, and our ills told us +Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. + +MESSENGER. +At your noble pleasure. + + [_Exit Messenger._] + + Enter another Messenger. + +ANTONY. +From Sicyon, ho, the news? Speak there! + +SECOND MESSENGER. +The man from Sicyon— + +ANTONY. +Is there such a one? + +SECOND MESSENGER. +He stays upon your will. + +ANTONY. +Let him appear. + + [_Exit second Messenger._] + +These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, +Or lose myself in dotage. + + Enter another Messenger with a letter. + +What are you? + +THIRD MESSENGER. +Fulvia thy wife is dead. + +ANTONY. +Where died she? + +THIRD MESSENGER. +In Sicyon: +Her length of sickness, with what else more serious +Importeth thee to know, this bears. + + [_Gives a letter._] + +ANTONY. +Forbear me. + + [_Exit third Messenger._] + +There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. +What our contempts doth often hurl from us, +We wish it ours again. The present pleasure, +By revolution lowering, does become +The opposite of itself. She’s good, being gone. +The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on. +I must from this enchanting queen break off. +Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, +My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus! + + Enter Enobarbus. + +ENOBARBUS. +What’s your pleasure, sir? + +ANTONY. +I must with haste from hence. + +ENOBARBUS. +Why then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an unkindness is to +them. If they suffer our departure, death’s the word. + +ANTONY. +I must be gone. + +ENOBARBUS. +Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity to cast them +away for nothing, though, between them and a great cause they should be +esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies +instantly. I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment. I +do think there is mettle in death which commits some loving act upon +her, she hath such a celerity in dying. + +ANTONY. +She is cunning past man’s thought. + +ENOBARBUS. +Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of +pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they +are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report. This cannot +be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as +Jove. + +ANTONY. +Would I had never seen her! + +ENOBARBUS. +O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not +to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel. + +ANTONY. +Fulvia is dead. + +ENOBARBUS. +Sir? + +ANTONY. +Fulvia is dead. + +ENOBARBUS. +Fulvia? + +ANTONY. +Dead. + +ENOBARBUS. +Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their +deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors +of the earth; comforting therein that when old robes are worn out, +there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, +then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented. This grief is +crowned with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat: +and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. + +ANTONY. +The business she hath broached in the state +Cannot endure my absence. + +ENOBARBUS. +And the business you have broached here cannot be without you, +especially that of Cleopatra’s, which wholly depends on your abode. + +ANTONY. +No more light answers. Let our officers +Have notice what we purpose. I shall break +The cause of our expedience to the Queen, +And get her leave to part. For not alone +The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, +Do strongly speak to us, but the letters too +Of many our contriving friends in Rome +Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius +Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands +The empire of the sea. Our slippery people, +Whose love is never linked to the deserver +Till his deserts are past, begin to throw +Pompey the Great and all his dignities +Upon his son, who, high in name and power, +Higher than both in blood and life, stands up +For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, +The sides o’ th’ world may danger. Much is breeding +Which, like the courser’s hair, hath yet but life +And not a serpent’s poison. Say our pleasure +To such whose place is under us, requires +Our quick remove from hence. + +ENOBARBUS. +I shall do’t. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where is he? + +CHARMIAN. +I did not see him since. + +CLEOPATRA. +See where he is, who’s with him, what he does. +I did not send you. If you find him sad, +Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report +That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. + + [_Exit Alexas._] + +CHARMIAN. +Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, +You do not hold the method to enforce +The like from him. + +CLEOPATRA. +What should I do I do not? + +CHARMIAN. +In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing. + +CLEOPATRA. +Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. + +CHARMIAN. +Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear. +In time we hate that which we often fear. +But here comes Antony. + + Enter Antony. + +CLEOPATRA. +I am sick and sullen. + +ANTONY. +I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose— + +CLEOPATRA. +Help me away, dear Charmian! I shall fall. +It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature +Will not sustain it. + +ANTONY. +Now, my dearest queen— + +CLEOPATRA. +Pray you, stand farther from me. + +ANTONY. +What’s the matter? + +CLEOPATRA. +I know by that same eye there’s some good news. +What, says the married woman you may go? +Would she had never given you leave to come! +Let her not say ’tis I that keep you here. +I have no power upon you; hers you are. + +ANTONY. +The gods best know— + +CLEOPATRA. +O, never was there queen +So mightily betrayed! Yet at the first +I saw the treasons planted. + +ANTONY. +Cleopatra— + +CLEOPATRA. +Why should I think you can be mine and true, +Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, +Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, +To be entangled with those mouth-made vows +Which break themselves in swearing! + +ANTONY. +Most sweet queen— + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going, +But bid farewell and go. When you sued staying, +Then was the time for words. No going then, +Eternity was in our lips and eyes, +Bliss in our brows’ bent; none our parts so poor +But was a race of heaven. They are so still, +Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, +Art turned the greatest liar. + +ANTONY. +How now, lady! + +CLEOPATRA. +I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst know +There were a heart in Egypt. + +ANTONY. +Hear me, queen: +The strong necessity of time commands +Our services awhile, but my full heart +Remains in use with you. Our Italy +Shines o’er with civil swords; Sextus Pompeius +Makes his approaches to the port of Rome; +Equality of two domestic powers +Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, +Are newly grown to love; the condemned Pompey, +Rich in his father’s honour, creeps apace +Into the hearts of such as have not thrived +Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten; +And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge +By any desperate change. My more particular, +And that which most with you should safe my going, +Is Fulvia’s death. + +CLEOPATRA. +Though age from folly could not give me freedom, +It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die? + +ANTONY. +She’s dead, my queen. +Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read +The garboils she awaked; at the last, best, +See when and where she died. + +CLEOPATRA. +O most false love! +Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill +With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, +In Fulvia’s death how mine received shall be. + +ANTONY. +Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know +The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, +As you shall give th’ advice. By the fire +That quickens Nilus’ slime, I go from hence +Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war +As thou affects. + +CLEOPATRA. +Cut my lace, Charmian, come! +But let it be; I am quickly ill and well, +So Antony loves. + +ANTONY. +My precious queen, forbear, +And give true evidence to his love, which stands +An honourable trial. + +CLEOPATRA. +So Fulvia told me. +I prithee, turn aside and weep for her, +Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears +Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene +Of excellent dissembling, and let it look +Like perfect honour. + +ANTONY. +You’ll heat my blood. No more. + +CLEOPATRA. +You can do better yet, but this is meetly. + +ANTONY. +Now, by my sword— + +CLEOPATRA. +And target. Still he mends. +But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, +How this Herculean Roman does become +The carriage of his chafe. + +ANTONY. +I’ll leave you, lady. + +CLEOPATRA. +Courteous lord, one word. +Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it; +Sir, you and I have loved, but there’s not it; +That you know well. Something it is I would— +O, my oblivion is a very Antony, +And I am all forgotten. + +ANTONY. +But that your royalty +Holds idleness your subject, I should take you +For idleness itself. + +CLEOPATRA. +’Tis sweating labour +To bear such idleness so near the heart +As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me, +Since my becomings kill me when they do not +Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence; +Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, +And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword +Sit laurel victory, and smooth success +Be strewed before your feet! + +ANTONY. +Let us go. Come. +Our separation so abides and flies +That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, +And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. +Away! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. An Apartment in Caesar’s House. + + Enter Octavius [Caesar], Lepidus and their train. + +CAESAR. +You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, +It is not Caesar’s natural vice to hate +Our great competitor. From Alexandria +This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes +The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike +Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy +More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or +Vouchsafed to think he had partners. You shall find there +A man who is the abstract of all faults +That all men follow. + +LEPIDUS. +I must not think there are +Evils enough to darken all his goodness. +His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, +More fiery by night’s blackness; hereditary +Rather than purchased; what he cannot change +Than what he chooses. + +CAESAR. +You are too indulgent. Let’s grant it is not +Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, +To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit +And keep the turn of tippling with a slave, +To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet +With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him— +As his composure must be rare indeed +Whom these things cannot blemish—yet must Antony +No way excuse his foils when we do bear +So great weight in his lightness. If he filled +His vacancy with his voluptuousness, +Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones +Call on him for’t. But to confound such time +That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud +As his own state and ours, ’tis to be chid +As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge, +Pawn their experience to their present pleasure +And so rebel to judgment. + + Enter a Messenger. + +LEPIDUS. +Here’s more news. + +MESSENGER. +Thy biddings have been done, and every hour, +Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report +How ’tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, +And it appears he is beloved of those +That only have feared Caesar. To the ports +The discontents repair, and men’s reports +Give him much wronged. + +CAESAR. +I should have known no less. +It hath been taught us from the primal state +That he which is was wished until he were, +And the ebbed man, ne’er loved till ne’er worth love, +Comes deared by being lacked. This common body, +Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, +Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, +To rot itself with motion. + + Enter a second Messenger. + +SECOND MESSENGER. +Caesar, I bring thee word +Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, +Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound +With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads +They make in Italy—the borders maritime +Lack blood to think on’t—and flush youth revolt. +No vessel can peep forth but ’tis as soon +Taken as seen; for Pompey’s name strikes more +Than could his war resisted. + +CAESAR. +Antony, +Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once +Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew’st +Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel +Did famine follow, whom thou fought’st against, +Though daintily brought up, with patience more +Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink +The stale of horses and the gilded puddle +Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign +The roughest berry on the rudest hedge. +Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets, +The barks of trees thou browsed. On the Alps +It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh +Which some did die to look on. And all this— +It wounds thine honour that I speak it now— +Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek +So much as lanked not. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis pity of him. + +CAESAR. +Let his shames quickly +Drive him to Rome. ’Tis time we twain +Did show ourselves i’ th’ field, and to that end +Assemble we immediate council. Pompey +Thrives in our idleness. + +LEPIDUS. +Tomorrow, Caesar, +I shall be furnished to inform you rightly +Both what by sea and land I can be able +To front this present time. + +CAESAR. +Till which encounter +It is my business too. Farewell. + +LEPIDUS. +Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime +Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, +To let me be partaker. + +CAESAR. +Doubt not, sir. +I knew it for my bond. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Mardian. + +CLEOPATRA. +Charmian! + +CHARMIAN. +Madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +Ha, ha! +Give me to drink mandragora. + +CHARMIAN. +Why, madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +That I might sleep out this great gap of time +My Antony is away. + +CHARMIAN. +You think of him too much. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, ’tis treason! + +CHARMIAN. +Madam, I trust not so. + +CLEOPATRA. +Thou, eunuch Mardian! + +MARDIAN. +What’s your highness’ pleasure? + +CLEOPATRA. +Not now to hear thee sing. I take no pleasure +In aught an eunuch has. ’Tis well for thee +That, being unseminared, thy freer thoughts +May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections? + +MARDIAN. +Yes, gracious madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +Indeed? + +MARDIAN. +Not in deed, madam, for I can do nothing +But what indeed is honest to be done. +Yet have I fierce affections, and think +What Venus did with Mars. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, Charmian, +Where think’st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? +Or does he walk? Or is he on his horse? +O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! +Do bravely, horse, for wot’st thou whom thou mov’st? +The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm +And burgonet of men. He’s speaking now, +Or murmuring “Where’s my serpent of old Nile?” +For so he calls me. Now I feed myself +With most delicious poison. Think on me +That am with Phœbus’ amorous pinches black, +And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, +When thou wast here above the ground, I was +A morsel for a monarch. And great Pompey +Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; +There would he anchor his aspect, and die +With looking on his life. + + Enter Alexas. + +ALEXAS. +Sovereign of Egypt, hail! + +CLEOPATRA. +How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! +Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath +With his tinct gilded thee. +How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? + +ALEXAS. +Last thing he did, dear queen, +He kissed—the last of many doubled kisses— +This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart. + +CLEOPATRA. +Mine ear must pluck it thence. + +ALEXAS. +“Good friend,” quoth he, +“Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends +This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, +To mend the petty present, I will piece +Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the east, +Say thou, shall call her mistress.” So he nodded +And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, +Who neighed so high that what I would have spoke +Was beastly dumbed by him. + +CLEOPATRA. +What, was he sad or merry? + +ALEXAS. +Like to the time o’ th’ year between the extremes +Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry. + +CLEOPATRA. +O well-divided disposition!—Note him, +Note him, good Charmian, ’tis the man; but note him: +He was not sad, for he would shine on those +That make their looks by his; he was not merry, +Which seemed to tell them his remembrance lay +In Egypt with his joy; but between both. +O heavenly mingle!—Be’st thou sad or merry, +The violence of either thee becomes, +So does it no man else.—Met’st thou my posts? + +ALEXAS. +Ay, madam, twenty several messengers. +Why do you send so thick? + +CLEOPATRA. +Who’s born that day +When I forget to send to Antony +Shall die a beggar.—Ink and paper, Charmian.— +Welcome, my good Alexas.—Did I, Charmian, +Ever love Caesar so? + +CHARMIAN. +O that brave Caesar! + +CLEOPATRA. +Be choked with such another emphasis! +Say “the brave Antony.” + +CHARMIAN. +The valiant Caesar! + +CLEOPATRA. +By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth +If thou with Caesar paragon again +My man of men. + +CHARMIAN. +By your most gracious pardon, +I sing but after you. + +CLEOPATRA. +My salad days, +When I was green in judgment, cold in blood, +To say as I said then. But come, away, +Get me ink and paper. +He shall have every day a several greeting, +Or I’ll unpeople Egypt. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + + +SCENE I. Messina. A Room in Pompey’s house. + + Enter Pompey, Menecrates and Menas in warlike manner. + +POMPEY. +If the great gods be just, they shall assist +The deeds of justest men. + +MENECRATES. +Know, worthy Pompey, +That what they do delay they not deny. + +POMPEY. +Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays +The thing we sue for. + +MENECRATES. +We, ignorant of ourselves, +Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers +Deny us for our good; so find we profit +By losing of our prayers. + +POMPEY. +I shall do well. +The people love me, and the sea is mine; +My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope +Says it will come to th’ full. Mark Antony +In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make +No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where +He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both, +Of both is flattered; but he neither loves +Nor either cares for him. + +MENAS. +Caesar and Lepidus +Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry. + +POMPEY. +Where have you this? ’Tis false. + +MENAS. +From Silvius, sir. + +POMPEY. +He dreams. I know they are in Rome together, +Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, +Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip! +Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both; +Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts; +Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks +Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite, +That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour +Even till a Lethe’d dullness— + + Enter Varrius. + +How now, Varrius! + +VARRIUS. +This is most certain that I shall deliver: +Mark Antony is every hour in Rome +Expected. Since he went from Egypt ’tis +A space for farther travel. + +POMPEY. +I could have given less matter +A better ear.—Menas, I did not think +This amorous surfeiter would have donned his helm +For such a petty war. His soldiership +Is twice the other twain. But let us rear +The higher our opinion, that our stirring +Can from the lap of Egypt’s widow pluck +The ne’er lust-wearied Antony. + +MENAS. +I cannot hope +Caesar and Antony shall well greet together. +His wife that’s dead did trespasses to Caesar; +His brother warred upon him, although I think, +Not moved by Antony. + +POMPEY. +I know not, Menas, +How lesser enmities may give way to greater. +Were’t not that we stand up against them all, +’Twere pregnant they should square between themselves, +For they have entertained cause enough +To draw their swords. But how the fear of us +May cement their divisions, and bind up +The petty difference, we yet not know. +Be’t as our gods will have’t! It only stands +Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. +Come, Menas. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus. + + Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. + +LEPIDUS. +Good Enobarbus, ’tis a worthy deed, +And shall become you well, to entreat your captain +To soft and gentle speech. + +ENOBARBUS. +I shall entreat him +To answer like himself. If Caesar move him, +Let Antony look over Caesar’s head +And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, +Were I the wearer of Antonius’ beard, +I would not shave’t today. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis not a time +For private stomaching. + +ENOBARBUS. +Every time +Serves for the matter that is then born in’t. + +LEPIDUS. +But small to greater matters must give way. + +ENOBARBUS. +Not if the small come first. + +LEPIDUS. +Your speech is passion; +But pray you stir no embers up. Here comes +The noble Antony. + + Enter Antony and Ventidius. + +ENOBARBUS. +And yonder Caesar. + + Enter Caesar, Maecenas and Agrippa. + +ANTONY. +If we compose well here, to Parthia. +Hark, Ventidius. + +CAESAR. +I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa. + +LEPIDUS. +Noble friends, +That which combined us was most great, and let not +A leaner action rend us. What’s amiss, +May it be gently heard. When we debate +Our trivial difference loud, we do commit +Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners, +The rather for I earnestly beseech, +Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, +Nor curstness grow to th’ matter. + +ANTONY. +’Tis spoken well. +Were we before our armies, and to fight, +I should do thus. + +CAESAR. +Welcome to Rome. + +ANTONY. +Thank you. + +CAESAR. +Sit. + +ANTONY. +Sit, sir. + +CAESAR. +Nay, then. + +ANTONY. +I learn you take things ill which are not so, +Or being, concern you not. + +CAESAR. +I must be laughed at +If, or for nothing or a little, I +Should say myself offended, and with you +Chiefly i’ th’ world; more laughed at that I should +Once name you derogately when to sound your name +It not concerned me. + +ANTONY. +My being in Egypt, Caesar, +What was’t to you? + +CAESAR. +No more than my residing here at Rome +Might be to you in Egypt. Yet if you there +Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt +Might be my question. + +ANTONY. +How intend you, practised? + +CAESAR. +You may be pleased to catch at mine intent +By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother +Made wars upon me, and their contestation +Was theme for you; you were the word of war. + +ANTONY. +You do mistake your business. My brother never +Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it, +And have my learning from some true reports +That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather +Discredit my authority with yours, +And make the wars alike against my stomach, +Having alike your cause? Of this my letters +Before did satisfy you. If you’ll patch a quarrel, +As matter whole you have not to make it with, +It must not be with this. + +CAESAR. +You praise yourself +By laying defects of judgment to me; but +You patched up your excuses. + +ANTONY. +Not so, not so. +I know you could not lack—I am certain on’t— +Very necessity of this thought, that I, +Your partner in the cause ’gainst which he fought, +Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars +Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, +I would you had her spirit in such another. +The third o’ th’ world is yours, which with a snaffle +You may pace easy, but not such a wife. + +ENOBARBUS. +Would we had all such wives, that the men +Might go to wars with the women. + +ANTONY. +So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar, +Made out of her impatience—which not wanted +Shrewdness of policy too—I grieving grant +Did you too much disquiet. For that you must +But say I could not help it. + +CAESAR. +I wrote to you +When rioting in Alexandria; you +Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts +Did gibe my missive out of audience. + +ANTONY. +Sir, +He fell upon me ere admitted, then. +Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want +Of what I was i’ th’ morning. But next day +I told him of myself, which was as much +As to have asked him pardon. Let this fellow +Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, +Out of our question wipe him. + +CAESAR. +You have broken +The article of your oath, which you shall never +Have tongue to charge me with. + +LEPIDUS. +Soft, Caesar! + +ANTONY. +No, Lepidus, let him speak. +The honour is sacred which he talks on now, +Supposing that I lacked it. But on, Caesar: +The article of my oath? + +CAESAR. +To lend me arms and aid when I required them, +The which you both denied. + +ANTONY. +Neglected, rather; +And then when poisoned hours had bound me up +From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may +I’ll play the penitent to you. But mine honesty +Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power +Work without it. Truth is that Fulvia, +To have me out of Egypt, made wars here, +For which myself, the ignorant motive, do +So far ask pardon as befits mine honour +To stoop in such a case. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis noble spoken. + +MAECENAS. +If it might please you to enforce no further +The griefs between ye; to forget them quite +Were to remember that the present need +Speaks to atone you. + +LEPIDUS. +Worthily spoken, Maecenas. + +ENOBARBUS. +Or, if you borrow one another’s love for the instant, you may, when you +hear no more words of Pompey, return it again. You shall have time to +wrangle in when you have nothing else to do. + +ANTONY. +Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more. + +ENOBARBUS. +That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. + +ANTONY. +You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. + +ENOBARBUS. +Go to, then. Your considerate stone! + +CAESAR. +I do not much dislike the matter, but +The manner of his speech; for’t cannot be +We shall remain in friendship, our conditions +So differing in their acts. Yet if I knew +What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge +O’ th’ world I would pursue it. + +AGRIPPA. +Give me leave, Caesar. + +CAESAR. +Speak, Agrippa. + +AGRIPPA. +Thou hast a sister by the mother’s side, +Admired Octavia. Great Mark Antony +Is now a widower. + +CAESAR. +Say not so, Agrippa. +If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof +Were well deserved of rashness. + +ANTONY. +I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear +Agrippa further speak. + +AGRIPPA. +To hold you in perpetual amity, +To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts +With an unslipping knot, take Antony +Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims +No worse a husband than the best of men; +Whose virtue and whose general graces speak +That which none else can utter. By this marriage +All little jealousies, which now seem great, +And all great fears, which now import their dangers, +Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales, +Where now half-tales be truths. Her love to both +Would each to other, and all loves to both, +Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke, +For ’tis a studied, not a present thought, +By duty ruminated. + +ANTONY. +Will Caesar speak? + +CAESAR. +Not till he hears how Antony is touched +With what is spoke already. + +ANTONY. +What power is in Agrippa, +If I would say “Agrippa, be it so,” +To make this good? + +CAESAR. +The power of Caesar, and +His power unto Octavia. + +ANTONY. +May I never +To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, +Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand. +Further this act of grace; and from this hour +The heart of brothers govern in our loves +And sway our great designs! + +CAESAR. +There’s my hand. +A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother +Did ever love so dearly. Let her live +To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never +Fly off our loves again! + +LEPIDUS. +Happily, amen! + +ANTONY. +I did not think to draw my sword ’gainst Pompey, +For he hath laid strange courtesies and great +Of late upon me. I must thank him only, +Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; +At heel of that, defy him. + +LEPIDUS. +Time calls upon ’s. +Of us must Pompey presently be sought, +Or else he seeks out us. + +ANTONY. +Where lies he? + +CAESAR. +About the Mount Misena. + +ANTONY. +What is his strength by land? + +CAESAR. +Great and increasing; but by sea +He is an absolute master. + +ANTONY. +So is the fame. +Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it. +Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we +The business we have talked of. + +CAESAR. +With most gladness, +And do invite you to my sister’s view, +Whither straight I’ll lead you. + +ANTONY. +Let us, Lepidus, not lack your company. + +LEPIDUS. +Noble Antony, not sickness should detain me. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt all except Enobarbus, Agrippa and Maecenas._] + +MAECENAS. +Welcome from Egypt, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable friend, +Agrippa! + +AGRIPPA. +Good Enobarbus! + +MAECENAS. +We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed +well by ’t in Egypt. + +ENOBARBUS. +Ay, sir, we did sleep day out of countenance and made the night light +with drinking. + +MAECENAS. +Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons +there. Is this true? + +ENOBARBUS. +This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more monstrous matter of +feast, which worthily deserved noting. + +MAECENAS. +She’s a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. + +ENOBARBUS. +When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up his heart upon the river +of Cydnus. + +AGRIPPA. +There she appeared indeed, or my reporter devised well for her. + +ENOBARBUS. +I will tell you. +The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, +Burned on the water. The poop was beaten gold; +Purple the sails, and so perfumed that +The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, +Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made +The water which they beat to follow faster, +As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, +It beggared all description: she did lie +In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue, +O’erpicturing that Venus where we see +The fancy outwork nature. On each side her +Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, +With divers-coloured fans, whose wind did seem +To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, +And what they undid did. + +AGRIPPA. +O, rare for Antony! + +ENOBARBUS. +Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, +So many mermaids, tended her i’ th’ eyes, +And made their bends adornings. At the helm +A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle +Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands +That yarely frame the office. From the barge +A strange invisible perfume hits the sense +Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast +Her people out upon her, and Antony, +Enthroned i’ th’ market-place, did sit alone, +Whistling to th’ air, which, but for vacancy, +Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, +And made a gap in nature. + +AGRIPPA. +Rare Egyptian! + +ENOBARBUS. +Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, +Invited her to supper. She replied +It should be better he became her guest, +Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony, +Whom ne’er the word of “No” woman heard speak, +Being barbered ten times o’er, goes to the feast, +And, for his ordinary, pays his heart +For what his eyes eat only. + +AGRIPPA. +Royal wench! +She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed. +He ploughed her, and she cropped. + +ENOBARBUS. +I saw her once +Hop forty paces through the public street +And, having lost her breath, she spoke and panted, +That she did make defect perfection, +And, breathless, pour breath forth. + +MAECENAS. +Now Antony must leave her utterly. + +ENOBARBUS. +Never. He will not. +Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale +Her infinite variety. Other women cloy +The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry +Where most she satisfies. For vilest things +Become themselves in her, that the holy priests +Bless her when she is riggish. + +MAECENAS. +If beauty, wisdom, modesty can settle +The heart of Antony, Octavia is +A blessed lottery to him. + +AGRIPPA. +Let us go. +Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest +Whilst you abide here. + +ENOBARBUS. +Humbly, sir, I thank you. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. + + Enter Antony, Caesar, Octavia between them. + +ANTONY. +The world and my great office will sometimes +Divide me from your bosom. + +OCTAVIA. +All which time +Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers +To them for you. + +ANTONY. +Good night, sir.—My Octavia, +Read not my blemishes in the world’s report. +I have not kept my square, but that to come +Shall all be done by th’ rule. Good night, dear lady. + +OCTAVIA. +Good night, sir. + +CAESAR. +Good night. + + [_Exeunt Caesar and Octavia._] + + Enter Soothsayer. + +ANTONY. +Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither! + +ANTONY. +If you can, your reason. + +SOOTHSAYER. +I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue. +But yet hie you to Egypt again. + +ANTONY. +Say to me, +Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar’s or mine? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Caesar’s. +Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side. +Thy dæmon—that thy spirit which keeps thee—is +Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, +Where Caesar’s is not. But near him, thy angel +Becomes afeard, as being o’erpowered. Therefore +Make space enough between you. + +ANTONY. +Speak this no more. + +SOOTHSAYER. +To none but thee; no more but when to thee. +If thou dost play with him at any game, +Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck +He beats thee ’gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens +When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit +Is all afraid to govern thee near him; +But, he away, ’tis noble. + +ANTONY. +Get thee gone. +Say to Ventidius I would speak with him. + + [_Exit Soothsayer._] + +He shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap, +He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him, +And in our sports my better cunning faints +Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds; +His cocks do win the battle still of mine +When it is all to naught, and his quails ever +Beat mine, inhooped, at odds. I will to Egypt: +And though I make this marriage for my peace, +I’ th’ East my pleasure lies. + + Enter Ventidius. + +O, come, Ventidius, +You must to Parthia. Your commission’s ready. +Follow me and receive ’t. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. A street. + + Enter Lepidus, Maecenas and Agrippa. + +LEPIDUS. +Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten +Your generals after. + +AGRIPPA. +Sir, Mark Antony +Will e’en but kiss Octavia, and we’ll follow. + +LEPIDUS. +Till I shall see you in your soldier’s dress, +Which will become you both, farewell. + +MAECENAS. +We shall, +As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount +Before you, Lepidus. + +LEPIDUS. +Your way is shorter; +My purposes do draw me much about. +You’ll win two days upon me. + +BOTH. +Sir, good success! + +LEPIDUS. +Farewell. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, Alexas. + +CLEOPATRA. +Give me some music—music, moody food +Of us that trade in love. + +ALL. +The music, ho! + + Enter Mardian, the eunuch. + +CLEOPATRA. +Let it alone. Let’s to billiards. Come, Charmian. + +CHARMIAN. +My arm is sore. Best play with Mardian. + +CLEOPATRA. +As well a woman with an eunuch played +As with a woman. Come, you’ll play with me, sir? + +MARDIAN. +As well as I can, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +And when good will is showed, though’t come too short, +The actor may plead pardon. I’ll none now. +Give me mine angle; we’ll to the river. There, +My music playing far off, I will betray +Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce +Their slimy jaws, and as I draw them up +I’ll think them every one an Antony, +And say “Ah, ha! You’re caught.” + +CHARMIAN. +’Twas merry when +You wagered on your angling; when your diver +Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he +With fervency drew up. + +CLEOPATRA. +That time?—O times!— +I laughed him out of patience; and that night +I laughed him into patience, and next morn, +Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed, +Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst +I wore his sword Philippan. + + Enter Messenger. + +O! from Italy! +Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, +That long time have been barren. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, madam— + +CLEOPATRA. +Antony’s dead! If thou say so, villain, +Thou kill’st thy mistress. But well and free, +If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here +My bluest veins to kiss, a hand that kings +Have lipped, and trembled kissing. + +MESSENGER. +First, madam, he’s well. + +CLEOPATRA. +Why, there’s more gold. +But sirrah, mark, we use +To say the dead are well. Bring it to that, +The gold I give thee will I melt and pour +Down thy ill-uttering throat. + +MESSENGER. +Good madam, hear me. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well, go to, I will. +But there’s no goodness in thy face if Antony +Be free and healthful. So tart a favour +To trumpet such good tidings! If not well, +Thou shouldst come like a Fury crowned with snakes, +Not like a formal man. + +MESSENGER. +Will’t please you hear me? + +CLEOPATRA. +I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak’st. +Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well, +Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, +I’ll set thee in a shower of gold and hail +Rich pearls upon thee. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, he’s well. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well said. + +MESSENGER. +And friends with Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +Th’ art an honest man. + +MESSENGER. +Caesar and he are greater friends than ever. + +CLEOPATRA. +Make thee a fortune from me. + +MESSENGER. +But yet, madam— + +CLEOPATRA. +I do not like “But yet”, it does allay +The good precedence. Fie upon “But yet”! +“But yet” is as a gaoler to bring forth +Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend, +Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, +The good and bad together: he’s friends with Caesar, +In state of health, thou say’st; and, thou say’st, free. + +MESSENGER. +Free, madam? No. I made no such report. +He’s bound unto Octavia. + +CLEOPATRA. +For what good turn? + +MESSENGER. +For the best turn i’ th’ bed. + +CLEOPATRA. +I am pale, Charmian. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, he’s married to Octavia. + +CLEOPATRA. +The most infectious pestilence upon thee! + + [_Strikes him down._] + +MESSENGER. +Good madam, patience. + +CLEOPATRA. +What say you? + + [_Strikes him again._] + +Hence, horrible villain, or I’ll spurn thine eyes +Like balls before me! I’ll unhair thy head! + + [_She hales him up and down._] + +Thou shalt be whipped with wire and stewed in brine, +Smarting in ling’ring pickle. + +MESSENGER. +Gracious madam, +I that do bring the news made not the match. + +CLEOPATRA. +Say ’tis not so, a province I will give thee, +And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst +Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage, +And I will boot thee with what gift beside +Thy modesty can beg. + +MESSENGER. +He’s married, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +Rogue, thou hast lived too long. + + [_Draws a knife._] + +MESSENGER. +Nay then I’ll run. +What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. + + [_Exit._] + +CHARMIAN. +Good madam, keep yourself within yourself. +The man is innocent. + +CLEOPATRA. +Some innocents ’scape not the thunderbolt. +Melt Egypt into Nile, and kindly creatures +Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again. +Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call! + +CHARMIAN. +He is afeard to come. + +CLEOPATRA. +I will not hurt him. + + [_Exit Charmian._] + +These hands do lack nobility that they strike +A meaner than myself, since I myself +Have given myself the cause. + + Enter the Messenger again with Charmian. + +Come hither, sir. +Though it be honest, it is never good +To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message +An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell +Themselves when they be felt. + +MESSENGER. +I have done my duty. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is he married? +I cannot hate thee worser than I do +If thou again say “Yes.” + +MESSENGER. +He’s married, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still! + +MESSENGER. +Should I lie, madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +O, I would thou didst, +So half my Egypt were submerged and made +A cistern for scaled snakes! Go, get thee hence. +Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me +Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? + +MESSENGER. +I crave your highness’ pardon. + +CLEOPATRA. +He is married? + +MESSENGER. +Take no offence that I would not offend you. +To punish me for what you make me do +Seems much unequal. He’s married to Octavia. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, that his fault should make a knave of thee +That art not what thou’rt sure of! Get thee hence! +The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome +Are all too dear for me. Lie they upon thy hand, +And be undone by ’em! + + [_Exit Messenger._] + +CHARMIAN. +Good your highness, patience. + +CLEOPATRA. +In praising Antony I have dispraised Caesar. + +CHARMIAN. +Many times, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +I am paid for’t now. +Lead me from hence; +I faint. O Iras, Charmian! ’Tis no matter. +Go to the fellow, good Alexas, bid him +Report the feature of Octavia, her years, +Her inclination; let him not leave out +The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly. + + [_Exit Alexas._] + +Let him for ever go—let him not, Charmian. +Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, +The other way ’s a Mars. [_To Mardian_] Bid you Alexas +Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian, +But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Near Misenum. + + Flourish. Enter Pompey and Menas at one door, with drum and trumpet; + at another, Caesar, Lepidus, Antony, Enobarbus, Maecenas, Agrippa, + with Soldiers marching. + +POMPEY. +Your hostages I have, so have you mine, +And we shall talk before we fight. + +CAESAR. +Most meet +That first we come to words, and therefore have we +Our written purposes before us sent, +Which if thou hast considered, let us know +If ’twill tie up thy discontented sword +And carry back to Sicily much tall youth +That else must perish here. + +POMPEY. +To you all three, +The senators alone of this great world, +Chief factors for the gods: I do not know +Wherefore my father should revengers want, +Having a son and friends, since Julius Caesar, +Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, +There saw you labouring for him. What was’t +That moved pale Cassius to conspire? And what +Made the all-honoured, honest Roman, Brutus, +With the armed rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, +To drench the Capitol, but that they would +Have one man but a man? And that is it +Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden +The angered ocean foams, with which I meant +To scourge th’ ingratitude that despiteful Rome +Cast on my noble father. + +CAESAR. +Take your time. + +ANTONY. +Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails. +We’ll speak with thee at sea. At land thou know’st +How much we do o’ercount thee. + +POMPEY. +At land indeed +Thou dost o’ercount me of my father’s house; +But since the cuckoo builds not for himself, +Remain in’t as thou mayst. + +LEPIDUS. +Be pleased to tell us— +For this is from the present—how you take +The offers we have sent you. + +CAESAR. +There’s the point. + +ANTONY. +Which do not be entreated to, but weigh +What it is worth embraced. + +CAESAR. +And what may follow +To try a larger fortune. + +POMPEY. +You have made me offer +Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must +Rid all the sea of pirates; then to send +Measures of wheat to Rome. This ’greed upon, +To part with unhacked edges and bear back +Our targes undinted. + +CAESAR, ANTONY, and LEPIDUS. +That’s our offer. + +POMPEY. +Know, then, +I came before you here a man prepared +To take this offer. But Mark Antony +Put me to some impatience. Though I lose +The praise of it by telling, you must know +When Caesar and your brother were at blows, +Your mother came to Sicily and did find +Her welcome friendly. + +ANTONY. +I have heard it, Pompey, +And am well studied for a liberal thanks +Which I do owe you. + +POMPEY. +Let me have your hand. +I did not think, sir, to have met you here. + +ANTONY. +The beds i’ th’ East are soft; and thanks to you, +That called me timelier than my purpose hither, +For I have gained by ’t. + +CAESAR. +Since I saw you last, +There is a change upon you. + +POMPEY. +Well, I know not +What counts harsh Fortune casts upon my face, +But in my bosom shall she never come +To make my heart her vassal. + +LEPIDUS. +Well met here. + +POMPEY. +I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed. +I crave our composition may be written +And sealed between us. + +CAESAR. +That’s the next to do. + +POMPEY. +We’ll feast each other ere we part, and let’s +Draw lots who shall begin. + +ANTONY. +That will I, Pompey. + +POMPEY. +No, Antony, take the lot. +But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery +Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar +Grew fat with feasting there. + +ANTONY. +You have heard much. + +POMPEY. +I have fair meanings, sir. + +ANTONY. +And fair words to them. + +POMPEY. +Then so much have I heard. +And I have heard Apollodorus carried— + +ENOBARBUS. +No more of that. He did so. + +POMPEY. +What, I pray you? + +ENOBARBUS. +A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. + +POMPEY. +I know thee now. How far’st thou, soldier? + +ENOBARBUS. +Well; +And well am like to do, for I perceive +Four feasts are toward. + +POMPEY. +Let me shake thy hand. +I never hated thee. I have seen thee fight +When I have envied thy behaviour. + +ENOBARBUS. +Sir, +I never loved you much, but I ha’ praised ye +When you have well deserved ten times as much +As I have said you did. + +POMPEY. +Enjoy thy plainness; +It nothing ill becomes thee. +Aboard my galley I invite you all. +Will you lead, lords? + +CAESAR, ANTONY, and LEPIDUS. +Show’s the way, sir. + +POMPEY. +Come. + + [_Exeunt all but Enobarbus and Menas._] + +MENAS. +[_Aside_.] Thy father, Pompey, would ne’er have made this treaty.— +You and I have known, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +At sea, I think. + +MENAS. +We have, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +You have done well by water. + +MENAS. +And you by land. + +ENOBARBUS. +I will praise any man that will praise me, though it cannot be denied +what I have done by land. + +MENAS. +Nor what I have done by water. + +ENOBARBUS. +Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great +thief by sea. + +MENAS. +And you by land. + +ENOBARBUS. +There I deny my land service. But give me your hand, Menas. If our eyes +had authority, here they might take two thieves kissing. + +MENAS. +All men’s faces are true, whatsome’er their hands are. + +ENOBARBUS. +But there is never a fair woman has a true face. + +MENAS. +No slander. They steal hearts. + +ENOBARBUS. +We came hither to fight with you. + +MENAS. +For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a drinking. Pompey doth this +day laugh away his fortune. + +ENOBARBUS. +If he do, sure he cannot weep ’t back again. + +MENAS. +You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here. Pray you, is he +married to Cleopatra? + +ENOBARBUS. +Caesar’s sister is called Octavia. + +MENAS. +True, sir. She was the wife of Caius Marcellus. + +ENOBARBUS. +But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. + +MENAS. +Pray you, sir? + +ENOBARBUS. +’Tis true. + +MENAS. +Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. + +ENOBARBUS. +If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so. + +MENAS. +I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage than the +love of the parties. + +ENOBARBUS. +I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems to tie their +friendship together will be the very strangler of their amity. Octavia +is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. + +MENAS. +Who would not have his wife so? + +ENOBARBUS. +Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He will to his +Egyptian dish again. Then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up +in Caesar, and, as I said before, that which is the strength of their +amity shall prove the immediate author of their variance. Antony will +use his affection where it is. He married but his occasion here. + +MENAS. +And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a health for +you. + +ENOBARBUS. +I shall take it, sir. We have used our throats in Egypt. + +MENAS. +Come, let’s away. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. On board Pompey’s Galley, lying near Misenum. + + Music. Enter two or three Servants with a banquet. + +FIRST SERVANT. +Here they’ll be, man. Some o’ their plants are ill-rooted already; the +least wind i’ th’ world will blow them down. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Lepidus is high-coloured. + +FIRST SERVANT. +They have made him drink alms-drink. + +SECOND SERVANT. +As they pinch one another by the disposition, he cries out “no more”, +reconciles them to his entreaty and himself to th’ drink. + +FIRST SERVANT. +But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Why, this it is to have a name in great men’s fellowship. I had as lief +have a reed that will do me no service as a partisan I could not heave. + +FIRST SERVANT. +To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to move in ’t, are +the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. + + A sennet sounded. Enter Caesar, Antony, Pompey, Lepidus, Agrippa, + Maecenas, Enobarbus, Menas with other Captains. + +ANTONY. +[_To Caesar_.] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o’ th’ Nile +By certain scales i’ th’ pyramid; they know +By th’ height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth +Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells, +The more it promises. As it ebbs, the seedsman +Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, +And shortly comes to harvest. + +LEPIDUS. +You’ve strange serpents there? + +ANTONY. +Ay, Lepidus. + +LEPIDUS. +Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your +sun; so is your crocodile. + +ANTONY. +They are so. + +POMPEY. +Sit, and some wine! A health to Lepidus! + +LEPIDUS. +I am not so well as I should be, but I’ll ne’er out. + +ENOBARBUS. +Not till you have slept. I fear me you’ll be in till then. + +LEPIDUS. +Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies’ pyramises are very goodly +things. Without contradiction I have heard that. + +MENAS. +[_Aside to Pompey_.] Pompey, a word. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas_.] Say in mine ear what is ’t? + +MENAS. +[_Whispers in ’s ear._] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain, +And hear me speak a word. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas._] Forbear me till anon.— +This wine for Lepidus! + +LEPIDUS. +What manner o’ thing is your crocodile? + +ANTONY. +It is shaped, sir, like itself, and it is as broad as it hath breadth. +It is just so high as it is, and moves with it own organs. It lives by +that which nourisheth it, and the elements once out of it, it +transmigrates. + +LEPIDUS. +What colour is it of? + +ANTONY. +Of its own colour too. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis a strange serpent. + +ANTONY. +’Tis so, and the tears of it are wet. + +CAESAR. +Will this description satisfy him? + +ANTONY. +With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very epicure. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas._] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that? Away! +Do as I bid you.—Where’s this cup I called for? + +MENAS. +[_Aside to Pompey_.] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, +Rise from thy stool. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas_.] I think thou’rt mad. + + [_Rises and walks aside._] + +The matter? + +MENAS. +I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. + +POMPEY. +Thou hast served me with much faith. What’s else to say?— +Be jolly, lords. + +ANTONY. +These quicksands, Lepidus, +Keep off them, for you sink. + +MENAS. +Wilt thou be lord of all the world? + +POMPEY. +What sayst thou? + +MENAS. +Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? +That’s twice. + +POMPEY. +How should that be? + +MENAS. +But entertain it, +And though you think me poor, I am the man +Will give thee all the world. + +POMPEY. +Hast thou drunk well? + +MENAS. +No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. +Thou art, if thou dar’st be, the earthly Jove. +Whate’er the ocean pales or sky inclips +Is thine, if thou wilt have’t. + +POMPEY. +Show me which way. + +MENAS. +These three world-sharers, these competitors, +Are in thy vessel. Let me cut the cable, +And when we are put off, fall to their throats. +All then is thine. + +POMPEY. +Ah, this thou shouldst have done +And not have spoke on ’t! In me ’tis villainy; +In thee ’t had been good service. Thou must know +’Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour; +Mine honour it. Repent that e’er thy tongue +Hath so betray’d thine act. Being done unknown, +I should have found it afterwards well done, +But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. + +MENAS. +[_Aside_.] For this, +I’ll never follow thy palled fortunes more. +Who seeks, and will not take when once ’tis offered, +Shall never find it more. + +POMPEY. +This health to Lepidus! + +ANTONY. +Bear him ashore. I’ll pledge it for him, Pompey. + +ENOBARBUS. +Here’s to thee, Menas! + +MENAS. +Enobarbus, welcome! + +POMPEY. +Fill till the cup be hid. + +ENOBARBUS. +There’s a strong fellow, Menas. + + [_Pointing to the servant who carries off Lepidus._] + +MENAS. +Why? + +ENOBARBUS. +’A bears the third part of the world, man. Seest not? + +MENAS. +The third part, then, is drunk. Would it were all, +That it might go on wheels! + +ENOBARBUS. +Drink thou. Increase the reels. + +MENAS. +Come. + +POMPEY. +This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. + +ANTONY. +It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho! +Here is to Caesar! + +CAESAR. +I could well forbear’t. +It’s monstrous labour when I wash my brain +And it grows fouler. + +ANTONY. +Be a child o’ the time. + +CAESAR. +Possess it, I’ll make answer. +But I had rather fast from all, four days, +Than drink so much in one. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_To Antony_.] Ha, my brave emperor, +Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals +And celebrate our drink? + +POMPEY. +Let’s ha’t, good soldier. + +ANTONY. +Come, let’s all take hands +Till that the conquering wine hath steeped our sense +In soft and delicate Lethe. + +ENOBARBUS. +All take hands. +Make battery to our ears with the loud music, +The while I’ll place you; then the boy shall sing. +The holding every man shall beat as loud +As his strong sides can volley. + + Music plays. Enobarbus places them hand in hand. + + THE SONG. + Come, thou monarch of the vine, + Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! + In thy vats our cares be drowned, + With thy grapes our hairs be crowned. + Cup us till the world go round, + Cup us till the world go round! + +CAESAR. +What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother, +Let me request you off. Our graver business +Frowns at this levity.—Gentle lords, let’s part. +You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb +Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue +Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost +Anticked us all. What needs more words. Good night. +Good Antony, your hand. + +POMPEY. +I’ll try you on the shore. + +ANTONY. +And shall, sir. Give’s your hand. + +POMPEY. +O Antony, +You have my father’s house. +But, what? We are friends. Come, down into the boat. + +ENOBARBUS. +Take heed you fall not. + + [_Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony and Attendants._] + +Menas, I’ll not on shore. + +MENAS. +No, to my cabin. These drums, these trumpets, flutes! What! +Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell +To these great fellows. Sound and be hanged, sound out! + + [_Sound a flourish with drums._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Hoo, says ’a! There’s my cap! + +MENAS. +Hoo! Noble captain, come. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + + +SCENE I. A plain in Syria. + + Enter Ventidius as it were in triumph, with Silius and other Romans, + Officers and Soldiers; the dead body of Pacorus borne before him. + +VENTIDIUS. +Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck, and now +Pleased Fortune does of Marcus Crassus’ death +Make me revenger. Bear the king’s son’s body +Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, +Pays this for Marcus Crassus. + +SILIUS. +Noble Ventidius, +Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, +The fugitive Parthians follow. Spur through Media, +Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither +The routed fly. So thy grand captain Antony +Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and +Put garlands on thy head. + +VENTIDIUS. +O Silius, Silius, +I have done enough. A lower place, note well, +May make too great an act. For learn this, Silius: +Better to leave undone than by our deed +Acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away. +Caesar and Antony have ever won +More in their officer, than person. Sossius, +One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, +For quick accumulation of renown, +Which he achieved by th’ minute, lost his favour. +Who does i’ th’ wars more than his captain can +Becomes his captain’s captain; and ambition, +The soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss +Than gain which darkens him. +I could do more to do Antonius good, +But ’twould offend him, and in his offence +Should my performance perish. + +SILIUS. +Thou hast, Ventidius, that +Without the which a soldier and his sword +Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony? + +VENTIDIUS. +I’ll humbly signify what in his name, +That magical word of war, we have effected; +How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, +The ne’er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia +We have jaded out o’ th’ field. + +SILIUS. +Where is he now? + +VENTIDIUS. +He purposeth to Athens, whither, with what haste +The weight we must convey with ’s will permit, +We shall appear before him.—On there, pass along! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. An Ante-chamber in Caesar’s house. + + Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbus at another. + +AGRIPPA. +What, are the brothers parted? + +ENOBARBUS. +They have dispatched with Pompey; he is gone. +The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps +To part from Rome. Caesar is sad, and Lepidus, +Since Pompey’s feast, as Menas says, is troubled +With the greensickness. + +AGRIPPA. +’Tis a noble Lepidus. + +ENOBARBUS. +A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar! + +AGRIPPA. +Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! + +ENOBARBUS. +Caesar? Why he’s the Jupiter of men. + +AGRIPPA. +What’s Antony? The god of Jupiter. + +ENOBARBUS. +Spake you of Caesar? How, the nonpareil! + +AGRIPPA. +O, Antony! O thou Arabian bird! + +ENOBARBUS. +Would you praise Caesar, say “Caesar”. Go no further. + +AGRIPPA. +Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. + +ENOBARBUS. +But he loves Caesar best, yet he loves Antony. +Hoo! Hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot +Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number—hoo!— +His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, +Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. + +AGRIPPA. +Both he loves. + +ENOBARBUS. +They are his shards, and he their beetle. + + [_Trumpets within._] + +So, +This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. + +AGRIPPA. +Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell. + + Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus and Octavia. + +ANTONY. +No further, sir. + +CAESAR. +You take from me a great part of myself. +Use me well in’t. Sister, prove such a wife +As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest bond +Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony, +Let not the piece of virtue which is set +Betwixt us, as the cement of our love +To keep it builded, be the ram to batter +The fortress of it. For better might we +Have loved without this mean, if on both parts +This be not cherished. + +ANTONY. +Make me not offended +In your distrust. + +CAESAR. +I have said. + +ANTONY. +You shall not find, +Though you be therein curious, the least cause +For what you seem to fear. So the gods keep you, +And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends. +We will here part. + +CAESAR. +Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well. +The elements be kind to thee, and make +Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well. + +OCTAVIA. +My noble brother! + +ANTONY. +The April’s in her eyes. It is love’s spring, +And these the showers to bring it on.—Be cheerful. + +OCTAVIA. +Sir, look well to my husband’s house, and— + +CAESAR. +What, Octavia? + +OCTAVIA. +I’ll tell you in your ear. + +ANTONY. +Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can +Her heart inform her tongue—the swan’s-down feather, +That stands upon the swell at the full of tide, +And neither way inclines. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Agrippa_.] Will Caesar weep? + +AGRIPPA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] He has a cloud in ’s face. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Agrippa_.] He were the worse for that were he a horse; +So is he, being a man. + +AGRIPPA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] Why, Enobarbus, +When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, +He cried almost to roaring, and he wept +When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Agrippa_.] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; +What willingly he did confound he wailed, +Believe ’t, till I weep too. + +CAESAR. +No, sweet Octavia, +You shall hear from me still. The time shall not +Outgo my thinking on you. + +ANTONY. +Come, sir, come, +I’ll wrestle with you in my strength of love. +Look, here I have you, thus I let you go, +And give you to the gods. + +CAESAR. +Adieu, be happy! + +LEPIDUS. +Let all the number of the stars give light +To thy fair way! + +CAESAR. +Farewell, farewell! + + [_Kisses Octavia._] + +ANTONY. +Farewell! + + [_Trumpets sound. Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Alexas. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where is the fellow? + +ALEXAS. +Half afeared to come. + +CLEOPATRA. +Go to, go to. + + Enter a Messenger as before. + +Come hither, sir. + +ALEXAS. +Good majesty, +Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you +But when you are well pleased. + +CLEOPATRA. +That Herod’s head +I’ll have! But how, when Antony is gone, +Through whom I might command it?—Come thou near. + +MESSENGER. +Most gracious majesty! + +CLEOPATRA. +Didst thou behold Octavia? + +MESSENGER. +Ay, dread queen. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where? + +MESSENGER. +Madam, in Rome +I looked her in the face, and saw her led +Between her brother and Mark Antony. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is she as tall as me? + +MESSENGER. +She is not, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongued or low? + +MESSENGER. +Madam, I heard her speak. She is low-voiced. + +CLEOPATRA. +That’s not so good. He cannot like her long. + +CHARMIAN. +Like her? O Isis! ’Tis impossible. + +CLEOPATRA. +I think so, Charmian: dull of tongue and dwarfish! +What majesty is in her gait? Remember, +If e’er thou look’dst on majesty. + +MESSENGER. +She creeps. +Her motion and her station are as one. +She shows a body rather than a life, +A statue than a breather. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is this certain? + +MESSENGER. +Or I have no observance. + +CHARMIAN. +Three in Egypt +Cannot make better note. + +CLEOPATRA. +He’s very knowing; +I do perceive’t. There’s nothing in her yet. +The fellow has good judgment. + +CHARMIAN. +Excellent. + +CLEOPATRA. +Guess at her years, I prithee. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, +She was a widow. + +CLEOPATRA. +Widow! Charmian, hark! + +MESSENGER. +And I do think she’s thirty. + +CLEOPATRA. +Bear’st thou her face in mind? Is’t long or round? + +MESSENGER. +Round even to faultiness. + +CLEOPATRA. +For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so. +Her hair, what colour? + +MESSENGER. +Brown, madam, and her forehead +As low as she would wish it. + +CLEOPATRA. +There’s gold for thee. +Thou must not take my former sharpness ill. +I will employ thee back again; I find thee +Most fit for business. Go make thee ready; +Our letters are prepared. + + [_Exit Messenger._] + +CHARMIAN. +A proper man. + +CLEOPATRA. +Indeed, he is so. I repent me much +That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him, +This creature’s no such thing. + +CHARMIAN. +Nothing, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +The man hath seen some majesty, and should know. + +CHARMIAN. +Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, +And serving you so long! + +CLEOPATRA. +I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian. +But ’tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me +Where I will write. All may be well enough. + +CHARMIAN. +I warrant you, madam. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Athens. A Room in Antony’s House. + + Enter Antony and Octavia. + +ANTONY. +Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that— +That were excusable, that and thousands more +Of semblable import—but he hath waged +New wars ’gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it +To public ear; +Spoke scantly of me; when perforce he could not +But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly +He vented them; most narrow measure lent me; +When the best hint was given him, he not took ’t, +Or did it from his teeth. + +OCTAVIA. +O, my good lord, +Believe not all, or if you must believe, +Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, +If this division chance, ne’er stood between, +Praying for both parts. +The good gods will mock me presently +When I shall pray “O, bless my lord and husband!” +Undo that prayer by crying out as loud +“O, bless my brother!” Husband win, win brother, +Prays and destroys the prayer; no midway +’Twixt these extremes at all. + +ANTONY. +Gentle Octavia, +Let your best love draw to that point which seeks +Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour, +I lose myself; better I were not yours +Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, +Yourself shall go between’s. The meantime, lady, +I’ll raise the preparation of a war +Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste, +So your desires are yours. + +OCTAVIA. +Thanks to my lord. +The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak, +Your reconciler! Wars ’twixt you twain would be +As if the world should cleave, and that slain men +Should solder up the rift. + +ANTONY. +When it appears to you where this begins, +Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults +Can never be so equal that your love +Can equally move with them. Provide your going; +Choose your own company, and command what cost +Your heart has mind to. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Athens. Another Room in Antony’s House. + + Enter Enobarbus and Eros meeting. + +ENOBARBUS. +How now, friend Eros? + +EROS. +There’s strange news come, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +What, man? + +EROS. +Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. + +ENOBARBUS. +This is old. What is the success? + +EROS. +Caesar, having made use of him in the wars ’gainst Pompey, presently +denied him rivality; would not let him partake in the glory of the +action, and, not resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly +wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him. So the poor third is +up, till death enlarge his confine. + +ENOBARBUS. +Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more, +And throw between them all the food thou hast, +They’ll grind the one the other. Where’s Antony? + +EROS. +He’s walking in the garden, thus, and spurns +The rush that lies before him; cries “Fool Lepidus!” +And threats the throat of that his officer +That murdered Pompey. + +ENOBARBUS. +Our great navy’s rigged. + +EROS. +For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius: +My lord desires you presently. My news +I might have told hereafter. + +ENOBARBUS. +’Twill be naught, +But let it be. Bring me to Antony. + +EROS. +Come, sir. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. + + Enter Agrippa, Maecenas and Caesar. + +CAESAR. +Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more +In Alexandria. Here’s the manner of ’t: +I’ th’ market-place, on a tribunal silvered, +Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold +Were publicly enthroned. At the feet sat +Caesarion, whom they call my father’s son, +And all the unlawful issue that their lust +Since then hath made between them. Unto her +He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her +Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, +Absolute queen. + +MAECENAS. +This in the public eye? + +CAESAR. +I’ th’ common showplace where they exercise. +His sons he there proclaimed the kings of kings: +Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia +He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assigned +Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia. She +In th’ habiliments of the goddess Isis +That day appeared, and oft before gave audience, +As ’tis reported, so. + +MAECENAS. +Let Rome be thus informed. + +AGRIPPA. +Who, queasy with his insolence already, +Will their good thoughts call from him. + +CAESAR. +The people knows it and have now received +His accusations. + +AGRIPPA. +Who does he accuse? + +CAESAR. +Caesar, and that, having in Sicily +Sextus Pompeius spoiled, we had not rated him +His part o’ th’ isle. Then does he say he lent me +Some shipping, unrestored. Lastly, he frets +That Lepidus of the triumvirate +Should be deposed and, being, that we detain +All his revenue. + +AGRIPPA. +Sir, this should be answered. + +CAESAR. +’Tis done already, and messenger gone. +I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel, +That he his high authority abused, +And did deserve his change. For what I have conquered +I grant him part; but then in his Armenia +And other of his conquered kingdoms, I +Demand the like. + +MAECENAS. +He’ll never yield to that. + +CAESAR. +Nor must not then be yielded to in this. + + Enter Octavia with her train. + +OCTAVIA. +Hail, Caesar, and my lord! Hail, most dear Caesar! + +CAESAR. +That ever I should call thee castaway! + +OCTAVIA. +You have not called me so, nor have you cause. + +CAESAR. +Why have you stolen upon us thus? You come not +Like Caesar’s sister. The wife of Antony +Should have an army for an usher, and +The neighs of horse to tell of her approach +Long ere she did appear. The trees by th’ way +Should have borne men, and expectation fainted, +Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust +Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, +Raised by your populous troops. But you are come +A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented +The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, +Is often left unloved. We should have met you +By sea and land, supplying every stage +With an augmented greeting. + +OCTAVIA. +Good my lord, +To come thus was I not constrained, but did it +On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, +Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted +My grieved ear withal, whereon I begged +His pardon for return. + +CAESAR. +Which soon he granted, +Being an abstract ’tween his lust and him. + +OCTAVIA. +Do not say so, my lord. + +CAESAR. +I have eyes upon him, +And his affairs come to me on the wind. +Where is he now? + +OCTAVIA. +My lord, in Athens. + +CAESAR. +No, my most wronged sister. Cleopatra +Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire +Up to a whore, who now are levying +The kings o’ th’ earth for war. He hath assembled +Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus +Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king +Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; +King Manchus of Arabia; King of Pont; +Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king +Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas, +The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, +With a more larger list of sceptres. + +OCTAVIA. +Ay me, most wretched, +That have my heart parted betwixt two friends +That does afflict each other! + +CAESAR. +Welcome hither. +Your letters did withhold our breaking forth +Till we perceived both how you were wrong led +And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart. +Be you not troubled with the time, which drives +O’er your content these strong necessities, +But let determined things to destiny +Hold unbewailed their way. Welcome to Rome, +Nothing more dear to me. You are abused +Beyond the mark of thought, and the high gods, +To do you justice, make their ministers +Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort, +And ever welcome to us. + +AGRIPPA. +Welcome, lady. + +MAECENAS. +Welcome, dear madam. +Each heart in Rome does love and pity you. +Only th’ adulterous Antony, most large +In his abominations, turns you off +And gives his potent regiment to a trull +That noises it against us. + +OCTAVIA. +Is it so, sir? + +CAESAR. +Most certain. Sister, welcome. Pray you +Be ever known to patience. My dear’st sister! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Antony’s Camp near the Promontory of Actium. + + Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. + +CLEOPATRA. +I will be even with thee, doubt it not. + +ENOBARBUS. +But why, why, why? + +CLEOPATRA. +Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars +And say’st it is not fit. + +ENOBARBUS. +Well, is it, is it? + +CLEOPATRA. +Is ’t not denounced against us? Why should not we +Be there in person? + +ENOBARBUS. +Well, I could reply: +If we should serve with horse and mares together, +The horse were merely lost. The mares would bear +A soldier and his horse. + +CLEOPATRA. +What is’t you say? + +ENOBARBUS. +Your presence needs must puzzle Antony, +Take from his heart, take from his brain, from ’s time, +What should not then be spared. He is already +Traduced for levity, and ’tis said in Rome +That Photinus, an eunuch, and your maids +Manage this war. + +CLEOPATRA. +Sink Rome, and their tongues rot +That speak against us! A charge we bear i’ th’ war, +And, as the president of my kingdom, will +Appear there for a man. Speak not against it. +I will not stay behind. + + Enter Antony and Canidius. + +ENOBARBUS. +Nay, I have done. +Here comes the Emperor. + +ANTONY. +Is it not strange, Canidius, +That from Tarentum and Brundusium +He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea +And take in Toryne?—You have heard on ’t, sweet? + +CLEOPATRA. +Celerity is never more admired +Than by the negligent. + +ANTONY. +A good rebuke, +Which might have well becomed the best of men +To taunt at slackness.—Canidius, we +Will fight with him by sea. + +CLEOPATRA. +By sea, what else? + +CANIDIUS. +Why will my lord do so? + +ANTONY. +For that he dares us to ’t. + +ENOBARBUS. +So hath my lord dared him to single fight. + +CANIDIUS. +Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, +Where Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers, +Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off, +And so should you. + +ENOBARBUS. +Your ships are not well manned, +Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people +Engrossed by swift impress. In Caesar’s fleet +Are those that often have ’gainst Pompey fought. +Their ships are yare, yours heavy. No disgrace +Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, +Being prepared for land. + +ANTONY. +By sea, by sea. + +ENOBARBUS. +Most worthy sir, you therein throw away +The absolute soldiership you have by land; +Distract your army, which doth most consist +Of war-marked footmen; leave unexecuted +Your own renowned knowledge; quite forgo +The way which promises assurance; and +Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard +From firm security. + +ANTONY. +I’ll fight at sea. + +CLEOPATRA. +I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. + +ANTONY. +Our overplus of shipping will we burn, +And with the rest full-manned, from th’ head of Actium +Beat th’ approaching Caesar. But if we fail, +We then can do ’t at land. + + Enter a Messenger. + +Thy business? + +MESSENGER. +The news is true, my lord; he is descried. +Caesar has taken Toryne. + +ANTONY. +Can he be there in person? ’Tis impossible; +Strange that his power should be. Canidius, +Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, +And our twelve thousand horse. We’ll to our ship. +Away, my Thetis! + + Enter a Soldier. + +How now, worthy soldier? + +SOLDIER. +O noble emperor, do not fight by sea. +Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt +This sword and these my wounds? Let th’ Egyptians +And the Phoenicians go a-ducking. We +Have used to conquer standing on the earth +And fighting foot to foot. + +ANTONY. +Well, well, away. + + [_Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra and Enobarbus._] + +SOLDIER. +By Hercules, I think I am i’ th’ right. + +CANIDIUS. +Soldier, thou art. But his whole action grows +Not in the power on ’t. So our leader’s led, +And we are women’s men. + +SOLDIER. +You keep by land +The legions and the horse whole, do you not? + +CANIDIUS. +Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, +Publicola, and Caelius are for sea, +But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar’s +Carries beyond belief. + +SOLDIER. +While he was yet in Rome, +His power went out in such distractions as +Beguiled all spies. + +CANIDIUS. +Who’s his lieutenant, hear you? + +SOLDIER. +They say one Taurus. + +CANIDIUS. +Well I know the man. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +The Emperor calls Canidius. + +CANIDIUS. +With news the time’s with labour, and throes forth +Each minute some. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. A plain near Actium. + + Enter Caesar with his army and Taurus marching. + +CAESAR. +Taurus! + +TAURUS. +My lord? + +CAESAR. +Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle +Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed +The prescript of this scroll. Our fortune lies +Upon this jump. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IX. Another part of the Plain. + + Enter Antony and Enobarbus. + +ANTONY. +Set we our squadrons on yon side o’ th’ hill +In eye of Caesar’s battle, from which place +We may the number of the ships behold +And so proceed accordingly. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE X. Another part of the Plain. + +Canidius marching with his land army one way over the stage, and +Taurus, the Lieutenant of Caesar, with his Army, the other way. After +their going in, is heard the noise of a sea fight. + + Alarum. Enter Enobarbus. + +ENOBARBUS. +Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer. +Th’ Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, +With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder. +To see ’t mine eyes are blasted. + + Enter Scarus. + +SCARUS. +Gods and goddesses, +All the whole synod of them! + +ENOBARBUS. +What’s thy passion? + +SCARUS. +The greater cantle of the world is lost +With very ignorance. We have kissed away +Kingdoms and provinces. + +ENOBARBUS. +How appears the fight? + +SCARUS. +On our side like, the tokened pestilence, +Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt, +Whom leprosy o’ertake, i’ th’ midst o’ th’ fight, +When vantage like a pair of twins appeared, +Both as the same—or, rather, ours the elder— +The breeze upon her, like a cow in June, +Hoists sails and flies. + +ENOBARBUS. +That I beheld. +Mine eyes did sicken at the sight and could not +Endure a further view. + +SCARUS. +She once being loofed, +The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, +Claps on his sea-wing and, like a doting mallard, +Leaving the fight in height, flies after her. +I never saw an action of such shame. +Experience, manhood, honour, ne’er before +Did violate so itself. + +ENOBARBUS. +Alack, alack! + + Enter Canidius. + +CANIDIUS. +Our fortune on the sea is out of breath +And sinks most lamentably. Had our general +Been what he knew himself, it had gone well. +O, he has given example for our flight +Most grossly by his own! + +ENOBARBUS. +Ay, are you thereabouts? +Why, then, good night indeed. + +CANIDIUS. +Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. + +SCARUS. +’Tis easy to’t, and there I will attend +What further comes. + +CANIDIUS. +To Caesar will I render +My legions and my horse. Six kings already +Show me the way of yielding. + +ENOBARBUS. +I’ll yet follow +The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason +Sits in the wind against me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XI. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Antony with attendants. + +ANTONY. +Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon’t. +It is ashamed to bear me. Friends, come hither. +I am so lated in the world that I +Have lost my way for ever. I have a ship +Laden with gold. Take that, divide it. Fly, +And make your peace with Caesar. + +ALL. +Fly? Not we. + +ANTONY. +I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards +To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone. +I have myself resolved upon a course +Which has no need of you. Be gone. +My treasure’s in the harbour. Take it. O, +I followed that I blush to look upon. +My very hairs do mutiny, for the white +Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them +For fear and doting. Friends, be gone. You shall +Have letters from me to some friends that will +Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, +Nor make replies of loathness. Take the hint +Which my despair proclaims. Let that be left +Which leaves itself. To the sea-side straightway. +I will possess you of that ship and treasure. +Leave me, I pray, a little—pray you, now, +Nay, do so; for indeed I have lost command. +Therefore I pray you. I’ll see you by and by. + + [_Sits down._] + + Enter Cleopatra led by Charmian, Iras and Eros. + +EROS. +Nay, gentle madam, to him! Comfort him. + +IRAS. +Do, most dear queen. + +CHARMIAN. +Do! Why, what else? + +CLEOPATRA. +Let me sit down. O Juno! + +ANTONY. +No, no, no, no, no. + +EROS. +See you here, sir? + +ANTONY. +O, fie, fie, fie! + +CHARMIAN. +Madam. + +IRAS. +Madam, O good empress! + +EROS. +Sir, sir! + +ANTONY. +Yes, my lord, yes. He at Philippi kept +His sword e’en like a dancer, while I struck +The lean and wrinkled Cassius, and ’twas I +That the mad Brutus ended. He alone +Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had +In the brave squares of war. Yet now—no matter. + +CLEOPATRA. +Ah, stand by. + +EROS. +The Queen, my lord, the Queen! + +IRAS. +Go to him, madam; speak to him. +He is unqualitied with very shame. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well then, sustain me. O! + +EROS. +Most noble sir, arise. The Queen approaches. +Her head’s declined, and death will seize her but +Your comfort makes the rescue. + +ANTONY. +I have offended reputation, +A most unnoble swerving. + +EROS. +Sir, the Queen. + +ANTONY. +O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See +How I convey my shame out of thine eyes +By looking back what I have left behind +’Stroyed in dishonour. + +CLEOPATRA. +O my lord, my lord, +Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought +You would have followed. + +ANTONY. +Egypt, thou knew’st too well +My heart was to thy rudder tied by th’ strings, +And thou shouldst tow me after. O’er my spirit +Thy full supremacy thou knew’st, and that +Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods +Command me. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, my pardon! + +ANTONY. +Now I must +To the young man send humble treaties, dodge +And palter in the shifts of lowness, who +With half the bulk o’ th’ world played as I pleased, +Making and marring fortunes. You did know +How much you were my conqueror, and that +My sword, made weak by my affection, would +Obey it on all cause. + +CLEOPATRA. +Pardon, pardon! + +ANTONY. +Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates +All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss. +Even this repays me. +We sent our schoolmaster. Is he come back? +Love, I am full of lead. Some wine +Within there, and our viands! Fortune knows +We scorn her most when most she offers blows. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XII. Caesar’s camp in Egypt. + + Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella with others. + +CAESAR. +Let him appear that’s come from Antony. +Know you him? + +DOLABELLA. +Caesar, ’tis his schoolmaster— +An argument that he is plucked, when hither +He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, +Which had superfluous kings for messengers +Not many moons gone by. + + Enter Ambassador from Anthony. + +CAESAR. +Approach, and speak. + +AMBASSADOR. +Such as I am, I come from Antony. +I was of late as petty to his ends +As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf +To his grand sea. + +CAESAR. +Be’t so. Declare thine office. + +AMBASSADOR. +Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and +Requires to live in Egypt, which not granted, +He lessens his requests, and to thee sues +To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, +A private man in Athens. This for him. +Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness, +Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves +The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, +Now hazarded to thy grace. + +CAESAR. +For Antony, +I have no ears to his request. The queen +Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she +From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, +Or take his life there. This if she perform, +She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. + +AMBASSADOR. +Fortune pursue thee! + +CAESAR. +Bring him through the bands. + + [_Exit Ambassador, attended._] + +[_To Thidias_.] To try thy eloquence now ’tis time. Dispatch. +From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise, +And in our name, what she requires; add more, +From thine invention, offers. Women are not +In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure +The ne’er-touch’d vestal. Try thy cunning, Thidias; +Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we +Will answer as a law. + +THIDIAS. +Caesar, I go. + +CAESAR. +Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, +And what thou think’st his very action speaks +In every power that moves. + +THIDIAS. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XIII. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +What shall we do, Enobarbus? + +ENOBARBUS. +Think, and die. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is Antony or we in fault for this? + +ENOBARBUS. +Antony only, that would make his will +Lord of his reason. What though you fled +From that great face of war, whose several ranges +Frighted each other? Why should he follow? +The itch of his affection should not then +Have nicked his captainship, at such a point, +When half to half the world opposed, he being +The mered question. ’Twas a shame no less +Than was his loss, to course your flying flags +And leave his navy gazing. + +CLEOPATRA. +Prithee, peace. + + Enter the Ambassador with Antony. + +ANTONY. +Is that his answer? + +AMBASSADOR. +Ay, my lord. + +ANTONY. +The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she +Will yield us up. + +AMBASSADOR. +He says so. + +ANTONY. +Let her know’t.— +To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, +And he will fill thy wishes to the brim +With principalities. + +CLEOPATRA. +That head, my lord? + +ANTONY. +To him again. Tell him he wears the rose +Of youth upon him, from which the world should note +Something particular: his coin, ships, legions, +May be a coward’s; whose ministers would prevail +Under the service of a child as soon +As i’ th’ command of Caesar. I dare him therefore +To lay his gay comparisons apart, +And answer me declined, sword against sword, +Ourselves alone. I’ll write it. Follow me. + + [_Exeunt Antony and Ambassador._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Yes, like enough high-battled Caesar will +Unstate his happiness, and be staged to th’ show +Against a sworder! I see men’s judgments are +A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward +Do draw the inward quality after them +To suffer all alike. That he should dream, +Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will +Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdued +His judgment too. + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +A messenger from Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +What, no more ceremony? See, my women, +Against the blown rose may they stop their nose +That kneeled unto the buds. Admit him, sir. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside_.] Mine honesty and I begin to square. +The loyalty well held to fools does make +Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure +To follow with allegiance a fallen lord +Does conquer him that did his master conquer, +And earns a place i’ th’ story. + + Enter Thidias. + +CLEOPATRA. +Caesar’s will? + +THIDIAS. +Hear it apart. + +CLEOPATRA. +None but friends. Say boldly. + +THIDIAS. +So haply are they friends to Antony. + +ENOBARBUS. +He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has, +Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master +Will leap to be his friend. For us, you know +Whose he is we are, and that is Caesar’s. + +THIDIAS. +So.— +Thus then, thou most renowned: Caesar entreats +Not to consider in what case thou stand’st +Further than he is Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +Go on; right royal. + +THIDIAS. +He knows that you embrace not Antony +As you did love, but as you feared him. + +CLEOPATRA. +O! + +THIDIAS. +The scars upon your honour, therefore, he +Does pity as constrained blemishes, +Not as deserved. + +CLEOPATRA. +He is a god and knows +What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded, +But conquered merely. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside_.] To be sure of that, +I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky +That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for +Thy dearest quit thee. + + [_Exit Enobarbus._] + +THIDIAS. +Shall I say to Caesar +What you require of him? For he partly begs +To be desired to give. It much would please him +That of his fortunes you should make a staff +To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits +To hear from me you had left Antony, +And put yourself under his shroud, +The universal landlord. + +CLEOPATRA. +What’s your name? + +THIDIAS. +My name is Thidias. + +CLEOPATRA. +Most kind messenger, +Say to great Caesar this in deputation: +I kiss his conqu’ring hand. Tell him I am prompt +To lay my crown at’s feet, and there to kneel. +Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear +The doom of Egypt. + +THIDIAS. +’Tis your noblest course. +Wisdom and fortune combating together, +If that the former dare but what it can, +No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay +My duty on your hand. + +CLEOPATRA. +Your Caesar’s father oft, +When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, +Bestowed his lips on that unworthy place +As it rained kisses. + + Enter Antony and Enobarbus. + +ANTONY. +Favours, by Jove that thunders! +What art thou, fellow? + +THIDIAS. +One that but performs +The bidding of the fullest man and worthiest +To have command obeyed. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside_.] You will be whipped. + +ANTONY. +Approach there.—Ah, you kite!—Now, gods and devils, +Authority melts from me. Of late when I cried “Ho!” +Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth +And cry “Your will?” Have you no ears? I am +Antony yet. + + Enter Servants. + +Take hence this jack and whip him. + +ENOBARBUS. +’Tis better playing with a lion’s whelp +Than with an old one dying. + +ANTONY. +Moon and stars! +Whip him. Were’t twenty of the greatest tributaries +That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them +So saucy with the hand of she here—what’s her name +Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, +Till like a boy you see him cringe his face +And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence. + +THIDIAS. +Mark Antony— + +ANTONY. +Tug him away. Being whipp’d, +Bring him again. This jack of Caesar’s shall +Bear us an errand to him. + + [_Exeunt Servants with Thidias._] + +You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha! +Have I my pillow left unpressed in Rome, +Forborne the getting of a lawful race, +And by a gem of women, to be abused +By one that looks on feeders? + +CLEOPATRA. +Good my lord— + +ANTONY. +You have been a boggler ever. +But when we in our viciousness grow hard— +O misery on’t!—the wise gods seal our eyes, +In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us +Adore our errors, laugh at’s while we strut +To our confusion. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, is’t come to this? + +ANTONY. +I found you as a morsel cold upon +Dead Caesar’s trencher; nay, you were a fragment +Of Gneius Pompey’s, besides what hotter hours, +Unregistered in vulgar fame, you have +Luxuriously pick’d out. For I am sure, +Though you can guess what temperance should be, +You know not what it is. + +CLEOPATRA. +Wherefore is this? + +ANTONY. +To let a fellow that will take rewards +And say “God quit you!” be familiar with +My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal +And plighter of high hearts! O that I were +Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar +The horned herd! For I have savage cause, +And to proclaim it civilly were like +A haltered neck which does the hangman thank +For being yare about him. + + Enter a Servant with Thidias. + +Is he whipped? + +SERVANT. +Soundly, my lord. + +ANTONY. +Cried he? And begged he pardon? + +SERVANT. +He did ask favour. + +ANTONY. +If that thy father live, let him repent +Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry +To follow Caesar in his triumph, since +Thou hast been whipped for following him. Henceforth +The white hand of a lady fever thee; +Shake thou to look on’t. Get thee back to Caesar; +Tell him thy entertainment. Look thou say +He makes me angry with him; for he seems +Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, +Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry, +And at this time most easy ’tis to do’t, +When my good stars that were my former guides +Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires +Into th’ abysm of hell. If he mislike +My speech and what is done, tell him he has +Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom +He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, +As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou. +Hence with thy stripes, be gone. + + [_Exit Thidias._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Have you done yet? + +ANTONY. +Alack, our terrene moon is now eclipsed, +And it portends alone the fall of Antony. + +CLEOPATRA. +I must stay his time. + +ANTONY. +To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes +With one that ties his points? + +CLEOPATRA. +Not know me yet? + +ANTONY. +Cold-hearted toward me? + +CLEOPATRA. +Ah, dear, if I be so, +From my cold heart let heaven engender hail +And poison it in the source, and the first stone +Drop in my neck; as it determines, so +Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite, +Till, by degrees the memory of my womb, +Together with my brave Egyptians all, +By the discandying of this pelleted storm, +Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile +Have buried them for prey! + +ANTONY. +I am satisfied. +Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where +I will oppose his fate. Our force by land +Hath nobly held; our severed navy too +Have knit again, and fleet, threat’ning most sea-like. +Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? +If from the field I shall return once more +To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood. +I and my sword will earn our chronicle. +There’s hope in’t yet. + +CLEOPATRA. +That’s my brave lord! + +ANTONY. +I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, +And fight maliciously. For when mine hours +Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives +Of me for jests. But now I’ll set my teeth +And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, +Let’s have one other gaudy night. Call to me +All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more +Let’s mock the midnight bell. + +CLEOPATRA. +It is my birthday. +I had thought t’have held it poor, but since my lord +Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. + +ANTONY. +We will yet do well. + +CLEOPATRA. +Call all his noble captains to my lord. + +ANTONY. +Do so; we’ll speak to them; and tonight I’ll force +The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen, +There’s sap in’t yet. The next time I do fight +I’ll make Death love me, for I will contend +Even with his pestilent scythe. + + [_Exeunt all but Enobarbus._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Now he’ll outstare the lightning. To be furious +Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood +The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still +A diminution in our captain’s brain +Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason, +It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek +Some way to leave him. + + [_Exit._] + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. Caesar’s Camp at Alexandria. + + Enter Caesar, Agrippa, and Maecenas, with his army. +Caesar reading a letter. + +CAESAR. +He calls me boy, and chides as he had power +To beat me out of Egypt. My messenger +He hath whipped with rods; dares me to personal combat, +Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know +I have many other ways to die; meantime +Laugh at his challenge. + +MAECENAS. +Caesar must think, +When one so great begins to rage, he’s hunted +Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now +Make boot of his distraction. Never anger +Made good guard for itself. + +CAESAR. +Let our best heads +Know that tomorrow the last of many battles +We mean to fight. Within our files there are, +Of those that served Mark Antony but late, +Enough to fetch him in. See it done, +And feast the army; we have store to do’t, +And they have earned the waste. Poor Antony! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas with + others. + +ANTONY. +He will not fight with me, Domitius? + +ENOBARBUS. +No. + +ANTONY. +Why should he not? + +ENOBARBUS. +He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, +He is twenty men to one. + +ANTONY. +Tomorrow, soldier, +By sea and land I’ll fight. Or I will live, +Or bathe my dying honour in the blood +Shall make it live again. Woo’t thou fight well? + +ENOBARBUS. +I’ll strike, and cry “Take all.” + +ANTONY. +Well said. Come on. +Call forth my household servants. Let’s tonight +Be bounteous at our meal.— + + Enter Servants. + +Give me thy hand. +Thou has been rightly honest; so hast thou, +Thou, and thou, and thou. You have served me well, +And kings have been your fellows. + +CLEOPATRA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] What means this? + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Cleopatra_.] ’Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow +shoots +Out of the mind. + +ANTONY. +And thou art honest too. +I wish I could be made so many men, +And all of you clapped up together in +An Antony, that I might do you service +So good as you have done. + +ALL THE SERVANTS. +The gods forbid! + +ANTONY. +Well, my good fellows, wait on me tonight. +Scant not my cups, and make as much of me +As when mine empire was your fellow too +And suffered my command. + +CLEOPATRA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] What does he mean? + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Cleopatra_.] To make his followers weep. + +ANTONY. +Tend me tonight; +May be it is the period of your duty. +Haply you shall not see me more, or if, +A mangled shadow. Perchance tomorrow +You’ll serve another master. I look on you +As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, +I turn you not away, but, like a master +Married to your good service, stay till death. +Tend me tonight two hours, I ask no more, +And the gods yield you for’t! + +ENOBARBUS. +What mean you, sir, +To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep, +And I, an ass, am onion-eyed. For shame, +Transform us not to women. + +ANTONY. +Ho, ho, ho! +Now the witch take me if I meant it thus! +Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends, +You take me in too dolorous a sense, +For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you +To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts, +I hope well of tomorrow, and will lead you +Where rather I’ll expect victorious life +Than death and honour. Let’s to supper, come, +And drown consideration. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Alexandria. Before the Palace. + + Enter a Company of Soldiers. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Brother, good night. Tomorrow is the day. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +It will determine one way. Fare you well. +Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Nothing. What news? + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Belike ’tis but a rumour. Good night to you. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, sir, good night. + + Enter two other Soldiers. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Soldiers, have careful watch. + +THIRD SOLDIER. +And you. Good night, good night. + + [_They place themselves in every corner of the stage._] + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Here we. And if tomorrow +Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope +Our landmen will stand up. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +’Tis a brave army, and full of purpose. + + [_Music of the hautboys under the stage._] + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Peace, what noise? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +List, list! + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Hark! + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Music i’ th’ air. + +THIRD SOLDIER. +Under the earth. + +FOURTH SOLDIER. +It signs well, does it not? + +THIRD SOLDIER. +No. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Peace, I say! What should this mean? + +SECOND SOLDIER. +’Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony loved, +Now leaves him. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Walk. Let’s see if other watchmen +Do hear what we do. + + [_They advance to another post._] + +SECOND SOLDIER. +How now, masters! + +ALL. +How now! How now! Do you hear this? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Ay. Is’t not strange? + +THIRD SOLDIER. +Do you hear, masters? Do you hear? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Follow the noise so far as we have quarter. +Let’s see how it will give off. + +ALL. +Content. ’Tis strange. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Antony and Cleopatra with others. + +ANTONY. +Eros! Mine armour, Eros! + +CLEOPATRA. +Sleep a little. + +ANTONY. +No, my chuck.—Eros! Come, mine armour, Eros! + + Enter Eros with armour. + +Come, good fellow, put thine iron on. +If fortune be not ours today, it is +Because we brave her. Come. + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, I’ll help too. +What’s this for? + +ANTONY. +Ah, let be, let be! Thou art +The armourer of my heart. False, false. This, this! + +CLEOPATRA. +Sooth, la, I’ll help. Thus it must be. + +ANTONY. +Well, well, +We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow? +Go put on thy defences. + +EROS. +Briefly, sir. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is not this buckled well? + +ANTONY. +Rarely, rarely. +He that unbuckles this, till we do please +To daff’t for our repose, shall hear a storm. +Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen’s a squire +More tight at this than thou. Dispatch. O love, +That thou couldst see my wars today, and knew’st +The royal occupation, thou shouldst see +A workman in’t. + + Enter an Officer, armed. + +Good morrow to thee. Welcome. +Thou look’st like him that knows a warlike charge. +To business that we love we rise betime +And go to’t with delight. + +OFFICER. +A thousand, sir, +Early though’t be, have on their riveted trim +And at the port expect you. + + [_Shout. Trumpets flourish._] + + Enter other Captains and Soldiers. + +CAPTAIN. +The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. + +ALL. +Good morrow, general. + +ANTONY. +’Tis well blown, lads. +This morning, like the spirit of a youth +That means to be of note, begins betimes. +So, so. Come, give me that. This way. Well said. +Fare thee well, dame. +Whate’er becomes of me, +This is a soldier’s kiss. [_Kisses her._] Rebukeable +And worthy shameful check it were, to stand +On more mechanic compliment. I’ll leave thee +Now like a man of steel.—You that will fight, +Follow me close, I’ll bring you to’t. Adieu. + + [_Exeunt Antony, Eros, Captains and Soldiers._] + +CHARMIAN. +Please you, retire to your chamber. + +CLEOPATRA. +Lead me. +He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might +Determine this great war in single fight! +Then Antony—but now—. Well, on. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Antony’s camp near Alexandria. + + Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros, a Soldier meeting them. + +SOLDIER. +The gods make this a happy day to Antony! + +ANTONY. +Would thou and those thy scars had once prevailed +To make me fight at land! + +SOLDIER. +Hadst thou done so, +The kings that have revolted and the soldier +That has this morning left thee would have still +Followed thy heels. + +ANTONY. +Who’s gone this morning? + +SOLDIER. +Who? +One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus, +He shall not hear thee, or from Caesar’s camp +Say “I am none of thine.” + +ANTONY. +What sayest thou? + +SOLDIER. +Sir, +He is with Caesar. + +EROS. +Sir, his chests and treasure +He has not with him. + +ANTONY. +Is he gone? + +SOLDIER. +Most certain. + +ANTONY. +Go, Eros, send his treasure after. Do it. +Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him— +I will subscribe—gentle adieus and greetings. +Say that I wish he never find more cause +To change a master. O, my fortunes have +Corrupted honest men! Dispatch.—Enobarbus! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Alexandria. Caesar’s camp. + + Flourish. Enter Agrippa, Caesar with Enobarbus and Dolabella. + +CAESAR. +Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight. +Our will is Antony be took alive; +Make it so known. + +AGRIPPA. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exit._] + +CAESAR. +The time of universal peace is near. +Prove this a prosp’rous day, the three-nooked world +Shall bear the olive freely. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Antony +Is come into the field. + +CAESAR. +Go charge Agrippa +Plant those that have revolted in the van +That Antony may seem to spend his fury +Upon himself. + + [_Exeunt Caesar and his Train._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Alexas did revolt and went to Jewry on +Affairs of Antony; there did dissuade +Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar +And leave his master Antony. For this pains +Casaer hath hanged him. Canidius and the rest +That fell away have entertainment but +No honourable trust. I have done ill, +Of which I do accuse myself so sorely +That I will joy no more. + + Enter a Soldier of Caesar’s. + +SOLDIER. +Enobarbus, Antony +Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with +His bounty overplus. The messenger +Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now +Unloading of his mules. + +ENOBARBUS. +I give it you. + +SOLDIER. +Mock not, Enobarbus. +I tell you true. Best you safed the bringer +Out of the host. I must attend mine office, +Or would have done’t myself. Your emperor +Continues still a Jove. + + [_Exit._] + +ENOBARBUS. +I am alone the villain of the earth, +And feel I am so most. O Antony, +Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid +My better service, when my turpitude +Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart. +If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean +Shall outstrike thought, but thought will do’t, I feel. +I fight against thee! No, I will go seek +Some ditch wherein to die; the foul’st best fits +My latter part of life. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VII. Field of battle between the Camps. + + Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa and others. + +AGRIPPA. +Retire! We have engaged ourselves too far. +Caesar himself has work, and our oppression +Exceeds what we expected. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Alarums. Enter Antony and Scarus wounded. + +SCARUS. +O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed! +Had we done so at first, we had droven them home +With clouts about their heads. + +ANTONY. +Thou bleed’st apace. + +SCARUS. +I had a wound here that was like a T, +But now ’tis made an H. + + _Sounds retreat far off._ +ANTONY. +They do retire. + +SCARUS. +We’ll beat ’em into bench-holes. I have yet +Room for six scotches more. + + Enter Eros. + +EROS. +They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves +For a fair victory. + +SCARUS. +Let us score their backs +And snatch ’em up as we take hares, behind. +’Tis sport to maul a runner. + +ANTONY. +I will reward thee +Once for thy sprightly comfort, and tenfold +For thy good valour. Come thee on. + +SCARUS. +I’ll halt after. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. Under the Walls of Alexandria. + + Alarum. Enter Antony again in a march; Scarus with others. + +ANTONY. +We have beat him to his camp. Run one before +And let the Queen know of our gests. +Tomorrow, +Before the sun shall see’s, we’ll spill the blood +That has today escaped. I thank you all, +For doughty-handed are you, and have fought +Not as you served the cause, but as’t had been +Each man’s like mine. You have shown all Hectors. +Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, +Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears +Wash the congealment from your wounds and kiss +The honoured gashes whole. + + Enter Cleopatra. + +[_To Scarus_.] Give me thy hand. +To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts, +Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o’ th’ world, +Chain mine armed neck. Leap thou, attire and all, +Through proof of harness to my heart, and there +Ride on the pants triumphing. + +CLEOPATRA. +Lord of lords! +O infinite virtue, com’st thou smiling from +The world’s great snare uncaught? + +ANTONY. +Mine nightingale, +We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! Though grey +Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha’ we +A brain that nourishes our nerves and can +Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man. +Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand.— +Kiss it, my warrior. He hath fought today +As if a god, in hate of mankind, had +Destroyed in such a shape. + +CLEOPATRA. +I’ll give thee, friend, +An armour all of gold. It was a king’s. + +ANTONY. +He has deserved it, were it carbuncled +Like holy Phœbus’ car. Give me thy hand. +Through Alexandria make a jolly march; +Bear our hacked targets like the men that owe them. +Had our great palace the capacity +To camp this host, we all would sup together +And drink carouses to the next day’s fate, +Which promises royal peril.—Trumpeters, +With brazen din blast you the city’s ear; +Make mingle with our rattling tabourines, +That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, +Applauding our approach. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IX. Caesar’s camp. + + Enter a Sentry and his company. Enobarbus follows. + +SENTRY. +If we be not relieved within this hour, +We must return to th’ court of guard. The night +Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle +By th’ second hour i’ th’ morn. + +FIRST WATCH. +This last day was a shrewd one to’s. + +ENOBARBUS. +O, bear me witness, night.— + +SECOND WATCH. +What man is this? + +FIRST WATCH. +Stand close and list him. + +ENOBARBUS. +Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, +When men revolted shall upon record +Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did +Before thy face repent. + +SENTRY. +Enobarbus? + +SECOND WATCH. +Peace! Hark further. + +ENOBARBUS. +O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, +The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, +That life, a very rebel to my will, +May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart +Against the flint and hardness of my fault, +Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder +And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, +Nobler than my revolt is infamous, +Forgive me in thine own particular, +But let the world rank me in register +A master-leaver and a fugitive. +O Antony! O Antony! + + [_Dies._] + +FIRST WATCH. +Let’s speak to him. + +SENTRY. +Let’s hear him, for the things he speaks may concern Caesar. + +SECOND WATCH. +Let’s do so. But he sleeps. + +SENTRY. +Swoons rather, for so bad a prayer as his +Was never yet for sleep. + +FIRST WATCH. +Go we to him. + +SECOND WATCH. +Awake, sir, awake! Speak to us. + +FIRST WATCH. +Hear you, sir? + +SENTRY. +The hand of death hath raught him. + + [_Drums afar off._] + +Hark! The drums +Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him +To th’ court of guard; he is of note. Our hour +Is fully out. + +SECOND WATCH. +Come on, then. He may recover yet. + + [_Exeunt with the body._] + +SCENE X. Ground between the two Camps. + + Enter Antony and Scarus with their army. + +ANTONY. +Their preparation is today by sea; +We please them not by land. + +SCARUS. +For both, my lord. + +ANTONY. +I would they’d fight i’ th’ fire or i’ th’ air; +We’d fight there too. But this it is: our foot +Upon the hills adjoining to the city +Shall stay with us—order for sea is given; +They have put forth the haven— +Where their appointment we may best discover +And look on their endeavour. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XI. Another part of the Ground. + + Enter Caesar and his army. + +CAESAR. +But being charged, we will be still by land, +Which, as I take’t, we shall, for his best force +Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, +And hold our best advantage. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XII. Another part of the Ground. + + Alarum afar off, as at a sea fight. Enter Antony and Scarus. + +ANTONY. +Yet they are not joined. Where yond pine does stand +I shall discover all. I’ll bring thee word +Straight how ’tis like to go. + + [_Exit._] + +SCARUS. +Swallows have built +In Cleopatra’s sails their nests. The augurs +Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly, +And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony +Is valiant and dejected, and by starts +His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear +Of what he has and has not. + + Enter Antony. + +ANTONY. +All is lost! +This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me. +My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder +They cast their caps up and carouse together +Like friends long lost. Triple-turned whore! ’Tis thou +Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart +Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly; +For when I am revenged upon my charm, +I have done all. Bid them all fly! Be gone! + + [_Exit Scarus._] + +O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more. +Fortune and Antony part here; even here +Do we shake hands. All come to this! The hearts +That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gave +Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets +On blossoming Caesar, and this pine is barked +That overtopped them all. Betray’d I am: +O this false soul of Egypt! This grave charm, +Whose eye becked forth my wars and called them home, +Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, +Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose +Beguiled me to the very heart of loss. +What, Eros, Eros! + + Enter Cleopatra. + +Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! + +CLEOPATRA. +Why is my lord enraged against his love? + +ANTONY. +Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving +And blemish Caesar’s triumph. Let him take thee +And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians! +Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot +Of all thy sex; most monster-like be shown +For poor’st diminutives, for dolts, and let +Patient Octavia plough thy visage up +With her prepared nails. + + [_Exit Cleopatra._] + +’Tis well thou’rt gone, +If it be well to live; but better ’twere +Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death +Might have prevented many.—Eros, ho!— +The shirt of Nessus is upon me. Teach me, +Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage. +Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ th’ moon, +And with those hands that grasped the heaviest club +Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die. +To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall +Under this plot. She dies for’t.—Eros, ho! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE XIII. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Mardian. + +CLEOPATRA. +Help me, my women! O, he is more mad +Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly +Was never so embossed. + +CHARMIAN. +To th’ monument! +There lock yourself and send him word you are dead. +The soul and body rive not more in parting +Than greatness going off. + +CLEOPATRA. +To th’ monument! +Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself. +Say that the last I spoke was “Antony”, +And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian, +And bring me how he takes my death.—To th’ monument! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XIV. Alexandria. Another Room. + + Enter Antony and Eros. + +ANTONY. +Eros, thou yet behold’st me? + +EROS. +Ay, noble lord. + +ANTONY. +Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish, +A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, +A towered citadel, a pendant rock, +A forked mountain, or blue promontory +With trees upon’t, that nod unto the world +And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs. +They are black vesper’s pageants. + +EROS. +Ay, my lord. + +ANTONY. +That which is now a horse, even with a thought +The rack dislimns and makes it indistinct +As water is in water. + +EROS. +It does, my lord. + +ANTONY. +My good knave Eros, now thy captain is +Even such a body. Here I am Antony, +Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. +I made these wars for Egypt, and the Queen, +Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine, +Which, whilst it was mine, had annexed unto’t +A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has +Packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory +Unto an enemy’s triumph. +Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us +Ourselves to end ourselves. + + Enter Mardian. + +O, thy vile lady! +She has robbed me of my sword. + +MARDIAN. +No, Antony, +My mistress loved thee and her fortunes mingled +With thine entirely. + +ANTONY. +Hence, saucy eunuch! Peace! +She hath betrayed me and shall die the death. + +MARDIAN. +Death of one person can be paid but once, +And that she has discharged. What thou wouldst do +Is done unto thy hand. The last she spake +Was “Antony! Most noble Antony!” +Then in the midst a tearing groan did break +The name of Antony; it was divided +Between her heart and lips. She rendered life, +Thy name so buried in her. + +ANTONY. +Dead, then? + +MARDIAN. +Dead. + +ANTONY. +Unarm, Eros. The long day’s task is done, +And we must sleep.—That thou depart’st hence safe +Does pay thy labour richly. Go. + + [_Exit Mardian._] + +Off, pluck off! +The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep +The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides! +Heart, once be stronger than thy continent; +Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace! +No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go; +You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. + + [_Exit Eros._] + +I will o’ertake thee, Cleopatra, and +Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now +All length is torture. Since the torch is out, +Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all labour +Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles +Itself with strength. Seal then, and all is done. +Eros!—I come, my queen.—Eros!—Stay for me. +Where souls do couch on flowers, we’ll hand in hand, +And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze. +Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops, +And all the haunt be ours.—Come, Eros, Eros! + + Enter Eros. + +EROS. +What would my lord? + +ANTONY. +Since Cleopatra died, +I have lived in such dishonour that the gods +Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword +Quartered the world, and o’er green Neptune’s back +With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack +The courage of a woman; less noble mind +Than she which, by her death, our Caesar tells +“I am conqueror of myself.” Thou art sworn, Eros, +That when the exigent should come, which now +Is come indeed, when I should see behind me +Th’ inevitable prosecution of +Disgrace and horror, that on my command +Thou then wouldst kill me. Do’t. The time is come. +Thou strik’st not me; ’tis Caesar thou defeat’st. +Put colour in thy cheek. + +EROS. +The gods withhold me! +Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, +Though enemy, lost aim and could not? + +ANTONY. +Eros, +Wouldst thou be windowed in great Rome and see +Thy master thus with pleached arms, bending down +His corrigible neck, his face subdued +To penetrative shame, whilst the wheeled seat +Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded +His baseness that ensued? + +EROS. +I would not see’t. + +ANTONY. +Come, then, for with a wound I must be cured. +Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn +Most useful for thy country. + +EROS. +O, sir, pardon me! + +ANTONY. +When I did make thee free, swor’st thou not then +To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once, +Or thy precedent services are all +But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come. + +EROS. +Turn from me then that noble countenance +Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. + +ANTONY. +Lo thee! + + [_Turning from him._] + +EROS. +My sword is drawn. + +ANTONY. +Then let it do at once +The thing why thou hast drawn it. + +EROS. +My dear master, +My captain and my emperor, let me say, +Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. + +ANTONY. +’Tis said, man, and farewell. + +EROS. +Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? + +ANTONY. +Now, Eros. + +EROS. +Why, there then! [_kills himself_] +Thus do I escape the sorrow +Of Antony’s death. + + [_Dies._] + +ANTONY. +Thrice nobler than myself! +Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what +I should and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros +Have by their brave instruction got upon me +A nobleness in record. But I will be +A bridegroom in my death and run into’t +As to a lover’s bed. Come then, and, Eros, +Thy master dies thy scholar. To do thus + + [_Falling on his sword._] + +I learned of thee. How? Not dead? Not dead? +The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! + + Enter a company of the Guard, one of them Dercetus. + +FIRST GUARD. +What’s the noise? + +ANTONY. +I have done my work ill, friends. O, make an end +Of what I have begun. + +SECOND GUARD. +The star is fallen. + +FIRST GUARD. +And time is at his period. + +ALL. +Alas, and woe! + +ANTONY. +Let him that loves me strike me dead. + +FIRST GUARD. +Not I. + +SECOND GUARD. +Nor I. + +THIRD GUARD. +Nor anyone. + + [_Exeunt guard._] + +DERCETUS. +Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly. +This sword but shown to Caesar with this tidings, +Shall enter me with him. + + Enter Diomedes. + +DIOMEDES. +Where’s Antony? + +DERCETUS. +There, Diomed, there. + +DIOMEDES. +Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? + + [_Exit Dercetus._] + +ANTONY. +Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword and give me +Sufficing strokes for death. + +DIOMEDES. +Most absolute lord, +My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. + +ANTONY. +When did she send thee? + +DIOMEDES. +Now, my lord. + +ANTONY. +Where is she? + +DIOMEDES. +Locked in her monument. She had a prophesying fear +Of what hath come to pass. For when she saw— +Which never shall be found—you did suspect +She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage +Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead; +But fearing since how it might work, hath sent +Me to proclaim the truth, and I am come, +I dread, too late. + +ANTONY. +Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee. + +DIOMEDES. +What, ho! The emperor’s guard! The guard, what ho! +Come, your lord calls! + + Enter four or five of the Guard of Antony. + +ANTONY. +Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides. +’Tis the last service that I shall command you. + +FIRST GUARD. +Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear +All your true followers out. + +ALL. +Most heavy day! + +ANTONY. +Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate +To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome +Which comes to punish us, and we punish it, +Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up. +I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, +And have my thanks for all. + + [_Exeunt, bearing Antony._] + +SCENE XV. Alexandria. A monument. + + Enter Cleopatra and her maids aloft, with Charmian and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +O Charmian, I will never go from hence. + +CHARMIAN. +Be comforted, dear madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +No, I will not. +All strange and terrible events are welcome, +But comforts we despise. Our size of sorrow, +Proportioned to our cause, must be as great +As that which makes it. + + Enter, below Diomedes. + +How now! Is he dead? + +DIOMEDES. +His death’s upon him, but not dead. +Look out o’ th’ other side your monument; +His guard have brought him thither. + + Enter, below Antony borne by the Guard. + +CLEOPATRA. +O sun, +Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in! Darkling stand +The varying shore o’ th’ world. O Antony, +Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian! Help, Iras, help! +Help, friends below! Let’s draw him hither. + +ANTONY. +Peace! +Not Caesar’s valour hath o’erthrown Antony, +But Antony’s hath triumphed on itself. + +CLEOPATRA. +So it should be, that none but Antony +Should conquer Antony, but woe ’tis so! + +ANTONY. +I am dying, Egypt, dying. Only +I here importune death awhile until +Of many thousand kisses the poor last +I lay upon thy lips. + +CLEOPATRA. +I dare not, dear +Dear my lord, pardon. I dare not, +Lest I be taken. Not th’ imperious show +Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall +Be brooched with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have +Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe. +Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes +And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour +Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony— +Help me, my women—we must draw thee up. +Assist, good friends. + +ANTONY. +O, quick, or I am gone. + +CLEOPATRA. +Here’s sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord! +Our strength is all gone into heaviness; +That makes the weight. Had I great Juno’s power, +The strong-winged Mercury should fetch thee up +And set thee by Jove’s side. Yet come a little; +Wishers were ever fools. O come, come come, + + [_They heave Antony aloft to Cleopatra._] + +And welcome, welcome! Die where thou hast lived; +Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power, +Thus would I wear them out. + +ALL. +A heavy sight! + +ANTONY. +I am dying, Egypt, dying. +Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. + +CLEOPATRA. +No, let me speak, and let me rail so high +That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel, +Provoked by my offence. + +ANTONY. +One word, sweet queen: +Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! + +CLEOPATRA. +They do not go together. + +ANTONY. +Gentle, hear me. +None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. + +CLEOPATRA. +My resolution and my hands I’ll trust; +None about Caesar. + +ANTONY. +The miserable change now at my end +Lament nor sorrow at, but please your thoughts +In feeding them with those my former fortunes +Wherein I lived the greatest prince o’ th’ world, +The noblest; and do now not basely die, +Not cowardly put off my helmet to +My countryman; a Roman by a Roman +Valiantly vanquished. Now my spirit is going; +I can no more. + +CLEOPATRA. +Noblest of men, woo’t die? +Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide +In this dull world, which in thy absence is +No better than a sty? O, see, my women, + + [_ Antony dies._] + +The crown o’ th’ earth doth melt.—My lord! +O, withered is the garland of the war, +The soldier’s pole is fallen; young boys and girls +Are level now with men. The odds is gone, +And there is nothing left remarkable +Beneath the visiting moon. + + [_Faints._] + +CHARMIAN. +O, quietness, lady! + +IRAS. +She is dead too, our sovereign. + +CHARMIAN. +Lady! + +IRAS. +Madam! + +CHARMIAN. +O madam, madam, madam! + +IRAS. +Royal Egypt, Empress! + +CHARMIAN. +Peace, peace, Iras! + +CLEOPATRA. +No more but e’en a woman, and commanded +By such poor passion as the maid that milks +And does the meanest chares. It were for me +To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods, +To tell them that this world did equal theirs +Till they had stolen our jewel. All’s but naught; +Patience is sottish, and impatience does +Become a dog that’s mad. Then is it sin +To rush into the secret house of death +Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women? +What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian? +My noble girls! Ah, women, women! Look, +Our lamp is spent, it’s out! Good sirs, take heart. +We’ll bury him; and then, what’s brave, what’s noble, +Let’s do it after the high Roman fashion +And make death proud to take us. Come, away. +This case of that huge spirit now is cold. +Ah, women, women! Come, we have no friend +But resolution and the briefest end. + + [_Exeunt, bearing off Antony’s body._] + + + + +ACT V + + +SCENE I. Caesar’s Camp before Alexandria. + + Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Maecenas, Gallus, Proculeius with + his council of war. + +CAESAR. +Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield. +Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks +The pauses that he makes. + +DOLABELLA. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Dercetus with the sword of Antony. + +CAESAR. +Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar’st +Appear thus to us? + +DERCETUS. +I am called Dercetus. +Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy +Best to be served. Whilst he stood up and spoke, +He was my master, and I wore my life +To spend upon his haters. If thou please +To take me to thee, as I was to him +I’ll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not, +I yield thee up my life. + +CAESAR. +What is’t thou say’st? + +DERCETUS. +I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. + +CAESAR. +The breaking of so great a thing should make +A greater crack. The round world +Should have shook lions into civil streets, +And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony +Is not a single doom; in the name lay +A moiety of the world. + +DERCETUS. +He is dead, Caesar, +Not by a public minister of justice, +Nor by a hired knife, but that self hand +Which writ his honour in the acts it did +Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, +Splitted the heart. This is his sword. +I robbed his wound of it. Behold it stained +With his most noble blood. + +CAESAR. +Look you sad, friends? +The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings +To wash the eyes of kings. + +AGRIPPA. +And strange it is +That nature must compel us to lament +Our most persisted deeds. + +MAECENAS. +His taints and honours +Waged equal with him. + +AGRIPPA. +A rarer spirit never +Did steer humanity, but you gods will give us +Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touched. + +MAECENAS. +When such a spacious mirror’s set before him, +He needs must see himself. + +CAESAR. +O Antony, +I have followed thee to this, but we do lance +Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce +Have shown to thee such a declining day +Or look on thine. We could not stall together +In the whole world. But yet let me lament +With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, +That thou, my brother, my competitor +In top of all design, my mate in empire, +Friend and companion in the front of war, +The arm of mine own body, and the heart +Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars, +Unreconciliable, should divide +Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends— + + Enter an Egyptian. + +But I will tell you at some meeter season. +The business of this man looks out of him; +We’ll hear him what he says. Whence are you? + +EGYPTIAN. +A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress, +Confined in all she has, her monument, +Of thy intents desires instruction, +That she preparedly may frame herself +To the way she’s forced to. + +CAESAR. +Bid her have good heart. +She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, +How honourable and how kindly we +Determine for her. For Caesar cannot lean +To be ungentle. + +EGYPTIAN. +So the gods preserve thee! + + [_Exit._] + +CAESAR. +Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say +We purpose her no shame. Give her what comforts +The quality of her passion shall require, +Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke +She do defeat us, for her life in Rome +Would be eternal in our triumph. Go, +And with your speediest bring us what she says +And how you find of her. + +PROCULEIUS. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exit Proculeius._] + +CAESAR. +Gallus, go you along. + + [_Exit Gallus._] + +Where’s Dolabella, to second Proculeius? + +ALL. +Dolabella! + +CAESAR. +Let him alone, for I remember now +How he’s employed. He shall in time be ready. +Go with me to my tent, where you shall see +How hardly I was drawn into this war, +How calm and gentle I proceeded still +In all my writings. Go with me and see +What I can show in this. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +My desolation does begin to make +A better life. ’Tis paltry to be Caesar; +Not being Fortune, he’s but Fortune’s knave, +A minister of her will. And it is great +To do that thing that ends all other deeds, +Which shackles accidents and bolts up change, +Which sleeps and never palates more the dung, +The beggar’s nurse and Caesar’s. + + Enter Proculeius. + +PROCULEIUS. +Caesar sends greetings to the queen of Egypt, +And bids thee study on what fair demands +Thou mean’st to have him grant thee. + +CLEOPATRA. +What’s thy name? + +PROCULEIUS. +My name is Proculeius. + +CLEOPATRA. +Antony +Did tell me of you, bade me trust you, but +I do not greatly care to be deceived +That have no use for trusting. If your master +Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him +That majesty, to keep decorum, must +No less beg than a kingdom. If he please +To give me conquered Egypt for my son, +He gives me so much of mine own as I +Will kneel to him with thanks. + +PROCULEIUS. +Be of good cheer. +You are fallen into a princely hand; fear nothing. +Make your full reference freely to my lord, +Who is so full of grace that it flows over +On all that need. Let me report to him +Your sweet dependency, and you shall find +A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness +Where he for grace is kneeled to. + +CLEOPATRA. +Pray you tell him +I am his fortune’s vassal and I send him +The greatness he has got. I hourly learn +A doctrine of obedience, and would gladly +Look him i’ th’ face. + +PROCULEIUS. +This I’ll report, dear lady. +Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied +Of him that caused it. + + Enter Gallus and Roman Soldiers. + +You see how easily she may be surprised. +Guard her till Caesar come. + +IRAS. +Royal queen! + +CHARMIAN. +O Cleopatra, thou art taken, queen! + +CLEOPATRA. +Quick, quick, good hands. + + [_Drawing a dagger._] + +PROCULEIUS. +Hold, worthy lady, hold! + + [_Seizes and disarms her._] + +Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this +Relieved, but not betrayed. + +CLEOPATRA. +What, of death too, +That rids our dogs of languish? + +PROCULEIUS. +Cleopatra, +Do not abuse my master’s bounty by +Th’ undoing of yourself. Let the world see +His nobleness well acted, which your death +Will never let come forth. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where art thou, Death? +Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen +Worth many babes and beggars! + +PROCULEIUS. +O, temperance, lady! + +CLEOPATRA. +Sir, I will eat no meat; I’ll not drink, sir; +If idle talk will once be necessary, +I’ll not sleep neither. This mortal house I’ll ruin, +Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I +Will not wait pinioned at your master’s court, +Nor once be chastised with the sober eye +Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up +And show me to the shouting varletry +Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt +Be gentle grave unto me! Rather on Nilus’ mud +Lay me stark-naked, and let the water-flies +Blow me into abhorring! Rather make +My country’s high pyramides my gibbet +And hang me up in chains! + +PROCULEIUS. +You do extend +These thoughts of horror further than you shall +Find cause in Caesar. + + Enter Dolabella. + +DOLABELLA. +Proculeius, +What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, +And he hath sent for thee. For the queen, +I’ll take her to my guard. + +PROCULEIUS. +So, Dolabella, +It shall content me best. Be gentle to her. +[_To Cleopatra._] To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, +If you’ll employ me to him. + +CLEOPATRA. +Say I would die. + + [_Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers._] + +DOLABELLA. +Most noble empress, you have heard of me? + +CLEOPATRA. +I cannot tell. + +DOLABELLA. +Assuredly you know me. + +CLEOPATRA. +No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. +You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams; +Is’t not your trick? + +DOLABELLA. +I understand not, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony. +O, such another sleep, that I might see +But such another man! + +DOLABELLA. +If it might please you— + +CLEOPATRA. +His face was as the heavens, and therein stuck +A sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted +The little O, the earth. + +DOLABELLA. +Most sovereign creature— + +CLEOPATRA. +His legs bestrid the ocean; his reared arm +Crested the world; his voice was propertied +As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; +But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, +He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, +There was no winter in’t; an autumn ’twas +That grew the more by reaping. His delights +Were dolphin-like; they showed his back above +The element they lived in. In his livery +Walked crowns and crownets; realms and islands were +As plates dropped from his pocket. + +DOLABELLA. +Cleopatra— + +CLEOPATRA. +Think you there was or might be such a man +As this I dreamt of? + +DOLABELLA. +Gentle madam, no. + +CLEOPATRA. +You lie up to the hearing of the gods! +But if there be nor ever were one such, +It’s past the size of dreaming. Nature wants stuff +To vie strange forms with fancy; yet t’ imagine +An Antony were nature’s piece ’gainst fancy, +Condemning shadows quite. + +DOLABELLA. +Hear me, good madam. +Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it +As answering to the weight. Would I might never +O’ertake pursued success, but I do feel, +By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites +My very heart at root. + +CLEOPATRA. +I thank you, sir. +Know you what Caesar means to do with me? + +DOLABELLA. +I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, pray you, sir. + +DOLABELLA. +Though he be honourable— + +CLEOPATRA. +He’ll lead me, then, in triumph. + +DOLABELLA. +Madam, he will. I know it. + + Flourish. Enter Caesar, Proculeius, Gallus, Maecenas and others of his + train. + +ALL. +Make way there! Caesar! + +CAESAR. +Which is the Queen of Egypt? + +DOLABELLA. +It is the Emperor, madam. + + [_Cleopatra kneels._] + +CAESAR. +Arise, you shall not kneel. +I pray you, rise. Rise, Egypt. + +CLEOPATRA. +Sir, the gods +Will have it thus. My master and my lord +I must obey. + +CAESAR. +Take to you no hard thoughts. +The record of what injuries you did us, +Though written in our flesh, we shall remember +As things but done by chance. + +CLEOPATRA. +Sole sir o’ th’ world, +I cannot project mine own cause so well +To make it clear, but do confess I have +Been laden with like frailties which before +Have often shamed our sex. + +CAESAR. +Cleopatra, know +We will extenuate rather than enforce. +If you apply yourself to our intents, +Which towards you are most gentle, you shall find +A benefit in this change; but if you seek +To lay on me a cruelty by taking +Antony’s course, you shall bereave yourself +Of my good purposes, and put your children +To that destruction which I’ll guard them from +If thereon you rely. I’ll take my leave. + +CLEOPATRA. +And may, through all the world. ’Tis yours, and we, +Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall +Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. + +CAESAR. +You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. + +CLEOPATRA. +This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels +I am possessed of. ’Tis exactly valued, +Not petty things admitted. Where’s Seleucus? + + Enter Seleucus. + +SELEUCUS. +Here, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +This is my treasurer. Let him speak, my lord, +Upon his peril, that I have reserved +To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. + +SELEUCUS. +Madam, I had rather seal my lips +Than to my peril speak that which is not. + +CLEOPATRA. +What have I kept back? + +SELEUCUS. +Enough to purchase what you have made known. + +CAESAR. +Nay, blush not, Cleopatra. I approve +Your wisdom in the deed. + +CLEOPATRA. +See, Caesar! O, behold, +How pomp is followed! Mine will now be yours +And should we shift estates, yours would be mine. +The ingratitude of this Seleucus does +Even make me wild. O slave, of no more trust +Than love that’s hired! What, goest thou back? Thou shalt +Go back, I warrant thee! But I’ll catch thine eyes +Though they had wings. Slave, soulless villain, dog! +O rarely base! + +CAESAR. +Good queen, let us entreat you. + +CLEOPATRA. +O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this, +That thou vouchsafing here to visit me, +Doing the honour of thy lordliness +To one so meek, that mine own servant should +Parcel the sum of my disgraces by +Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar, +That I some lady trifles have reserved, +Immoment toys, things of such dignity +As we greet modern friends withal; and say +Some nobler token I have kept apart +For Livia and Octavia, to induce +Their mediation, must I be unfolded +With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites me +Beneath the fall I have. +[_To Seleucus_.] Prithee go hence, +Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits +Through th’ ashes of my chance. Wert thou a man, +Thou wouldst have mercy on me. + +CAESAR. +Forbear, Seleucus. + + [_Exit Seleucus._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought +For things that others do; and when we fall, +We answer others’ merits in our name, +Are therefore to be pitied. + +CAESAR. +Cleopatra, +Not what you have reserved nor what acknowledged +Put we i’ th’ roll of conquest. Still be’t yours; +Bestow it at your pleasure, and believe +Caesar’s no merchant to make prize with you +Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheered; +Make not your thoughts your prisons. No, dear queen; +For we intend so to dispose you as +Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep. +Our care and pity is so much upon you +That we remain your friend; and so, adieu. + +CLEOPATRA. +My master and my lord! + +CAESAR. +Not so. Adieu. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt Caesar and his train._] + +CLEOPATRA. +He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not +Be noble to myself. But hark thee, Charmian! + + [_Whispers to Charmian._] + +IRAS. +Finish, good lady. The bright day is done, +And we are for the dark. + +CLEOPATRA. +Hie thee again. +I have spoke already, and it is provided. +Go put it to the haste. + +CHARMIAN. +Madam, I will. + + Enter Dolabella. + +DOLABELLA. +Where’s the Queen? + +CHARMIAN. +Behold, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Dolabella! + +DOLABELLA. +Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, +Which my love makes religion to obey, +I tell you this: Caesar through Syria +Intends his journey, and within three days +You with your children will he send before. +Make your best use of this. I have performed +Your pleasure and my promise. + +CLEOPATRA. +Dolabella, +I shall remain your debtor. + +DOLABELLA. +I your servant. +Adieu, good queen. I must attend on Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +Farewell, and thanks. + + [_Exit Dolabella._] + +Now, Iras, what think’st thou? +Thou an Egyptian puppet shall be shown +In Rome as well as I. Mechanic slaves +With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers shall +Uplift us to the view. In their thick breaths, +Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, +And forced to drink their vapour. + +IRAS. +The gods forbid! + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors +Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers +Ballad us out o’ tune. The quick comedians +Extemporally will stage us and present +Our Alexandrian revels; Antony +Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see +Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness +I’ th’ posture of a whore. + +IRAS. +O the good gods! + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, that’s certain. + +IRAS. +I’ll never see’t, for I am sure mine nails +Are stronger than mine eyes. + +CLEOPATRA. +Why, that’s the way +To fool their preparation and to conquer +Their most absurd intents. + + Enter Charmian. + +Now, Charmian! +Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch +My best attires. I am again for Cydnus +To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah, Iras, go. +Now, noble Charmian, we’ll dispatch indeed, +And when thou hast done this chare, I’ll give thee leave +To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all. + + [_Exit Iras. A noise within._] + +Wherefore’s this noise? + + Enter a Guardsman. + +GUARDSMAN. +Here is a rural fellow +That will not be denied your highness’ presence. +He brings you figs. + +CLEOPATRA. +Let him come in. + + [_Exit Guardsman._] + +What poor an instrument +May do a noble deed! He brings me liberty. +My resolution’s placed, and I have nothing +Of woman in me. Now from head to foot +I am marble-constant. Now the fleeting moon +No planet is of mine. + + Enter Guardsman and Clown with a basket. + +GUARDSMAN. +This is the man. + +CLEOPATRA. +Avoid, and leave him. + + [_Exit Guardsman._] + +Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there +That kills and pains not? + +CLOWN. +Truly, I have him, but I would not be the party that should desire you +to touch him, for his biting is immortal. Those that do die of it do +seldom or never recover. + +CLEOPATRA. +Remember’st thou any that have died on’t? + +CLOWN. +Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than +yesterday—a very honest woman, but something given to lie; as a woman +should not do but in the way of honesty—how she died of the biting of +it, what pain she felt. Truly she makes a very good report o’ th’ worm; +but he that will believe all that they say shall never be saved by half +that they do. But this is most falliable, the worm’s an odd worm. + +CLEOPATRA. +Get thee hence. Farewell. + +CLOWN. +I wish you all joy of the worm. + + [_Sets down the basket._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Farewell. + +CLOWN. +You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind. + +CLEOPATRA. +Ay, ay, farewell. + +CLOWN. +Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise +people; for indeed there is no goodness in the worm. + +CLEOPATRA. +Take thou no care; it shall be heeded. + +CLOWN. +Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the +feeding. + +CLEOPATRA. +Will it eat me? + +CLOWN. +You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil himself will not +eat a woman. I know that a woman is a dish for the gods if the devil +dress her not. But truly, these same whoreson devils do the gods great +harm in their women, for in every ten that they make, the devils mar +five. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well, get thee gone. Farewell. + +CLOWN. +Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o’ th’ worm. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Iras with a robe, crown, &c. + +CLEOPATRA. +Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have +Immortal longings in me. Now no more +The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist this lip. +Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear +Antony call. I see him rouse himself +To praise my noble act. I hear him mock +The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men +To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come! +Now to that name my courage prove my title! +I am fire and air; my other elements +I give to baser life.—So, have you done? +Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. +Farewell, kind Charmian. Iras, long farewell. + + [_Kisses them. Iras falls and dies._] + +Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? +If thou and nature can so gently part, +The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, +Which hurts and is desired. Dost thou lie still? +If thus thou vanishest, thou tell’st the world +It is not worth leave-taking. + +CHARMIAN. +Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say +The gods themselves do weep! + +CLEOPATRA. +This proves me base. +If she first meet the curled Antony, +He’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss +Which is my heaven to have.—Come, thou mortal wretch, + + [_To an asp, which she applies to her breast._] + +With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate +Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool, +Be angry and dispatch. O couldst thou speak, +That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass +Unpolicied! + +CHARMIAN. +O eastern star! + +CLEOPATRA. +Peace, peace! +Dost thou not see my baby at my breast +That sucks the nurse asleep? + +CHARMIAN. +O, break! O, break! + +CLEOPATRA. +As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle— +O Antony!—Nay, I will take thee too. + + [_Applying another asp to her arm._] + +What should I stay— + + [_Dies._] + +CHARMIAN. +In this vile world? So, fare thee well. +Now boast thee, Death, in thy possession lies +A lass unparalleled. Downy windows, close, +And golden Phœbus never be beheld +Of eyes again so royal! Your crown’s awry; +I’ll mend it and then play. + + Enter the Guard rustling in. + +FIRST GUARD. +Where’s the queen? + +CHARMIAN. +Speak softly. Wake her not. + +FIRST GUARD. +Caesar hath sent— + +CHARMIAN. +Too slow a messenger. + + [_Applies an asp._] + +O, come apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee. + +FIRST GUARD. +Approach, ho! All’s not well. Caesar’s beguiled. + +SECOND GUARD. +There’s Dolabella sent from Caesar. Call him. + +FIRST GUARD. +What work is here, Charmian? Is this well done? + +CHARMIAN. +It is well done, and fitting for a princess +Descended of so many royal kings. +Ah, soldier! + + [_Charmian dies._] + + Enter Dolabella. + +DOLABELLA. +How goes it here? + +SECOND GUARD. +All dead. + +DOLABELLA. +Caesar, thy thoughts +Touch their effects in this. Thyself art coming +To see performed the dreaded act which thou +So sought’st to hinder. + + Enter Caesar and all his train, marching. + +ALL. +A way there, a way for Caesar! + +DOLABELLA. +O sir, you are too sure an augurer: +That you did fear is done. + +CAESAR. +Bravest at the last, +She levelled at our purposes and, being royal, +Took her own way. The manner of their deaths? +I do not see them bleed. + +DOLABELLA. +Who was last with them? + +FIRST GUARD. +A simple countryman that brought her figs. +This was his basket. + +CAESAR. +Poisoned then. + +FIRST GUARD. +O Caesar, +This Charmian lived but now; she stood and spake. +I found her trimming up the diadem +On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, +And on the sudden dropped. + +CAESAR. +O noble weakness! +If they had swallowed poison ’twould appear +By external swelling; but she looks like sleep, +As she would catch another Antony +In her strong toil of grace. + +DOLABELLA. +Here on her breast +There is a vent of blood, and something blown. +The like is on her arm. + +FIRST GUARD. +This is an aspic’s trail, and these fig leaves +Have slime upon them, such as th’ aspic leaves +Upon the caves of Nile. + +CAESAR. +Most probable +That so she died, for her physician tells me +She hath pursued conclusions infinite +Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed, +And bear her women from the monument. +She shall be buried by her Antony. +No grave upon the earth shall clip in it +A pair so famous. High events as these +Strike those that make them; and their story is +No less in pity than his glory which +Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall +In solemn show attend this funeral, +And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see +High order in this great solemnity. + + [_Exeunt omnes._] + + + + +AS YOU LIKE IT + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + DUKE, living in exile + FREDERICK, his brother, and usurper of his dominions + AMIENS, lord attending on the banished Duke + JAQUES, " " " " " " + LE BEAU, a courtier attending upon Frederick + CHARLES, wrestler to Frederick + OLIVER, son of Sir Rowland de Boys + JAQUES, " " " " " " + ORLANDO, " " " " " " + ADAM, servant to Oliver + DENNIS, " " " + TOUCHSTONE, the court jester + SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a vicar + CORIN, shepherd + SILVIUS, " + WILLIAM, a country fellow, in love with Audrey + A person representing HYMEN + + ROSALIND, daughter to the banished Duke + CELIA, daughter to Frederick + PHEBE, a shepherdes + AUDREY, a country wench + + Lords, Pages, Foresters, and Attendants + +SCENE: OLIVER'S house; FREDERICK'S court; and the Forest of Arden + +ACT I. SCENE I. Orchard of OLIVER'S house + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM + + ORLANDO. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me + by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged my + brother, on his blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my + sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks + goldenly of his profit. For my part, he keeps me rustically at home, + or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call + you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth that differs not from + the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that + they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their manage, and + to that end riders dearly hir'd; but I, his brother, gain nothing + under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are + as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so + plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his + countenance seems to take from me. He lets me feed with his hinds, + bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines my + gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and + the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny + against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, though yet I know + no wise remedy how to avoid it. + + Enter OLIVER + + ADAM. Yonder comes my master, your brother. + ORLANDO. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me + up. [ADAM retires] + OLIVER. Now, sir! what make you here? + ORLANDO. Nothing; I am not taught to make any thing. + OLIVER. What mar you then, sir? + ORLANDO. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a + poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. + OLIVER. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be nought awhile. + ORLANDO. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What + prodigal portion have I spent that I should come to such penury? + OLIVER. Know you where you are, sir? + ORLANDO. O, sir, very well; here in your orchard. + OLIVER. Know you before whom, sir? + ORLANDO. Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are + my eldest brother; and in the gentle condition of blood, you + should so know me. The courtesy of nations allows you my better + in that you are the first-born; but the same tradition takes not + away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as + much of my father in me as you, albeit I confess your coming + before me is nearer to his reverence. + OLIVER. What, boy! [Strikes him] + ORLANDO. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. + OLIVER. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? + ORLANDO. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de + Boys. He was my father; and he is thrice a villain that says such + a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not + take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull'd out thy + tongue for saying so. Thou has rail'd on thyself. + ADAM. [Coming forward] Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's + remembrance, be at accord. + OLIVER. Let me go, I say. + ORLANDO. I will not, till I please; you shall hear me. My father + charg'd you in his will to give me good education: you have + train'd me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all + gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in + me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such + exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor + allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go buy + my fortunes. + OLIVER. And what wilt thou do? Beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, + get you in. I will not long be troubled with you; you shall have + some part of your will. I pray you leave me. + ORLANDO. I no further offend you than becomes me for my good. + OLIVER. Get you with him, you old dog. + ADAM. Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in + your service. God be with my old master! He would not have spoke + such a word. + Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM + OLIVER. Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic + your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, + Dennis! + + Enter DENNIS + + DENNIS. Calls your worship? + OLIVER. not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? + DENNIS. So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access + to you. + OLIVER. Call him in. [Exit DENNIS] 'Twill be a good way; and + to-morrow the wrestling is. + + Enter CHARLES + + CHARLES. Good morrow to your worship. + OLIVER. Good Monsieur Charles! What's the new news at the new + court? + CHARLES. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news; that + is, the old Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke; + and three or four loving lords have put themselves into voluntary + exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; + therefore he gives them good leave to wander. + OLIVER. Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished + with her father? + CHARLES. O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, + being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have + followed her exile, or have died to stay behind her. She is at + the court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his own + daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. + OLIVER. Where will the old Duke live? + CHARLES. They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many + merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood + of England. They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, + and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. + OLIVER. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new Duke? + CHARLES. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a + matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand that your younger + brother, Orlando, hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against + me to try a fall. To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he + that escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him well. + Your brother is but young and tender; and, for your love, I would + be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come + in; therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint + you withal, that either you might stay him from his intendment, + or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that it is + thing of his own search and altogether against my will. + OLIVER. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt + find I will most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my + brother's purpose herein, and have by underhand means laboured to + dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, + Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of + ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret + and villainous contriver against me his natural brother. + Therefore use thy discretion: I had as lief thou didst break his + neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if thou + dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace + himself on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap + thee by some treacherous device, and never leave thee till he + hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other; for, I + assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there is not one + so young and so villainous this day living. I speak but brotherly + of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush + and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. + CHARLES. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come + to-morrow I'll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again, + I'll never wrestle for prize more. And so, God keep your worship! + Exit + OLIVER. Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I + hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, + hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd and + yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly + beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and + especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am + altogether misprised. But it shall not be so long; this wrestler + shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy + thither, which now I'll go about. Exit + +SCENE II. A lawn before the DUKE'S palace + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. + ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and + would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget + a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any + extraordinary pleasure. + CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I + love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy + uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I + could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst + thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd + as mine is to thee. + ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to + rejoice in yours. + CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to + have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what + he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee + again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that + oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear + Rose, be merry. + ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. + Let me see; what think you of falling in love? + CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man + in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety + of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again. + ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then? + CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her + wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. + ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily + misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her + gifts to women. + CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes + honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very + ill-favouredly. + ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: + Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of + Nature. + + Enter TOUCHSTONE + + CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by + Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to + flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off + the argument? + ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when + Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit. + CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but + Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of + such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for + always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How + now, wit! Whither wander you? + TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father. + CELIA. Were you made the messenger? + TOUCHSTONE. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. + ROSALIND. Where learned you that oath, fool? + TOUCHSTONE. Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were + good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught. + Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard + was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn. + CELIA. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? + ROSALIND. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. + TOUCHSTONE. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear + by your beards that I am a knave. + CELIA. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. + TOUCHSTONE. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you + swear by that that not, you are not forsworn; no more was this + knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he + had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or + that mustard. + CELIA. Prithee, who is't that thou mean'st? + TOUCHSTONE. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. + CELIA. My father's love is enough to honour him. Enough, speak no + more of him; you'll be whipt for taxation one of these days. + TOUCHSTONE. The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise + men do foolishly. + CELIA. By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little wit that + fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have + makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. + + Enter LE BEAU + + ROSALIND. With his mouth full of news. + CELIA. Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. + ROSALIND. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. + CELIA. All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, + Monsieur Le Beau. What's the news? + LE BEAU. Fair Princess, you have lost much good sport. + CELIA. Sport! of what colour? + LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? + ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will. + TOUCHSTONE. Or as the Destinies decrees. + CELIA. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. + TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank- + ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell. + LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good + wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. + ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. + LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your + ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and + here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. + CELIA. Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried. + LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons- + CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale. + LE BEAU. Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence. + ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: 'Be it known unto all men by + these presents'- + LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke's + wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of + his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he serv'd + the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man, + their father, making such pitiful dole over them that all the + beholders take his part with weeping. + ROSALIND. Alas! + TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have + lost? + LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of. + TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time + that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. + CELIA. Or I, I promise thee. + ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in + his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we + see this wrestling, cousin? + LE BEAU. You must, if you stay here; for here is the place + appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. + CELIA. Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it. + + Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, LORDS, ORLANDO, + CHARLES, and ATTENDANTS + + FREDERICK. Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own + peril on his forwardness. + ROSALIND. Is yonder the man? + LE BEAU. Even he, madam. + CELIA. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks successfully. + FREDERICK. How now, daughter and cousin! Are you crept hither to + see the wrestling? + ROSALIND. Ay, my liege; so please you give us leave. + FREDERICK. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, + there is such odds in the man. In pity of the challenger's youth + I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to + him, ladies; see if you can move him. + CELIA. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. + FREDERICK. Do so; I'll not be by. + [DUKE FREDERICK goes apart] + LE BEAU. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princess calls for you. + ORLANDO. I attend them with all respect and duty. + ROSALIND. Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler? + ORLANDO. No, fair Princess; he is the general challenger. I come + but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. + CELIA. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. + You have seen cruel proof of this man's strength; if you saw + yourself with your eyes, or knew yourself with your judgment, the + fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal + enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own + safety and give over this attempt. + ROSALIND. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not therefore be + misprised: we will make it our suit to the Duke that the + wrestling might not go forward. + ORLANDO. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, + wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent + ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go + with me to my trial; wherein if I be foil'd there is but one + sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, but one dead that is + willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none + to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only + in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when + I have made it empty. + ROSALIND. The little strength that I have, I would it were with + you. + CELIA. And mine to eke out hers. + ROSALIND. Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you! + CELIA. Your heart's desires be with you! + CHARLES. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to + lie with his mother earth? + ORLANDO. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. + FREDERICK. You shall try but one fall. + CHARLES. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a + second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first. + ORLANDO. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd me + before; but come your ways. + ROSALIND. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! + CELIA. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the + leg. [They wrestle] + ROSALIND. O excellent young man! + CELIA. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should + down. + [CHARLES is thrown. Shout] + FREDERICK. No more, no more. + ORLANDO. Yes, I beseech your Grace; I am not yet well breath'd. + FREDERICK. How dost thou, Charles? + LE BEAU. He cannot speak, my lord. + FREDERICK. Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? + ORLANDO. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de + Boys. + FREDERICK. I would thou hadst been son to some man else. + The world esteem'd thy father honourable, + But I did find him still mine enemy. + Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, + Hadst thou descended from another house. + But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; + I would thou hadst told me of another father. + Exeunt DUKE, train, and LE BEAU + CELIA. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? + ORLANDO. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son, + His youngest son- and would not change that calling + To be adopted heir to Frederick. + ROSALIND. My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul, + And all the world was of my father's mind; + Had I before known this young man his son, + I should have given him tears unto entreaties + Ere he should thus have ventur'd. + CELIA. Gentle cousin, + Let us go thank him, and encourage him; + My father's rough and envious disposition + Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd; + If you do keep your promises in love + But justly as you have exceeded all promise, + Your mistress shall be happy. + ROSALIND. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck] + Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune, + That could give more, but that her hand lacks means. + Shall we go, coz? + CELIA. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. + ORLANDO. Can I not say 'I thank you'? My better parts + Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up + Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. + ROSALIND. He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes; + I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir? + Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown + More than your enemies. + CELIA. Will you go, coz? + ROSALIND. Have with you. Fare you well. + Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA + ORLANDO. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? + I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. + O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown! + Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. + + Re-enter LE BEAU + + LE BEAU. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you + To leave this place. Albeit you have deserv'd + High commendation, true applause, and love, + Yet such is now the Duke's condition + That he misconstrues all that you have done. + The Duke is humorous; what he is, indeed, + More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. + ORLANDO. I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this: + Which of the two was daughter of the Duke + That here was at the wrestling? + LE BEAU. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; + But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter; + The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke, + And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, + To keep his daughter company; whose loves + Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. + But I can tell you that of late this Duke + Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece, + Grounded upon no other argument + But that the people praise her for her virtues + And pity her for her good father's sake; + And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady + Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well. + Hereafter, in a better world than this, + I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. + ORLANDO. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well. + Exit LE BEAU + Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; + From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother. + But heavenly Rosalind! Exit + +SCENE III. The DUKE's palace + +Enter CELIA and ROSALIND + + CELIA. Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! + Not a word? + ROSALIND. Not one to throw at a dog. + CELIA. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs; + throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. + ROSALIND. Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should + be lam'd with reasons and the other mad without any. + CELIA. But is all this for your father? + ROSALIND. No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how full of + briers is this working-day world! + CELIA. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday + foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats + will catch them. + ROSALIND. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my + heart. + CELIA. Hem them away. + ROSALIND. I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him. + CELIA. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. + ROSALIND. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. + CELIA. O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of + a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in + good earnest. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall + into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? + ROSALIND. The Duke my father lov'd his father dearly. + CELIA. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? + By this kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his + father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. + ROSALIND. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. + CELIA. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? + + Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS + + ROSALIND. Let me love him for that; and do you love him because I + do. Look, here comes the Duke. + CELIA. With his eyes full of anger. + FREDERICK. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, + And get you from our court. + ROSALIND. Me, uncle? + FREDERICK. You, cousin. + Within these ten days if that thou beest found + So near our public court as twenty miles, + Thou diest for it. + ROSALIND. I do beseech your Grace, + Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. + If with myself I hold intelligence, + Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; + If that I do not dream, or be not frantic- + As I do trust I am not- then, dear uncle, + Never so much as in a thought unborn + Did I offend your Highness. + FREDERICK. Thus do all traitors; + If their purgation did consist in words, + They are as innocent as grace itself. + Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. + ROSALIND. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. + Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. + FREDERICK. Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough. + ROSALIND. SO was I when your Highness took his dukedom; + So was I when your Highness banish'd him. + Treason is not inherited, my lord; + Or, if we did derive it from our friends, + What's that to me? My father was no traitor. + Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much + To think my poverty is treacherous. + CELIA. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. + FREDERICK. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, + Else had she with her father rang'd along. + CELIA. I did not then entreat to have her stay; + It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; + I was too young that time to value her, + But now I know her. If she be a traitor, + Why so am I: we still have slept together, + Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; + And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, + Still we went coupled and inseparable. + FREDERICK. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, + Her very silence and her patience, + Speak to the people, and they pity her. + Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name; + And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous + When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. + Firm and irrevocable is my doom + Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. + CELIA. Pronounce that sentence, then, on me, my liege; + I cannot live out of her company. + FREDERICK. You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself. + If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, + And in the greatness of my word, you die. + Exeunt DUKE and LORDS + CELIA. O my poor Rosalind! Whither wilt thou go? + Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. + I charge thee be not thou more griev'd than I am. + ROSALIND. I have more cause. + CELIA. Thou hast not, cousin. + Prithee be cheerful. Know'st thou not the Duke + Hath banish'd me, his daughter? + ROSALIND. That he hath not. + CELIA. No, hath not? Rosalind lacks, then, the love + Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. + Shall we be sund'red? Shall we part, sweet girl? + No; let my father seek another heir. + Therefore devise with me how we may fly, + Whither to go, and what to bear with us; + And do not seek to take your charge upon you, + To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; + For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, + Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. + ROSALIND. Why, whither shall we go? + CELIA. To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden. + ROSALIND. Alas, what danger will it be to us, + Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! + Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. + CELIA. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, + And with a kind of umber smirch my face; + The like do you; so shall we pass along, + And never stir assailants. + ROSALIND. Were it not better, + Because that I am more than common tall, + That I did suit me all points like a man? + A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, + A boar spear in my hand; and- in my heart + Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will- + We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, + As many other mannish cowards have + That do outface it with their semblances. + CELIA. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? + ROSALIND. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, + And therefore look you call me Ganymede. + But what will you be call'd? + CELIA. Something that hath a reference to my state: + No longer Celia, but Aliena. + ROSALIND. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal + The clownish fool out of your father's court? + Would he not be a comfort to our travel? + CELIA. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; + Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away, + And get our jewels and our wealth together; + Devise the fittest time and safest way + To hide us from pursuit that will be made + After my flight. Now go we in content + To liberty, and not to banishment. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. The Forest of Arden + +Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and two or three LORDS, like foresters + + DUKE SENIOR. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, + Hath not old custom made this life more sweet + Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods + More free from peril than the envious court? + Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, + The seasons' difference; as the icy fang + And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, + Which when it bites and blows upon my body, + Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say + 'This is no flattery; these are counsellors + That feelingly persuade me what I am.' + Sweet are the uses of adversity, + Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, + Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; + And this our life, exempt from public haunt, + Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, + Sermons in stones, and good in everything. + I would not change it. + AMIENS. Happy is your Grace, + That can translate the stubbornness of fortune + Into so quiet and so sweet a style. + DUKE SENIOR. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? + And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, + Being native burghers of this desert city, + Should, in their own confines, with forked heads + Have their round haunches gor'd. + FIRST LORD. Indeed, my lord, + The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; + And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp + Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. + To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself + Did steal behind him as he lay along + Under an oak whose antique root peeps out + Upon the brook that brawls along this wood! + To the which place a poor sequest'red stag, + That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, + Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, + The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans + That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat + Almost to bursting; and the big round tears + Cours'd one another down his innocent nose + In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool, + Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, + Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brook, + Augmenting it with tears. + DUKE SENIOR. But what said Jaques? + Did he not moralize this spectacle? + FIRST LORD. O, yes, into a thousand similes. + First, for his weeping into the needless stream: + 'Poor deer,' quoth he 'thou mak'st a testament + As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more + To that which had too much.' Then, being there alone, + Left and abandoned of his velvet friends: + ''Tis right'; quoth he 'thus misery doth part + The flux of company.' Anon, a careless herd, + Full of the pasture, jumps along by him + And never stays to greet him. 'Ay,' quoth Jaques + 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; + 'Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look + Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' + Thus most invectively he pierceth through + The body of the country, city, court, + Yea, and of this our life; swearing that we + Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, + To fright the animals, and to kill them up + In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. + DUKE SENIOR. And did you leave him in this contemplation? + SECOND LORD. We did, my lord, weeping and commenting + Upon the sobbing deer. + DUKE SENIOR. Show me the place; + I love to cope him in these sullen fits, + For then he's full of matter. + FIRST LORD. I'll bring you to him straight. Exeunt + +SCENE II. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with LORDS + + FREDERICK. Can it be possible that no man saw them? + It cannot be; some villains of my court + Are of consent and sufferance in this. + FIRST LORD. I cannot hear of any that did see her. + The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, + Saw her abed, and in the morning early + They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. + SECOND LORD. My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft + Your Grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. + Hisperia, the Princess' gentlewoman, + Confesses that she secretly o'erheard + Your daughter and her cousin much commend + The parts and graces of the wrestler + That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; + And she believes, wherever they are gone, + That youth is surely in their company. + FREDERICK. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither. + If he be absent, bring his brother to me; + I'll make him find him. Do this suddenly; + And let not search and inquisition quail + To bring again these foolish runaways. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Before OLIVER'S house + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting + + ORLANDO. Who's there? + ADAM. What, my young master? O my gentle master! + O my sweet master! O you memory + Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here? + Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? + And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? + Why would you be so fond to overcome + The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke? + Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. + Know you not, master, to some kind of men + Their graces serve them but as enemies? + No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master, + Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. + O, what a world is this, when what is comely + Envenoms him that bears it! + ORLANDO. Why, what's the matter? + ADAM. O unhappy youth! + Come not within these doors; within this roof + The enemy of all your graces lives. + Your brother- no, no brother; yet the son- + Yet not the son; I will not call him son + Of him I was about to call his father- + Hath heard your praises; and this night he means + To burn the lodging where you use to lie, + And you within it. If he fail of that, + He will have other means to cut you off; + I overheard him and his practices. + This is no place; this house is but a butchery; + Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. + ORLANDO. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? + ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here. + ORLANDO. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food, + Or with a base and boist'rous sword enforce + A thievish living on the common road? + This I must do, or know not what to do; + Yet this I will not do, do how I can. + I rather will subject me to the malice + Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. + ADAM. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, + The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, + Which I did store to be my foster-nurse, + When service should in my old limbs lie lame, + And unregarded age in corners thrown. + Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, + Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, + Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; + All this I give you. Let me be your servant; + Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; + For in my youth I never did apply + Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, + Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo + The means of weakness and debility; + Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, + Frosty, but kindly. Let me go with you; + I'll do the service of a younger man + In all your business and necessities. + ORLANDO. O good old man, how well in thee appears + The constant service of the antique world, + When service sweat for duty, not for meed! + Thou art not for the fashion of these times, + Where none will sweat but for promotion, + And having that do choke their service up + Even with the having; it is not so with thee. + But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree + That cannot so much as a blossom yield + In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. + But come thy ways, we'll go along together, + And ere we have thy youthful wages spent + We'll light upon some settled low content. + ADAM. Master, go on; and I will follow the + To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. + From seventeen years till now almost four-score + Here lived I, but now live here no more. + At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, + But at fourscore it is too late a week; + Yet fortune cannot recompense me better + Than to die well and not my master's debtor. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden + +Enter ROSALIND for GANYMEDE, CELIA for ALIENA, and CLOWN alias +TOUCHSTONE + + ROSALIND. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! + TOUCHSTONE. I Care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. + ROSALIND. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, + and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as + doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat; + therefore, courage, good Aliena. + CELIA. I pray you bear with me; I cannot go no further. + TOUCHSTONE. For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you; + yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you; for I think you + have no money in your purse. + ROSALIND. Well,. this is the Forest of Arden. + TOUCHSTONE. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at + home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. + + Enter CORIN and SILVIUS + + ROSALIND. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here, a + young man and an old in solemn talk. + CORIN. That is the way to make her scorn you still. + SILVIUS. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! + CORIN. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. + SILVIUS. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, + Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover + As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow. + But if thy love were ever like to mine, + As sure I think did never man love so, + How many actions most ridiculous + Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? + CORIN. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. + SILVIUS. O, thou didst then never love so heartily! + If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly + That ever love did make thee run into, + Thou hast not lov'd; + Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, + Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, + Thou hast not lov'd; + Or if thou hast not broke from company + Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, + Thou hast not lov'd. + O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! Exit Silvius + ROSALIND. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, + I have by hard adventure found mine own. + TOUCHSTONE. And I mine. I remember, when I was in love, I broke my + sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming a-night to + Jane Smile; and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the + cow's dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember + the wooing of peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, + and giving her them again, said with weeping tears 'Wear these + for my sake.' We that are true lovers run into strange capers; + but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal + in folly. + ROSALIND. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art ware of. + TOUCHSTONE. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I break + my shins against it. + ROSALIND. Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion + Is much upon my fashion. + TOUCHSTONE. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. + CELIA. I pray you, one of you question yond man + If he for gold will give us any food; + I faint almost to death. + TOUCHSTONE. Holla, you clown! + ROSALIND. Peace, fool; he's not thy Ensman. + CORIN. Who calls? + TOUCHSTONE. Your betters, sir. + CORIN. Else are they very wretched. + ROSALIND. Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend. + CORIN. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. + ROSALIND. I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold + Can in this desert place buy entertainment, + Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. + Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, + And faints for succour. + CORIN. Fair sir, I pity her, + And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, + My fortunes were more able to relieve her; + But I am shepherd to another man, + And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. + My master is of churlish disposition, + And little recks to find the way to heaven + By doing deeds of hospitality. + Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, + Are now on sale; and at our sheepcote now, + By reason of his absence, there is nothing + That you will feed on; but what is, come see, + And in my voice most welcome shall you be. + ROSALIND. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? + CORIN. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, + That little cares for buying any thing. + ROSALIND. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, + Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, + And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. + CELIA. And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, + And willingly could waste my time in it. + CORIN. Assuredly the thing is to be sold. + Go with me; if you like upon report + The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, + I will your very faithful feeder be, + And buy it with your gold right suddenly. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Another part of the forest + +Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and OTHERS + + SONG + AMIENS. Under the greenwood tree + Who loves to lie with me, + And turn his merry note + Unto the sweet bird's throat, + Come hither, come hither, come hither. + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + + JAQUES. More, more, I prithee, more. + AMIENS. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. + JAQUES. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy + out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. + AMIENS. My voice is ragged; I know I cannot please you. + JAQUES. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. + Come, more; another stanzo. Call you 'em stanzos? + AMIENS. What you will, Monsieur Jaques. + JAQUES. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will + you sing? + AMIENS. More at your request than to please myself. + JAQUES. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you; but + that they call compliment is like th' encounter of two dog-apes; + and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks have given him a + penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you + that will not, hold your tongues. + AMIENS. Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the Duke + will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look + you. + JAQUES. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is to + disputable for my company. I think of as many matters as he; but + I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, + come. + + SONG + [All together here] + + Who doth ambition shun, + And loves to live i' th' sun, + Seeking the food he eats, + And pleas'd with what he gets, + Come hither, come hither, come hither. + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + + JAQUES. I'll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in + despite of my invention. + AMIENS. And I'll sing it. + JAQUES. Thus it goes: + + If it do come to pass + That any man turn ass, + Leaving his wealth and ease + A stubborn will to please, + Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; + Here shall he see + Gross fools as he, + An if he will come to me. + + AMIENS. What's that 'ducdame'? + JAQUES. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll + go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the + first-born of Egypt. + AMIENS. And I'll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepar'd. + Exeunt severally + +SCENE VI. The forest + +Enter ORLANDO and ADAM + + ADAM. Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie + I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. + ORLANDO. Why, how now, Adam! No greater heart in thee? Live a + little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth + forest yield anything savage, I will either be food for it or + bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy + powers. For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at the + arm's end. I will here be with the presently; and if I bring thee + not something to eat, I will give thee leave to die; but if thou + diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! + thou look'st cheerly; and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou + liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; + and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live + anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! Exeunt + +SCENE VII. The forest + +A table set out. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, and LORDS, like outlaws + + DUKE SENIOR. I think he be transform'd into a beast; + For I can nowhere find him like a man. + FIRST LORD. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; + Here was he merry, hearing of a song. + DUKE SENIOR. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, + We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. + Go seek him; tell him I would speak with him. + + Enter JAQUES + + FIRST LORD. He saves my labour by his own approach. + DUKE SENIOR. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, + That your poor friends must woo your company? + What, you look merrily! + JAQUES. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest, + A motley fool. A miserable world! + As I do live by food, I met a fool, + Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, + And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, + In good set terms- and yet a motley fool. + 'Good morrow, fool,' quoth I; 'No, sir,' quoth he, + 'Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.' + And then he drew a dial from his poke, + And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, + Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock; + Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags; + 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; + And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; + And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, + And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; + And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear + The motley fool thus moral on the time, + My lungs began to crow like chanticleer + That fools should be so deep contemplative; + And I did laugh sans intermission + An hour by his dial. O noble fool! + A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear. + DUKE SENIOR. What fool is this? + JAQUES. O worthy fool! One that hath been a courtier, + And says, if ladies be but young and fair, + They have the gift to know it; and in his brain, + Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit + After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd + With observation, the which he vents + In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! + I am ambitious for a motley coat. + DUKE SENIOR. Thou shalt have one. + JAQUES. It is my only suit, + Provided that you weed your better judgments + Of all opinion that grows rank in them + That I am wise. I must have liberty + Withal, as large a charter as the wind, + To blow on whom I please, for so fools have; + And they that are most galled with my folly, + They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? + The why is plain as way to parish church: + He that a fool doth very wisely hit + Doth very foolishly, although he smart, + Not to seem senseless of the bob; if not, + The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd + Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. + Invest me in my motley; give me leave + To speak my mind, and I will through and through + Cleanse the foul body of th' infected world, + If they will patiently receive my medicine. + DUKE SENIOR. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. + JAQUES. What, for a counter, would I do but good? + DUKE SENIOR. Most Mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin; + For thou thyself hast been a libertine, + As sensual as the brutish sting itself; + And all th' embossed sores and headed evils + That thou with license of free foot hast caught + Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. + JAQUES. Why, who cries out on pride + That can therein tax any private party? + Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, + Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? + What woman in the city do I name + When that I say the city-woman bears + The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? + Who can come in and say that I mean her, + When such a one as she such is her neighbour? + Or what is he of basest function + That says his bravery is not on my cost, + Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits + His folly to the mettle of my speech? + There then! how then? what then? Let me see wherein + My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, + Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, + Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies, + Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here? + + Enter ORLANDO with his sword drawn + + ORLANDO. Forbear, and eat no more. + JAQUES. Why, I have eat none yet. + ORLANDO. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. + JAQUES. Of what kind should this cock come of? + DUKE SENIOR. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress? + Or else a rude despiser of good manners, + That in civility thou seem'st so empty? + ORLANDO. You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point + Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show + Of smooth civility; yet arn I inland bred, + And know some nurture. But forbear, I say; + He dies that touches any of this fruit + Till I and my affairs are answered. + JAQUES. An you will not be answer'd with reason, I must die. + DUKE SENIOR. What would you have? Your gentleness shall force + More than your force move us to gentleness. + ORLANDO. I almost die for food, and let me have it. + DUKE SENIOR. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. + ORLANDO. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you; + I thought that all things had been savage here, + And therefore put I on the countenance + Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are + That in this desert inaccessible, + Under the shade of melancholy boughs, + Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; + If ever you have look'd on better days, + If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, + If ever sat at any good man's feast, + If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear, + And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied, + Let gentleness my strong enforcement be; + In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword. + DUKE SENIOR. True is it that we have seen better days, + And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church, + And sat at good men's feasts, and wip'd our eyes + Of drops that sacred pity hath engend'red; + And therefore sit you down in gentleness, + And take upon command what help we have + That to your wanting may be minist'red. + ORLANDO. Then but forbear your food a little while, + Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, + And give it food. There is an old poor man + Who after me hath many a weary step + Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd, + Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, + I will not touch a bit. + DUKE SENIOR. Go find him out. + And we will nothing waste till you return. + ORLANDO. I thank ye; and be blest for your good comfort! + Exit + DUKE SENIOR. Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: + This wide and universal theatre + Presents more woeful pageants than the scene + Wherein we play in. + JAQUES. All the world's a stage, + And all the men and women merely players; + They have their exits and their entrances; + And one man in his time plays many parts, + His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, + Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; + Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel + And shining morning face, creeping like snail + Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, + Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad + Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, + Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, + Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, + Seeking the bubble reputation + Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, + In fair round belly with good capon lin'd, + With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, + Full of wise saws and modern instances; + And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts + Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, + With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, + His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide + For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, + Turning again toward childish treble, pipes + And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, + That ends this strange eventful history, + Is second childishness and mere oblivion; + Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. + + Re-enter ORLANDO with ADAM + + DUKE SENIOR. Welcome. Set down your venerable burden. + And let him feed. + ORLANDO. I thank you most for him. + ADAM. So had you need; + I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. + DUKE SENIOR. Welcome; fall to. I will not trouble you + As yet to question you about your fortunes. + Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. + + SONG + Blow, blow, thou winter wind, + Thou art not so unkind + As man's ingratitude; + Thy tooth is not so keen, + Because thou art not seen, + Although thy breath be rude. + Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly. + Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. + Then, heigh-ho, the holly! + This life is most jolly. + + Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, + That dost not bite so nigh + As benefits forgot; + Though thou the waters warp, + Thy sting is not so sharp + As friend rememb'red not. + Heigh-ho! sing, &c. + + DUKE SENIOR. If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son, + As you have whisper'd faithfully you were, + And as mine eye doth his effigies witness + Most truly limn'd and living in your face, + Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke + That lov'd your father. The residue of your fortune, + Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man, + Thou art right welcome as thy master is. + Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, + And let me all your fortunes understand. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. The palace + +Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, and LORDS + + FREDERICK. Not see him since! Sir, sir, that cannot be. + But were I not the better part made mercy, + I should not seek an absent argument + Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: + Find out thy brother wheresoe'er he is; + Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living + Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more + To seek a living in our territory. + Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine + Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, + Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth + Of what we think against thee. + OLIVER. O that your Highness knew my heart in this! + I never lov'd my brother in my life. + FREDERICK. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors; + And let my officers of such a nature + Make an extent upon his house and lands. + Do this expediently, and turn him going. Exeunt + +SCENE II. The forest + +Enter ORLANDO, with a paper + + ORLANDO. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love; + And thou, thrice-crowned Queen of Night, survey + With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, + Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. + O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, + And in their barks my thoughts I'll character, + That every eye which in this forest looks + Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. + Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree, + The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. Exit + + Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE + + CORIN. And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone? + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good + life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is nought. + In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in + respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in + respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect + it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, + look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty + in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in + thee, shepherd? + CORIN. No more but that I know the more one sickens the worse at + ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is + without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, + and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a + great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath + learned no wit by nature nor art may complain of good breeding, + or comes of a very dull kindred. + TOUCHSTONE. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in + court, shepherd? + CORIN. No, truly. + TOUCHSTONE. Then thou art damn'd. + CORIN. Nay, I hope. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roasted egg, all on + one side. + CORIN. For not being at court? Your reason. + TOUCHSTONE. Why, if thou never wast at court thou never saw'st good + manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must + be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art + in a parlous state, shepherd. + CORIN. Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the + court are as ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the + country is most mockable at the court. You told me you salute not + at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be + uncleanly if courtiers were shepherds. + TOUCHSTONE. Instance, briefly; come, instance. + CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you + know, are greasy. + TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the + grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, + shallow. A better instance, I say; come. + CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard. + TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A + more sounder instance; come. + CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our + sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are + perfum'd with civet. + TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good + piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is + of a baser birth than tar- the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend + the instance, shepherd. + CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. + TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God + make incision in thee! thou art raw. + CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I + wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other + men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is + to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. + TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes + and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the + copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray + a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, + out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this, + the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how + thou shouldst scape. + CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. + + Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper + + ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde, + No jewel is like Rosalinde. + Her worth, being mounted on the wind, + Through all the world bears Rosalinde. + All the pictures fairest lin'd + Are but black to Rosalinde. + Let no face be kept in mind + But the fair of Rosalinde.' + TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and + suppers, and sleeping hours, excepted. It is the right + butter-women's rank to market. + ROSALIND. Out, fool! + TOUCHSTONE. For a taste: + If a hart do lack a hind, + Let him seek out Rosalinde. + If the cat will after kind, + So be sure will Rosalinde. + Winter garments must be lin'd, + So must slender Rosalinde. + They that reap must sheaf and bind, + Then to cart with Rosalinde. + Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, + Such a nut is Rosalinde. + He that sweetest rose will find + Must find love's prick and Rosalinde. + This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect + yourself with them? + ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. + ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a + medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for + you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right + virtue of the medlar. + TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest + judge. + + Enter CELIA, with a writing + + ROSALIND. Peace! + Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. + CELIA. 'Why should this a desert be? + For it is unpeopled? No; + Tongues I'll hang on every tree + That shall civil sayings show. + Some, how brief the life of man + Runs his erring pilgrimage, + That the streching of a span + Buckles in his sum of age; + Some, of violated vows + 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend; + But upon the fairest boughs, + Or at every sentence end, + Will I Rosalinda write, + Teaching all that read to know + The quintessence of every sprite + Heaven would in little show. + Therefore heaven Nature charg'd + That one body should be fill'd + With all graces wide-enlarg'd. + Nature presently distill'd + Helen's cheek, but not her heart, + Cleopatra's majesty, + Atalanta's better part, + Sad Lucretia's modesty. + Thus Rosalinde of many parts + By heavenly synod was devis'd, + Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, + To have the touches dearest priz'd. + Heaven would that she these gifts should have, + And I to live and die her slave.' + ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have + you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have + patience, good people.' + CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with + him, sirrah. + TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; + though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. + Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE + CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses? + ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them + had in them more feet than the verses would bear. + CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. + ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves + without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. + CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be + hang'd and carved upon these trees? + ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you + came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so + berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat, which I + can hardly remember. + CELIA. Trow you who hath done this? + ROSALIND. Is it a man? + CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. + Change you colour? + ROSALIND. I prithee, who? + CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but + mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter. + ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it? + CELIA. Is it possible? + ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell + me who it is. + CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet + again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping! + ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am + caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my + disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery. + I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would + thou could'st stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal'd man + out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of narrow-mouth'd bottle- + either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork + out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. + CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly. + ROSALIND. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? + Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard? + CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard. + ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let + me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the + knowledge of his chin. + CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels + and your heart both in an instant. + ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true + maid. + CELIA. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. + ROSALIND. Orlando? + CELIA. Orlando. + ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? + What did he when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? + Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where + remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him + again? Answer me in one word. + CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too + great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these + particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. + ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's + apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? + CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the + propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and + relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a + dropp'd acorn. + ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth + such fruit. + CELIA. Give me audience, good madam. + ROSALIND. Proceed. + CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight. + ROSALIND. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes + the ground. + CELIA. Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets + unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. + ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. + CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out + of tune. + ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. + Sweet, say on. + CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? + + Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES + + ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him. JAQUES. I thank you for + your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. + ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for + your society. JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can. + ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers. JAQUES. I pray you + mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks. ORLANDO. I + pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. + JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name? ORLANDO. Yes, just. JAQUES. I + do not like her name. ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you + when she was christen'd. JAQUES. What stature is she of? ORLANDO. + Just as high as my heart. JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers. + Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them + out of rings? ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, + from whence you have studied your questions. JAQUES. You have a + nimble wit; I think 'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down + with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all + our misery. ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but + myself, against whom I know most faults. JAQUES. The worst fault you + have is to be in love. ORLANDO. 'Tis a fault I will not change for + your best virtue. I am weary of you. JAQUES. By my troth, I was + seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO. He is drown'd in the + brook; look but in, and you shall see him. JAQUES. There I shall see + mine own figure. ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a + cipher. JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior + Love. ORLANDO. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monsieur + Melancholy. Exit JAQUES ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to + him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with + him.- Do you hear, forester? ORLANDO. Very well; what would you? + ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock? ORLANDO. You should ask me + what time o' day; there's no clock in the forest. ROSALIND. Then + there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and + groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a + clock. ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been + as proper? ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces + with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time + trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still + withal. ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? ROSALIND. Marry, + he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage + and the day it is solemniz'd; if the interim be but a se'nnight, + Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year. + ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal? ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks + Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps + easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because + he feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful + learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These + Time ambles withal. ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal? ROSALIND. + With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can + fall, he thinks himself too soon there. ORLANDO. Who stays it still + withal? ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep + between term and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves. + ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth? ROSALIND. With this + shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe + upon a petticoat. ORLANDO. Are you native of this place? ROSALIND. As + the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO. Your + accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a + dwelling. ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old + religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an + inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in + love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God + I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he + hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. ORLANDO. Can you + remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of + women? ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one + another as halfpence are; every one fault seeming monstrous till his + fellow-fault came to match it. ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of + them. ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that + are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young + plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks; hangs odes upon + hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name + of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some + good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. + ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your + remedy. ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he + taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am + sure you are not prisoner. ORLANDO. What were his marks? ROSALIND. A + lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have + not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, + which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for simply your having + in beard is a younger brother's revenue. Then your hose should be + ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe + untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless + desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in + your accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any + other. ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. + ROSALIND. Me believe it! You may as soon make her that you love + believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she + does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie + to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the + verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO. I swear + to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that + unfortunate he. ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes + speak? ORLANDO. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. + ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well + a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not + so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the + whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. + ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so? ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this + manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him + every day to woo me; at which time would I, being but a moonish + youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, + fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of + smiles; for every passion something and for no passion truly + anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this + colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then + forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my + suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; + which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a + nook merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take + upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that + there shall not be one spot of love in 't. ORLANDO. I would not be + cured, youth. ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me + Rosalind, and come every day to my cote and woo me. ORLANDO. Now, by + the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. ROSALIND. Go with + me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me + where in the forest you live. Will you go? ORLANDO. With all my + heart, good youth. ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, + sister, will you go? + Exeunt + +SCENE III. The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind + + TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, + Audrey. And how, Audrey, am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature + content you? + AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features? + TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most + capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. + JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a + thatch'd house! + TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's + good wit seconded with the forward child understanding, it + strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. + Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. + AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and + word? Is it a true thing? + TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning, + and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may + be said as lovers they do feign. + AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical? + TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me thou art honest; + now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst + feign. + AUDREY. Would you not have me honest? + TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty + coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. + JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool! + AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me + honest. + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were + to put good meat into an unclean dish. + AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. + TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness; + sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will + marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, + the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in + this place of the forest, and to couple us. + JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. + AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy! + TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger + in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no + assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are + odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end + of his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end + of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his + own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest + deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore + blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so + is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare + brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no + skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes + Sir Oliver. + + Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT + + Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here + under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? + MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman? + TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man. + MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. + JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. + TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you, sir? + You are very well met. Goddild you for your last company. I am + very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be + cover'd. + JAQUES. Will you be married, motley? + TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and + the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons + bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. + JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married + under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church and have a good + priest that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but + join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will + prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp. + TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind but I were better to be + married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me + well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me + hereafter to leave my wife. + JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. + TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey; + We must be married or we must live in bawdry. + Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not- + O sweet Oliver, + O brave Oliver, + Leave me not behind thee. + But- + Wind away, + Begone, I say, + I will not to wedding with thee. + Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY + MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all + shall flout me out of my calling. Exit + +SCENE IV. The forest + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep. + CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears + do not become a man. + ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep? + CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. + ROSALIND. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. + CELIA. Something browner than Judas's. + Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. + ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. + CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. + ROSALIND. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of + holy bread. + CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of + winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of + chastity is in them. + ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and + comes not? + CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. + ROSALIND. Do you think so? + CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but + for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as covered + goblet or a worm-eaten nut. + ROSALIND. Not true in love? + CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. + ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was. + CELIA. 'Was' is not 'is'; besides, the oath of a lover is no + stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer + of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke, + your father. + ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. + He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as + he; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when + there is such a man as Orlando? + CELIA. O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave + words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite + traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that + spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble + goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who + comes here? + + Enter CORIN + + CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired + After the shepherd that complain'd of love, + Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, + Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess + That was his mistress. + CELIA. Well, and what of him? + CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd + Between the pale complexion of true love + And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, + Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, + If you will mark it. + ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove! + The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. + Bring us to this sight, and you shall say + I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Another part of the forest + +Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE + + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe. + Say that you love me not; but say not so + In bitterness. The common executioner, + Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, + Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck + But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be + Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? + + Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance + + PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner; + I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. + Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye. + 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, + That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, + Who shut their coward gates on atomies, + Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! + Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; + And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. + Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; + Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, + Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. + Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. + Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains + Some scar of it; lean upon a rush, + The cicatrice and capable impressure + Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, + Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; + Nor, I am sure, there is not force in eyes + That can do hurt. + SILVIUS. O dear Phebe, + If ever- as that ever may be near- + You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, + Then shall you know the wounds invisible + That love's keen arrows make. + PHEBE. But till that time + Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, + Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; + As till that time I shall not pity thee. + ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your + mother, + That you insult, exult, and all at once, + Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty- + As, by my faith, I see no more in you + Than without candle may go dark to bed- + Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? + Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? + I see no more in you than in the ordinary + Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, + I think she means to tangle my eyes too! + No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; + 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, + Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, + That can entame my spirits to your worship. + You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, + Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? + You are a thousand times a properer man + Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you + That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children. + 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; + And out of you she sees herself more proper + Than any of her lineaments can show her. + But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees, + And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love; + For I must tell you friendly in your ear: + Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. + Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer; + Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. + So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well. + PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; + I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. + ROSALIND. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall + in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee + with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words. Why look + you so upon me? + PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you. + ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me, + For I am falser than vows made in wine; + Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, + 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. + Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. + Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, + And be not proud; though all the world could see, + None could be so abus'd in sight as he. + Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN + PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: + 'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?' + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe. + PHEBE. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? + SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me. + PHEBE. Why, I arn sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. + SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. + If you do sorrow at my grief in love, + By giving love, your sorrow and my grief + Were both extermin'd. + PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly? + SILVIUS. I would have you. + PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness. + Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; + And yet it is not that I bear thee love; + But since that thou canst talk of love so well, + Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, + I will endure; and I'll employ thee too. + But do not look for further recompense + Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. + SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love, + And I in such a poverty of grace, + That I shall think it a most plenteous crop + To glean the broken ears after the man + That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then + A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon. + PHEBE. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile? + SILVIUS. Not very well; but I have met him oft; + And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds + That the old carlot once was master of. + PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; + 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well. + But what care I for words? Yet words do well + When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. + It is a pretty youth- not very pretty; + But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him. + He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him + Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue + Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. + He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall; + His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well. + There was a pretty redness in his lip, + A little riper and more lusty red + Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference + Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. + There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him + In parcels as I did, would have gone near + To fall in love with him; but, for my part, + I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet + I have more cause to hate him than to love him; + For what had he to do to chide at me? + He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black, + And, now I am rememb'red, scorn'd at me. + I marvel why I answer'd not again; + But that's all one: omittance is no quittance. + I'll write to him a very taunting letter, + And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius? + SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart. + PHEBE. I'll write it straight; + The matter's in my head and in my heart; + I will be bitter with him and passing short. + Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE I. The forest + +Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES + + JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with + thee. + ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow. + JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. + ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable + fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than + drunkards. + JAQUES. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. + ROSALIND. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. + JAQUES. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is + emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the + courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is + ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, + which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a + melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted + from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my + travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous + sadness. + ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be + sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then + to have seen much and to have nothing is to have rich eyes and + poor hands. + JAQUES. Yes, I have gain'd my experience. + + Enter ORLANDO + + ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a + fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad- and to + travel for it too. + ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! + JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse. + ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; look you lisp and wear + strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own country, be + out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making + you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have + swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES] Why, how now, Orlando! where + have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such + another trick, never come in my sight more. + ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. + ROSALIND. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a + minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the + thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said + of him that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll + warrant him heart-whole. + ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. + ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had + as lief be woo'd of a snail. + ORLANDO. Of a snail! + ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries + his house on his head- a better jointure, I think, than you make + a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him. + ORLANDO. What's that? + ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to + your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents + the slander of his wife. + ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. + ROSALIND. And I am your Rosalind. + CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a + better leer than you. + ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, + and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I + were your very very Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke. + ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were + gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. + Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for + lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to + kiss. + ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied? + ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new + matter. + ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? + ROSALIND. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I + should think my honesty ranker than my wit. + ORLANDO. What, of my suit? + ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. + Am not I your Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking + of her. + ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you. + ORLANDO. Then, in mine own person, I die. + ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six + thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man + died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had + his brains dash'd out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he + could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. + Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had + turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, + good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, + being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish + chroniclers of that age found it was- Hero of Sestos. But these + are all lies: men have died from time to time, and worms have + eaten them, but not for love. + ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I + protest, her frown might kill me. + ROSALIND. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I + will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me + what you will, I will grant it. + ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind. + ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all. + ORLANDO. And wilt thou have me? + ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such. + ORLANDO. What sayest thou? + ROSALIND. Are you not good? + ORLANDO. I hope so. + ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, + sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, + Orlando. What do you say, sister? + ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us. + CELIA. I cannot say the words. + ROSALIND. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'- + CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I will. + ROSALIND. Ay, but when? + ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us. + ROSALIND. Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' + ORLANDO. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. + ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee, + Orlando, for my husband. There's a girl goes before the priest; + and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions. + ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd. + ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have + possess'd her. + ORLANDO. For ever and a day. + ROSALIND. Say 'a day' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are + April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when + they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will + be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, + more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than + an ape, more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for + nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you + are dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when + thou are inclin'd to sleep. + ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so? + ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do. + ORLANDO. O, but she is wise. + ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser, + the waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out + at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop + that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. + ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, + whither wilt?' ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it, + till you met your + wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. + ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? + ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never + take her without her answer, unless you take her without her + tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's + occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will + breed it like a fool! + ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. + ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours! + ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be + with thee again. + ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would + prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less. That + flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one cast away, and + so, come death! Two o'clock is your hour? + ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind. + ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and + by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot + of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will + think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow + lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may + be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore + beware my censure, and keep your promise. + ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my + Rosalind; so, adieu. + ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such + offenders, and let Time try. Adieu. Exit ORLANDO + CELIA. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We must + have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the + world what the bird hath done to her own nest. + ROSALIND. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst + know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; + my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. + CELIA. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection + in, it runs out. + ROSALIND. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of + thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness; that blind + rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are + out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, + Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a + shadow, and sigh till he come. + CELIA. And I'll sleep. Exeunt + +SCENE II. The forest + + Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters + + JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer? + LORD. Sir, it was I. + JAQUES. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and + it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head for a + branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? + LORD. Yes, sir. + JAQUES. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise + enough. + + SONG. + + What shall he have that kill'd the deer? + His leather skin and horns to wear. + [The rest shall hear this burden:] + Then sing him home. + + Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; + It was a crest ere thou wast born. + Thy father's father wore it; + And thy father bore it. + The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, + Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt + +SCENE III. The forest + +Enter ROSALIND and CELIA + + ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? + And here much Orlando! + CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath + ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, who + comes here. + + Enter SILVIUS + + SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth; + My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this. + I know not the contents; but, as I guess + By the stern brow and waspish action + Which she did use as she was writing of it, + It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, + I am but as a guiltless messenger. + ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter, + And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all. + She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; + She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, + Were man as rare as Phoenix. 'Od's my will! + Her love is not the hare that I do hunt; + Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, + This is a letter of your own device. + SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents; + Phebe did write it. + ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool, + And turn'd into the extremity of love. + I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand, + A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think + That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; + She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter. + I say she never did invent this letter: + This is a man's invention, and his hand. + SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers. + ROSALIND. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style; + A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, + Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain + Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, + Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect + Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? + SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet; + Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. + ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. + [Reads] + + 'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, + That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?' + + Can a woman rail thus? + SILVIUS. Call you this railing? + ROSALIND. 'Why, thy godhead laid apart, + Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?' + + Did you ever hear such railing? + + 'Whiles the eye of man did woo me, + That could do no vengeance to me.' + + Meaning me a beast. + + 'If the scorn of your bright eyne + Have power to raise such love in mine, + Alack, in me what strange effect + Would they work in mild aspect! + Whiles you chid me, I did love; + How then might your prayers move! + He that brings this love to the + Little knows this love in me; + And by him seal up thy mind, + Whether that thy youth and kind + Will the faithful offer take + Of me and all that I can make; + Or else by him my love deny, + And then I'll study how to die.' + SILVIUS. Call you this chiding? + CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd! + ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love + such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument, and play false + strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go your way to her, + for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to her- + that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, + I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a + true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. + Exit SILVIUS + + Enter OLIVER + + OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know, + Where in the purlieus of this forest stands + A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees? + CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. + The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream + Left on your right hand brings you to the place. + But at this hour the house doth keep itself; + There's none within. + OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, + Then should I know you by description- + Such garments, and such years: 'The boy is fair, + Of female favour, and bestows himself + Like a ripe sister; the woman low, + And browner than her brother.' Are not you + The owner of the house I did inquire for? + CELIA. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. + OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both; + And to that youth he calls his Rosalind + He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? + ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this? + OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me + What man I am, and how, and why, and where, + This handkercher was stain'd. + CELIA. I pray you, tell it. + OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you, + He left a promise to return again + Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, + Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, + Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside, + And mark what object did present itself. + Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, + And high top bald with dry antiquity, + A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, + Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck + A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, + Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd + The opening of his mouth; but suddenly, + Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, + And with indented glides did slip away + Into a bush; under which bush's shade + A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, + Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, + When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis + The royal disposition of that beast + To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. + This seen, Orlando did approach the man, + And found it was his brother, his elder brother. + CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; + And he did render him the most unnatural + That liv'd amongst men. + OLIVER. And well he might so do, + For well I know he was unnatural. + ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, + Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? + OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so; + But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, + And nature, stronger than his just occasion, + Made him give battle to the lioness, + Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling + From miserable slumber I awak'd. + CELIA. Are you his brother? + ROSALIND. Was't you he rescu'd? + CELIA. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? + OLIVER. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame + To tell you what I was, since my conversion + So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. + ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin? + OLIVER. By and by. + When from the first to last, betwixt us two, + Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, + As how I came into that desert place- + In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, + Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, + Committing me unto my brother's love; + Who led me instantly unto his cave, + There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm + The lioness had torn some flesh away, + Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, + And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. + Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound, + And, after some small space, being strong at heart, + He sent me hither, stranger as I am, + To tell this story, that you might excuse + His broken promise, and to give this napkin, + Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth + That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. + [ROSALIND swoons] + CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! + OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. + CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! + OLIVER. Look, he recovers. + ROSALIND. I would I were at home. + CELIA. We'll lead you thither. + I pray you, will you take him by the arm? + OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man! + You lack a man's heart. + ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think + this was well counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how + well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! + OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in + your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. + ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you. + OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. + ROSALIND. So I do; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by + right. + CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards. + Good sir, go with us. + OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back + How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. + ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my + counterfeiting to him. Will you go? Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. + AUDREY. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old + gentleman's saying. + TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. + But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to + you. + AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the + world; here comes the man you mean. + + Enter WILLIAM + + TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, + we that have good wits have much to answer for: we shall be + flouting; we cannot hold. + WILLIAM. Good ev'n, Audrey. + AUDREY. God ye good ev'n, William. + WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy + head; nay, prithee be cover'd. How old are you, friend? + WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William? + WILLIAM. William, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i' th' forest here? + WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God. + TOUCHSTONE. 'Thank God.' A good answer. + Art rich? + WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so. + TOUCHSTONE. 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and + yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? + WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. + TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: 'The + fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be + a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a + grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning + thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do + love this maid? + WILLIAM. I do, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned? + WILLIAM. No, sir. + TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a + figure in rhetoric that drink, being pour'd out of cup into a + glass, by filling the one doth empty the other; for all your + writers do consent that ipse is he; now, you are not ipse, for I + am he. + WILLIAM. Which he, sir? + TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you + clown, abandon- which is in the vulgar leave- the society- which + in the boorish is company- of this female- which in the common is + woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or, + clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; + or, to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into + death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, + or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; + will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and + fifty ways; therefore tremble and depart. + AUDREY. Do, good William. + WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. Exit + + Enter CORIN + + CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away. + TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. The forest + +Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER + + ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should + like her? that but seeing you should love her? and loving woo? + and, wooing, she should grant? and will you persever to enjoy + her? + OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty + of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden + consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she + loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other. It + shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue + that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live + and die a shepherd. + ORLANDO. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow. + Thither will I invite the Duke and all's contented followers. Go + you and prepare Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. + + Enter ROSALIND + + ROSALIND. God save you, brother. + OLIVER. And you, fair sister. Exit + ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear + thy heart in a scarf! + ORLANDO. It is my arm. + ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a + lion. + ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. + ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon + when he show'd me your handkercher? + ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that. + ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never + any thing so sudden but the fight of two rams and Caesar's + thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' For your brother + and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd but + they lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd but + they ask'd one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason but + they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have they made pair + of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else + be incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of + love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them. + ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke + to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into + happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I + to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I + shall think my brother happy in having what he wishes for. + ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for + Rosalind? + ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking. + ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know + of me then- for now I speak to some purpose- that I know you are + a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this that you should + bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you + are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some + little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and + not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do + strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd + with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not damnable. + If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries + it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I + know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not + impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set + her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any + danger. + ORLANDO. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? + ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I + am a magician. Therefore put you in your best array, bid your + friends; for if you will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to + Rosalind, if you will. + + Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE + + Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. + PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness + To show the letter that I writ to you. + ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study + To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. + You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; + Look upon him, love him; he worships you. + PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And I for no woman. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And I for no woman. + SILVIUS. It is to be all made of fantasy, + All made of passion, and all made of wishes; + All adoration, duty, and observance, + All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, + All purity, all trial, all obedience; + And so am I for Phebe. + PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede. + ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind. + ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman. + PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?' + ORLANDO. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. + ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish + wolves against the moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can. + [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.- To-morrow meet me all + together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman, + and I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if + ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To + Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you contents you, and + you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love + Rosalind, meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I + love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare you well; I have left you + commands. + SILVIUS. I'll not fail, if I live. + PHEBE. Nor I. + ORLANDO. Nor I. Exeunt + +SCENE III. The forest + +Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audre'y; to-morrow will we + be married. + AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no + dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come + two of the banish'd Duke's pages. + + Enter two PAGES + + FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman. + TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song. + SECOND PAGE. We are for you; sit i' th' middle. + FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or + spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues + to a bad voice? + SECOND PAGE. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies + on a horse. + + SONG. + It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o'er the green corn-field did pass + In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + Between the acres of the rye, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + These pretty country folks would lie, + In the spring time, &c. + + This carol they began that hour, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + How that a life was but a flower, + In the spring time, &c. + + And therefore take the present time, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + For love is crowned with the prime, + In the spring time, &c. + + TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great + matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable. + FIRST PAGE. YOU are deceiv'd, sir; we kept time, we lost not our + time. + TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such + a foolish song. God buy you; and God mend your voices. Come, + Audrey. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. The forest + +Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA + + DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy + Can do all this that he hath promised? + ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not: + As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. + + Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE + + ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd: + You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, + You will bestow her on Orlando here? + DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. + ROSALIND. And you say you will have her when I bring her? + ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. + ROSALIND. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing? + PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour after. + ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me, + You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? + PHEBE. So is the bargain. + ROSALIND. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will? + SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing. + ROSALIND. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. + Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter; + You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter; + Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, + Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd; + Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her + If she refuse me; and from hence I go, + To make these doubts all even. + Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA + DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy + Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. + ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him + Methought he was a brother to your daughter. + But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, + And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments + Of many desperate studies by his uncle, + Whom he reports to be a great magician, + Obscured in the circle of this forest. + + Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY + + JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are + coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which + in all tongues are call'd fools. + TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all! + JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded + gentleman that I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a + courtier, he swears. + TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. + I have trod a measure; I have flatt'red a lady; I have been + politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone + three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought + one. + JAQUES. And how was that ta'en up? + TOUCHSTONE. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the + seventh cause. + JAQUES. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. + DUKE SENIOR. I like him very well. + TOUCHSTONE. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in + here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear + and to forswear, according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A + poor virgin, sir, an ill-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a + poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich + honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl + in your foul oyster. + DUKE SENIOR. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. + TOUCHSTONE. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet + diseases. + JAQUES. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on + the seventh cause? + TOUCHSTONE. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more + seeming, Audrey- as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain + courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not + cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call'd the Retort + Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would + send me word he cut it to please himself. This is call'd the Quip + Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment. + This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut, + he would answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof + Valiant. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. This + is call'd the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie + Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. + JAQUES. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? + TOUCHSTONE. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor + he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measur'd swords + and parted. + JAQUES. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? + TOUCHSTONE. O, sir, we quarrel in print by the book, as you have + books for good manners. I will name you the degrees. The first, + the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the + Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the + Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; + the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie + Direct; and you may avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven + justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were + met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as: 'If you + said so, then I said so.' And they shook hands, and swore + brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If. + JAQUES. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? + He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool. + DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the + presentation of that he shoots his wit: + + Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC + + HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven, + When earthly things made even + Atone together. + Good Duke, receive thy daughter; + Hymen from heaven brought her, + Yea, brought her hither, + That thou mightst join her hand with his, + Whose heart within his bosom is. + ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + [To ORLANDO] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. + ORLANDO. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. + PHEBE. If sight and shape be true, + Why then, my love adieu! + ROSALIND. I'll have no father, if you be not he; + I'll have no husband, if you be not he; + Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. + HYMEN. Peace, ho! I bar confusion; + 'Tis I must make conclusion + Of these most strange events. + Here's eight that must take hands + To join in Hymen's bands, + If truth holds true contents. + You and you no cross shall part; + You and you are heart in heart; + You to his love must accord, + Or have a woman to your lord; + You and you are sure together, + As the winter to foul weather. + Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, + Feed yourselves with questioning, + That reason wonder may diminish, + How thus we met, and these things finish. + + SONG + Wedding is great Juno's crown; + O blessed bond of board and bed! + 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; + High wedlock then be honoured. + Honour, high honour, and renown, + To Hymen, god of every town! + + DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! + Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. + PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; + Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. + + Enter JAQUES de BOYS + + JAQUES de BOYS. Let me have audience for a word or two. + I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, + That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. + Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day + Men of great worth resorted to this forest, + Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot, + In his own conduct, purposely to take + His brother here, and put him to the sword; + And to the skirts of this wild wood he came, + Where, meeting with an old religious man, + After some question with him, was converted + Both from his enterprise and from the world; + His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, + And all their lands restor'd to them again + That were with him exil'd. This to be true + I do engage my life. + DUKE SENIOR. Welcome, young man. + Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: + To one, his lands withheld; and to the other, + A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. + First, in this forest let us do those ends + That here were well begun and well begot; + And after, every of this happy number, + That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, + Shall share the good of our returned fortune, + According to the measure of their states. + Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, + And fall into our rustic revelry. + Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all, + With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall. + JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, + The Duke hath put on a religious life, + And thrown into neglect the pompous court. + JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath. + JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites + There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. + [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath; + Your patience and your virtue well deserves it. + [To ORLANDO] You to a love that your true faith doth merit; + [To OLIVER] You to your land, and love, and great allies + [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed; + [To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage + Is but for two months victuall'd.- So to your pleasures; + I am for other than for dancing measures. + DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay. + JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have + I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit + DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will begin these rites, + As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance] Exeunt + +EPILOGUE + EPILOGUE. + ROSALIND. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but + it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it + be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play + needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and + good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a + case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot + insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not + furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My + way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge + you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of + this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love + you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of you + hates them- that between you and the women the play may please. + If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that + pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied + not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, + or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, + bid me farewell. + + + +THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. A hall in the Duke’s palace. +Scene II. A public place. + + +ACT II +Scene I. A public place. +Scene II. The same. + + +ACT III +Scene I. The same. +Scene II. The same. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. The same. +Scene II. The same. +Scene III. The same. +Scene IV. The same. + + +ACT V +Scene I. The same. + +Dramatis Personæ + +SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus. +EGEON, a Merchant of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, Twin brothers and sons to Egeon and +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, Emilia, but unknown to each other. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS, Twin brothers, and attendants on +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, the two Antipholuses. + +BALTHASAR, a Merchant. +ANGELO, a Goldsmith. +A MERCHANT, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. +PINCH, a Schoolmaster and a Conjurer. +EMILIA, Wife to Egeon, an Abbess at Ephesus. +ADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. +LUCIANA, her Sister. +LUCE, her Servant. +A COURTESAN +Messenger, Jailer, Officers, Attendants + +SCENE: Ephesus + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. A hall in the Duke’s palace. + + Enter Duke, Egeon, Jailer, Officers and other Attendants. + +EGEON. +Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, +And by the doom of death end woes and all. + +DUKE. +Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more. +I am not partial to infringe our laws. +The enmity and discord which of late +Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your Duke +To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, +Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives, +Have seal’d his rigorous statutes with their bloods, +Excludes all pity from our threat’ning looks. +For since the mortal and intestine jars +’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, +It hath in solemn synods been decreed, +Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, +To admit no traffic to our adverse towns; +Nay more, if any born at Ephesus +Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs; +Again, if any Syracusian born +Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, +His goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose, +Unless a thousand marks be levied +To quit the penalty and to ransom him. +Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, +Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; +Therefore by law thou art condemn’d to die. + +EGEON. +Yet this my comfort; when your words are done, +My woes end likewise with the evening sun. + +DUKE. +Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause +Why thou departedst from thy native home, +And for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus. + +EGEON. +A heavier task could not have been impos’d +Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable; +Yet, that the world may witness that my end +Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, +I’ll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. +In Syracusa was I born, and wed +Unto a woman happy but for me, +And by me, had not our hap been bad. +With her I liv’d in joy; our wealth increas’d +By prosperous voyages I often made +To Epidamnum, till my factor’s death, +And the great care of goods at random left, +Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse; +From whom my absence was not six months old +Before herself (almost at fainting under +The pleasing punishment that women bear) +Had made provision for her following me, +And soon and safe arrived where I was. +There had she not been long but she became +A joyful mother of two goodly sons, +And, which was strange, the one so like the other +As could not be distinguish’d but by names. +That very hour, and in the self-same inn, +A mean woman was delivered +Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. +Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, +I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. +My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, +Made daily motions for our home return. +Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon +We came aboard. +A league from Epidamnum had we sail’d +Before the always-wind-obeying deep +Gave any tragic instance of our harm; +But longer did we not retain much hope; +For what obscured light the heavens did grant +Did but convey unto our fearful minds +A doubtful warrant of immediate death, +Which though myself would gladly have embrac’d, +Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, +Weeping before for what she saw must come, +And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, +That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear, +Forc’d me to seek delays for them and me. +And this it was (for other means was none). +The sailors sought for safety by our boat, +And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us. +My wife, more careful for the latter-born, +Had fast’ned him unto a small spare mast, +Such as sea-faring men provide for storms. +To him one of the other twins was bound, +Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. +The children thus dispos’d, my wife and I, +Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d, +Fast’ned ourselves at either end the mast, +And, floating straight, obedient to the stream, +Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. +At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, +Dispers’d those vapours that offended us, +And by the benefit of his wished light +The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered +Two ships from far, making amain to us, +Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this. +But ere they came—O, let me say no more! +Gather the sequel by that went before. + +DUKE. +Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so, +For we may pity, though not pardon thee. + +EGEON. +O, had the gods done so, I had not now +Worthily term’d them merciless to us. +For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, +We were encountered by a mighty rock, +Which being violently borne upon, +Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; +So that, in this unjust divorce of us, +Fortune had left to both of us alike +What to delight in, what to sorrow for. +Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened +With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, +Was carried with more speed before the wind, +And in our sight they three were taken up +By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. +At length another ship had seiz’d on us; +And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, +Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wrack’d guests, +And would have reft the fishers of their prey, +Had not their bark been very slow of sail; +And therefore homeward did they bend their course. +Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss, +That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d +To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. + +DUKE. +And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, +Do me the favour to dilate at full +What have befall’n of them and thee till now. + +EGEON. +My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, +At eighteen years became inquisitive +After his brother, and importun’d me +That his attendant, so his case was like, +Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name, +Might bear him company in the quest of him; +Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see, +I hazarded the loss of whom I lov’d. +Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, +Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, +And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus, +Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought +Or that or any place that harbours men. +But here must end the story of my life; +And happy were I in my timely death, +Could all my travels warrant me they live. + +DUKE. +Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark’d +To bear the extremity of dire mishap; +Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, +Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, +Which princes, would they, may not disannul, +My soul should sue as advocate for thee. +But though thou art adjudged to the death, +And passed sentence may not be recall’d +But to our honour’s great disparagement, +Yet will I favour thee in what I can. +Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day +To seek thy health by beneficial help. +Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; +Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, +And live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die. +Jailer, take him to thy custody. + +JAILER. +I will, my lord. + +EGEON. +Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, +But to procrastinate his lifeless end. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A public place. + + Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse and a Merchant. + +MERCHANT. +Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum, +Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. +This very day a Syracusian merchant +Is apprehended for arrival here, +And, not being able to buy out his life, +According to the statute of the town +Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. +There is your money that I had to keep. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, +And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. +Within this hour it will be dinnertime; +Till that, I’ll view the manners of the town, +Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, +And then return and sleep within mine inn, +For with long travel I am stiff and weary. +Get thee away. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Many a man would take you at your word, +And go indeed, having so good a mean. + + [_Exit Dromio._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, +When I am dull with care and melancholy, +Lightens my humour with his merry jests. +What, will you walk with me about the town, +And then go to my inn and dine with me? + +MERCHANT. +I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, +Of whom I hope to make much benefit. +I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o’clock, +Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart, +And afterward consort you till bedtime. +My present business calls me from you now. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Farewell till then: I will go lose myself, +And wander up and down to view the city. + +MERCHANT. +Sir, I commend you to your own content. + + [_Exit Merchant._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +He that commends me to mine own content +Commends me to the thing I cannot get. +I to the world am like a drop of water +That in the ocean seeks another drop, +Who, failing there to find his fellow forth, +Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself. +So I, to find a mother and a brother, +In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. + + Enter Dromio of Ephesus. + +Here comes the almanac of my true date. +What now? How chance thou art return’d so soon? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Return’d so soon? rather approach’d too late. +The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; +The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; +My mistress made it one upon my cheek. +She is so hot because the meat is cold; +The meat is cold because you come not home; +You come not home because you have no stomach; +You have no stomach, having broke your fast; +But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray, +Are penitent for your default today. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Stop in your wind, sir, tell me this, I pray: +Where have you left the money that I gave you? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +O, sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last +To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper: +The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I am not in a sportive humour now. +Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? +We being strangers here, how dar’st thou trust +So great a charge from thine own custody? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: +I from my mistress come to you in post; +If I return, I shall be post indeed, +For she will score your fault upon my pate. +Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock, +And strike you home without a messenger. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season, +Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. +Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness, +And tell me how thou hast dispos’d thy charge. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +My charge was but to fetch you from the mart +Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner. +My mistress and her sister stay for you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Now, as I am a Christian, answer me +In what safe place you have bestow’d my money, +Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours +That stands on tricks when I am undispos’d; +Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I have some marks of yours upon my pate, +Some of my mistress’ marks upon my shoulders, +But not a thousand marks between you both. +If I should pay your worship those again, +Perchance you will not bear them patiently. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thy mistress’ marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Your worship’s wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; +She that doth fast till you come home to dinner, +And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, +Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +What mean you, sir? for God’s sake hold your hands. +Nay, an you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels. + + [_Exit Dromio._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Upon my life, by some device or other +The villain is o’er-raught of all my money. +They say this town is full of cozenage, +As nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, +Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, +Soul-killing witches that deform the body, +Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, +And many such-like liberties of sin: +If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. +I’ll to the Centaur to go seek this slave. +I greatly fear my money is not safe. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A public place. + + Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholus (of Ephesus) with Luciana her + sister. + +ADRIANA. +Neither my husband nor the slave return’d +That in such haste I sent to seek his master? +Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock. + +LUCIANA. +Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, +And from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner. +Good sister, let us dine, and never fret; +A man is master of his liberty; +Time is their master, and when they see time, +They’ll go or come. If so, be patient, sister. + +ADRIANA. +Why should their liberty than ours be more? + +LUCIANA. +Because their business still lies out o’ door. + +ADRIANA. +Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill. + +LUCIANA. +O, know he is the bridle of your will. + +ADRIANA. +There’s none but asses will be bridled so. + +LUCIANA. +Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe. +There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye +But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky. +The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls +Are their males’ subjects, and at their controls. +Man, more divine, the masters of all these, +Lord of the wide world and wild wat’ry seas, +Indued with intellectual sense and souls, +Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, +Are masters to their females, and their lords: +Then let your will attend on their accords. + +ADRIANA. +This servitude makes you to keep unwed. + +LUCIANA. +Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. + +ADRIANA. +But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. + +LUCIANA. +Ere I learn love, I’ll practise to obey. + +ADRIANA. +How if your husband start some other where? + +LUCIANA. +Till he come home again, I would forbear. + +ADRIANA. +Patience unmov’d! No marvel though she pause; +They can be meek that have no other cause. +A wretched soul bruis’d with adversity, +We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; +But were we burd’ned with like weight of pain, +As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: +So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, +With urging helpless patience would relieve me: +But if thou live to see like right bereft, +This fool-begg’d patience in thee will be left. + +LUCIANA. +Well, I will marry one day, but to try. +Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. + + Enter Dromio of Ephesus. + +ADRIANA. +Say, is your tardy master now at hand? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, he’s at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. + +ADRIANA. +Say, didst thou speak with him? know’st thou his mind? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. +Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. + +LUCIANA. +Spake he so doubtfully thou couldst not feel his meaning? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, he struck so plainly I could too well feel his blows; and withal +so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them. + +ADRIANA. +But say, I prithee, is he coming home? +It seems he hath great care to please his wife. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. + +ADRIANA. +Horn-mad, thou villain? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I mean not cuckold-mad, +But sure he’s stark mad. +When I desir’d him to come home to dinner, +He ask’d me for a thousand marks in gold. +“’Tis dinner time,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. +“Your meat doth burn” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. +“Will you come home?” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. +“Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?” +“The pig” quoth I “is burn’d”. “My gold,” quoth he. +“My mistress, sir,” quoth I. “Hang up thy mistress; +I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!” + +LUCIANA. +Quoth who? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Quoth my master. +“I know,” quoth he, “no house, no wife, no mistress.” +So that my errand, due unto my tongue, +I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; +For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. + +ADRIANA. +Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Go back again, and be new beaten home? +For God’s sake, send some other messenger. + +ADRIANA. +Back slave, or I will break thy pate across. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +And he will bless that cross with other beating. +Between you I shall have a holy head. + +ADRIANA. +Hence, prating peasant. Fetch thy master home. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Am I so round with you, as you with me, +That like a football you do spurn me thus? +You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither. +If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. + + [_Exit._] + +LUCIANA. +Fie, how impatience loureth in your face. + +ADRIANA. +His company must do his minions grace, +Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. +Hath homely age th’ alluring beauty took +From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it. +Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? +If voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d, +Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard. +Do their gay vestments his affections bait? +That’s not my fault; he’s master of my state. +What ruins are in me that can be found +By him not ruin’d? Then is he the ground +Of my defeatures. My decayed fair +A sunny look of his would soon repair; +But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale +And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale. + +LUCIANA. +Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence. + +ADRIANA. +Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. +I know his eye doth homage otherwhere, +Or else what lets it but he would be here? +Sister, you know he promis’d me a chain; +Would that alone, a love he would detain, +So he would keep fair quarter with his bed. +I see the jewel best enamelled +Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still +That others touch, yet often touching will +Wear gold; and no man that hath a name +By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. +Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, +I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die. + +LUCIANA. +How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up +Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave +Is wander’d forth in care to seek me out. +By computation and mine host’s report. +I could not speak with Dromio since at first +I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +How now, sir! is your merry humour alter’d? +As you love strokes, so jest with me again. +You know no Centaur? you receiv’d no gold? +Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? +My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, +That thus so madly thou didst answer me? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +What answer, sir? when spake I such a word? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Even now, even here, not half an hour since. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I did not see you since you sent me hence, +Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Villain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt, +And told’st me of a mistress and a dinner, +For which I hope thou felt’st I was displeas’d. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I am glad to see you in this merry vein. +What means this jest, I pray you, master, tell me? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? +Think’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. + + [_Beats Dromio._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Hold, sir, for God’s sake, now your jest is earnest. +Upon what bargain do you give it me? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Because that I familiarly sometimes +Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, +Your sauciness will jest upon my love, +And make a common of my serious hours. +When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, +But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. +If you will jest with me, know my aspect, +And fashion your demeanour to my looks, +Or I will beat this method in your sconce. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it +a head. And you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, +and ensconce it too, or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But I +pray, sir, why am I beaten? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Dost thou not know? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Shall I tell you why? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say, every why hath a wherefore. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, first, for flouting me; and then wherefore, +For urging it the second time to me. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, +When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason? +Well, sir, I thank you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thank me, sir, for what? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I’ll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. +But say, sir, is it dinner-time? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +In good time, sir, what’s that? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Basting. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Well, sir, then ’twill be dry. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Your reason? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Well, sir, learn to jest in good time. +There’s a time for all things. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I durst have denied that before you were so choleric. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +By what rule, sir? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of Father Time +himself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Let’s hear it. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +There’s no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by +nature. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +May he not do it by fine and recovery? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another +man. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an +excrement? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts, and what he hath +scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, but there’s many a man hath more hair than wit. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +The plainer dealer, the sooner lost. Yet he loseth it in a kind of +jollity. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +For what reason? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +For two, and sound ones too. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, not sound, I pray you. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Sure ones, then. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Certain ones, then. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Name them. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at +dinner they should not drop in his porridge. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, and did, sir; namely, e’en no time to recover hair lost by +nature. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +But your reason was not substantial why there is no time to recover. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world’s end +will have bald followers. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I knew ’twould be a bald conclusion. +But soft! who wafts us yonder? + + Enter Adriana and Luciana. + +ADRIANA. +Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown, +Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects. +I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. +The time was once when thou unurg’d wouldst vow +That never words were music to thine ear, +That never object pleasing in thine eye, +That never touch well welcome to thy hand, +That never meat sweet-savour’d in thy taste, +Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch’d, or carv’d to thee. +How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, +That thou art then estranged from thyself? +Thyself I call it, being strange to me, +That, undividable, incorporate, +Am better than thy dear self’s better part. +Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; +For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall +A drop of water in the breaking gulf, +And take unmingled thence that drop again +Without addition or diminishing, +As take from me thyself, and not me too. +How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, +Should’st thou but hear I were licentious? +And that this body, consecrate to thee, +By ruffian lust should be contaminate? +Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, +And hurl the name of husband in my face, +And tear the stain’d skin off my harlot brow, +And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, +And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? +I know thou canst; and therefore, see thou do it. +I am possess’d with an adulterate blot; +My blood is mingled with the crime of lust; +For if we two be one, and thou play false, +I do digest the poison of thy flesh, +Being strumpeted by thy contagion. +Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed, +I live distain’d, thou undishonoured. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not. +In Ephesus I am but two hours old, +As strange unto your town as to your talk, +Who, every word by all my wit being scann’d, +Wants wit in all one word to understand. + +LUCIANA. +Fie, brother, how the world is chang’d with you. +When were you wont to use my sister thus? +She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +By Dromio? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +By me? + +ADRIANA. +By thee; and this thou didst return from him, +That he did buffet thee, and in his blows +Denied my house for his, me for his wife. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? +What is the course and drift of your compact? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I, sir? I never saw her till this time. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Villain, thou liest, for even her very words +Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I never spake with her in all my life. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +How can she thus, then, call us by our names? +Unless it be by inspiration. + +ADRIANA. +How ill agrees it with your gravity +To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, +Abetting him to thwart me in my mood; +Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, +But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. +Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine. +Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, +Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, +Makes me with thy strength to communicate: +If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, +Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss, +Who all, for want of pruning, with intrusion +Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme. +What, was I married to her in my dream? +Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this? +What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? +Until I know this sure uncertainty +I’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy. + +LUCIANA. +Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. +This is the fairy land; O spite of spites! +We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites; +If we obey them not, this will ensue: +They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. + +LUCIANA. +Why prat’st thou to thyself, and answer’st not? +Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I am transformed, master, am I not? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I think thou art in mind, and so am I. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thou hast thine own form. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, I am an ape. + +LUCIANA. +If thou art chang’d to aught, ’tis to an ass. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +’Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. +’Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be +But I should know her as well as she knows me. + +ADRIANA. +Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, +To put the finger in the eye and weep +Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn. +Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate. +Husband, I’ll dine above with you today, +And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. +Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, +Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter. +Come, sister; Dromio, play the porter well. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? +Sleeping or waking, mad, or well-advis’d? +Known unto these, and to myself disguis’d! +I’ll say as they say, and persever so, +And in this mist at all adventures go. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, shall I be porter at the gate? + +ADRIANA. +Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. + +LUCIANA. +Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. The same. + + Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, his man Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo the + goldsmith and Balthasar the merchant. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all, +My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours. +Say that I linger’d with you at your shop +To see the making of her carcanet, +And that tomorrow you will bring it home. +But here’s a villain that would face me down. +He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, +And charg’d him with a thousand marks in gold, +And that I did deny my wife and house. +Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know. +That you beat me at the mart I have your hand to show; +If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, +Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I think thou art an ass. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Marry, so it doth appear +By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. +I should kick, being kick’d; and being at that pass, +You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You’re sad, Signior Balthasar; pray God our cheer +May answer my good will and your good welcome here. + +BALTHASAR. +I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +O, Signior Balthasar, either at flesh or fish +A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. + +BALTHASAR. +Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And welcome more common, for that’s nothing but words. + +BALTHASAR +Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest. +But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; +Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. +But soft; my door is lock’d. Go bid them let us in. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn! + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +[_Within._] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! +Either get thee from the door or sit down at the hatch: +Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call’st for such store +When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on’s feet. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Who talks within there? Ho, open the door. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Right, sir, I’ll tell you when an you’ll tell me wherefore. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Wherefore? For my dinner. I have not dined today. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nor today here you must not; come again when you may. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +What art thou that keep’st me out from the house I owe? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; +The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle blame. +If thou hadst been Dromio today in my place, +Thou wouldst have chang’d thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. + + Enter Luce concealed from Antipholus of Ephesus and his companions. + +LUCE. +[_Within._] What a coil is there, Dromio, who are those at the gate? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Let my master in, Luce. + +LUCE. +Faith, no, he comes too late, +And so tell your master. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +O Lord, I must laugh; +Have at you with a proverb:—Shall I set in my staff? + +LUCE. +Have at you with another: that’s—When? can you tell? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +If thy name be called Luce,—Luce, thou hast answer’d him well. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Do you hear, you minion? you’ll let us in, I hope? + +LUCE. +I thought to have ask’d you. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +And you said no. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +So, come, help. Well struck, there was blow for blow. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou baggage, let me in. + +LUCE. +Can you tell for whose sake? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Master, knock the door hard. + +LUCE. +Let him knock till it ache. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You’ll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. + +LUCE. +What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? + + Enter Adriana concealed from Antipholus of Ephesus and his companions. + +ADRIANA. +[_Within._] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Are you there, wife? you might have come before. + +ADRIANA. +Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. + +ANGELO. +Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome. We would fain have either. + +BALTHASAR. +In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. +Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold. +It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Go, fetch me something, I’ll break ope the gate. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Break any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s pate. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind; +Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +It seems thou want’st breaking; out upon thee, hind! + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Here’s too much “out upon thee”; I pray thee, let me in. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Well, I’ll break in; go, borrow me a crow. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +A crow without feather; master, mean you so? +For a fish without a fin, there’s a fowl without a feather. +If a crow help us in, sirrah, we’ll pluck a crow together. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Go, get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow. + +BALTHASAR. +Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so: +Herein you war against your reputation, +And draw within the compass of suspect +The unviolated honour of your wife. +Once this,—your long experience of her wisdom, +Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, +Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; +And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse +Why at this time the doors are made against you. +Be rul’d by me; depart in patience, +And let us to the Tiger all to dinner, +And about evening, come yourself alone +To know the reason of this strange restraint. +If by strong hand you offer to break in +Now in the stirring passage of the day, +A vulgar comment will be made of it; +And that supposed by the common rout +Against your yet ungalled estimation +That may with foul intrusion enter in, +And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; +For slander lives upon succession, +For ever hous’d where it gets possession. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You have prevail’d. I will depart in quiet, +And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. +I know a wench of excellent discourse, +Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle; +There will we dine. This woman that I mean, +My wife (but, I protest, without desert) +Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; +To her will we to dinner.—Get you home +And fetch the chain, by this I know ’tis made. +Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine, +For there’s the house. That chain will I bestow +(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) +Upon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste. +Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, +I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me. + +ANGELO. +I’ll meet you at that place some hour hence. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Luciana with Antipholus of Syracuse. + +LUCIANA. +And may it be that you have quite forgot +A husband’s office? Shall, Antipholus, +Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? +Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? +If you did wed my sister for her wealth, +Then for her wealth’s sake use her with more kindness; +Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth, +Muffle your false love with some show of blindness. +Let not my sister read it in your eye; +Be not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator; +Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; +Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger; +Bear a fair presence though your heart be tainted; +Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint, +Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted? +What simple thief brags of his own attaint? +’Tis double wrong to truant with your bed +And let her read it in thy looks at board. +Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; +Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word. +Alas, poor women, make us but believe, +Being compact of credit, that you love us. +Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; +We in your motion turn, and you may move us. +Then, gentle brother, get you in again; +Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. +’Tis holy sport to be a little vain +When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Sweet mistress, what your name is else, I know not, +Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine; +Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not +Than our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine. +Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; +Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, +Smother’d in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, +The folded meaning of your words’ deceit. +Against my soul’s pure truth why labour you +To make it wander in an unknown field? +Are you a god? would you create me new? +Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield. +But if that I am I, then well I know +Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, +Nor to her bed no homage do I owe. +Far more, far more, to you do I decline. +O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note +To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears. +Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote; +Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs, +And as a bed I’ll take thee, and there lie, +And, in that glorious supposition think +He gains by death that hath such means to die. +Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! + +LUCIANA. +What, are you mad, that you do reason so? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. + +LUCIANA. +It is a fault that springeth from your eye. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. + +LUCIANA. +Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. + +LUCIANA. +Why call you me love? Call my sister so. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thy sister’s sister. + +LUCIANA. +That’s my sister. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +No, +It is thyself, mine own self’s better part, +Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart, +My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim, +My sole earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim. + +LUCIANA. +All this my sister is, or else should be. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee; +Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; +Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. +Give me thy hand. + +LUCIANA. +O, soft, sir, hold you still; +I’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill. + + [_Exit Luciana._] + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, how now, Dromio? where runn’st thou so fast? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I am an ass, I am a woman’s man, and besides myself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What woman’s man? and how besides thyself? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman, one that claims me, +one that haunts me, one that will have me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What claim lays she to thee? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse, and she would +have me as a beast; not that I being a beast she would have me, but +that she being a very beastly creature lays claim to me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What is she? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without +he say “sir-reverence”. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is +she a wondrous fat marriage. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +How dost thou mean a “fat marriage”? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not +what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by +her own light. I warrant her rags and the tallow in them will burn a +Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer +than the whole world. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What complexion is she of? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept. For why? +she sweats, a man may go overshoes in the grime of it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +That’s a fault that water will mend. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What’s her name? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three +quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Then she bears some breadth? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip. She is spherical, +like a globe. I could find out countries in her. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +In what part of her body stands Ireland? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where Scotland? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I found it by the barrenness, hard in the palm of the hand. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where France? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war against her hair. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where England? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them. +But I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between +France and it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where Spain? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where America, the Indies? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, sir, upon her nose, all o’er-embellished with rubies, carbuncles, +sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who +sent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude: this drudge or diviner laid +claim to me, called me Dromio, swore I was assured to her, told me what +privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my +neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a +witch. And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my +heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtal dog, and made me +turn i’ the wheel. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; +And if the wind blow any way from shore, +I will not harbour in this town tonight. +If any bark put forth, come to the mart, +Where I will walk till thou return to me. +If everyone knows us, and we know none, +’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +As from a bear a man would run for life, +So fly I from her that would be my wife. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +There’s none but witches do inhabit here, +And therefore ’tis high time that I were hence. +She that doth call me husband, even my soul +Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, +Possess’d with such a gentle sovereign grace, +Of such enchanting presence and discourse, +Hath almost made me traitor to myself. +But lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, +I’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song. + + Enter Angelo with the chain. + +ANGELO. +Master Antipholus. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, that’s my name. + +ANGELO. +I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain; +I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine, +The chain unfinish’d made me stay thus long. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What is your will that I shall do with this? + +ANGELO. +What please yourself, sir; I have made it for you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. + +ANGELO. +Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. +Go home with it, and please your wife withal, +And soon at supper-time I’ll visit you, +And then receive my money for the chain. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I pray you, sir, receive the money now, +For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more. + +ANGELO. +You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What I should think of this I cannot tell, +But this I think, there’s no man is so vain +That would refuse so fair an offer’d chain. +I see a man here needs not live by shifts, +When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. +I’ll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; +If any ship put out, then straight away. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The same. + + Enter Merchant, Angelo and an Officer. + +MERCHANT. +You know since Pentecost the sum is due, +And since I have not much importun’d you, +Nor now I had not, but that I am bound +To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage; +Therefore make present satisfaction, +Or I’ll attach you by this officer. + +ANGELO. +Even just the sum that I do owe to you +Is growing to me by Antipholus, +And in the instant that I met with you +He had of me a chain; at five o’clock +I shall receive the money for the same. +Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, +I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. + + Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of Ephesus from the + Courtesan’s. + +OFFICER. +That labour may you save. See where he comes. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +While I go to the goldsmith’s house, go thou +And buy a rope’s end; that will I bestow +Among my wife and her confederates +For locking me out of my doors by day. +But soft, I see the goldsmith; get thee gone; +Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope! + + [_Exit Dromio._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +A man is well holp up that trusts to you, +I promised your presence and the chain, +But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. +Belike you thought our love would last too long +If it were chain’d together, and therefore came not. + +ANGELO. +Saving your merry humour, here’s the note +How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat, +The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, +Which doth amount to three odd ducats more +Than I stand debted to this gentleman. +I pray you, see him presently discharg’d, +For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I am not furnished with the present money; +Besides, I have some business in the town. +Good signior, take the stranger to my house, +And with you take the chain, and bid my wife +Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; +Perchance I will be there as soon as you. + +ANGELO. +Then you will bring the chain to her yourself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +No, bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. + +ANGELO. +Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And if I have not, sir, I hope you have, +Or else you may return without your money. + +ANGELO. +Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain; +Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, +And I, to blame, have held him here too long. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Good Lord, you use this dalliance to excuse +Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. +I should have chid you for not bringing it, +But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. + +MERCHANT. +The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch. + +ANGELO. +You hear how he importunes me. The chain! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. + +ANGELO. +Come, come, you know I gave it you even now. +Either send the chain or send by me some token. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Fie, now you run this humour out of breath. +Come, where’s the chain? I pray you, let me see it. + +MERCHANT. +My business cannot brook this dalliance. +Good sir, say whe’er you’ll answer me or no; +If not, I’ll leave him to the officer. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I answer you? What should I answer you? + +ANGELO. +The money that you owe me for the chain. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I owe you none till I receive the chain. + +ANGELO. +You know I gave it you half an hour since. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You gave me none. You wrong me much to say so. + +ANGELO. +You wrong me more, sir, in denying it. +Consider how it stands upon my credit. + +MERCHANT. +Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. + +OFFICER. +I do, and charge you in the duke’s name to obey me. + +ANGELO. +This touches me in reputation. +Either consent to pay this sum for me, +Or I attach you by this officer. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Consent to pay thee that I never had? +Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar’st. + +ANGELO. +Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer. +I would not spare my brother in this case +If he should scorn me so apparently. + +OFFICER. +I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I do obey thee till I give thee bail. +But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear +As all the metal in your shop will answer. + +ANGELO. +Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, +To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse from the bay. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, there’s a bark of Epidamnum +That stays but till her owner comes aboard, +And then, sir, bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, +I have convey’d aboard, and I have bought +The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae. +The ship is in her trim; the merry wind +Blows fair from land; they stay for nought at all +But for their owner, master, and yourself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +How now? a madman? Why, thou peevish sheep, +What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope, +And told thee to what purpose and what end. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +You sent me for a rope’s end as soon. +You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I will debate this matter at more leisure, +And teach your ears to list me with more heed. +To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: +Give her this key, and tell her in the desk +That’s cover’d o’er with Turkish tapestry +There is a purse of ducats; let her send it. +Tell her I am arrested in the street, +And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave; be gone. +On, officer, to prison till it come. + + [_Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer and Antipholus of Ephesus._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +To Adriana, that is where we din’d, +Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband. +She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. +Thither I must, although against my will, +For servants must their masters’ minds fulfil. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Adriana and Luciana. + +ADRIANA. +Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? +Might’st thou perceive austerely in his eye +That he did plead in earnest, yea or no? +Look’d he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? +What observation mad’st thou in this case +Of his heart’s meteors tilting in his face? + +LUCIANA. +First he denied you had in him no right. + +ADRIANA. +He meant he did me none; the more my spite. + +LUCIANA. +Then swore he that he was a stranger here. + +ADRIANA. +And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. + +LUCIANA. +Then pleaded I for you. + +ADRIANA. +And what said he? + +LUCIANA. +That love I begg’d for you he begg’d of me. + +ADRIANA. +With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? + +LUCIANA. +With words that in an honest suit might move. +First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. + +ADRIANA. +Did’st speak him fair? + +LUCIANA. +Have patience, I beseech. + +ADRIANA. +I cannot, nor I will not hold me still. +My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. +He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, +Ill-fac’d, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; +Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, +Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. + +LUCIANA. +Who would be jealous then of such a one? +No evil lost is wail’d when it is gone. + +ADRIANA. +Ah, but I think him better than I say, +And yet would herein others’ eyes were worse: +Far from her nest the lapwing cries away; +My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Here, go; the desk, the purse, sweet now, make haste. + +LUCIANA. +How hast thou lost thy breath? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +By running fast. + +ADRIANA. +Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, he’s in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. +A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, +One whose hard heart is button’d up with steel; +A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; +A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; +A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands +The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; +A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dryfoot well, +One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell. + +ADRIANA. +Why, man, what is the matter? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I do not know the matter. He is ’rested on the case. + +ADRIANA. +What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; +But he’s in a suit of buff which ’rested him, that can I tell. +Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk? + +ADRIANA. +Go fetch it, sister. This I wonder at, + + [_Exit Luciana._] + +Thus he unknown to me should be in debt. +Tell me, was he arrested on a band? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; +A chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring? + +ADRIANA. +What, the chain? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, no, the bell, ’tis time that I were gone. +It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. + +ADRIANA. +The hours come back! That did I never hear. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, ’a turns back for very fear. + +ADRIANA. +As if time were in debt. How fondly dost thou reason! + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he’s worth to season. +Nay, he’s a thief too. Have you not heard men say +That time comes stealing on by night and day? +If he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way, +Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? + + Enter Luciana. + +ADRIANA. +Go, Dromio, there’s the money, bear it straight, +And bring thy master home immediately. +Come, sister, I am press’d down with conceit; +Conceit, my comfort and my injury. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me +As if I were their well-acquainted friend, +And everyone doth call me by my name. +Some tender money to me, some invite me; +Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; +Some offer me commodities to buy. +Even now a tailor call’d me in his shop, +And show’d me silks that he had bought for me, +And therewithal took measure of my body. +Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, +And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, here’s the gold you sent me for. +What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparelled? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the +prison; he that goes in the calf’s skin that was killed for the +Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you +forsake your liberty. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I understand thee not. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he that went like a bass-viol in a case of +leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a +sob, and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives +them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits +with his mace than a morris-pike. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What! thou mean’st an officer? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it +that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and +says, “God give you good rest.” + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth +tonight? may we be gone? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark _Expedition_ +put forth tonight, and then were you hindered by the sergeant to tarry +for the hoy _Delay_. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver +you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +The fellow is distract, and so am I, +And here we wander in illusions. +Some blessed power deliver us from hence! + + Enter a Courtesan. + +COURTESAN. +Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. +I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now. +Is that the chain you promis’d me today? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, is this Mistress Satan? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +It is the devil. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, she is worse, she is the devil’s dam; and here she comes in the +habit of a light wench, and thereof comes that the wenches say “God +damn me”, that’s as much to say, “God make me a light wench.” It is +written they appear to men like angels of light. Light is an effect of +fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near +her. + +COURTESAN. +Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. +Will you go with me? We’ll mend our dinner here. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, Dromio? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Avoid then, fiend! What tell’st thou me of supping? +Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress. +I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. + +COURTESAN. +Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, +Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis’d, +And I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Some devils ask but the paring of one’s nail, +A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, +A nut, a cherry-stone; but she, more covetous, +Would have a chain. +Master, be wise; and if you give it her, +The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it. + +COURTESAN. +I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; +I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Fly pride, says the peacock. Mistress, that you know. + + [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse._] + +COURTESAN. +Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad, +Else would he never so demean himself. +A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, +And for the same he promis’d me a chain; +Both one and other he denies me now. +The reason that I gather he is mad, +Besides this present instance of his rage, +Is a mad tale he told today at dinner +Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. +Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, +On purpose shut the doors against his way. +My way is now to hie home to his house, +And tell his wife that, being lunatic, +He rush’d into my house and took perforce +My ring away. This course I fittest choose, +For forty ducats is too much to lose. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. The same. + + Enter Antipholus of Ephesus with an Officer. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Fear me not, man, I will not break away: +I’ll give thee ere I leave thee so much money, +To warrant thee, as I am ’rested for. +My wife is in a wayward mood today, +And will not lightly trust the messenger +That I should be attach’d in Ephesus; +I tell you ’twill sound harshly in her ears. + + Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope’s end. + +Here comes my man. I think he brings the money. +How now, sir! have you that I sent you for? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Here’s that, I warrant you, will pay them all. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +But where’s the money? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I’ll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +To a rope’s end, sir; and to that end am I return’d. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. + + [_Beating him._] + +OFFICER. +Good sir, be patient. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, ’tis for me to be patient. I am in adversity. + +OFFICER. +Good now, hold thy tongue. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou whoreson, senseless villain. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I am an ass indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have served him +from the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his +hands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he heats me with +beating; when I am warm he cools me with beating. I am waked with it +when I sleep, raised with it when I sit, driven out of doors with it +when I go from home, welcomed home with it when I return. Nay, I bear +it on my shoulders as a beggar wont her brat; and I think when he hath +lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. + + Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan and a Schoolmaster called Pinch. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Come, go along, my wife is coming yonder. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Mistress, _respice finem_, respect your end, or rather, the prophesy +like the parrot, “Beware the rope’s end.” + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Wilt thou still talk? + + [_Beats him._] + +COURTESAN. +How say you now? Is not your husband mad? + +ADRIANA. +His incivility confirms no less. +Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; +Establish him in his true sense again, +And I will please you what you will demand. + +LUCIANA. +Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! + +COURTESAN. +Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy. + +PINCH. +Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. + +PINCH. +I charge thee, Satan, hous’d within this man, +To yield possession to my holy prayers, +And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight. +I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Peace, doting wizard, peace; I am not mad. + +ADRIANA. +O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You minion, you, are these your customers? +Did this companion with the saffron face +Revel and feast it at my house today, +Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, +And I denied to enter in my house? + +ADRIANA. +O husband, God doth know you din’d at home, +Where would you had remain’d until this time, +Free from these slanders and this open shame. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Din’d at home? Thou villain, what sayest thou? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Were not my doors lock’d up and I shut out? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Perdy, your doors were lock’d, and you shut out. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And did not she herself revile me there? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Sans fable, she herself revil’d you there. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Certes, she did, the kitchen-vestal scorn’d you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And did not I in rage depart from thence? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +In verity, you did; my bones bear witness, +That since have felt the vigour of his rage. + +ADRIANA. +Is’t good to soothe him in these contraries? + +PINCH. +It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein, +And yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou hast suborn’d the goldsmith to arrest me. + +ADRIANA. +Alas! I sent you money to redeem you +By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Money by me? Heart and goodwill you might, +But surely, master, not a rag of money. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Went’st not thou to her for a purse of ducats? + +ADRIANA. +He came to me, and I deliver’d it. + +LUCIANA. +And I am witness with her that she did. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +God and the rope-maker bear me witness +That I was sent for nothing but a rope. + +PINCH. +Mistress, both man and master is possess’d, +I know it by their pale and deadly looks. +They must be bound and laid in some dark room. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth today, +And why dost thou deny the bag of gold? + +ADRIANA. +I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +And gentle master, I receiv’d no gold; +But I confess, sir, that we were lock’d out. + +ADRIANA. +Dissembling villain, thou speak’st false in both. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all, +And art confederate with a damned pack +To make a loathsome abject scorn of me. +But with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes +That would behold in me this shameful sport. + + [_Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives. _] + +ADRIANA. +O, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me. + +PINCH. +More company; the fiend is strong within him. + +LUCIANA. +Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +What, will you murder me? Thou jailer, thou, +I am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them +To make a rescue? + +OFFICER. +Masters, let him go. +He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. + +PINCH. +Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. + +ADRIANA. +What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? +Hast thou delight to see a wretched man +Do outrage and displeasure to himself? + +OFFICER. +He is my prisoner. If I let him go, +The debt he owes will be requir’d of me. + +ADRIANA. +I will discharge thee ere I go from thee; +Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, +And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. +Good master doctor, see him safe convey’d +Home to my house. O most unhappy day! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +O most unhappy strumpet! + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Master, I am here enter’d in bond for you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Will you be bound for nothing? Be mad, good master; cry, “the devil”. + +LUCIANA. +God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk! + +ADRIANA. +Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me. + + [_Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio + of Ephesus._] + +Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? + +OFFICER. +One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him? + +ADRIANA. +I know the man. What is the sum he owes? + +OFFICER. +Two hundred ducats. + +ADRIANA. +Say, how grows it due? + +OFFICER. +Due for a chain your husband had of him. + +ADRIANA. +He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. + +COURTESAN. +When as your husband, all in rage, today +Came to my house and took away my ring, +The ring I saw upon his finger now, +Straight after did I meet him with a chain. + +ADRIANA. +It may be so, but I did never see it. +Come, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is, +I long to know the truth hereof at large. + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse with his rapier drawn, and Dromio of + Syracuse. + +LUCIANA. +God, for thy mercy, they are loose again! + +ADRIANA. +And come with naked swords. Let’s call more help +To have them bound again. + +OFFICER. +Away, they’ll kill us. + + [_Exeunt, as fast as may be, frighted._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I see these witches are afraid of swords. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +She that would be your wife now ran from you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Come to the Centaur, fetch our stuff from thence. +I long that we were safe and sound aboard. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Faith, stay here this night, they will surely do us no harm; you saw +they speak us fair, give us gold. Methinks they are such a gentle +nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of +me, I could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I will not stay tonight for all the town; +Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The same. + + Enter Merchant and Angelo. + +ANGELO. +I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder’d you, +But I protest he had the chain of me, +Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. + +MERCHANT. +How is the man esteem’d here in the city? + +ANGELO. +Of very reverend reputation, sir, +Of credit infinite, highly belov’d, +Second to none that lives here in the city. +His word might bear my wealth at any time. + +MERCHANT. +Speak softly. Yonder, as I think, he walks. + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse. + +ANGELO. +’Tis so; and that self chain about his neck +Which he forswore most monstrously to have. +Good sir, draw near to me, I’ll speak to him. +Signior Antipholus, I wonder much +That you would put me to this shame and trouble, +And not without some scandal to yourself, +With circumstance and oaths so to deny +This chain, which now you wear so openly. +Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, +You have done wrong to this my honest friend, +Who, but for staying on our controversy, +Had hoisted sail and put to sea today. +This chain you had of me, can you deny it? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I think I had: I never did deny it. + +MERCHANT. +Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Who heard me to deny it or forswear it? + +MERCHANT. +These ears of mine, thou know’st, did hear thee. +Fie on thee, wretch. ’Tis pity that thou liv’st +To walk where any honest men resort. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thou art a villain to impeach me thus; +I’ll prove mine honour and mine honesty +Against thee presently, if thou dar’st stand. + +MERCHANT. +I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. + + [_They draw._] + + Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan and others. + +ADRIANA. +Hold, hurt him not, for God’s sake, he is mad. +Some get within him, take his sword away. +Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Run, master, run, for God’s sake, take a house. +This is some priory; in, or we are spoil’d. + + [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse to the + priory._] + + Enter Lady Abbess. + +ABBESS. +Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither? + +ADRIANA. +To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. +Let us come in, that we may bind him fast +And bear him home for his recovery. + +ANGELO. +I knew he was not in his perfect wits. + +MERCHANT. +I am sorry now that I did draw on him. + +ABBESS. +How long hath this possession held the man? + +ADRIANA. +This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, +And much different from the man he was. +But till this afternoon his passion +Ne’er brake into extremity of rage. + +ABBESS. +Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea? +Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye +Stray’d his affection in unlawful love? +A sin prevailing much in youthful men +Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing? +Which of these sorrows is he subject to? + +ADRIANA. +To none of these, except it be the last, +Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. + +ABBESS. +You should for that have reprehended him. + +ADRIANA. +Why, so I did. + +ABBESS. +Ay, but not rough enough. + +ADRIANA. +As roughly as my modesty would let me. + +ABBESS. +Haply in private. + +ADRIANA. +And in assemblies too. + +ABBESS. +Ay, but not enough. + +ADRIANA. +It was the copy of our conference. +In bed he slept not for my urging it; +At board he fed not for my urging it; +Alone, it was the subject of my theme; +In company I often glanced it; +Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. + +ABBESS. +And thereof came it that the man was mad. +The venom clamours of a jealous woman +Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth. +It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing, +And thereof comes it that his head is light. +Thou say’st his meat was sauc’d with thy upbraidings. +Unquiet meals make ill digestions; +Thereof the raging fire of fever bred, +And what’s a fever but a fit of madness? +Thou say’st his sports were hinder’d by thy brawls. +Sweet recreation barr’d, what doth ensue +But moody and dull melancholy, +Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, +And at her heels a huge infectious troop +Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? +In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest +To be disturb’d would mad or man or beast. +The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits +Hath scar’d thy husband from the use of’s wits. + +LUCIANA. +She never reprehended him but mildly, +When he demean’d himself rough, rude, and wildly. +Why bear you these rebukes and answer not? + +ADRIANA. +She did betray me to my own reproof. +Good people, enter and lay hold on him. + +ABBESS. +No, not a creature enters in my house. + +ADRIANA. +Then let your servants bring my husband forth. + +ABBESS. +Neither. He took this place for sanctuary, +And it shall privilege him from your hands +Till I have brought him to his wits again, +Or lose my labour in assaying it. + +ADRIANA. +I will attend my husband, be his nurse, +Diet his sickness, for it is my office, +And will have no attorney but myself; +And therefore let me have him home with me. + +ABBESS. +Be patient, for I will not let him stir +Till I have used the approved means I have, +With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, +To make of him a formal man again. +It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, +A charitable duty of my order; +Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. + +ADRIANA. +I will not hence and leave my husband here; +And ill it doth beseem your holiness +To separate the husband and the wife. + +ABBESS. +Be quiet and depart. Thou shalt not have him. + + [_Exit Abbess._] + +LUCIANA. +Complain unto the duke of this indignity. + +ADRIANA. +Come, go. I will fall prostrate at his feet, +And never rise until my tears and prayers +Have won his grace to come in person hither +And take perforce my husband from the abbess. + +MERCHANT. +By this, I think, the dial points at five. +Anon, I’m sure, the Duke himself in person +Comes this way to the melancholy vale, +The place of death and sorry execution +Behind the ditches of the abbey here. + +ANGELO. +Upon what cause? + +MERCHANT. +To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, +Who put unluckily into this bay +Against the laws and statutes of this town, +Beheaded publicly for his offence. + +ANGELO. +See where they come. We will behold his death. + +LUCIANA. +Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey. + + Enter the Duke, attended; Egeon, bareheaded; with the Headsman and + other Officers. + +DUKE. +Yet once again proclaim it publicly, +If any friend will pay the sum for him, +He shall not die; so much we tender him. + +ADRIANA. +Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess! + +DUKE. +She is a virtuous and a reverend lady, +It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. + +ADRIANA. +May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband, +Who I made lord of me and all I had +At your important letters, this ill day +A most outrageous fit of madness took him; +That desp’rately he hurried through the street, +With him his bondman all as mad as he, +Doing displeasure to the citizens +By rushing in their houses, bearing thence +Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like. +Once did I get him bound and sent him home, +Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, +That here and there his fury had committed. +Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, +He broke from those that had the guard of him, +And with his mad attendant and himself, +Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, +Met us again, and, madly bent on us, +Chased us away; till raising of more aid, +We came again to bind them. Then they fled +Into this abbey, whither we pursued them. +And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, +And will not suffer us to fetch him out, +Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence. +Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command +Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help. + +DUKE. +Long since thy husband serv’d me in my wars, +And I to thee engag’d a prince’s word, +When thou didst make him master of thy bed, +To do him all the grace and good I could. +Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, +And bid the lady abbess come to me. +I will determine this before I stir. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself. +My master and his man are both broke loose, +Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor, +Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire, +And ever as it blazed they threw on him +Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. +My master preaches patience to him, and the while +His man with scissors nicks him like a fool; +And sure (unless you send some present help) +Between them they will kill the conjurer. + +ADRIANA. +Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here, +And that is false thou dost report to us. + +MESSENGER. +Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true. +I have not breath’d almost since I did see it. +He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, +To scorch your face and to disfigure you. + + [_Cry within._] + +Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress. Fly, be gone! + +DUKE. +Come, stand by me, fear nothing. Guard with halberds. + +ADRIANA. +Ay me, it is my husband. Witness you +That he is borne about invisible. +Even now we hous’d him in the abbey here, +And now he’s there, past thought of human reason. + + Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Justice, most gracious duke; O, grant me justice! +Even for the service that long since I did thee +When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took +Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood +That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. + +EGEON. +Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, +I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there. +She whom thou gav’st to me to be my wife; +That hath abused and dishonour’d me +Even in the strength and height of injury. +Beyond imagination is the wrong +That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. + +DUKE. +Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me +While she with harlots feasted in my house. + +DUKE. +A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so? + +ADRIANA. +No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister +Today did dine together. So befall my soul +As this is false he burdens me withal. + +LUCIANA. +Ne’er may I look on day nor sleep on night +But she tells to your highness simple truth. + +ANGELO. +O perjur’d woman! They are both forsworn. +In this the madman justly chargeth them. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +My liege, I am advised what I say, +Neither disturb’d with the effect of wine, +Nor heady-rash, provok’d with raging ire, +Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. +This woman lock’d me out this day from dinner. +That goldsmith there, were he not pack’d with her, +Could witness it, for he was with me then, +Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, +Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, +Where Balthasar and I did dine together. +Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, +I went to seek him. In the street I met him, +And in his company that gentleman. +There did this perjur’d goldsmith swear me down +That I this day of him receiv’d the chain, +Which, God he knows, I saw not. For the which +He did arrest me with an officer. +I did obey, and sent my peasant home +For certain ducats. He with none return’d. +Then fairly I bespoke the officer +To go in person with me to my house. +By th’ way we met +My wife, her sister, and a rabble more +Of vile confederates. Along with them +They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, +A mere anatomy, a mountebank, +A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller; +A needy, hollow-ey’d, sharp-looking wretch; +A living dead man. This pernicious slave, +Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, +And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, +And with no face (as ’twere) outfacing me, +Cries out, I was possess’d. Then altogether +They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence, +And in a dark and dankish vault at home +There left me and my man, both bound together, +Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, +I gain’d my freedom and immediately +Ran hither to your Grace, whom I beseech +To give me ample satisfaction +For these deep shames and great indignities. + +ANGELO. +My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, +That he din’d not at home, but was lock’d out. + +DUKE. +But had he such a chain of thee, or no? + +ANGELO. +He had, my lord, and when he ran in here +These people saw the chain about his neck. + +MERCHANT. +Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine +Heard you confess you had the chain of him, +After you first forswore it on the mart, +And thereupon I drew my sword on you; +And then you fled into this abbey here, +From whence I think you are come by miracle. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I never came within these abbey walls, +Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me. +I never saw the chain, so help me heaven; +And this is false you burden me withal. + +DUKE. +Why, what an intricate impeach is this! +I think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup. +If here you hous’d him, here he would have been. +If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly. +You say he din’d at home, the goldsmith here +Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine. + +COURTESAN. +He did, and from my finger snatch’d that ring. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +’Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. + +DUKE. +Saw’st thou him enter at the abbey here? + +COURTESAN. +As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. + +DUKE. +Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither. +I think you are all mated, or stark mad. + + [_Exit one to the Abbess._] + +EGEON. +Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word; +Haply I see a friend will save my life +And pay the sum that may deliver me. + +DUKE. +Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. + +EGEON. +Is not your name, sir, call’d Antipholus? +And is not that your bondman Dromio? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, +But he, I thank him, gnaw’d in two my cords. +Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. + +EGEON. +I am sure you both of you remember me. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you. +For lately we were bound as you are now. +You are not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir? + +EGEON. +Why look you strange on me? you know me well. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I never saw you in my life till now. + +EGEON. +O! grief hath chang’d me since you saw me last, +And careful hours with time’s deformed hand, +Have written strange defeatures in my face. +But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Neither. + +EGEON. +Dromio, nor thou? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +No, trust me, sir, nor I. + +EGEON. +I am sure thou dost. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatsoever a man denies, you are +now bound to believe him. + +EGEON. +Not know my voice! O time’s extremity, +Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue +In seven short years that here my only son +Knows not my feeble key of untun’d cares? +Though now this grained face of mine be hid +In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow, +And all the conduits of my blood froze up, +Yet hath my night of life some memory, +My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, +My dull deaf ears a little use to hear. +All these old witnesses, I cannot err, +Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I never saw my father in my life. + +EGEON. +But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, +Thou know’st we parted; but perhaps, my son, +Thou sham’st to acknowledge me in misery. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +The duke and all that know me in the city, +Can witness with me that it is not so. +I ne’er saw Syracusa in my life. + +DUKE. +I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years +Have I been patron to Antipholus, +During which time he ne’er saw Syracusa. +I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. + + Enter the Abbess with Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse. + +ABBESS. +Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong’d. + + [_All gather to see them._] + +ADRIANA. +I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. + +DUKE. +One of these men is _genius_ to the other; +And so of these, which is the natural man, +And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I, sir, am Dromio, command him away. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I, sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Egeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, my old master, who hath bound him here? + +ABBESS. +Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, +And gain a husband by his liberty. +Speak, old Egeon, if thou be’st the man +That hadst a wife once called Emilia, +That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. +O, if thou be’st the same Egeon, speak, +And speak unto the same Emilia! + +DUKE. +Why, here begins his morning story right: +These two Antipholus’, these two so like, +And these two Dromios, one in semblance, +Besides her urging of her wreck at sea. +These are the parents to these children, +Which accidentally are met together. + +EGEON. +If I dream not, thou art Emilia. +If thou art she, tell me where is that son +That floated with thee on the fatal raft? + +ABBESS. +By men of Epidamnum, he and I +And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; +But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth +By force took Dromio and my son from them, +And me they left with those of Epidamnum. +What then became of them I cannot tell; +I to this fortune that you see me in. + +DUKE. +Antipholus, thou cam’st from Corinth first? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +No, sir, not I, I came from Syracuse. + +DUKE. +Stay, stand apart, I know not which is which. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +And I with him. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Brought to this town by that most famous warrior, +Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. + +ADRIANA. +Which of you two did dine with me today? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I, gentle mistress. + +ADRIANA. +And are not you my husband? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +No, I say nay to that. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +And so do I, yet did she call me so; +And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, +Did call me brother. What I told you then, +I hope I shall have leisure to make good, +If this be not a dream I see and hear. + +ANGELO. +That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I think it be, sir. I deny it not. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. + +ANGELO. +I think I did, sir. I deny it not. + +ADRIANA. +I sent you money, sir, to be your bail +By Dromio, but I think he brought it not. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +No, none by me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +This purse of ducats I receiv’d from you, +And Dromio my man did bring them me. +I see we still did meet each other’s man, +And I was ta’en for him, and he for me, +And thereupon these errors are arose. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +These ducats pawn I for my father here. + +DUKE. +It shall not need, thy father hath his life. + +COURTESAN. +Sir, I must have that diamond from you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +There, take it, and much thanks for my good cheer. + +ABBESS. +Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains +To go with us into the abbey here, +And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes; +And all that are assembled in this place, +That by this sympathised one day’s error +Have suffer’d wrong, go, keep us company, +And we shall make full satisfaction. +Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail +Of you, my sons, and till this present hour +My heavy burden ne’er delivered. +The duke, my husband, and my children both, +And you, the calendars of their nativity, +Go to a gossips’ feast, and go with me. +After so long grief, such nativity. + +DUKE. +With all my heart, I’ll gossip at this feast. + + [_Exeunt except the two Dromios and two Brothers._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark’d? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +He speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio. +Come, go with us. We’ll look to that anon. +Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. + + [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Antipholus of Ephesus._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +There is a fat friend at your master’s house, +That kitchen’d me for you today at dinner. +She now shall be my sister, not my wife. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother. +I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. +Will you walk in to see their gossiping? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not I, sir, you are my elder. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +That’s a question, how shall we try it? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +We’ll draw cuts for the senior. Till then, lead thou first. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, then, thus: +We came into the world like brother and brother, +And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS + +Dramatis Personae + + CAIUS MARCIUS, afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS + + Generals against the Volscians + TITUS LARTIUS + COMINIUS + + MENENIUS AGRIPPA, friend to Coriolanus + + Tribunes of the People + SICINIUS VELUTUS + JUNIUS BRUTUS + + YOUNG MARCIUS, son to Coriolanus + A ROMAN HERALD + NICANOR, a Roman + TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians + LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius + CONSPIRATORS, With Aufidius + ADRIAN, a Volscian + A CITIZEN of Antium + TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS + + VOLUMNIA, mother to Coriolanus + VIRGILIA, wife to Coriolanus + VALERIA, friend to Virgilia + GENTLEWOMAN attending on Virgilia + + Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors, + Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other + Attendants + +SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli and the neighbourhood; +Antium + +ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street + +Enter a company of mutinous citizens, with staves, clubs, and other +weapons + + FIRST CITIZEN. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. + ALL. Speak, speak. + FIRST CITIZEN. YOU are all resolv'd rather to die than to famish? + ALL. Resolv'd, resolv'd. + FIRST CITIZEN. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the + people. + ALL. We know't, we know't. + FIRST CITIZEN. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own + price. Is't a verdict? + ALL. No more talking on't; let it be done. Away, away! + SECOND CITIZEN. One word, good citizens. + FIRST CITIZEN. We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. + What authority surfeits on would relieve us; if they would yield + us but the superfluity while it were wholesome, we might guess + they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear. The + leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an + inventory to particularize their abundance; our sufferance is a + gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes ere we become + rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in + thirst for revenge. + SECOND CITIZEN. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? + FIRST CITIZEN. Against him first; he's a very dog to the + commonalty. + SECOND CITIZEN. Consider you what services he has done for his + country? + FIRST CITIZEN. Very well, and could be content to give him good + report for't but that he pays himself with being proud. + SECOND CITIZEN. Nay, but speak not maliciously. + FIRST CITIZEN. I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it + to that end; though soft-conscienc'd men can be content to say it + was for his country, he did it to please his mother and to be + partly proud, which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. + SECOND CITIZEN. What he cannot help in his nature you account a + vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous. + FIRST CITIZEN. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; + he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts + within] What shouts are these? The other side o' th' city is + risen. Why stay we prating here? To th' Capitol! + ALL. Come, come. + FIRST CITIZEN. Soft! who comes here? + + Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA + + SECOND CITIZEN. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always lov'd + the people. + FIRST CITIZEN. He's one honest enough; would all the rest were so! + MENENIUS. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you + With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you. + FIRST CITIZEN. Our business is not unknown to th' Senate; they have + had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll + show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths; + they shall know we have strong arms too. + MENENIUS. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, + Will you undo yourselves? + FIRST CITIZEN. We cannot, sir; we are undone already. + MENENIUS. I tell you, friends, most charitable care + Have the patricians of you. For your wants, + Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well + Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them + Against the Roman state; whose course will on + The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs + Of more strong link asunder than can ever + Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, + The gods, not the patricians, make it, and + Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, + You are transported by calamity + Thither where more attends you; and you slander + The helms o' th' state, who care for you like fathers, + When you curse them as enemies. + FIRST CITIZEN. Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er car'd for us + yet. Suffer us to famish, and their storehouses cramm'd with + grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily + any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more + piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the + wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear + us. + MENENIUS. Either you must + Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, + Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you + A pretty tale. It may be you have heard it; + But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture + To stale't a little more. + FIRST CITIZEN. Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to + fob off our disgrace with a tale. But, an't please you, deliver. + MENENIUS. There was a time when all the body's members + Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it: + That only like a gulf it did remain + I' th' midst o' th' body, idle and unactive, + Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing + Like labour with the rest; where th' other instruments + Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, + And, mutually participate, did minister + Unto the appetite and affection common + Of the whole body. The belly answer'd- + FIRST CITIZEN. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? + MENENIUS. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile, + Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus- + For look you, I may make the belly smile + As well as speak- it tauntingly replied + To th' discontented members, the mutinous parts + That envied his receipt; even so most fitly + As you malign our senators for that + They are not such as you. + FIRST CITIZEN. Your belly's answer- What? + The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye, + The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, + Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, + With other muniments and petty helps + Is this our fabric, if that they- + MENENIUS. What then? + Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? What then? + FIRST CITIZEN. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, + Who is the sink o' th' body- + MENENIUS. Well, what then? + FIRST CITIZEN. The former agents, if they did complain, + What could the belly answer? + MENENIUS. I will tell you; + If you'll bestow a small- of what you have little- + Patience awhile, you'st hear the belly's answer. + FIRST CITIZEN. Y'are long about it. + MENENIUS. Note me this, good friend: + Your most grave belly was deliberate, + Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered. + 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he + 'That I receive the general food at first + Which you do live upon; and fit it is, + Because I am the storehouse and the shop + Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, + I send it through the rivers of your blood, + Even to the court, the heart, to th' seat o' th' brain; + And, through the cranks and offices of man, + The strongest nerves and small inferior veins + From me receive that natural competency + Whereby they live. And though that all at once + You, my good friends'- this says the belly; mark me. + FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, sir; well, well. + MENENIUS. 'Though all at once cannot + See what I do deliver out to each, + Yet I can make my audit up, that all + From me do back receive the flour of all, + And leave me but the bran.' What say you to' t? + FIRST CITIZEN. It was an answer. How apply you this? + MENENIUS. The senators of Rome are this good belly, + And you the mutinous members; for, examine + Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly + Touching the weal o' th' common, you shall find + No public benefit which you receive + But it proceeds or comes from them to you, + And no way from yourselves. What do you think, + You, the great toe of this assembly? + FIRST CITIZEN. I the great toe? Why the great toe? + MENENIUS. For that, being one o' th' lowest, basest, poorest, + Of this most wise rebellion, thou goest foremost. + Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, + Lead'st first to win some vantage. + But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs. + Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; + The one side must have bale. + + Enter CAIUS MARCIUS + + Hail, noble Marcius! + MARCIUS. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues + That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, + Make yourselves scabs? + FIRST CITIZEN. We have ever your good word. + MARCIUS. He that will give good words to thee will flatter + Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs, + That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you, + The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, + Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; + Where foxes, geese; you are no surer, no, + Than is the coal of fire upon the ice + Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is + To make him worthy whose offence subdues him, + And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness + Deserves your hate; and your affections are + A sick man's appetite, who desires most that + Which would increase his evil. He that depends + Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, + And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? + With every minute you do change a mind + And call him noble that was now your hate, + Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter + That in these several places of the city + You cry against the noble Senate, who, + Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else + Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? + MENENIUS. For corn at their own rates, whereof they say + The city is well stor'd. + MARCIUS. Hang 'em! They say! + They'll sit by th' fire and presume to know + What's done i' th' Capitol, who's like to rise, + Who thrives and who declines; side factions, and give out + Conjectural marriages, making parties strong, + And feebling such as stand not in their liking + Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough! + Would the nobility lay aside their ruth + And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry + With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high + As I could pick my lance. + MENENIUS. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded; + For though abundantly they lack discretion, + Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, + What says the other troop? + MARCIUS. They are dissolv'd. Hang 'em! + They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs- + That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, + That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not + Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds + They vented their complainings; which being answer'd, + And a petition granted them- a strange one, + To break the heart of generosity + And make bold power look pale- they threw their caps + As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon, + Shouting their emulation. + MENENIUS. What is granted them? + MARCIUS. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms, + Of their own choice. One's Junius Brutus- + Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. 'Sdeath! + The rabble should have first unroof'd the city + Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time + Win upon power and throw forth greater themes + For insurrection's arguing. + MENENIUS. This is strange. + MARCIUS. Go get you home, you fragments. + + Enter a MESSENGER, hastily + + MESSENGER. Where's Caius Marcius? + MARCIUS. Here. What's the matter? + MESSENGER. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. + MARCIUS. I am glad on't; then we shall ha' means to vent + Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. + + Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with other SENATORS; + JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS + + FIRST SENATOR. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us: + The Volsces are in arms. + MARCIUS. They have a leader, + Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't. + I sin in envying his nobility; + And were I anything but what I am, + I would wish me only he. + COMINIUS. You have fought together? + MARCIUS. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he + Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make + Only my wars with him. He is a lion + That I am proud to hunt. + FIRST SENATOR. Then, worthy Marcius, + Attend upon Cominius to these wars. + COMINIUS. It is your former promise. + MARCIUS. Sir, it is; + And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou + Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. + What, art thou stiff? Stand'st out? + LARTIUS. No, Caius Marcius; + I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other + Ere stay behind this business. + MENENIUS. O, true bred! + FIRST SENATOR. Your company to th' Capitol; where, I know, + Our greatest friends attend us. + LARTIUS. [To COMINIUS] Lead you on. + [To MARCIUS] Follow Cominius; we must follow you; + Right worthy you priority. + COMINIUS. Noble Marcius! + FIRST SENATOR. [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone. + MARCIUS. Nay, let them follow. + The Volsces have much corn: take these rats thither + To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers, + Your valour puts well forth; pray follow. + Ciitzens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS + SICINIUS. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? + BRUTUS. He has no equal. + SICINIUS. When we were chosen tribunes for the people- + BRUTUS. Mark'd you his lip and eyes? + SICINIUS. Nay, but his taunts! + BRUTUS. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods. + SICINIUS. Bemock the modest moon. + BRUTUS. The present wars devour him! He is grown + Too proud to be so valiant. + SICINIUS. Such a nature, + Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow + Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder + His insolence can brook to be commanded + Under Cominius. + BRUTUS. Fame, at the which he aims- + In whom already he is well grac'd- cannot + Better be held nor more attain'd than by + A place below the first; for what miscarries + Shall be the general's fault, though he perform + To th' utmost of a man, and giddy censure + Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he + Had borne the business!' + SICINIUS. Besides, if things go well, + Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall + Of his demerits rob Cominius. + BRUTUS. Come. + Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, + Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults + To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed + In aught he merit not. + SICINIUS. Let's hence and hear + How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, + More than his singularity, he goes + Upon this present action. + BRUTUS. Let's along. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Corioli. The Senate House. + +Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with SENATORS of Corioli + + FIRST SENATOR. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, + That they of Rome are ent'red in our counsels + And know how we proceed. + AUFIDIUS. Is it not yours? + What ever have been thought on in this state + That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome + Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone + Since I heard thence; these are the words- I think + I have the letter here;.yes, here it is: + [Reads] 'They have press'd a power, but it is not known + Whether for east or west. The dearth is great; + The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, + Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, + Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, + And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, + These three lead on this preparation + Whither 'tis bent. Most likely 'tis for you; + Consider of it.' + FIRST SENATOR. Our army's in the field; + We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready + To answer us. + AUFIDIUS. Nor did you think it folly + To keep your great pretences veil'd till when + They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, + It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery + We shall be short'ned in our aim, which was + To take in many towns ere almost Rome + Should know we were afoot. + SECOND SENATOR. Noble Aufidius, + Take your commission; hie you to your bands; + Let us alone to guard Corioli. + If they set down before's, for the remove + Bring up your army; but I think you'll find + Th' have not prepar'd for us. + AUFIDIUS. O, doubt not that! + I speak from certainties. Nay more, + Some parcels of their power are forth already, + And only hitherward. I leave your honours. + If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, + 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike + Till one can do no more. + ALL. The gods assist you! + AUFIDIUS. And keep your honours safe! + FIRST SENATOR. Farewell. + SECOND SENATOR. Farewell. + ALL. Farewell. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Rome. MARCIUS' house + +Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS; they set them +down on two low stools and sew + + VOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more + comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I should freelier + rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the + embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet + he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth + with comeliness pluck'd all gaze his way; when, for a day of + kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from her + beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a person- + that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th' wall, if + renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him seek danger where + he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he + return'd his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I + sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than + now in first seeing he had proved himself a man. + VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then? + VOLUMNIA. Then his good report should have been my son; I therein + would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen + sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my + good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country + than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. + + Enter a GENTLEWOMAN + + GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. + VIRGILIA. Beseech you give me leave to retire myself. + VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not. + Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum; + See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair; + As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him. + Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: + 'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear, + Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow + With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, + Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow + Or all or lose his hire. + VIRGILIA. His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood! + VOLUMNIA. Away, you fool! It more becomes a man + Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba, + When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier + Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood + At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria + We are fit to bid her welcome. Exit GENTLEWOMAN + VIRGILIA. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! + VOLUMNIA. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee + And tread upon his neck. + + Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, With VALERIA and an usher + + VALERIA. My ladies both, good day to you. + VOLUMNIA. Sweet madam! + VIRGILIA. I am glad to see your ladyship. + VALERIA. How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are + you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little + son? + VIRGILIA. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. + VOLUMNIA. He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look + upon his schoolmaster. + VALERIA. O' my word, the father's son! I'll swear 'tis a very + pretty boy. O' my troth, I look'd upon him a Wednesday half an + hour together; has such a confirm'd countenance! I saw him run + after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it he let it go + again, and after it again, and over and over he comes, and up + again, catch'd it again; or whether his fall enrag'd him, or how + 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I warrant, how he + mammock'd it! + VOLUMNIA. One on's father's moods. + VALERIA. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. + VIRGILIA. A crack, madam. + VALERIA. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the + idle huswife with me this afternoon. + VIRGILIA. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. + VALERIA. Not out of doors! + VOLUMNIA. She shall, she shall. + VIRGILIA. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold + till my lord return from the wars. + VALERIA. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you + must go visit the good lady that lies in. + VIRGILIA. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my + prayers; but I cannot go thither. + VOLUMNIA. Why, I pray you? + VIRGILIA. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. + VALERIA. You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn + she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. + Come, I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you + might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. + VIRGILIA. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth. + VALERIA. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news + of your husband. + VIRGILIA. O, good madam, there can be none yet. + VALERIA. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him + last night. + VIRGILIA. Indeed, madam? + VALERIA. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it + is: the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the + general is gone, with one part of our Roman power. Your lord and + Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they + nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, + on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. + VIRGILIA. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in everything + hereafter. + VOLUMNIA. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease + our better mirth. + VALERIA. In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come, + good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' + door and go along with us. + VIRGILIA. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much + mirth. + VALERIA. Well then, farewell. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Before Corioli + +Enter MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with drum and colours, with CAPTAINS and +soldiers. To them a MESSENGER + + MARCIUS. Yonder comes news; a wager- they have met. + LARTIUS. My horse to yours- no. + MARCIUS. 'Tis done. + LARTIUS. Agreed. + MARCIUS. Say, has our general met the enemy? + MESSENGER. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet. + LARTIUS. So, the good horse is mine. + MARCIUS. I'll buy him of you. + LARTIUS. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will + For half a hundred years. Summon the town. + MARCIUS. How far off lie these armies? + MESSENGER. Within this mile and half. + MARCIUS. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. + Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, + That we with smoking swords may march from hence + To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. + + They sound a parley. Enter two SENATORS with others, + on the walls of Corioli + + Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? + FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he: + That's lesser than a little. [Drum afar off] Hark, our drums + Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls + Rather than they shall pound us up; our gates, + Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; + They'll open of themselves. [Alarum far off] Hark you far off! + There is Aufidius. List what work he makes + Amongst your cloven army. + MARCIUS. O, they are at it! + LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! + + Enter the army of the Volsces + + MARCIUS. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. + Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight + With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus. + They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, + Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows. + He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce, + And he shall feel mine edge. + + Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. + Re-enter MARCIUS, cursing + + MARCIUS. All the contagion of the south light on you, + You shames of Rome! you herd of- Boils and plagues + Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd + Farther than seen, and one infect another + Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese + That bear the shapes of men, how have you run + From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! + All hurt behind! Backs red, and faces pale + With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home, + Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe + And make my wars on you. Look to't. Come on; + If you'll stand fast we'll beat them to their wives, + As they us to our trenches. Follow me. + + Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows + them to the gates + + So, now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds; + 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, + Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like. + + [MARCIUS enters the gates] + + FIRST SOLDIER. Fool-hardiness; not I. + SECOND SOLDIER. Not I. [MARCIUS is shut in] + FIRST SOLDIER. See, they have shut him in. + ALL. To th' pot, I warrant him. [Alarum continues] + + Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS + + LARTIUS. What is become of Marcius? + ALL. Slain, sir, doubtless. + FIRST SOLDIER. Following the fliers at the very heels, + With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, + Clapp'd to their gates. He is himself alone, + To answer all the city. + LARTIUS. O noble fellow! + Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, + And when it bows stand'st up. Thou art left, Marcius; + A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, + Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier + Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible + Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and + The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds + Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world + Were feverous and did tremble. + + Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy + + FIRST SOLDIER. Look, sir. + LARTIUS. O, 'tis Marcius! + Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. + [They fight, and all enter the city] + +SCENE V. Within Corioli. A street + +Enter certain Romans, with spoils + + FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome. + SECOND ROMAN. And I this. + THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver. + [Alarum continues still afar off] + + Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS With a trumpeter + + MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours + At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons, + Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would + Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, + Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them! + Exeunt pillagers + And hark, what noise the general makes! To him! + There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, + Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take + Convenient numbers to make good the city; + Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste + To help Cominius. + LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; + Thy exercise hath been too violent + For a second course of fight. + MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not; + My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well; + The blood I drop is rather physical + Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus + I will appear, and fight. + LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, + Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms + Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, + Prosperity be thy page! + MARCIUS. Thy friend no less + Than those she placeth highest! So farewell. + LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS + Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place; + Call thither all the officers o' th' town, + Where they shall know our mind. Away! Exeunt + +SCENE VI. Near the camp of COMINIUS + +Enter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers + + COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off + Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands + Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs, + We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, + By interims and conveying gusts we have heard + The charges of our friends. The Roman gods, + Lead their successes as we wish our own, + That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring, + May give you thankful sacrifice! + + Enter A MESSENGER + + Thy news? + MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued + And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle; + I saw our party to their trenches driven, + And then I came away. + COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth, + Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? + MESSENGER. Above an hour, my lord. + COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums. + How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, + And bring thy news so late? + MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces + Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel + Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, + Half an hour since brought my report. + + Enter MARCIUS + + COMINIUS. Who's yonder + That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods! + He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have + Before-time seen him thus. + MARCIUS. Come I too late? + COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor + More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue + From every meaner man. + MARCIUS. Come I too late? + COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, + But mantled in your own. + MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye + In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart + As merry as when our nuptial day was done, + And tapers burn'd to bedward. + COMINIUS. Flower of warriors, + How is't with Titus Lartius? + MARCIUS. As with a man busied about decrees: + Condemning some to death and some to exile; + Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning th' other; + Holding Corioli in the name of Rome + Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, + To let him slip at will. + COMINIUS. Where is that slave + Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? + Where is he? Call him hither. + MARCIUS. Let him alone; + He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen, + The common file- a plague! tribunes for them! + The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge + From rascals worse than they. + COMINIUS. But how prevail'd you? + MARCIUS. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. + Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field? + If not, why cease you till you are so? + COMINIUS. Marcius, + We have at disadvantage fought, and did + Retire to win our purpose. + MARCIUS. How lies their battle? Know you on which side + They have plac'd their men of trust? + COMINIUS. As I guess, Marcius, + Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates, + Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, + Their very heart of hope. + MARCIUS. I do beseech you, + By all the battles wherein we have fought, + By th' blood we have shed together, by th' vows + We have made to endure friends, that you directly + Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates; + And that you not delay the present, but, + Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts, + We prove this very hour. + COMINIUS. Though I could wish + You were conducted to a gentle bath + And balms applied to you, yet dare I never + Deny your asking: take your choice of those + That best can aid your action. + MARCIUS. Those are they + That most are willing. If any such be here- + As it were sin to doubt- that love this painting + Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear + Lesser his person than an ill report; + If any think brave death outweighs bad life + And that his country's dearer than himself; + Let him alone, or so many so minded, + Wave thus to express his disposition, + And follow Marcius. [They all shout and wave their + swords, take him up in their arms and cast up their caps] + O, me alone! Make you a sword of me? + If these shows be not outward, which of you + But is four Volsces? None of you but is + Able to bear against the great Aufidius + A shield as hard as his. A certain number, + Though thanks to all, must I select from all; the rest + Shall bear the business in some other fight, + As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; + And four shall quickly draw out my command, + Which men are best inclin'd. + COMINIUS. March on, my fellows; + Make good this ostentation, and you shall + Divide in all with us. Exeunt + +SCENE VII. The gates of Corioli + +TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and +trumpet toward COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a LIEUTENANT, +other soldiers, and a scout + + LARTIUS. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your duties + As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch + Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve + For a short holding. If we lose the field + We cannot keep the town. + LIEUTENANT. Fear not our care, sir. + LARTIUS. Hence, and shut your gates upon's. + Our guider, come; to th' Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt + +SCENE VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps + +Alarum, as in battle. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS at several doors + + MARCIUS. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee + Worse than a promise-breaker. + AUFIDIUS. We hate alike: + Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor + More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. + MARCIUS. Let the first budger die the other's slave, + And the gods doom him after! + AUFIDIUS. If I fly, Marcius, + Halloa me like a hare. + MARCIUS. Within these three hours, Tullus, + Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, + And made what work I pleas'd. 'Tis not my blood + Wherein thou seest me mask'd. For thy revenge + Wrench up thy power to th' highest. + AUFIDIUS. Wert thou the Hector + That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, + Thou shouldst not scape me here. + + Here they fight, and certain Volsces come in the aid + of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till they be driven in + breathless + + Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me + In your condemned seconds. Exeunt + +SCENE IX. The Roman camp + +Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door, +COMINIUS with the Romans; at another door, MARCIUS, with his arm in a +scarf + + COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, + Thou't not believe thy deeds; but I'll report it + Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; + Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, + I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted + And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes, + That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours, + Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods + Our Rome hath such a soldier.' + Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, + Having fully din'd before. + + Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit + + LARTIUS. O General, + Here is the steed, we the caparison. + Hadst thou beheld- + MARCIUS. Pray now, no more; my mother, + Who has a charter to extol her blood, + When she does praise me grieves me. I have done + As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd + As you have been- that's for my country. + He that has but effected his good will + Hath overta'en mine act. + COMINIUS. You shall not be + The grave of your deserving; Rome must know + The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment + Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, + To hide your doings and to silence that + Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, + Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you, + In sign of what you are, not to reward + What you have done, before our army hear me. + MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart + To hear themselves rememb'red. + COMINIUS. Should they not, + Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude + And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses- + Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store- of all + The treasure in this field achiev'd and city, + We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth + Before the common distribution at + Your only choice. + MARCIUS. I thank you, General, + But cannot make my heart consent to take + A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it, + And stand upon my common part with those + That have beheld the doing. + + A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!' + cast up their caps and lances. COMINIUS and LARTIUS stand bare + + May these same instruments which you profane + Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall + I' th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be + Made all of false-fac'd soothing. When steel grows + Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made + An overture for th' wars. No more, I say. + For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, + Or foil'd some debile wretch, which without note + Here's many else have done, you shout me forth + In acclamations hyperbolical, + As if I lov'd my little should be dieted + In praises sauc'd with lies. + COMINIUS. Too modest are you; + More cruel to your good report than grateful + To us that give you truly. By your patience, + If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you- + Like one that means his proper harm- in manacles, + Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known, + As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius + Wears this war's garland; in token of the which, + My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, + With all his trim belonging; and from this time, + For what he did before Corioli, can him + With all th' applause-and clamour of the host, + Caius Marcius Coriolanus. + Bear th' addition nobly ever! + [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums] + ALL. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! + CORIOLANUS. I will go wash; + And when my face is fair you shall perceive + Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you; + I mean to stride your steed, and at all times + To undercrest your good addition + To th' fairness of my power. + COMINIUS. So, to our tent; + Where, ere we do repose us, we will write + To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, + Must to Corioli back. Send us to Rome + The best, with whom we may articulate + For their own good and ours. + LARTIUS. I shall, my lord. + CORIOLANUS. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now + Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg + Of my Lord General. + COMINIUS. Take't- 'tis yours; what is't? + CORIOLANUS. I sometime lay here in Corioli + At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly. + He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; + But then Aufidius was within my view, + And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you + To give my poor host freedom. + COMINIUS. O, well begg'd! + Were he the butcher of my son, he should + Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. + LARTIUS. Marcius, his name? + CORIOLANUS. By Jupiter, forgot! + I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd. + Have we no wine here? + COMINIUS. Go we to our tent. + The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time + It should be look'd to. Come. Exeunt + +SCENE X. The camp of the Volsces + +A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three +soldiers + + AUFIDIUS. The town is ta'en. + FIRST SOLDIER. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. + AUFIDIUS. Condition! + I would I were a Roman; for I cannot, + Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition? + What good condition can a treaty find + I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, + I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me; + And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter + As often as we eat. By th' elements, + If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, + He's mine or I am his. Mine emulation + Hath not that honour in't it had; for where + I thought to crush him in an equal force, + True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way, + Or wrath or craft may get him. + FIRST SOLDIER. He's the devil. + AUFIDIUS. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd + With only suff'ring stain by him; for him + Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary, + Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, + The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, + Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up + Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst + My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it + At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, + Against the hospitable canon, would I + Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city; + Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must + Be hostages for Rome. + FIRST SOLDIER. Will not you go? + AUFIDIUS. I am attended at the cypress grove; I pray you- + 'Tis south the city mills- bring me word thither + How the world goes, that to the pace of it + I may spur on my journey. + FIRST SOLDIER. I shall, sir. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. Rome. A public place + +Enter MENENIUS, with the two Tribunes of the people, SICINIUS and +BRUTUS + + MENENIUS. The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight. + BRUTUS. Good or bad? + MENENIUS. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love + not Marcius. + SICINIUS. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. + MENENIUS. Pray you, who does the wolf love? + SICINIUS. The lamb. + MENENIUS. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry plebeians would the + noble Marcius. + BRUTUS. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. + MENENIUS. He's a bear indeed, that lives fike a lamb. You two are + old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you. + BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, sir. + MENENIUS. In what enormity is Marcius poor in that you two have not + in abundance? + BRUTUS. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all. + SICINIUS. Especially in pride. + BRUTUS. And topping all others in boasting. + MENENIUS. This is strange now. Do you two know how you are censured + here in the city- I mean of us o' th' right-hand file? Do you? + BOTH TRIBUNES. Why, how are we censur'd? + MENENIUS. Because you talk of pride now- will you not be angry? + BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, well, sir, well. + MENENIUS. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of + occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience. Give your + dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures- at the + least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame + Marcius for being proud? + BRUTUS. We do it not alone, sir. + MENENIUS. I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are + many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your + abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of + pride. O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your + necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O + that you could! + BOTH TRIBUNES. What then, sir? + MENENIUS. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, + proud, violent, testy magistrates-alias fools- as any in Rome. + SICINIUS. Menenius, you are known well enough too. + MENENIUS. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves + a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to + be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint, hasty + and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more + with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the + morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. + Meeting two such wealsmen as you are- I cannot call you + Lycurguses- if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I + make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your worships have + deliver'd the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with + the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to + bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie + deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the + map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? + What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this + character, if I be known well enough too? + BRUTUS. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. + MENENIUS. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are + ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good + wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and + a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of threepence + to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter + between party and party, if you chance to be pinch'd with the + colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag + against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss + the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All + the peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties + knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. + BRUTUS. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber + for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. + MENENIUS. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall + encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak + best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your + beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to + stuff a botcher's cushion or to be entomb'd in an ass's + pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is proud; who, in a + cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion; + though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary + hangmen. God-den to your worships. More of your conversation + would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly + plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you. + [BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside] + + Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA + + How now, my as fair as noble ladies- and the moon, were she + earthly, no nobler- whither do you follow your eyes so fast? + VOLUMNIA. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the + love of Juno, let's go. + MENENIUS. Ha! Marcius coming home? + VOLUMNIA. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous + approbation. + MENENIUS. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! + Marcius coming home! + VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA. Nay, 'tis true. + VOLUMNIA. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another, + his wife another; and I think there's one at home for you. + MENENIUS. I will make my very house reel to-night. A letter for me? + VIRGILIA. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. + MENENIUS. A letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years' + health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician. The + most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and, to + this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he + not wounded? He was wont to come home wounded. + VIRGILIA. O, no, no, no. + VOLUMNIA. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. + MENENIUS. So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a victory in + his pocket? The wounds become him. + VOLUMNIA. On's brows, Menenius, he comes the third time home with + the oaken garland. + MENENIUS. Has he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly? + VOLUMNIA. Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius + got off. + MENENIUS. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that; an he + had stay'd by him, I would not have been so fidius'd for all the + chests in Corioli and the gold that's in them. Is the Senate + possess'd of this? + VOLUMNIA. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes: the Senate has + letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name + of the war; he hath in this action outdone his former deeds + doubly. + VALERIA. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him. + MENENIUS. Wondrous! Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true + purchasing. + VIRGILIA. The gods grant them true! + VOLUMNIA. True! pow, waw. + MENENIUS. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? + [To the TRIBUNES] God save your good worships! Marcius is coming + home; he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? + VOLUMNIA. I' th' shoulder and i' th' left arm; there will be large + cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place. + He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' th' body. + MENENIUS. One i' th' neck and two i' th' thigh- there's nine that I + know. + VOLUMNIA. He had before this last expedition twenty-five wounds + upon him. + MENENIUS. Now it's twenty-seven; every gash was an enemy's grave. + [A shout and flourish] Hark! the trumpets. + VOLUMNIA. These are the ushers of Marcius. Before him he carries + noise, and behind him he leaves tears; + Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie, + Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die. + + A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the + GENERAL, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, + CORIOLANUS, crown'd with an oaken garland; with + CAPTAINS and soldiers and a HERALD + + HERALD. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight + Within Corioli gates, where he hath won, + With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these + In honour follows Coriolanus. + Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish] + ALL. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! + CORIOLANUS. No more of this, it does offend my heart. + Pray now, no more. + COMINIUS. Look, sir, your mother! + CORIOLANUS. O, + You have, I know, petition'd all the gods + For my prosperity! [Kneels] + VOLUMNIA. Nay, my good soldier, up; + My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and + By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd- + What is it? Coriolanus must I can thee? + But, O, thy wife! + CORIOLANUS. My gracious silence, hail! + Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, + That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, + Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, + And mothers that lack sons. + MENENIUS. Now the gods crown thee! + CORIOLANUS. And live you yet? [To VALERIA] O my sweet lady, + pardon. + VOLUMNIA. I know not where to turn. + O, welcome home! And welcome, General. + And y'are welcome all. + MENENIUS. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep + And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. Welcome! + A curse begin at very root on's heart + That is not glad to see thee! You are three + That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men, + We have some old crab trees here at home that will not + Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors. + We call a nettle but a nettle, and + The faults of fools but folly. + COMINIUS. Ever right. + CORIOLANUS. Menenius ever, ever. + HERALD. Give way there, and go on. + CORIOLANUS. [To his wife and mother] Your hand, and yours. + Ere in our own house I do shade my head, + The good patricians must be visited; + From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings, + But with them change of honours. + VOLUMNIA. I have lived + To see inherited my very wishes, + And the buildings of my fancy; only + There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but + Our Rome will cast upon thee. + CORIOLANUS. Know, good mother, + I had rather be their servant in my way + Than sway with them in theirs. + COMINIUS. On, to the Capitol. + [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before] + + BRUTUS and SICINIUS come forward + + BRUTUS. All tongues speak of him and the bleared sights + Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse + Into a rapture lets her baby cry + While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins + Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, + Clamb'ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks, windows, + Are smother'd up, leads fill'd and ridges hors'd + With variable complexions, all agreeing + In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens + Do press among the popular throngs and puff + To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames + Commit the war of white and damask in + Their nicely gawded cheeks to th' wanton spoil + Of Phoebus' burning kisses. Such a pother, + As if that whatsoever god who leads him + Were slily crept into his human powers, + And gave him graceful posture. + SICINIUS. On the sudden + I warrant him consul. + BRUTUS. Then our office may + During his power go sleep. + SICINIUS. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours + From where he should begin and end, but will + Lose those he hath won. + BRUTUS. In that there's comfort. + SICINIUS. Doubt not + The commoners, for whom we stand, but they + Upon their ancient malice will forget + With the least cause these his new honours; which + That he will give them make I as little question + As he is proud to do't. + BRUTUS. I heard him swear, + Were he to stand for consul, never would he + Appear i' th' market-place, nor on him put + The napless vesture of humility; + Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds + To th' people, beg their stinking breaths. + SICINIUS. 'Tis right. + BRUTUS. It was his word. O, he would miss it rather + Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him + And the desire of the nobles. + SICINIUS. I wish no better + Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it + In execution. + BRUTUS. 'Tis most like he will. + SICINIUS. It shall be to him then as our good wills: + A sure destruction. + BRUTUS. So it must fall out + To him or our authorities. For an end, + We must suggest the people in what hatred + He still hath held them; that to's power he would + Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and + Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them + In human action and capacity + Of no more soul nor fitness for the world + Than camels in their war, who have their provand + Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows + For sinking under them. + SICINIUS. This, as you say, suggested + At some time when his soaring insolence + Shall touch the people- which time shall not want, + If he be put upon't, and that's as easy + As to set dogs on sheep- will be his fire + To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze + Shall darken him for ever. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + BRUTUS. What's the matter? + MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought + That Marcius shall be consul. + I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and + The blind to hear him speak; matrons flung gloves, + Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, + Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended + As to Jove's statue, and the commons made + A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts. + I never saw the like. + BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol, + And carry with us ears and eyes for th' time, + But hearts for the event. + SICINIUS. Have with you. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Rome. The Capitol + +Enter two OFFICERS, to lay cushions, as it were in the Capitol + + FIRST OFFICER. Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for + consulships? + SECOND OFFICER. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one + Coriolanus will carry it. + FIRST OFFICER. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud and + loves not the common people. + SECOND OFFICER. Faith, there have been many great men that have + flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many + that they have loved, they know not wherefore; so that, if they + love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground. + Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or + hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their + disposition, and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly + see't. + FIRST OFFICER. If he did not care whether he had their love or no, + he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm; + but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can + render it him, and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover + him their opposite. Now to seem to affect the malice and + displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes- to + flatter them for their love. + SECOND OFFICER. He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his + ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been + supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further + deed to have them at all, into their estimation and report; but + he hath so planted his honours in their eyes and his actions in + their hearts that for their tongues to be silent and not confess + so much were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise + were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof + and rebuke from every car that heard it. + FIRST OFFICER. No more of him; he's a worthy man. Make way, they + are coming. + + A sennet. Enter the PATRICIANS and the TRIBUNES + OF THE PEOPLE, LICTORS before them; CORIOLANUS, + MENENIUS, COMINIUS the Consul. SICINIUS and + BRUTUS take their places by themselves. + CORIOLANUS stands + + MENENIUS. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and + To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, + As the main point of this our after-meeting, + To gratify his noble service that + Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you, + Most reverend and grave elders, to desire + The present consul and last general + In our well-found successes to report + A little of that worthy work perform'd + By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom + We met here both to thank and to remember + With honours like himself. [CORIOLANUS sits] + FIRST SENATOR. Speak, good Cominius. + Leave nothing out for length, and make us think + Rather our state's defective for requital + Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' th' people, + We do request your kindest ears; and, after, + Your loving motion toward the common body, + To yield what passes here. + SICINIUS. We are convented + Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts + Inclinable to honour and advance + The theme of our assembly. + BRUTUS. Which the rather + We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember + A kinder value of the people than + He hath hereto priz'd them at. + MENENIUS. That's off, that's off; + I would you rather had been silent. Please you + To hear Cominius speak? + BRUTUS. Most willingly. + But yet my caution was more pertinent + Than the rebuke you give it. + MENENIUS. He loves your people; + But tie him not to be their bedfellow. + Worthy Cominius, speak. + [CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away] + Nay, keep your place. + FIRST SENATOR. Sit, Coriolanus, never shame to hear + What you have nobly done. + CORIOLANUS. Your Honours' pardon. + I had rather have my wounds to heal again + Than hear say how I got them. + BRUTUS. Sir, I hope + My words disbench'd you not. + CORIOLANUS. No, sir; yet oft, + When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. + You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not. But your people, + I love them as they weigh- + MENENIUS. Pray now, sit down. + CORIOLANUS. I had rather have one scratch my head i' th' sun + When the alarum were struck than idly sit + To hear my nothings monster'd. Exit + MENENIUS. Masters of the people, + Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter- + That's thousand to one good one- when you now see + He had rather venture all his limbs for honour + Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius. + COMINIUS. I shall lack voice; the deeds of Coriolanus + Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held + That valour is the chiefest virtue and + Most dignifies the haver. If it be, + The man I speak of cannot in the world + Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, + When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought + Beyond the mark of others; our then Dictator, + Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight + When with his Amazonian chin he drove + The bristled lips before him; he bestrid + An o'erpress'd Roman and i' th' consul's view + Slew three opposers; Tarquin's self he met, + And struck him on his knee. In that day's feats, + When he might act the woman in the scene, + He prov'd best man i' th' field, and for his meed + Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age + Man-ent'red thus, he waxed like a sea, + And in the brunt of seventeen battles since + He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, + Before and in Corioli, let me say + I cannot speak him home. He stopp'd the fliers, + And by his rare example made the coward + Turn terror into sport; as weeds before + A vessel under sail, so men obey'd + And fell below his stem. His sword, death's stamp, + Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot + He was a thing of blood, whose every motion + Was tim'd with dying cries. Alone he ent'red + The mortal gate of th' city, which he painted + With shunless destiny; aidless came off, + And with a sudden re-enforcement struck + Corioli like a planet. Now all's his. + When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce + His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit + Re-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate, + And to the battle came he; where he did + Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if + 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd + Both field and city ours he never stood + To ease his breast with panting. + MENENIUS. Worthy man! + FIRST SENATOR. He cannot but with measure fit the honours + Which we devise him. + COMINIUS. Our spoils he kick'd at, + And look'd upon things precious as they were + The common muck of the world. He covets less + Than misery itself would give, rewards + His deeds with doing them, and is content + To spend the time to end it. + MENENIUS. He's right noble; + Let him be call'd for. + FIRST SENATOR. Call Coriolanus. + OFFICER. He doth appear. + + Re-enter CORIOLANUS + + MENENIUS. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd + To make thee consul. + CORIOLANUS. I do owe them still + My life and services. + MENENIUS. It then remains + That you do speak to the people. + CORIOLANUS. I do beseech you + Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot + Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them + For my wounds' sake to give their suffrage. Please you + That I may pass this doing. + SICINIUS. Sir, the people + Must have their voices; neither will they bate + One jot of ceremony. + MENENIUS. Put them not to't. + Pray you go fit you to the custom, and + Take to you, as your predecessors have, + Your honour with your form. + CORIOLANUS. It is a part + That I shall blush in acting, and might well + Be taken from the people. + BRUTUS. Mark you that? + CORIOLANUS. To brag unto them 'Thus I did, and thus!' + Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide, + As if I had receiv'd them for the hire + Of their breath only! + MENENIUS. Do not stand upon't. + We recommend to you, Tribunes of the People, + Our purpose to them; and to our noble consul + Wish we all joy and honour. + SENATORS. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! + [Flourish. Cornets. Then exeunt all + but SICINIUS and BRUTUS] + BRUTUS. You see how he intends to use the people. + SICINIUS. May they perceive's intent! He will require them + As if he did contemn what he requested + Should be in them to give. + BRUTUS. Come, we'll inform them + Of our proceedings here. On th' market-place + I know they do attend us. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Rome. The Forum + +Enter seven or eight citizens + + FIRST CITIZEN. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to + deny him. + SECOND CITIZEN. We may, sir, if we will. + THIRD CITIZEN. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a + power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds + and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those + wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we + must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is + monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a + monster of the multitude; of the which we being members should + bring ourselves to be monstrous members. + FIRST CITIZEN. And to make us no better thought of, a little help + will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck + not to call us the many-headed multitude. + THIRD CITIZEN. We have been call'd so of many; not that our heads + are some brown, some black, some abram, some bald, but that our + wits are so diversely colour'd; and truly I think if all our wits + were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, + south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to + all the points o' th' compass. + SECOND CITIZEN. Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would + fly? + THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's + will- 'tis strongly wedg'd up in a block-head; but if it were at + liberty 'twould sure southward. + SECOND CITIZEN. Why that way? + THIRD CITIZEN. To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts + melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for + conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife. + SECOND CITIZEN. YOU are never without your tricks; you may, you + may. + THIRD CITIZEN. Are you all resolv'd to give your voices? But that's + no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would + incline to the people, there was never a worthier man. + + Enter CORIOLANUS, in a gown of humility, + with MENENIUS + + Here he comes, and in the gown of humility. Mark his behaviour. + We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he + stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his + requests by particulars, wherein every one of us has a single + honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues; + therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him. + ALL. Content, content. Exeunt citizens + MENENIUS. O sir, you are not right; have you not known + The worthiest men have done't? + CORIOLANUS. What must I say? + 'I pray, sir'- Plague upon't! I cannot bring + My tongue to such a pace. 'Look, sir, my wounds + I got them in my country's service, when + Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran + From th' noise of our own drums.' + MENENIUS. O me, the gods! + You must not speak of that. You must desire them + To think upon you. + CORIOLANUS. Think upon me? Hang 'em! + I would they would forget me, like the virtues + Which our divines lose by 'em. + MENENIUS. You'll mar all. + I'll leave you. Pray you speak to 'em, I pray you, + In wholesome manner. Exit + + Re-enter three of the citizens + + CORIOLANUS. Bid them wash their faces + And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace. + You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. + THIRD CITIZEN. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't. + CORIOLANUS. Mine own desert. + SECOND CITIZEN. Your own desert? + CORIOLANUS. Ay, not mine own desire. + THIRD CITIZEN. How, not your own desire? + CORIOLANUS. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor + with begging. + THIRD CITIZEN. YOU MUST think, if we give you anything, we hope to + gain by you. + CORIOLANUS. Well then, I pray, your price o' th' consulship? + FIRST CITIZEN. The price is to ask it kindly. + CORIOLANUS. Kindly, sir, I pray let me ha't. I have wounds to show + you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what + say you? + SECOND CITIZEN. You shall ha' it, worthy sir. + CORIOLANUS. A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begg'd. + I have your alms. Adieu. + THIRD CITIZEN. But this is something odd. + SECOND CITIZEN. An 'twere to give again- but 'tis no matter. + Exeunt the three citizens + + Re-enter two other citizens + + CORIOLANUS. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your + voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. + FOURTH CITIZEN. You have deserved nobly of your country, and you + have not deserved nobly. + CORIOLANUS. Your enigma? + FOURTH CITIZEN. You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have + been a rod to her friends. You have not indeed loved the common + people. + CORIOLANUS. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have + not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn + brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a + condition they account gentle; and since the wisdom of their + choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise + the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly. That + is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man + and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you I + may be consul. + FIFTH CITIZEN. We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give + you our voices heartily. + FOURTH CITIZEN. You have received many wounds for your country. + CORIOLANUS. I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I + will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no farther. + BOTH CITIZENS. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! + Exeunt citizens + CORIOLANUS. Most sweet voices! + Better it is to die, better to starve, + Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. + Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here + To beg of Hob and Dick that do appear + Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't. + What custom wills, in all things should we do't, + The dust on antique time would lie unswept, + And mountainous error be too highly heap'd + For truth to o'erpeer. Rather than fool it so, + Let the high office and the honour go + To one that would do thus. I am half through: + The one part suffered, the other will I do. + + Re-enter three citizens more + + Here come moe voices. + Your voices. For your voices I have fought; + Watch'd for your voices; for your voices bear + Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six + I have seen and heard of; for your voices have + Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices? + Indeed, I would be consul. + SIXTH CITIZEN. He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest + man's voice. + SEVENTH CITIZEN. Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him + joy, and make him good friend to the people! + ALL. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! + Exeunt citizens + CORIOLANUS. Worthy voices! + + Re-enter MENENIUS with BRUTUS and SICINIUS + + MENENIUS. You have stood your limitation, and the tribunes + Endue you with the people's voice. Remains + That, in th' official marks invested, you + Anon do meet the Senate. + CORIOLANUS. Is this done? + SICINIUS. The custom of request you have discharg'd. + The people do admit you, and are summon'd + To meet anon, upon your approbation. + CORIOLANUS. Where? At the Senate House? + SICINIUS. There, Coriolanus. + CORIOLANUS. May I change these garments? + SICINIUS. You may, sir. + CORIOLANUS. That I'll straight do, and, knowing myself again, + Repair to th' Senate House. + MENENIUS. I'll keep you company. Will you along? + BRUTUS. We stay here for the people. + SICINIUS. Fare you well. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS + He has it now; and by his looks methinks + 'Tis warm at's heart. + BRUTUS. With a proud heart he wore + His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people? + + Re-enter citizens + + SICINIUS. How now, my masters! Have you chose this man? + FIRST CITIZEN. He has our voices, sir. + BRUTUS. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. + SECOND CITIZEN. Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice, + He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. + THIRD CITIZEN. Certainly; + He flouted us downright. + FIRST CITIZEN. No, 'tis his kind of speech- he did not mock us. + SECOND CITIZEN. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says + He us'd us scornfully. He should have show'd us + His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for's country. + SICINIUS. Why, so he did, I am sure. + ALL. No, no; no man saw 'em. + THIRD CITIZEN. He said he had wounds which he could show in + private, + And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, + 'I would be consul,' says he; 'aged custom + But by your voices will not so permit me; + Your voices therefore.' When we granted that, + Here was 'I thank you for your voices. Thank you, + Your most sweet voices. Now you have left your voices, + I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery? + SICINIUS. Why either were you ignorant to see't, + Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness + To yield your voices? + BRUTUS. Could you not have told him- + As you were lesson'd- when he had no power + But was a petty servant to the state, + He was your enemy; ever spake against + Your liberties and the charters that you bear + I' th' body of the weal; and now, arriving + A place of potency and sway o' th' state, + If he should still malignantly remain + Fast foe to th' plebeii, your voices might + Be curses to yourselves? You should have said + That as his worthy deeds did claim no less + Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature + Would think upon you for your voices, and + Translate his malice towards you into love, + Standing your friendly lord. + SICINIUS. Thus to have said, + As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit + And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd + Either his gracious promise, which you might, + As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; + Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, + Which easily endures not article + Tying him to aught. So, putting him to rage, + You should have ta'en th' advantage of his choler + And pass'd him unelected. + BRUTUS. Did you perceive + He did solicit you in free contempt + When he did need your loves; and do you think + That his contempt shall not be bruising to you + When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies + No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry + Against the rectorship of judgment? + SICINIUS. Have you + Ere now denied the asker, and now again, + Of him that did not ask but mock, bestow + Your su'd-for tongues? + THIRD CITIZEN. He's not confirm'd: we may deny him yet. + SECOND CITIZENS. And will deny him; + I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. + FIRST CITIZEN. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece + 'em. + BRUTUS. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends + They have chose a consul that will from them take + Their liberties, make them of no more voice + Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking + As therefore kept to do so. + SICINIUS. Let them assemble; + And, on a safer judgment, all revoke + Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride + And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not + With what contempt he wore the humble weed; + How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves, + Thinking upon his services, took from you + Th' apprehension of his present portance, + Which, most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion + After the inveterate hate he bears you. + BRUTUS. Lay + A fault on us, your tribunes, that we labour'd, + No impediment between, but that you must + Cast your election on him. + SICINIUS. Say you chose him + More after our commandment than as guided + By your own true affections; and that your minds, + Pre-occupied with what you rather must do + Than what you should, made you against the grain + To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us. + BRUTUS. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you, + How youngly he began to serve his country, + How long continued; and what stock he springs of- + The noble house o' th' Marcians; from whence came + That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, + Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; + Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, + That our best water brought by conduits hither; + And Censorinus, nobly named so, + Twice being by the people chosen censor, + Was his great ancestor. + SICINIUS. One thus descended, + That hath beside well in his person wrought + To be set high in place, we did commend + To your remembrances; but you have found, + Scaling his present bearing with his past, + That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke + Your sudden approbation. + BRUTUS. Say you ne'er had done't- + Harp on that still- but by our putting on; + And presently, when you have drawn your number, + Repair to th' Capitol. + CITIZENS. will will so; almost all + Repent in their election. Exeunt plebeians + BRUTUS. Let them go on; + This mutiny were better put in hazard + Than stay, past doubt, for greater. + If, as his nature is, he fall in rage + With their refusal, both observe and answer + The vantage of his anger. + SICINIUS. To th' Capitol, come. + We will be there before the stream o' th' people; + And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, + Which we have goaded onward. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street + +Cornets. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, all the GENTRY, COMINIUS, +TITUS LARTIUS, and other SENATORS + + CORIOLANUS. Tullus Aufidius, then, had made new head? + LARTIUS. He had, my lord; and that it was which caus'd + Our swifter composition. + CORIOLANUS. So then the Volsces stand but as at first, + Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road + Upon's again. + COMINIUS. They are worn, Lord Consul, so + That we shall hardly in our ages see + Their banners wave again. + CORIOLANUS. Saw you Aufidius? + LARTIUS. On safeguard he came to me, and did curse + Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely + Yielded the town. He is retir'd to Antium. + CORIOLANUS. Spoke he of me? + LARTIUS. He did, my lord. + CORIOLANUS. How? What? + LARTIUS. How often he had met you, sword to sword; + That of all things upon the earth he hated + Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes + To hopeless restitution, so he might + Be call'd your vanquisher. + CORIOLANUS. At Antium lives he? + LARTIUS. At Antium. + CORIOLANUS. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, + To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. + + Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, + The tongues o' th' common mouth. I do despise them, + For they do prank them in authority, + Against all noble sufferance. + SICINIUS. Pass no further. + CORIOLANUS. Ha! What is that? + BRUTUS. It will be dangerous to go on- no further. + CORIOLANUS. What makes this change? + MENENIUS. The matter? + COMINIUS. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common? + BRUTUS. Cominius, no. + CORIOLANUS. Have I had children's voices? + FIRST SENATOR. Tribunes, give way: he shall to th' market-place. + BRUTUS. The people are incens'd against him. + SICINIUS. Stop, + Or all will fall in broil. + CORIOLANUS. Are these your herd? + Must these have voices, that can yield them now + And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? + You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? + Have you not set them on? + MENENIUS. Be calm, be calm. + CORIOLANUS. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, + To curb the will of the nobility; + Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule + Nor ever will be rul'd. + BRUTUS. Call't not a plot. + The people cry you mock'd them; and of late, + When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd; + Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them + Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. + CORIOLANUS. Why, this was known before. + BRUTUS. Not to them all. + CORIOLANUS. Have you inform'd them sithence? + BRUTUS. How? I inform them! + COMINIUS. You are like to do such business. + BRUTUS. Not unlike + Each way to better yours. + CORIOLANUS. Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, + Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me + Your fellow tribune. + SICINIUS. You show too much of that + For which the people stir; if you will pass + To where you are bound, you must enquire your way, + Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, + Or never be so noble as a consul, + Nor yoke with him for tribune. + MENENIUS. Let's be calm. + COMINIUS. The people are abus'd; set on. This palt'ring + Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus + Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely + I' th' plain way of his merit. + CORIOLANUS. Tell me of corn! + This was my speech, and I will speak't again- + MENENIUS. Not now, not now. + FIRST SENATOR. Not in this heat, sir, now. + CORIOLANUS. Now, as I live, I will. + My nobler friends, I crave their pardons. + For the mutable, rank-scented meiny, let them + Regard me as I do not flatter, and + Therein behold themselves. I say again, + In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our Senate + The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, + Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, + By mingling them with us, the honour'd number, + Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that + Which they have given to beggars. + MENENIUS. Well, no more. + FIRST SENATOR. No more words, we beseech you. + CORIOLANUS. How? no more! + As for my country I have shed my blood, + Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs + Coin words till their decay against those measles + Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought + The very way to catch them. + BRUTUS. You speak o' th' people + As if you were a god, to punish; not + A man of their infirmity. + SICINIUS. 'Twere well + We let the people know't. + MENENIUS. What, what? his choler? + CORIOLANUS. Choler! + Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, + By Jove, 'twould be my mind! + SICINIUS. It is a mind + That shall remain a poison where it is, + Not poison any further. + CORIOLANUS. Shall remain! + Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you + His absolute 'shall'? + COMINIUS. 'Twas from the canon. + CORIOLANUS. 'Shall'! + O good but most unwise patricians! Why, + You grave but reckless senators, have you thus + Given Hydra here to choose an officer + That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but + The horn and noise o' th' monster's, wants not spirit + To say he'll turn your current in a ditch, + And make your channel his? If he have power, + Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake + Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd, + Be not as common fools; if you are not, + Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, + If they be senators; and they are no less, + When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste + Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate; + And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,' + His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench + Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself, + It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches + To know, when two authorities are up, + Neither supreme, how soon confusion + May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take + The one by th' other. + COMINIUS. Well, on to th' market-place. + CORIOLANUS. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth + The corn o' th' storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd + Sometime in Greece- + MENENIUS. Well, well, no more of that. + CORIOLANUS. Though there the people had more absolute pow'r- + I say they nourish'd disobedience, fed + The ruin of the state. + BRUTUS. Why shall the people give + One that speaks thus their voice? + CORIOLANUS. I'll give my reasons, + More worthier than their voices. They know the corn + Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd + They ne'er did service for't; being press'd to th' war + Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, + They would not thread the gates. This kind of service + Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' th' war, + Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd + Most valour, spoke not for them. Th' accusation + Which they have often made against the Senate, + All cause unborn, could never be the native + Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? + How shall this bosom multiplied digest + The Senate's courtesy? Let deeds express + What's like to be their words: 'We did request it; + We are the greater poll, and in true fear + They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase + The nature of our seats, and make the rabble + Call our cares fears; which will in time + Break ope the locks o' th' Senate and bring in + The crows to peck the eagles. + MENENIUS. Come, enough. + BRUTUS. Enough, with over measure. + CORIOLANUS. No, take more. + What may be sworn by, both divine and human, + Seal what I end withal! This double worship, + Where one part does disdain with cause, the other + Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom, + Cannot conclude but by the yea and no + Of general ignorance- it must omit + Real necessities, and give way the while + To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr'd, it follows + Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you- + You that will be less fearful than discreet; + That love the fundamental part of state + More than you doubt the change on't; that prefer + A noble life before a long, and wish + To jump a body with a dangerous physic + That's sure of death without it- at once pluck out + The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick + The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour + Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state + Of that integrity which should become't, + Not having the power to do the good it would, + For th' ill which doth control't. + BRUTUS. Has said enough. + SICINIUS. Has spoken like a traitor and shall answer + As traitors do. + CORIOLANUS. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee! + What should the people do with these bald tribunes, + On whom depending, their obedience fails + To the greater bench? In a rebellion, + When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, + Then were they chosen; in a better hour + Let what is meet be said it must be meet, + And throw their power i' th' dust. + BRUTUS. Manifest treason! + SICINIUS. This a consul? No. + BRUTUS. The aediles, ho! + + Enter an AEDILE + + Let him be apprehended. + SICINIUS. Go call the people, [Exit AEDILE] in whose name myself + Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, + A foe to th' public weal. Obey, I charge thee, + And follow to thine answer. + CORIOLANUS. Hence, old goat! + PATRICIANS. We'll surety him. + COMINIUS. Ag'd sir, hands off. + CORIOLANUS. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones + Out of thy garments. + SICINIUS. Help, ye citizens! + + Enter a rabble of plebeians, with the AEDILES + + MENENIUS. On both sides more respect. + SICINIUS. Here's he that would take from you all your power. + BRUTUS. Seize him, aediles. + PLEBEIANS. Down with him! down with him! + SECOND SENATOR. Weapons, weapons, weapons! + [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS] + ALL. Tribunes! patricians! citizens! What, ho! Sicinius! + Brutus! Coriolanus! Citizens! + PATRICIANS. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace! + MENENIUS. What is about to be? I am out of breath; + Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You tribunes + To th' people- Coriolanus, patience! + Speak, good Sicinius. + SICINIUS. Hear me, people; peace! + PLEBEIANS. Let's hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak. + SICINIUS. You are at point to lose your liberties. + Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, + Whom late you have nam'd for consul. + MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie! + This is the way to kindle, not to quench. + FIRST SENATOR. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. + SICINIUS. What is the city but the people? + PLEBEIANS. True, + The people are the city. + BRUTUS. By the consent of all we were establish'd + The people's magistrates. + PLEBEIANS. You so remain. + MENENIUS. And so are like to do. + COMINIUS. That is the way to lay the city flat, + To bring the roof to the foundation, + And bury all which yet distinctly ranges + In heaps and piles of ruin. + SICINIUS. This deserves death. + BRUTUS. Or let us stand to our authority + Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, + Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power + We were elected theirs: Marcius is worthy + Of present death. + SICINIUS. Therefore lay hold of him; + Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence + Into destruction cast him. + BRUTUS. AEdiles, seize him. + PLEBEIANS. Yield, Marcius, yield. + MENENIUS. Hear me one word; beseech you, Tribunes, + Hear me but a word. + AEDILES. Peace, peace! + MENENIUS. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, + And temp'rately proceed to what you would + Thus violently redress. + BRUTUS. Sir, those cold ways, + That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous + Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him + And bear him to the rock. + [CORIOLANUS draws his sword] + CORIOLANUS. No: I'll die here. + There's some among you have beheld me fighting; + Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. + MENENIUS. Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile. + BRUTUS. Lay hands upon him. + MENENIUS. Help Marcius, help, + You that be noble; help him, young and old. + PLEBEIANS. Down with him, down with him! + [In this mutiny the TRIBUNES, the AEDILES, + and the people are beat in] + MENENIUS. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away. + All will be nought else. + SECOND SENATOR. Get you gone. + CORIOLANUS. Stand fast; + We have as many friends as enemies. + MENENIUS. Shall it be put to that? + FIRST SENATOR. The gods forbid! + I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; + Leave us to cure this cause. + MENENIUS. For 'tis a sore upon us + You cannot tent yourself; be gone, beseech you. + COMINIUS. Come, sir, along with us. + CORIOLANUS. I would they were barbarians, as they are, + Though in Rome litter'd; not Romans, as they are not, + Though calved i' th' porch o' th' Capitol. + MENENIUS. Be gone. + Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; + One time will owe another. + CORIOLANUS. On fair ground + I could beat forty of them. + MENENIUS. I could myself + Take up a brace o' th' best of them; yea, the two tribunes. + COMINIUS. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic, + And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands + Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, + Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend + Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear + What they are us'd to bear. + MENENIUS. Pray you be gone. + I'll try whether my old wit be in request + With those that have but little; this must be patch'd + With cloth of any colour. + COMINIUS. Nay, come away. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and COMINIUS, with others + PATRICIANS. This man has marr'd his fortune. + MENENIUS. His nature is too noble for the world: + He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, + Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth; + What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; + And, being angry, does forget that ever + He heard the name of death. [A noise within] + Here's goodly work! + PATRICIANS. I would they were a-bed. + MENENIUS. I would they were in Tiber. + What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair? + + Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, the rabble again + + SICINIUS. Where is this viper + That would depopulate the city and + Be every man himself? + MENENIUS. You worthy Tribunes- + SICINIUS. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock + With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, + And therefore law shall scorn him further trial + Than the severity of the public power, + Which he so sets at nought. + FIRST CITIZEN. He shall well know + The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, + And we their hands. + PLEBEIANS. He shall, sure on't. + MENENIUS. Sir, sir- + SICINIUS. Peace! + MENENIUS. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt + With modest warrant. + SICINIUS. Sir, how comes't that you + Have holp to make this rescue? + MENENIUS. Hear me speak. + As I do know the consul's worthiness, + So can I name his faults. + SICINIUS. Consul! What consul? + MENENIUS. The consul Coriolanus. + BRUTUS. He consul! + PLEBEIANS. No, no, no, no, no. + MENENIUS. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, + I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; + The which shall turn you to no further harm + Than so much loss of time. + SICINIUS. Speak briefly, then, + For we are peremptory to dispatch + This viperous traitor; to eject him hence + Were but one danger, and to keep him here + Our certain death; therefore it is decreed + He dies to-night. + MENENIUS. Now the good gods forbid + That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude + Towards her deserved children is enroll'd + In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam + Should now eat up her own! + SICINIUS. He's a disease that must be cut away. + MENENIUS. O, he's a limb that has but a disease- + Mortal, to cut it off: to cure it, easy. + What has he done to Rome that's worthy death? + Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost- + Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath + By many an ounce- he dropt it for his country; + And what is left, to lose it by his country + Were to us all that do't and suffer it + A brand to th' end o' th' world. + SICINIUS. This is clean kam. + BRUTUS. Merely awry. When he did love his country, + It honour'd him. + SICINIUS. The service of the foot, + Being once gangren'd, is not then respected + For what before it was. + BRUTUS. We'll hear no more. + Pursue him to his house and pluck him thence, + Lest his infection, being of catching nature, + Spread further. + MENENIUS. One word more, one word + This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find + The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, + Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process, + Lest parties- as he is belov'd- break out, + And sack great Rome with Romans. + BRUTUS. If it were so- + SICINIUS. What do ye talk? + Have we not had a taste of his obedience- + Our aediles smote, ourselves resisted? Come! + MENENIUS. Consider this: he has been bred i' th' wars + Since 'a could draw a sword, and is ill school'd + In bolted language; meal and bran together + He throws without distinction. Give me leave, + I'll go to him and undertake to bring him + Where he shall answer by a lawful form, + In peace, to his utmost peril. + FIRST SENATOR. Noble Tribunes, + It is the humane way; the other course + Will prove too bloody, and the end of it + Unknown to the beginning. + SICINIUS. Noble Menenius, + Be you then as the people's officer. + Masters, lay down your weapons. + BRUTUS. Go not home. + SICINIUS. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there; + Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed + In our first way. + MENENIUS. I'll bring him to you. + [To the SENATORS] Let me desire your company; he must come, + Or what is worst will follow. + FIRST SENATOR. Pray you let's to him. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Rome. The house of CORIOLANUS + +Enter CORIOLANUS with NOBLES + + CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me + Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels; + Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, + That the precipitation might down stretch + Below the beam of sight; yet will I still + Be thus to them. + FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler. + CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother + Does not approve me further, who was wont + To call them woollen vassals, things created + To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads + In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, + When one but of my ordinance stood up + To speak of peace or war. + + Enter VOLUMNIA + + I talk of you: + Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me + False to my nature? Rather say I play + The man I am. + VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir, + I would have had you put your power well on + Before you had worn it out. + CORIOLANUS. Let go. + VOLUMNIA. You might have been enough the man you are + With striving less to be so; lesser had been + The thwartings of your dispositions, if + You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd, + Ere they lack'd power to cross you. + CORIOLANUS. Let them hang. + VOLUMNIA. Ay, and burn too. + + Enter MENENIUS with the SENATORS + + MENENIUS. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; + You must return and mend it. + FIRST SENATOR. There's no remedy, + Unless, by not so doing, our good city + Cleave in the midst and perish. + VOLUMNIA. Pray be counsell'd; + I have a heart as little apt as yours, + But yet a brain that leads my use of anger + To better vantage. + MENENIUS. Well said, noble woman! + Before he should thus stoop to th' herd, but that + The violent fit o' th' time craves it as physic + For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, + Which I can scarcely bear. + CORIOLANUS. What must I do? + MENENIUS. Return to th' tribunes. + CORIOLANUS. Well, what then, what then? + MENENIUS. Repent what you have spoke. + CORIOLANUS. For them! I cannot do it to the gods; + Must I then do't to them? + VOLUMNIA. You are too absolute; + Though therein you can never be too noble + But when extremities speak. I have heard you say + Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, + I' th' war do grow together; grant that, and tell me + In peace what each of them by th' other lose + That they combine not there. + CORIOLANUS. Tush, tush! + MENENIUS. A good demand. + VOLUMNIA. If it be honour in your wars to seem + The same you are not, which for your best ends + You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse + That it shall hold companionship in peace + With honour as in war; since that to both + It stands in like request? + CORIOLANUS. Why force you this? + VOLUMNIA. Because that now it lies you on to speak + To th' people, not by your own instruction, + Nor by th' matter which your heart prompts you, + But with such words that are but roted in + Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables + Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. + Now, this no more dishonours you at all + Than to take in a town with gentle words, + Which else would put you to your fortune and + The hazard of much blood. + I would dissemble with my nature where + My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd + I should do so in honour. I am in this + Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; + And you will rather show our general louts + How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 'em + For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard + Of what that want might ruin. + MENENIUS. Noble lady! + Come, go with us, speak fair; you may salve so, + Not what is dangerous present, but the los + Of what is past. + VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, My son, + Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand; + And thus far having stretch'd it- here be with them- + Thy knee bussing the stones- for in such busines + Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant + More learned than the ears- waving thy head, + Which often thus correcting thy-stout heart, + Now humble as the ripest mulberry + That will not hold the handling. Or say to them + Thou art their soldier and, being bred in broils, + Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, + Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, + In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame + Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far + As thou hast power and person. + MENENIUS. This but done + Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; + For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free + As words to little purpose. + VOLUMNIA. Prithee now, + Go, and be rul'd; although I know thou hadst rather + Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf + Than flatter him in a bower. + + Enter COMINIUS + + Here is Cominius. + COMINIUS. I have been i' th' market-place; and, sir, 'tis fit + You make strong party, or defend yourself + By calmness or by absence; all's in anger. + MENENIUS. Only fair speech. + COMINIUS. I think 'twill serve, if he + Can thereto frame his spirit. + VOLUMNIA. He must and will. + Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. + CORIOLANUS. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I + With my base tongue give to my noble heart + A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't; + Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, + This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, + And throw't against the wind. To th' market-place! + You have put me now to such a part which never + I shall discharge to th' life. + COMINIUS. Come, come, we'll prompt you. + VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said + My praises made thee first a soldier, so, + To have my praise for this, perform a part + Thou hast not done before. + CORIOLANUS. Well, I must do't. + Away, my disposition, and possess me + Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd, + Which quier'd with my drum, into a pipe + Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice + That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves + Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up + The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue + Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees, + Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his + That hath receiv'd an alms! I will not do't, + Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, + And by my body's action teach my mind + A most inherent baseness. + VOLUMNIA. At thy choice, then. + To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour + Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let + Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear + Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death + With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. + Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me; + But owe thy pride thyself. + CORIOLANUS. Pray be content. + Mother, I am going to the market-place; + Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, + Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd + Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going. + Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul, + Or never trust to what my tongue can do + I' th' way of flattery further. + VOLUMNIA. Do your will. Exit + COMINIUS. Away! The tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself + To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd + With accusations, as I hear, more strong + Than are upon you yet. + CORIOLANUS. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you let us go. + Let them accuse me by invention; I + Will answer in mine honour. + MENENIUS. Ay, but mildly. + CORIOLANUS. Well, mildly be it then- mildly. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Rome. The Forum + +Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects + Tyrannical power. If he evade us there, + Enforce him with his envy to the people, + And that the spoil got on the Antiates + Was ne'er distributed. + + Enter an AEDILE + + What, will he come? + AEDILE. He's coming. + BRUTUS. How accompanied? + AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators + That always favour'd him. + SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue + Of all the voices that we have procur'd, + Set down by th' poll? + AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready. + SICINIUS. Have you corrected them by tribes? + AEDILE. I have. + SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither; + And when they hear me say 'It shall be so + I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either + For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them, + If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!' + Insisting on the old prerogative + And power i' th' truth o' th' cause. + AEDILE. I shall inform them. + BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry, + Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd + Enforce the present execution + Of what we chance to sentence. + AEDILE. Very well. + SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, + When we shall hap to give't them. + BRUTUS. Go about it. Exit AEDILE + Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd + Ever to conquer, and to have his worth + Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot + Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks + What's in his heart, and that is there which looks + With us to break his neck. + + Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others + + SICINIUS. Well, here he comes. + MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you. + CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece + Will bear the knave by th' volume. Th' honour'd gods + Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice + Supplied with worthy men! plant love among's! + Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, + And not our streets with war! + FIRST SENATOR. Amen, amen! + MENENIUS. A noble wish. + + Re-enter the.AEDILE,with the plebeians + + SICINIUS. Draw near, ye people. + AEDILE. List to your tribunes. Audience! peace, I say! + CORIOLANUS. First, hear me speak. + BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, say. Peace, ho! + CORIOLANUS. Shall I be charg'd no further than this present? + Must all determine here? + SICINIUS. I do demand, + If you submit you to the people's voices, + Allow their officers, and are content + To suffer lawful censure for such faults + As shall be prov'd upon you. + CORIOLANUS. I am content. + MENENIUS. Lo, citizens, he says he is content. + The warlike service he has done, consider; think + Upon the wounds his body bears, which show + Like graves i' th' holy churchyard. + CORIOLANUS. Scratches with briers, + Scars to move laughter only. + MENENIUS. Consider further, + That when he speaks not like a citizen, + You find him like a soldier; do not take + His rougher accents for malicious sounds, + But, as I say, such as become a soldier + Rather than envy you. + COMINIUS. Well, well! No more. + CORIOLANUS. What is the matter, + That being pass'd for consul with full voice, + I am so dishonour'd that the very hour + You take it off again? + SICINIUS. Answer to us. + CORIOLANUS. Say then; 'tis true, I ought so. + SICINIUS. We charge you that you have contriv'd to take + From Rome all season'd office, and to wind + Yourself into a power tyrannical; + For which you are a traitor to the people. + CORIOLANUS. How- traitor? + MENENIUS. Nay, temperately! Your promise. + CORIOLANUS. The fires i' th' lowest hell fold in the people! + Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! + Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, + In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in + Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say + 'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free + As I do pray the gods. + SICINIUS. Mark you this, people? + PLEBEIANS. To th' rock, to th' rock, with him! + SICINIUS. Peace! + We need not put new matter to his charge. + What you have seen him do and heard him speak, + Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, + Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying + Those whose great power must try him- even this, + So criminal and in such capital kind, + Deserves th' extremest death. + BRUTUS. But since he hath + Serv'd well for Rome- + CORIOLANUS. What do you prate of service? + BRUTUS. I talk of that that know it. + CORIOLANUS. You! + MENENIUS. Is this the promise that you made your mother? + COMINIUS. Know, I pray you- + CORIOLANUS. I'll know no further. + Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, + Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger + But with a grain a day, I would not buy + Their mercy at the price of one fair word, + Nor check my courage for what they can give, + To have't with saying 'Good morrow.' + SICINIUS. For that he has- + As much as in him lies- from time to time + Envied against the people, seeking means + To pluck away their power; as now at last + Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence + Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers + That do distribute it- in the name o' th' people, + And in the power of us the tribunes, we, + Ev'n from this instant, banish him our city, + In peril of precipitation + From off the rock Tarpeian, never more + To enter our Rome gates. I' th' people's name, + I say it shall be so. + PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away! + He's banish'd, and it shall be so. + COMINIUS. Hear me, my masters and my common friends- + SICINIUS. He's sentenc'd; no more hearing. + COMINIUS. Let me speak. + I have been consul, and can show for Rome + Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love + My country's good with a respect more tender, + More holy and profound, than mine own life, + My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase + And treasure of my loins. Then if I would + Speak that- + SICINIUS. We know your drift. Speak what? + BRUTUS. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, + As enemy to the people and his country. + It shall be so. + PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so. + CORIOLANUS. YOU common cry of curs, whose breath I hate + As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose loves I prize + As the dead carcasses of unburied men + That do corrupt my air- I banish you. + And here remain with your uncertainty! + Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts; + Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, + Fan you into despair! Have the power still + To banish your defenders, till at length + Your ignorance- which finds not till it feels, + Making but reservation of yourselves + Still your own foes- deliver you + As most abated captives to some nation + That won you without blows! Despising + For you the city, thus I turn my back; + There is a world elsewhere. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS, + COMINIUS, MENENIUS, with the other PATRICIANS + AEDILE. The people's enemy is gone, is gone! + [They all shout and throw up their caps] + PLEBEIANS. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone! Hoo-oo! + SICINIUS. Go see him out at gates, and follow him, + As he hath follow'd you, with all despite; + Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard + Attend us through the city. + PLEBEIANS. Come, come, let's see him out at gates; come! + The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. Before a gate of the city + +Enter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, with the +young NOBILITY of Rome + + CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast + With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, + Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd + To say extremities was the trier of spirits; + That common chances common men could bear; + That when the sea was calm all boats alike + Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, + When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves + A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me + With precepts that would make invincible + The heart that conn'd them. + VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens! + CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, woman- + VOLUMNIA. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, + And occupations perish! + CORIOLANUS. What, what, what! + I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, + Resume that spirit when you were wont to say, + If you had been the wife of Hercules, + Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd + Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, + Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother. + I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, + Thy tears are salter than a younger man's + And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General, + I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld + Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women + 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, + As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well + My hazards still have been your solace; and + Believe't not lightly- though I go alone, + Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen + Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son + Will or exceed the common or be caught + With cautelous baits and practice. + VOLUMNIA. My first son, + Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius + With thee awhile; determine on some course + More than a wild exposture to each chance + That starts i' th' way before thee. + VIRGILIA. O the gods! + COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with the + Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us, + And we of thee; so, if the time thrust forth + A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send + O'er the vast world to seek a single man, + And lose advantage, which doth ever cool + I' th' absence of the needer. + CORIOLANUS. Fare ye well; + Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full + Of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one + That's yet unbruis'd; bring me but out at gate. + Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and + My friends of noble touch; when I am forth, + Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come. + While I remain above the ground you shall + Hear from me still, and never of me aught + But what is like me formerly. + MENENIUS. That's worthily + As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. + If I could shake off but one seven years + From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, + I'd with thee every foot. + CORIOLANUS. Give me thy hand. + Come. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Rome. A street near the gate + +Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS with the AEDILE + + SICINIUS. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. + The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided + In his behalf. + BRUTUS. Now we have shown our power, + Let us seem humbler after it is done + Than when it was a-doing. + SICINIUS. Bid them home. + Say their great enemy is gone, and they + Stand in their ancient strength. + BRUTUS. Dismiss them home. Exit AEDILE + Here comes his mother. + + Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS + + SICINIUS. Let's not meet her. + BRUTUS. Why? + SICINIUS. They say she's mad. + BRUTUS. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your way. + VOLUMNIA. O, Y'are well met; th' hoarded plague o' th' gods + Requite your love! + MENENIUS. Peace, peace, be not so loud. + VOLUMNIA. If that I could for weeping, you should hear- + Nay, and you shall hear some. [To BRUTUS] Will you be gone? + VIRGILIA. [To SICINIUS] You shall stay too. I would I had the + power + To say so to my husband. + SICINIUS. Are you mankind? + VOLUMNIA. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this, fool: + Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship + To banish him that struck more blows for Rome + Than thou hast spoken words? + SICINIUS. O blessed heavens! + VOLUMNIA. Moe noble blows than ever thou wise words; + And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what- yet go! + Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son + Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, + His good sword in his hand. + SICINIUS. What then? + VIRGILIA. What then! + He'd make an end of thy posterity. + VOLUMNIA. Bastards and all. + Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! + MENENIUS. Come, come, peace. + SICINIUS. I would he had continued to his country + As he began, and not unknit himself + The noble knot he made. + BRUTUS. I would he had. + VOLUMNIA. 'I would he had!' 'Twas you incens'd the rabble- + Cats that can judge as fitly of his worth + As I can of those mysteries which heaven + Will not have earth to know. + BRUTUS. Pray, let's go. + VOLUMNIA. Now, pray, sir, get you gone; + You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this: + As far as doth the Capitol exceed + The meanest house in Rome, so far my son- + This lady's husband here, this, do you see?- + Whom you have banish'd does exceed you an. + BRUTUS. Well, well, we'll leave you. + SICINIUS. Why stay we to be baited + With one that wants her wits? Exeunt TRIBUNES + VOLUMNIA. Take my prayers with you. + I would the gods had nothing else to do + But to confirm my curses. Could I meet 'em + But once a day, it would unclog my heart + Of what lies heavy to't. + MENENIUS. You have told them home, + And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? + VOLUMNIA. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, + And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go. + Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, + In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. + Exeunt VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA + MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie! Exit + +SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium + +Enter a ROMAN and a VOLSCE, meeting + + ROMAN. I know you well, sir, and you know me; your name, I think, + is Adrian. + VOLSCE. It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you. + ROMAN. I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em. + Know you me yet? + VOLSCE. Nicanor? No! + ROMAN. The same, sir. + VOLSCE. YOU had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is + well appear'd by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a + note from the Volscian state, to find you out there. You have + well saved me a day's journey. + ROMAN. There hath been in Rome strange insurrections: the people + against the senators, patricians, and nobles. + VOLSCE. Hath been! Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so; they + are in a most warlike preparation, and hope to come upon them in + the heat of their division. + ROMAN. The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make + it flame again; for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment + of that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a ripe aptness to take + all power from the people, and to pluck from them their tribunes + for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature + for the violent breaking out. + VOLSCE. Coriolanus banish'd! + ROMAN. Banish'd, sir. + VOLSCE. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. + ROMAN. The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said the + fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fall'n out + with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in + these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no + request of his country. + VOLSCE. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to + encounter you; you have ended my business, and I will merrily + accompany you home. + ROMAN. I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things + from Rome, all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you + an army ready, say you? + VOLSCE. A most royal one: the centurions and their charges, + distinctly billeted, already in th' entertainment, and to be on + foot at an hour's warning. + ROMAN. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I + think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily + well met, and most glad of your company. + VOLSCE. You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be + glad of yours. + ROMAN. Well, let us go together. + +SCENE IV. Antium. Before AUFIDIUS' house + +Enter CORIOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguis'd and muffled + + CORIOLANUS. A goodly city is this Antium. City, + 'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir + Of these fair edifices fore my wars + Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not. + Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones, + In puny battle slay me. + + Enter A CITIZEN + + Save you, sir. + CITIZEN. And you. + CORIOLANUS. Direct me, if it be your will, + Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium? + CITIZEN. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state + At his house this night. + CORIOLANUS. Which is his house, beseech you? + CITIZEN. This here before you. + CORIOLANUS. Thank you, sir; farewell. Exit CITIZEN + O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, + Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart, + Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise + Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love, + Unseparable, shall within this hour, + On a dissension of a doit, break out + To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes, + Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep + To take the one the other, by some chance, + Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends + And interjoin their issues. So with me: + My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon + This enemy town. I'll enter. If he slay me, + He does fair justice: if he give me way, + I'll do his country service. + +SCENE V. Antium. AUFIDIUS' house + +Music plays. Enter A SERVINGMAN + + FIRST SERVANT. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our + fellows are asleep. Exit + + Enter another SERVINGMAN + + SECOND SERVANT.Where's Cotus? My master calls for him. + Cotus! Exit + + Enter CORIOLANUS + + CORIOLANUS. A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I + Appear not like a guest. + + Re-enter the first SERVINGMAN + + FIRST SERVANT. What would you have, friend? + Whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray go to the door. + Exit + CORIOLANUS. I have deserv'd no better entertainment + In being Coriolanus. + + Re-enter second SERVINGMAN + + SECOND SERVANT. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his + head that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray get you out. + CORIOLANUS. Away! + SECOND SERVANT. Away? Get you away. + CORIOLANUS. Now th' art troublesome. + SECOND SERVANT. Are you so brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon. + + Enter a third SERVINGMAN. The first meets him + + THIRD SERVANT. What fellow's this? + FIRST SERVANT. A strange one as ever I look'd on. I cannot get him + out o' th' house. Prithee call my master to him. + THIRD SERVANT. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you avoid the + house. + CORIOLANUS. Let me but stand- I will not hurt your hearth. + THIRD SERVANT. What are you? + CORIOLANUS. A gentleman. + THIRD SERVANT. A marv'llous poor one. + CORIOLANUS. True, so I am. + THIRD SERVANT. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other + station; here's no place for you. Pray you avoid. Come. + CORIOLANUS. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits. + [Pushes him away from him] + THIRD SERVANT. What, you will not? Prithee tell my master what a + strange guest he has here. + SECOND SERVANT. And I shall. Exit + THIRD SERVANT. Where dwell'st thou? + CORIOLANUS. Under the canopy. + THIRD SERVANT. Under the canopy? + CORIOLANUS. Ay. + THIRD SERVANT. Where's that? + CORIOLANUS. I' th' city of kites and crows. + THIRD SERVANT. I' th' city of kites and crows! + What an ass it is! Then thou dwell'st with daws too? + CORIOLANUS. No, I serve not thy master. + THIRD SERVANT. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master? + CORIOLANUS. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy + mistress. Thou prat'st and prat'st; serve with thy trencher; + hence! [Beats him away] + + Enter AUFIDIUS with the second SERVINGMAN + + AUFIDIUS. Where is this fellow? + SECOND SERVANT. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for + disturbing the lords within. + AUFIDIUS. Whence com'st thou? What wouldst thou? Thy name? + Why speak'st not? Speak, man. What's thy name? + CORIOLANUS. [Unmuffling] If, Tullus, + Not yet thou know'st me, and, seeing me, dost not + Think me for the man I am, necessity + Commands me name myself. + AUFIDIUS. What is thy name? + CORIOLANUS. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, + And harsh in sound to thine. + AUFIDIUS. Say, what's thy name? + Thou has a grim appearance, and thy face + Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn, + Thou show'st a noble vessel. What's thy name? + CORIOLANUS. Prepare thy brow to frown- know'st thou me yet? + AUFIDIUS. I know thee not. Thy name? + CORIOLANUS. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done + To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, + Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may + My surname, Coriolanus. The painful service, + The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood + Shed for my thankless country, are requited + But with that surname- a good memory + And witness of the malice and displeasure + Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name remains; + The cruelty and envy of the people, + Permitted by our dastard nobles, who + Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest, + An suffer'd me by th' voice of slaves to be + Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity + Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope, + Mistake me not, to save my life; for if + I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world + I would have 'voided thee; but in mere spite, + To be full quit of those my banishers, + Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast + A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge + Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims + Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight + And make my misery serve thy turn. So use it + That my revengeful services may prove + As benefits to thee; for I will fight + Against my cank'red country with the spleen + Of all the under fiends. But if so be + Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes + Th'art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am + Longer to live most weary, and present + My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; + Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, + Since I have ever followed thee with hate, + Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, + And cannot live but to thy shame, unless + It be to do thee service. + AUFIDIUS. O Marcius, Marcius! + Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart + A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter + Should from yond cloud speak divine things, + And say ''Tis true,' I'd not believe them more + Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine + Mine arms about that body, where against + My grained ash an hundred times hath broke + And scarr'd the moon with splinters; here I clip + The anvil of my sword, and do contest + As hotly and as nobly with thy love + As ever in ambitious strength I did + Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, + I lov'd the maid I married; never man + Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, + Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart + Than when I first my wedded mistress saw + Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell the + We have a power on foot, and I had purpose + Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, + Or lose mine arm for't. Thou hast beat me out + Twelve several times, and I have nightly since + Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me- + We have been down together in my sleep, + Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat- + And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, + Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that + Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all + From twelve to seventy, and, pouring war + Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, + Like a bold flood o'erbeat. O, come, go in, + And take our friendly senators by th' hands, + Who now are here, taking their leaves of me + Who am prepar'd against your territories, + Though not for Rome itself. + CORIOLANUS. You bless me, gods! + AUFIDIUS. Therefore, most. absolute sir, if thou wilt have + The leading of thine own revenges, take + Th' one half of my commission, and set down- + As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st + Thy country's strength and weakness- thine own ways, + Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, + Or rudely visit them in parts remote + To fright them ere destroy. But come in; + Let me commend thee first to those that shall + Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! + And more a friend than e'er an enemy; + Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome! + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS + + The two SERVINGMEN come forward + + FIRST SERVANT. Here's a strange alteration! + SECOND SERVANT. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with + a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report + of him. + FIRST SERVANT. What an arm he has! He turn'd me about with his + finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top. + SECOND SERVANT. Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in + him; he had, sir, a kind of face, methought- I cannot tell how to + term it. + FIRST SERVANT. He had so, looking as it were- Would I were hang'd, + but I thought there was more in him than I could think. + SECOND SERVANT. So did I, I'll be sworn. He is simply the rarest + man i' th' world. + FIRST SERVANT. I think he is; but a greater soldier than he you wot + on. + SECOND SERVANT. Who, my master? + FIRST SERVANT. Nay, it's no matter for that. + SECOND SERVANT. Worth six on him. + FIRST SERVANT. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the + greater soldier. + SECOND SERVANT. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that; + for the defence of a town our general is excellent. + FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and for an assault too. + + Re-enter the third SERVINGMAN + + THIRD SERVANT. O slaves, I can tell you news- news, you rascals! + BOTH. What, what, what? Let's partake. + THIRD SERVANT. I would not be a Roman, of all nations; + I had as lief be a condemn'd man. + BOTH. Wherefore? wherefore? + THIRD SERVANT. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general- + Caius Marcius. + FIRST SERVANT. Why do you say 'thwack our general'? + THIRD SERVANT. I do not say 'thwack our general,' but he was always + good enough for him. + SECOND SERVANT. Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too + hard for him, I have heard him say so himself. + FIRST SERVANT. He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth + on't; before Corioli he scotch'd him and notch'd him like a + carbonado. + SECOND SERVANT. An he had been cannibally given, he might have + broil'd and eaten him too. + FIRST SERVANT. But more of thy news! + THIRD SERVANT. Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son + and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' th' table; no question + asked him by any of the senators but they stand bald before him. + Our general himself makes a mistress of him, sanctifies himself + with's hand, and turns up the white o' th' eye to his discourse. + But the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i' th' middle + and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the other has half + by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, + and sowl the porter of Rome gates by th' ears; he will mow all + down before him, and leave his passage poll'd. + SECOND SERVANT. And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine. + THIRD SERVANT. Do't! He will do't; for look you, sir, he has as + many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst + not- look you, sir- show themselves, as we term it, his friends, + whilst he's in directitude. + FIRST SERVANT. Directitude? What's that? + THIRD SERVANT. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again and + the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies + after rain, and revel an with him. + FIRST SERVANT. But when goes this forward? + THIRD SERVANT. To-morrow, to-day, presently. You shall have the + drum struck up this afternoon; 'tis as it were parcel of their + feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. + SECOND SERVANT. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. + This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and + breed ballad-makers. + FIRST SERVANT. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as + day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. + Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mull'd, deaf, sleepy, + insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a + destroyer of men. + SECOND SERVANT. 'Tis so; and as war in some sort may be said to be + a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of + cuckolds. + FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. + THIRD SERVANT. Reason: because they then less need one another. The + wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. + They are rising, they are rising. + BOTH. In, in, in, in! Exeunt + +SCENE VI. Rome. A public place + +Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS + + SICINIUS. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him. + His remedies are tame. The present peace + And quietness of the people, which before + Were in wild hurry, here do make his friends + Blush that the world goes well; who rather had, + Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold + Dissentious numbers pest'ring streets than see + Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going + About their functions friendly. + + Enter MENENIUS + + BRUTUS. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? + SICINIUS. 'Tis he, 'tis he. O, he is grown most kind + Of late. Hail, sir! + MENENIUS. Hail to you both! + SICINIUS. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd + But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand, + And so would do, were he more angry at it. + MENENIUS. All's well, and might have been much better + He could have temporiz'd. + SICINIUS. Where is he, hear you? + MENENIUS. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife + Hear nothing from him. + + Enter three or four citizens + + CITIZENS. The gods preserve you both! + SICINIUS. God-den, our neighbours. + BRUTUS. God-den to you all, god-den to you an. + FIRST CITIZEN. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees + Are bound to pray for you both. + SICINIUS. Live and thrive! + BRUTUS. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd Coriolanus + Had lov'd you as we did. + CITIZENS. Now the gods keep you! + BOTH TRIBUNES. Farewell, farewell. Exeunt citizens + SICINIUS. This is a happier and more comely time + Than when these fellows ran about the streets + Crying confusion. + BRUTUS. Caius Marcius was + A worthy officer i' the war, but insolent, + O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, + Self-loving- + SICINIUS. And affecting one sole throne, + Without assistance. + MENENIUS. I think not so. + SICINIUS. We should by this, to all our lamentation, + If he had gone forth consul, found it so. + BRUTUS. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome + Sits safe and still without him. + + Enter an AEDILE + + AEDILE. Worthy tribunes, + There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, + Reports the Volsces with several powers + Are ent'red in the Roman territories, + And with the deepest malice of the war + Destroy what lies before 'em. + MENENIUS. 'Tis Aufidius, + Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, + Thrusts forth his horns again into the world, + Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, + And durst not once peep out. + SICINIUS. Come, what talk you of Marcius? + BRUTUS. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be + The Volsces dare break with us. + MENENIUS. Cannot be! + We have record that very well it can; + And three examples of the like hath been + Within my age. But reason with the fellow + Before you punish him, where he heard this, + Lest you shall chance to whip your information + And beat the messenger who bids beware + Of what is to be dreaded. + SICINIUS. Tell not me. + I know this cannot be. + BRUTUS. Not Possible. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. The nobles in great earnestness are going + All to the Senate House; some news is come + That turns their countenances. + SICINIUS. 'Tis this slave- + Go whip him fore the people's eyes- his raising, + Nothing but his report. + MESSENGER. Yes, worthy sir, + The slave's report is seconded, and more, + More fearful, is deliver'd. + SICINIUS. What more fearful? + MESSENGER. It is spoke freely out of many mouths- + How probable I do not know- that Marcius, + Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, + And vows revenge as spacious as between + The young'st and oldest thing. + SICINIUS. This is most likely! + BRUTUS. Rais'd only that the weaker sort may wish + Good Marcius home again. + SICINIUS. The very trick on 't. + MENENIUS. This is unlikely. + He and Aufidius can no more atone + Than violent'st contrariety. + + Enter a second MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Senate. + A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius + Associated with Aufidius, rages + Upon our territories, and have already + O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire and took + What lay before them. + + Enter COMINIUS + + COMINIUS. O, you have made good work! + MENENIUS. What news? what news? + COMINIUS. You have holp to ravish your own daughters and + To melt the city leads upon your pates, + To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses- + MENENIUS. What's the news? What's the news? + COMINIUS. Your temples burned in their cement, and + Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd + Into an auger's bore. + MENENIUS. Pray now, your news? + You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news. + If Marcius should be join'd wi' th' Volscians- + COMINIUS. If! + He is their god; he leads them like a thing + Made by some other deity than Nature, + That shapes man better; and they follow him + Against us brats with no less confidence + Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, + Or butchers killing flies. + MENENIUS. You have made good work, + You and your apron men; you that stood so much + Upon the voice of occupation and + The breath of garlic-eaters! + COMINIUS. He'll shake + Your Rome about your ears. + MENENIUS. As Hercules + Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work! + BRUTUS. But is this true, sir? + COMINIUS. Ay; and you'll look pale + Before you find it other. All the regions + Do smilingly revolt, and who resists + Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, + And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? + Your enemies and his find something in him. + MENENIUS. We are all undone unless + The noble man have mercy. + COMINIUS. Who shall ask it? + The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people + Deserve such pity of him as the wolf + Does of the shepherds; for his best friends, if they + Should say 'Be good to Rome'- they charg'd him even + As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, + And therein show'd fike enemies. + MENENIUS. 'Tis true; + If he were putting to my house the brand + That should consume it, I have not the face + To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands, + You and your crafts! You have crafted fair! + COMINIUS. You have brought + A trembling upon Rome, such as was never + S' incapable of help. + BOTH TRIBUNES. Say not we brought it. + MENENIUS. How! Was't we? We lov'd him, but, like beasts + And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, + Who did hoot him out o' th' city. + COMINIUS. But I fear + They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, + The second name of men, obeys his points + As if he were his officer. Desperation + Is all the policy, strength, and defence, + That Rome can make against them. + + Enter a troop of citizens + + MENENIUS. Here comes the clusters. + And is Aufidius with him? You are they + That made the air unwholesome when you cast + Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at + Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming, + And not a hair upon a soldier's head + Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs + As you threw caps up will he tumble down, + And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; + If he could burn us all into one coal + We have deserv'd it. + PLEBEIANS. Faith, we hear fearful news. + FIRST CITIZEN. For mine own part, + When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity. + SECOND CITIZEN. And so did I. + THIRD CITIZEN. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very + many of us. That we did, we did for the best; and though we + willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our + will. + COMINIUS. Y'are goodly things, you voices! + MENENIUS. You have made + Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol? + COMINIUS. O, ay, what else? + Exeunt COMINIUS and MENENIUS + SICINIUS. Go, masters, get you be not dismay'd; + These are a side that would be glad to have + This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, + And show no sign of fear. + FIRST CITIZEN. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I + ever said we were i' th' wrong when we banish'd him. + SECOND CITIZEN. So did we all. But come, let's home. + Exeunt citizens + BRUTUS. I do not like this news. + SICINIUS. Nor I. + BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth + Would buy this for a lie! + SICINIUS. Pray let's go. Exeunt + +SCENE VII. A camp at a short distance from Rome + +Enter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT + + AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman? + LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but + Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat, + Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; + And you are dark'ned in this action, sir, + Even by your own. + AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now, + Unless by using means I lame the foot + Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, + Even to my person, than I thought he would + When first I did embrace him; yet his nature + In that's no changeling, and I must excuse + What cannot be amended. + LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sir- + I mean, for your particular- you had not + Join'd in commission with him, but either + Had borne the action of yourself, or else + To him had left it solely. + AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and be thou sure, + When he shall come to his account, he knows not + What I can urge against him. Although it seems, + And so he thinks, and is no less apparent + To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly + And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, + Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon + As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone + That which shall break his neck or hazard mine + Whene'er we come to our account. + LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? + AUFIDIUS. All places yield to him ere he sits down, + And the nobility of Rome are his; + The senators and patricians love him too. + The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people + Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty + To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome + As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it + By sovereignty of nature. First he was + A noble servant to them, but he could not + Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride, + Which out of daily fortune ever taints + The happy man; whether defect of judgment, + To fail in the disposing of those chances + Which he was lord of; or whether nature, + Not to be other than one thing, not moving + From th' casque to th' cushion, but commanding peace + Even with the same austerity and garb + As he controll'd the war; but one of these- + As he hath spices of them all- not all, + For I dare so far free him- made him fear'd, + So hated, and so banish'd. But he has a merit + To choke it in the utt'rance. So our virtues + Lie in th' interpretation of the time; + And power, unto itself most commendable, + Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair + T' extol what it hath done. + One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; + Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail. + Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, + Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. + Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. Rome. A public place + +Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes, with +others + + MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said + Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him + In a most dear particular. He call'd me father; + But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him: + A mile before his tent fall down, and knee + The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd + To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. + COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me. + MENENIUS. Do you hear? + COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name. + I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops + That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus' + He would not answer to; forbid all names; + He was a kind of nothing, titleless, + Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire + Of burning Rome. + MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work. + A pair of tribunes that have wrack'd for Rome + To make coals cheap- a noble memory! + COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon + When it was less expected; he replied, + It was a bare petition of a state + To one whom they had punish'd. + MENENIUS. Very well. + Could he say less? + COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard + For's private friends; his answer to me was, + He could not stay to pick them in a pile + Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly, + For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt + And still to nose th' offence. + MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two! + I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child, + And this brave fellow too- we are the grains: + You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt + Above the moon. We must be burnt for you. + SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid + In this so never-needed help, yet do not + Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you + Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, + More than the instant army we can make, + Might stop our countryman. + MENENIUS. No; I'll not meddle. + SICINIUS. Pray you go to him. + MENENIUS. What should I do? + BRUTUS. Only make trial what your love can do + For Rome, towards Marcius. + MENENIUS. Well, and say that Marcius + Return me, as Cominius is return'd, + Unheard- what then? + But as a discontented friend, grief-shot + With his unkindness? Say't be so? + SICINIUS. Yet your good will + Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure + As you intended well. + MENENIUS. I'll undertake't; + I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip + And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me. + He was not taken well: he had not din'd; + The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then + We pout upon the morning, are unapt + To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd + These pipes and these conveyances of our blood + With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls + Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I'll watch him + Till he be dieted to my request, + And then I'll set upon him. + BRUTUS. You know the very road into his kindness + And cannot lose your way. + MENENIUS. Good faith, I'll prove him, + Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge + Of my success. Exit + COMINIUS. He'll never hear him. + SICINIUS. Not? + COMINIUS. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye + Red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury + The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; + 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise'; dismiss'd me + Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do, + He sent in writing after me; what he would not, + Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions; + So that all hope is vain, + Unless his noble mother and his wife, + Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him + For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence, + And with our fair entreaties haste them on. Exeunt + +SCENE II. The Volscian camp before Rome + +Enter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard + + FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you? + SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back. + MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave, + I am an officer of state and come + To speak with Coriolanus. + FIRST WATCH. From whence? + MENENIUS. From Rome. + FIRST WATCH. YOU may not pass; you must return. Our general + Will no more hear from thence. + SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before + You'll speak with Coriolanus. + MENENIUS. Good my friends, + If you have heard your general talk of Rome + And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks + My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius. + FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name + Is not here passable. + MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow, + Thy general is my lover. I have been + The book of his good acts whence men have read + His fame unparallel'd haply amplified; + For I have ever verified my friends- + Of whom he's chief- with all the size that verity + Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes, + Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, + I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise + Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow, + I must have leave to pass. + FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf + as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; + no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. + Therefore go back. + MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always + factionary on the party of your general. + SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you + have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you cannot + pass. Therefore go back. + MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak with + him till after dinner. + FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you? + MENENIUS. I am as thy general is. + FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when + you have push'd out your gates the very defender of them, and in + a violent popular ignorance given your enemy your shield, think + to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the + virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied + intercession of such a decay'd dotant as you seem to be? Can you + think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame + in with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceiv'd; therefore + back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You are condemn'd; + our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. + MENENIUS. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me + with estimation. + FIRST WATCH. Come, my captain knows you not. + MENENIUS. I mean thy general. + FIRST WATCH. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; go, lest I + let forth your half pint of blood. Back- that's the utmost of + your having. Back. + MENENIUS. Nay, but fellow, fellow- + + Enter CORIOLANUS with AUFIDIUS + + CORIOLANUS. What's the matter? + MENENIUS. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall + know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack + guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my + entertainment with him if thou stand'st not i' th' state of + hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship and crueller + in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come + upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy + particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father + Menenius does! O my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us; + look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come + to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I + have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure thee to + pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage + thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this, + who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. + CORIOLANUS. Away! + MENENIUS. How! away! + CORIOLANUS. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs + Are servanted to others. Though I owe + My revenge properly, my remission lies + In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, + Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather + Than pity note how much. Therefore be gone. + Mine ears against your suits are stronger than + Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, + Take this along; I writ it for thy sake [Gives a letter] + And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, + I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, + Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st. + AUFIDIUS. You keep a constant temper. + Exeunt CORIOLANUS and Aufidius + FIRST WATCH. Now, sir, is your name Menenius? + SECOND WATCH. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power! You know the + way home again. + FIRST WATCH. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your + greatness back? + SECOND WATCH. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? + MENENIUS. I neither care for th' world nor your general; for such + things as you, I can scarce think there's any, y'are so slight. + He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another. + Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; + and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was + said to: Away! Exit + FIRST WATCH. A noble fellow, I warrant him. + SECOND WATCH. The worthy fellow is our general; he's the rock, the + oak not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt + +SCENE III. The tent of CORIOLANUS + +Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others + + CORIOLANUS. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow + Set down our host. My partner in this action, + You must report to th' Volscian lords how plainly + I have borne this business. + AUFIDIUS. Only their ends + You have respected; stopp'd your ears against + The general suit of Rome; never admitted + A private whisper- no, not with such friends + That thought them sure of you. + CORIOLANUS. This last old man, + Whom with crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, + Lov'd me above the measure of a father; + Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge + Was to send him; for whose old love I have- + Though I show'd sourly to him- once more offer'd + The first conditions, which they did refuse + And cannot now accept. To grace him only, + That thought he could do more, a very little + I have yielded to; fresh embassies and suits, + Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter + Will I lend ear to. [Shout within] Ha! what shout is this? + Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow + In the same time 'tis made? I will not. + + Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA, + YOUNG MARCIUS, with attendants + + My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould + Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand + The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection! + All bond and privilege of nature, break! + Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. + What is that curtsy worth? or those doves' eyes, + Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not + Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows, + As if Olympus to a molehill should + In supplication nod; and my young boy + Hath an aspect of intercession which + Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the Volsces + Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I'll never + Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand + As if a man were author of himself + And knew no other kin. + VIRGILIA. My lord and husband! + CORIOLANUS. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. + VIRGILIA. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd + Makes you think so. + CORIOLANUS. Like a dull actor now + I have forgot my part and I am out, + Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, + Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, + For that, 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss + Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! + Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss + I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip + Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, + And the most noble mother of the world + Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' th' earth; [Kneels] + Of thy deep duty more impression show + Than that of common sons. + VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest! + Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint + I kneel before thee, and unproperly + Show duty, as mistaken all this while + Between the child and parent. [Kneels] + CORIOLANUS. What's this? + Your knees to me, to your corrected son? + Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach + Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds + Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun, + Murd'ring impossibility, to make + What cannot be slight work. + VOLUMNIA. Thou art my warrior; + I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? + CORIOLANUS. The noble sister of Publicola, + The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle + That's curdied by the frost from purest snow, + And hangs on Dian's temple- dear Valeria! + VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours, + Which by th' interpretation of full time + May show like all yourself. + CORIOLANUS. The god of soldiers, + With the consent of supreme Jove, inform + Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove + To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars + Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, + And saving those that eye thee! + VOLUMNIA. Your knee, sirrah. + CORIOLANUS. That's my brave boy. + VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, + Are suitors to you. + CORIOLANUS. I beseech you, peace! + Or, if you'd ask, remember this before: + The thing I have forsworn to grant may never + Be held by you denials. Do not bid me + Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate + Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not + Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not + T'allay my rages and revenges with + Your colder reasons. + VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more! + You have said you will not grant us any thing- + For we have nothing else to ask but that + Which you deny already; yet we will ask, + That, if you fail in our request, the blame + May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us. + CORIOLANUS. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll + Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request? + VOLUMNIA. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment + And state of bodies would bewray what life + We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself + How more unfortunate than all living women + Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should + Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, + Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow, + Making the mother, wife, and child, to see + The son, the husband, and the father, tearing + His country's bowels out. And to poor we + Thine enmity's most capital: thou bar'st us + Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort + That all but we enjoy. For how can we, + Alas, how can we for our country pray, + Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, + Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose + The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, + Our comfort in the country. We must find + An evident calamity, though we had + Our wish, which side should win; for either thou + Must as a foreign recreant be led + With manacles through our streets, or else + Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, + And bear the palm for having bravely shed + Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, + I purpose not to wait on fortune till + These wars determine; if I can not persuade thee + Rather to show a noble grace to both parts + Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner + March to assault thy country than to tread- + Trust to't, thou shalt not- on thy mother's womb + That brought thee to this world. + VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine, + That brought you forth this boy to keep your name + Living to time. + BOY. 'A shall not tread on me! + I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. + CORIOLANUS. Not of a woman's tenderness to be + Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. + I have sat too long. [Rising] + VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus. + If it were so that our request did tend + To save the Romans, thereby to destroy + The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us + As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit + Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces + May say 'This mercy we have show'd,' the Romans + 'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side + Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest + For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son, + The end of war's uncertain; but this certain, + That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit + Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name + Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; + Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, + But with his last attempt he wip'd it out, + Destroy'd his country, and his name remains + To th' ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son. + Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, + To imitate the graces of the gods, + To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air, + And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt + That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? + Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man + Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: + He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy; + Perhaps thy childishness will move him more + Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world + More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate + Like one i' th' stocks. Thou hast never in thy life + Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, + When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, + Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home + Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, + And spurn me back; but if it he not so, + Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee, + That thou restrain'st from me the duty which + To a mother's part belongs. He turns away. + Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. + To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride + Than pity to our prayers. Down. An end; + This is the last. So we will home to Rome, + And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's! + This boy, that cannot tell what he would have + But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, + Does reason our petition with more strength + Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go. + This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; + His wife is in Corioli, and his child + Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch. + I am hush'd until our city be afire, + And then I'll speak a little. + [He holds her by the hand, silent] + CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother! + What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, + The gods look down, and this unnatural scene + They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! + You have won a happy victory to Rome; + But for your son- believe it, O, believe it!- + Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, + If not most mortal to him. But let it come. + Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, + I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, + Were you in my stead, would you have heard + A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius? + AUFIDIUS. I was mov'd withal. + CORIOLANUS. I dare be sworn you were! + And, sir, it is no little thing to make + Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, + What peace you'fl make, advise me. For my part, + I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you + Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife! + AUFIDIUS. [Aside] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy + honour + At difference in thee. Out of that I'll work + Myself a former fortune. + CORIOLANUS. [To the ladies] Ay, by and by; + But we will drink together; and you shall bear + A better witness back than words, which we, + On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. + Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve + To have a temple built you. All the swords + In Italy, and her confederate arms, + Could not have made this peace. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Rome. A public place + +Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS + + MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone? + SICINIUS. Why, what of that? + MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little + finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his + mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't; + our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution. + SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the + condition of a man? + MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet + your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to + dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing. + SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly. + MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now + than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe + grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine and the ground + shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with + his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in + his state as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is + finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but + eternity, and a heaven to throne in. + SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly. + MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother + shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is + milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find. And all this + is 'long of you. + SICINIUS. The gods be good unto us! + MENENIUS. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. + When we banish'd him we respected not them; and, he returning to + break our necks, they respect not us. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house. + The plebeians have got your fellow tribune + And hale him up and down; all swearing if + The Roman ladies bring not comfort home + They'll give him death by inches. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + SICINIUS. What's the news? + SECOND MESSENGER. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd, + The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone. + A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, + No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins. + SICINIUS. Friend, + Art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain? + SECOND MESSENGER. As certain as I know the sun is fire. + Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? + Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide + As the recomforted through th' gates. Why, hark you! + [Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together] + The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, + Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, + Make the sun dance. Hark you! [A shout within] + MENENIUS. This is good news. + I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia + Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, + A city full; of tribunes such as you, + A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: + This morning for ten thousand of your throats + I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! + [Sound still with the shouts] + SICINIUS. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, + Accept my thankfulness. + SECOND MESSENGER. Sir, we have all + Great cause to give great thanks. + SICINIUS. They are near the city? + MESSENGER. Almost at point to enter. + SICINIUS. We'll meet them, + And help the joy. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Rome. A street near the gate + +Enter two SENATORS With VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, passing over the +stage, +'With other LORDS + + FIRST SENATOR. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! + Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, + And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them. + Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, + Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; + ALL. Welcome, ladies, welcome! + [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt] + +SCENE VI. Corioli. A public place + +Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with attendents + + AUFIDIUS. Go tell the lords o' th' city I am here; + Deliver them this paper' having read it, + Bid them repair to th' market-place, where I, + Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, + Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse + The city ports by this hath enter'd and + Intends t' appear before the people, hoping + To purge himself with words. Dispatch. + Exeunt attendants + + Enter three or four CONSPIRATORS of AUFIDIUS' faction + + Most welcome! + FIRST CONSPIRATOR. How is it with our general? + AUFIDIUS. Even so + As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, + And with his charity slain. + SECOND CONSPIRATOR. Most noble sir, + If you do hold the same intent wherein + You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you + Of your great danger. + AUFIDIUS. Sir, I cannot tell; + We must proceed as we do find the people. + THIRD CONSPIRATOR. The people will remain uncertain whilst + 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either + Makes the survivor heir of all. + AUFIDIUS. I know it; + And my pretext to strike at him admits + A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd + Mine honour for his truth; who being so heighten'd, + He watered his new plants with dews of flattery, + Seducing so my friends; and to this end + He bow'd his nature, never known before + But to be rough, unswayable, and free. + THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Sir, his stoutness + When he did stand for consul, which he lost + By lack of stooping- + AUFIDIUS. That I would have spoken of. + Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth, + Presented to my knife his throat. I took him; + Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way + In all his own desires; nay, let him choose + Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, + My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments + In mine own person; holp to reap the fame + Which he did end all his, and took some pride + To do myself this wrong. Till, at the last, + I seem'd his follower, not partner; and + He wag'd me with his countenance as if + I had been mercenary. + FIRST CONSPIRATOR. So he did, my lord. + The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last, + When he had carried Rome and that we look'd + For no less spoil than glory- + AUFIDIUS. There was it; + For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. + At a few drops of women's rheum, which are + As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour + Of our great action; therefore shall he die, + And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! + [Drums and + trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people] + FIRST CONSPIRATOR. Your native town you enter'd like a post, + And had no welcomes home; but he returns + Splitting the air with noise. + SECOND CONSPIRATOR. And patient fools, + Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear + With giving him glory. + THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Therefore, at your vantage, + Ere he express himself or move the people + With what he would say, let him feel your sword, + Which we will second. When he lies along, + After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury + His reasons with his body. + AUFIDIUS. Say no more: + Here come the lords. + + Enter the LORDS of the city + + LORDS. You are most welcome home. + AUFIDIUS. I have not deserv'd it. + But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused + What I have written to you? + LORDS. We have. + FIRST LORD. And grieve to hear't. + What faults he made before the last, I think + Might have found easy fines; but there to end + Where he was to begin, and give away + The benefit of our levies, answering us + With our own charge, making a treaty where + There was a yielding- this admits no excuse. + AUFIDIUS. He approaches; you shall hear him. + + Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; + the commoners being with him + + CORIOLANUS. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; + No more infected with my country's love + Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting + Under your great command. You are to know + That prosperously I have attempted, and + With bloody passage led your wars even to + The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home + Doth more than counterpoise a full third part + The charges of the action. We have made peace + With no less honour to the Antiates + Than shame to th' Romans; and we here deliver, + Subscrib'd by th' consuls and patricians, + Together with the seal o' th' Senate, what + We have compounded on. + AUFIDIUS. Read it not, noble lords; + But tell the traitor in the highest degree + He hath abus'd your powers. + CORIOLANUS. Traitor! How now? + AUFIDIUS. Ay, traitor, Marcius. + CORIOLANUS. Marcius! + AUFIDIUS. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius! Dost thou think + I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name + Coriolanus, in Corioli? + You lords and heads o' th' state, perfidiously + He has betray'd your business and given up, + For certain drops of salt, your city Rome- + I say your city- to his wife and mother; + Breaking his oath and resolution like + A twist of rotten silk; never admitting + Counsel o' th' war; but at his nurse's tears + He whin'd and roar'd away your victory, + That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart + Look'd wond'ring each at others. + CORIOLANUS. Hear'st thou, Mars? + AUFIDIUS. Name not the god, thou boy of tears- + CORIOLANUS. Ha! + AUFIDIUS. -no more. + CORIOLANUS. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart + Too great for what contains it. 'Boy'! O slave! + Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever + I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, + Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion- + Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that + Must bear my beating to his grave- shall join + To thrust the lie unto him. + FIRST LORD. Peace, both, and hear me speak. + CORIOLANUS. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, + Stain all your edges on me. 'Boy'! False hound! + If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there + That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I + Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli. + Alone I did it. 'Boy'! + AUFIDIUS. Why, noble lords, + Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, + Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, + Fore your own eyes and ears? + CONSPIRATORS. Let him die for't. + ALL THE PEOPLE. Tear him to pieces. Do it presently. He kill'd my + son. My daughter. He kill'd my cousin Marcus. He kill'd my + father. + SECOND LORD. Peace, ho! No outrage- peace! + The man is noble, and his fame folds in + This orb o' th' earth. His last offences to us + Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, + And trouble not the peace. + CORIOLANUS. O that I had him, + With six Aufidiuses, or more- his tribe, + To use my lawful sword! + AUFIDIUS. Insolent villain! + CONSPIRATORS. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! + [The CONSPIRATORS draw and kill CORIOLANUS,who falls. + AUFIDIUS stands on him] + LORDS. Hold, hold, hold, hold! + AUFIDIUS. My noble masters, hear me speak. + FIRST LORD. O Tullus! + SECOND LORD. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. + THIRD LORD. Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet; + Put up your swords. + AUFIDIUS. My lords, when you shall know- as in this rage, + Provok'd by him, you cannot- the great danger + Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice + That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours + To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver + Myself your loyal servant, or endure + Your heaviest censure. + FIRST LORD. Bear from hence his body, + And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded + As the most noble corse that ever herald + Did follow to his um. + SECOND LORD. His own impatience + Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. + Let's make the best of it. + AUFIDIUS. My rage is gone, + And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. + Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. + Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully; + Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he + Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, + Which to this hour bewail the injury, + Yet he shall have a noble memory. + Assist. Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS + [A dead march sounded] + + + + + +CYMBELINE + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene II. The same. +Scene III. Britain. A public place. +Scene IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene V. Rome. Philario’s house. +Scene VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene VII. Britain. The palace. + + +ACT II +Scene I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk +in one corner. +Scene III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s +apartments. +Scene IV. Rome. Philario’s house. +Scene V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. +Scene IV. Wales, near Milford Haven. +Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. +Scene VII. The same. +Scene VIII. Rome. A public place. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius. +Scene II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. +Scene III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + +ACT V +Scene I. Britain. The Roman camp. +Scene II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman +camps. +Scene III. Another part of the field. +Scene IV. Britain. A prison. +Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent. + +Dramatis Personæ + +CYMBELINE, King of Britain +CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband +POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen +BELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan +GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names +of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius +PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus +IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario +CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman forces +PISANIO, servant to Posthumus +CORNELIUS, a physician +A SOOTHSAYER +A ROMAN CAPTAIN +TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS +A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario +TWO LORDS of Cymbeline’s court +TWO GENTLEMEN of the same +TWO GAOLERS + +QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline +IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen +HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen + +APPARITIONS + +Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish +Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and +Attendants + +SCENE: Britain; Italy. + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter two Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods +No more obey the heavens than our courtiers +Still seem as does the King’s. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +But what’s the matter? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +His daughter, and the heir of’s kingdom, whom +He purpos’d to his wife’s sole son—a widow +That late he married—hath referr’d herself +Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She’s wedded; +Her husband banish’d; she imprison’d. All +Is outward sorrow, though I think the King +Be touch’d at very heart. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +None but the King? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen, +That most desir’d the match. But not a courtier, +Although they wear their faces to the bent +Of the King’s looks, hath a heart that is not +Glad at the thing they scowl at. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +And why so? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +He that hath miss’d the Princess is a thing +Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her— +I mean that married her, alack, good man! +And therefore banish’d—is a creature such +As, to seek through the regions of the earth +For one his like, there would be something failing +In him that should compare. I do not think +So fair an outward and such stuff within +Endows a man but he. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +You speak him far. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I do extend him, sir, within himself; +Crush him together rather than unfold +His measure duly. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +What’s his name and birth? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I cannot delve him to the root; his father +Was call’d Sicilius, who did join his honour +Against the Romans with Cassibelan, +But had his titles by Tenantius, whom +He serv’d with glory and admir’d success, +So gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus; +And had, besides this gentleman in question, +Two other sons, who, in the wars o’ th’ time, +Died with their swords in hand; for which their father, +Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow +That he quit being; and his gentle lady, +Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas’d +As he was born. The King he takes the babe +To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, +Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, +Puts to him all the learnings that his time +Could make him the receiver of; which he took, +As we do air, fast as ’twas minist’red, +And in’s spring became a harvest, liv’d in court— +Which rare it is to do—most prais’d, most lov’d, +A sample to the youngest; to th’ more mature +A glass that feated them; and to the graver +A child that guided dotards. To his mistress, +For whom he now is banish’d, her own price +Proclaims how she esteem’d him and his virtue; +By her election may be truly read +What kind of man he is. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I honour him +Even out of your report. But pray you tell me, +Is she sole child to th’ King? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +His only child. +He had two sons—if this be worth your hearing, +Mark it—the eldest of them at three years old, +I’ th’ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery +Were stol’n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge +Which way they went. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +How long is this ago? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Some twenty years. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +That a king’s children should be so convey’d, +So slackly guarded, and the search so slow +That could not trace them! + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Howsoe’er ’tis strange, +Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d at, +Yet is it true, sir. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I do well believe you. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, +The Queen, and Princess. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Queen, Posthumus and Imogen. + +QUEEN. +No, be assur’d you shall not find me, daughter, +After the slander of most stepmothers, +Evil-ey’d unto you. You’re my prisoner, but +Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys +That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, +So soon as I can win th’ offended King, +I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet +The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good +You lean’d unto his sentence with what patience +Your wisdom may inform you. + +POSTHUMUS. +Please your Highness, +I will from hence today. + +QUEEN. +You know the peril. +I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying +The pangs of barr’d affections, though the King +Hath charg’d you should not speak together. + + [_Exit._] + +IMOGEN. +O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant +Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, +I something fear my father’s wrath, but nothing +(Always reserv’d my holy duty) what +His rage can do on me. You must be gone; +And I shall here abide the hourly shot +Of angry eyes, not comforted to live +But that there is this jewel in the world +That I may see again. + +POSTHUMUS. +My queen! my mistress! +O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause +To be suspected of more tenderness +Than doth become a man. I will remain +The loyal’st husband that did e’er plight troth; +My residence in Rome at one Philario’s, +Who to my father was a friend, to me +Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, +And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send, +Though ink be made of gall. + + Enter Queen. + +QUEEN. +Be brief, I pray you. +If the King come, I shall incur I know not +How much of his displeasure. [_Aside._] Yet I’ll move him +To walk this way. I never do him wrong +But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; +Pays dear for my offences. + + [_Exit._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Should we be taking leave +As long a term as yet we have to live, +The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! + +IMOGEN. +Nay, stay a little. +Were you but riding forth to air yourself, +Such parting were too petty. Look here, love: +This diamond was my mother’s; take it, heart; +But keep it till you woo another wife, +When Imogen is dead. + +POSTHUMUS. +How, how? Another? +You gentle gods, give me but this I have, +And sear up my embracements from a next +With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here + + [_Puts on the ring._] + +While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest, +As I my poor self did exchange for you, +To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles +I still win of you. For my sake wear this; +It is a manacle of love; I’ll place it +Upon this fairest prisoner. + + [_Puts a bracelet on her arm._] + +IMOGEN. +O the gods! +When shall we see again? + + Enter Cymbeline and Lords. + +POSTHUMUS. +Alack, the King! + +CYMBELINE. +Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight +If after this command thou fraught the court +With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! +Thou’rt poison to my blood. + +POSTHUMUS. +The gods protect you, +And bless the good remainders of the court! +I am gone. + + [_Exit._] + +IMOGEN. +There cannot be a pinch in death +More sharp than this is. + +CYMBELINE. +O disloyal thing, +That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st +A year’s age on me! + +IMOGEN. +I beseech you, sir, +Harm not yourself with your vexation. +I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare +Subdues all pangs, all fears. + +CYMBELINE. +Past grace? obedience? + +IMOGEN. +Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace. + +CYMBELINE. +That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! + +IMOGEN. +O blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle, +And did avoid a puttock. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne +A seat for baseness. + +IMOGEN. +No; I rather added +A lustre to it. + +CYMBELINE. +O thou vile one! + +IMOGEN. +Sir, +It is your fault that I have lov’d Posthumus. +You bred him as my playfellow, and he is +A man worth any woman; overbuys me +Almost the sum he pays. + +CYMBELINE. +What, art thou mad? + +IMOGEN. +Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were +A neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus +Our neighbour shepherd’s son! + + Enter Queen. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou foolish thing! +[_To the Queen._] They were again together. You have done +Not after our command. Away with her, +And pen her up. + +QUEEN. +Beseech your patience. Peace, +Dear lady daughter, peace!—Sweet sovereign, +Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort +Out of your best advice. + +CYMBELINE. +Nay, let her languish +A drop of blood a day and, being aged, +Die of this folly. + + [_Exit with Lords._] + + Enter Pisanio. + +QUEEN. +Fie! you must give way. +Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news? + +PISANIO. +My lord your son drew on my master. + +QUEEN. +Ha! +No harm, I trust, is done? + +PISANIO. +There might have been, +But that my master rather play’d than fought, +And had no help of anger; they were parted +By gentlemen at hand. + +QUEEN. +I am very glad on’t. + +IMOGEN. +Your son’s my father’s friend; he takes his part +To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! +I would they were in Afric both together; +Myself by with a needle, that I might prick +The goer-back. Why came you from your master? + +PISANIO. +On his command. He would not suffer me +To bring him to the haven; left these notes +Of what commands I should be subject to, +When’t pleas’d you to employ me. + +QUEEN. +This hath been +Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour +He will remain so. + +PISANIO. +I humbly thank your Highness. + +QUEEN. +Pray walk awhile. + +IMOGEN. +About some half-hour hence, +Pray you speak with me. +You shall at least go see my lord aboard. +For this time leave me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Britain. A public place. + + Enter Cloten and two Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath +made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; +there’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. + +CLOTEN. +If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him? + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] No, faith; not so much as his patience. + +FIRST LORD. +Hurt him! His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a +throughfare for steel if it be not hurt. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] His steel was in debt; it went o’ th’ backside the town. + +CLOTEN. +The villain would not stand me. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face. + +FIRST LORD. +Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your +having, gave you some ground. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] As many inches as you have oceans. +Puppies! + +CLOTEN. +I would they had not come between us. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] So would I, till you had measur’d how long a fool you were +upon the ground. + +CLOTEN. +And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; +she’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt +her. + +CLOTEN. +Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done! + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which +is no great hurt. + +CLOTEN. +You’ll go with us? + +FIRST LORD. +I’ll attend your lordship. + +CLOTEN. +Nay, come, let’s go together. + +SECOND LORD. +Well, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Imogen and Pisanio. + +IMOGEN. +I would thou grew’st unto the shores o’ th’ haven, +And questioned’st every sail; if he should write, +And I not have it, ’twere a paper lost, +As offer’d mercy is. What was the last +That he spake to thee? + +PISANIO. +It was: his queen, his queen! + +IMOGEN. +Then wav’d his handkerchief? + +PISANIO. +And kiss’d it, madam. + +IMOGEN. +Senseless linen, happier therein than I! +And that was all? + +PISANIO. +No, madam; for so long +As he could make me with his eye, or ear +Distinguish him from others, he did keep +The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, +Still waving, as the fits and stirs of’s mind +Could best express how slow his soul sail’d on, +How swift his ship. + +IMOGEN. +Thou shouldst have made him +As little as a crow, or less, ere left +To after-eye him. + +PISANIO. +Madam, so I did. + +IMOGEN. +I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack’d them but +To look upon him, till the diminution +Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; +Nay, followed him till he had melted from +The smallness of a gnat to air, and then +Have turn’d mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, +When shall we hear from him? + +PISANIO. +Be assur’d, madam, +With his next vantage. + +IMOGEN. +I did not take my leave of him, but had +Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him +How I would think on him at certain hours +Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear +The shes of Italy should not betray +Mine interest and his honour; or have charg’d him, +At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, +T’ encounter me with orisons, for then +I am in heaven for him; or ere I could +Give him that parting kiss which I had set +Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, +And like the tyrannous breathing of the north +Shakes all our buds from growing. + + Enter a Lady. + +LADY. +The Queen, madam, +Desires your Highness’ company. + +IMOGEN. +Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d. +I will attend the Queen. + +PISANIO. +Madam, I shall. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rome. Philario’s house. + + Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Spaniard. + +IACHIMO. +Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a crescent +note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the +name of. But I could then have look’d on him without the help of +admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by +his side, and I to peruse him by items. + +PHILARIO. +You speak of him when he was less furnish’d than now he is with that +which makes him both without and within. + +FRENCHMAN. +I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun +with as firm eyes as he. + +IACHIMO. +This matter of marrying his king’s daughter, wherein he must be weighed +rather by her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal +from the matter. + +FRENCHMAN. +And then his banishment. + +IACHIMO. +Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce +under her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify +her judgement, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a +beggar, without less quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with +you? How creeps acquaintance? + +PHILARIO. +His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often +bound for no less than my life. + + Enter Posthumus. + +Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits +with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his quality. I beseech +you all be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you as a +noble friend of mine. How worthy he is I will leave to appear +hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing. + +FRENCHMAN. +Sir, we have known together in Orleans. + +POSTHUMUS. +Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be +ever to pay and yet pay still. + +FRENCHMAN. +Sir, you o’errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my +countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together +with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so +slight and trivial a nature. + +POSTHUMUS. +By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunn’d to go +even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’ +experiences; but upon my mended judgement (if I offend not to say it is +mended) my quarrel was not altogether slight. + +FRENCHMAN. +Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two +that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other or have +fall’n both. + +IACHIMO. +Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference? + +FRENCHMAN. +Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without +contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that +fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country +mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of +bloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, +constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our +ladies in France. + +IACHIMO. +That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn +out. + +POSTHUMUS. +She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. + +IACHIMO. +You must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy. + +POSTHUMUS. +Being so far provok’d as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, +though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend. + +IACHIMO. +As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been +something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went +before others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I +have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not +seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. + +POSTHUMUS. +I prais’d her as I rated her. So do I my stone. + +IACHIMO. +What do you esteem it at? + +POSTHUMUS. +More than the world enjoys. + +IACHIMO. +Either your unparagon’d mistress is dead, or she’s outpriz’d by a +trifle. + +POSTHUMUS. +You are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth +enough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing +for sale, and only the gift of the gods. + +IACHIMO. +Which the gods have given you? + +POSTHUMUS. +Which by their graces I will keep. + +IACHIMO. +You may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl light upon +neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol’n too. So your brace of +unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a +cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish’d courtier, would hazard the +winning both of first and last. + +POSTHUMUS. +Your Italy contains none so accomplish’d a courtier to convince the +honour of my mistress, if in the holding or loss of that you term her +frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; notwithstanding, I +fear not my ring. + +PHILARIO. +Let us leave here, gentlemen. + +POSTHUMUS. +Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no +stranger of me; we are familiar at first. + +IACHIMO. +With five times so much conversation I should get ground of your fair +mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had I admittance and +opportunity to friend. + +POSTHUMUS. +No, no. + +IACHIMO. +I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in +my opinion, o’ervalues it something. But I make my wager rather against +your confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein +too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world. + +POSTHUMUS. +You are a great deal abus’d in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not +you sustain what y’are worthy of by your attempt. + +IACHIMO. +What’s that? + +POSTHUMUS. +A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more; a +punishment too. + +PHILARIO. +Gentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let it die as it +was born, and I pray you be better acquainted. + +IACHIMO. +Would I had put my estate and my neighbour’s on th’ approbation of what +I have spoke! + +POSTHUMUS. +What lady would you choose to assail? + +IACHIMO. +Yours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten +thousand ducats to your ring that, commend me to the court where your +lady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second +conference, and I will bring from thence that honour of hers which you +imagine so reserv’d. + +POSTHUMUS. +I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as my +finger; ’tis part of it. + +IACHIMO. +You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies’ flesh at a +million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you +have some religion in you, that you fear. + +POSTHUMUS. +This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope. + +IACHIMO. +I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what’s spoken, I +swear. + +POSTHUMUS. +Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be +covenants drawn between’s. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness +of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: here’s my ring. + +PHILARIO. +I will have it no lay. + +IACHIMO. +By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I +have enjoy’d the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand +ducats are yours; so is your diamond too. If I come off, and leave her +in such honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, +and my gold are yours: provided I have your commendation for my more +free entertainment. + +POSTHUMUS. +I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us. Only, thus +far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her, and give me +directly to understand you have prevail’d, I am no further your enemy; +she is not worth our debate; if she remain unseduc’d, you not making it +appear otherwise, for your ill opinion and th’ assault you have made to +her chastity you shall answer me with your sword. + +IACHIMO. +Your hand, a covenant! We will have these things set down by lawful +counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch +cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and have our two wagers recorded. + +POSTHUMUS. +Agreed. + + [_Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo._] + +FRENCHMAN. +Will this hold, think you? + +PHILARIO. +Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow ’em. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Queen, Ladies and Cornelius. + +QUEEN. +Whiles yet the dew’s on ground, gather those flowers; +Make haste; who has the note of them? + +LADY. +I, madam. + +QUEEN. +Dispatch. + + [_Exeunt Ladies._] + +Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs? + +CORNELIUS. +Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam. + + [_Presenting a box._] + +But I beseech your Grace, without offence, +(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have +Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds +Which are the movers of a languishing death, +But, though slow, deadly? + +QUEEN. +I wonder, Doctor, +Thou ask’st me such a question. Have I not been +Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn’d me how +To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so +That our great king himself doth woo me oft +For my confections? Having thus far proceeded +(Unless thou think’st me devilish) is’t not meet +That I did amplify my judgement in +Other conclusions? I will try the forces +Of these thy compounds on such creatures as +We count not worth the hanging (but none human) +To try the vigour of them, and apply +Allayments to their act, and by them gather +Their several virtues and effects. + +CORNELIUS. +Your Highness +Shall from this practice but make hard your heart; +Besides, the seeing these effects will be +Both noisome and infectious. + +QUEEN. +O, content thee. + + Enter Pisanio. + +[_Aside._] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him +Will I first work. He’s for his master, +An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio! +Doctor, your service for this time is ended; +Take your own way. + +CORNELIUS. +[_Aside._] I do suspect you, madam; +But you shall do no harm. + +QUEEN. +[_To Pisanio._] Hark thee, a word. + +CORNELIUS. +[_Aside._] I do not like her. She doth think she has +Strange ling’ring poisons. I do know her spirit, +And will not trust one of her malice with +A drug of such damn’d nature. Those she has +Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile, +Which first perchance she’ll prove on cats and dogs, +Then afterward up higher; but there is +No danger in what show of death it makes, +More than the locking up the spirits a time, +To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool’d +With a most false effect; and I the truer +So to be false with her. + +QUEEN. +No further service, Doctor, +Until I send for thee. + +CORNELIUS. +I humbly take my leave. + + [_Exit._] + +QUEEN. +Weeps she still, say’st thou? Dost thou think in time +She will not quench, and let instructions enter +Where folly now possesses? Do thou work. +When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, +I’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then +As great as is thy master; greater, for +His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name +Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor +Continue where he is. To shift his being +Is to exchange one misery with another, +And every day that comes comes to decay +A day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect +To be depender on a thing that leans, +Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends +So much as but to prop him? + + [_The Queen drops the box. Pisanio takes it up._] + +Thou tak’st up +Thou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour. +It is a thing I made, which hath the King +Five times redeem’d from death. I do not know +What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it; +It is an earnest of a further good +That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how +The case stands with her; do’t as from thyself. +Think what a chance thou changest on; but think +Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son, +Who shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the King +To any shape of thy preferment, such +As thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly, +That set thee on to this desert, am bound +To load thy merit richly. Call my women. +Think on my words. + + [_Exit Pisanio._] + +A sly and constant knave, +Not to be shak’d; the agent for his master, +And the remembrancer of her to hold +The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that +Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her +Of liegers for her sweet; and which she after, +Except she bend her humour, shall be assur’d +To taste of too. + + Enter Pisanio and Ladies. + +So, so. Well done, well done. +The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, +Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio; +Think on my words. + + [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies._] + +PISANIO. +And shall do. +But when to my good lord I prove untrue +I’ll choke myself: there’s all I’ll do for you. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VII. Britain. The palace. + + Enter Imogen alone. + +IMOGEN. +A father cruel and a step-dame false; +A foolish suitor to a wedded lady +That hath her husband banish’d. O, that husband! +My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated +Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n, +As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable +Is the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those, +How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills, +Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! + + Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. + +PISANIO. +Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome +Comes from my lord with letters. + +IACHIMO. +Change you, madam? +The worthy Leonatus is in safety, +And greets your Highness dearly. + + [_Presents a letter._] + +IMOGEN. +Thanks, good sir. +You’re kindly welcome. + +IACHIMO. +[_Aside._] All of her that is out of door most rich! +If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare, +She is alone th’ Arabian bird, and I +Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! +Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! +Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; +Rather, directly fly. + +IMOGEN. +[_Reads._] _He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am +most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your +trust. + LEONATUS._ + +So far I read aloud; +But even the very middle of my heart +Is warm’d by th’ rest and takes it thankfully. +You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I +Have words to bid you; and shall find it so +In all that I can do. + +IACHIMO. +Thanks, fairest lady. +What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes +To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop +Of sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt +The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones +Upon the number’d beach, and can we not +Partition make with spectacles so precious +’Twixt fair and foul? + +IMOGEN. +What makes your admiration? + +IACHIMO. +It cannot be i’ th’ eye, for apes and monkeys, +’Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and +Contemn with mows the other; nor i’ th’ judgement, +For idiots in this case of favour would +Be wisely definite; nor i’ th’ appetite; +Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos’d, +Should make desire vomit emptiness, +Not so allur’d to feed. + +IMOGEN. +What is the matter, trow? + +IACHIMO. +The cloyed will— +That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub +Both fill’d and running—ravening first the lamb, +Longs after for the garbage. + +IMOGEN. +What, dear sir, +Thus raps you? Are you well? + +IACHIMO. +Thanks, madam; well. Beseech you, sir, +Desire my man’s abode where I did leave him. +He’s strange and peevish. + +PISANIO. +I was going, sir, +To give him welcome. + + [_Exit._] + +IMOGEN. +Continues well my lord? His health beseech you? + +IACHIMO. +Well, madam. + +IMOGEN. +Is he dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is. + +IACHIMO. +Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there +So merry and so gamesome. He is call’d +The Briton reveller. + +IMOGEN. +When he was here +He did incline to sadness, and oft-times +Not knowing why. + +IACHIMO. +I never saw him sad. +There is a Frenchman his companion, one +An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves +A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces +The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton +(Your lord, I mean) laughs from’s free lungs, cries “O, +Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows +By history, report, or his own proof, +What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose +But must be, will’s free hours languish for +Assured bondage?” + +IMOGEN. +Will my lord say so? + +IACHIMO. +Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. +It is a recreation to be by +And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know +Some men are much to blame. + +IMOGEN. +Not he, I hope. + +IACHIMO. +Not he; but yet heaven’s bounty towards him might +Be us’d more thankfully. In himself, ’tis much; +In you, which I account his, beyond all talents. +Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound +To pity too. + +IMOGEN. +What do you pity, sir? + +IACHIMO. +Two creatures heartily. + +IMOGEN. +Am I one, sir? +You look on me: what wreck discern you in me +Deserves your pity? + +IACHIMO. +Lamentable! What, +To hide me from the radiant sun and solace +I’ th’ dungeon by a snuff? + +IMOGEN. +I pray you, sir, +Deliver with more openness your answers +To my demands. Why do you pity me? + +IACHIMO. +That others do, +I was about to say, enjoy your—But +It is an office of the gods to venge it, +Not mine to speak on’t. + +IMOGEN. +You do seem to know +Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you, +Since doubting things go ill often hurts more +Than to be sure they do; for certainties +Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, +The remedy then born—discover to me +What both you spur and stop. + +IACHIMO. +Had I this cheek +To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, +Whose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul +To th’ oath of loyalty; this object, which +Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, +Fixing it only here; should I, damn’d then, +Slaver with lips as common as the stairs +That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands +Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as +With labour): then by-peeping in an eye +Base and illustrious as the smoky light +That’s fed with stinking tallow: it were fit +That all the plagues of hell should at one time +Encounter such revolt. + +IMOGEN. +My lord, I fear, +Has forgot Britain. + +IACHIMO. +And himself. Not I +Inclin’d to this intelligence pronounce +The beggary of his change; but ’tis your graces +That from my mutest conscience to my tongue +Charms this report out. + +IMOGEN. +Let me hear no more. + +IACHIMO. +O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart +With pity that doth make me sick! A lady +So fair, and fasten’d to an empery, +Would make the great’st king double, to be partner’d +With tomboys hir’d with that self exhibition +Which your own coffers yield! with diseas’d ventures +That play with all infirmities for gold +Which rottenness can lend nature! Such boil’d stuff +As well might poison poison! Be reveng’d; +Or she that bore you was no queen, and you +Recoil from your great stock. + +IMOGEN. +Reveng’d? +How should I be reveng’d? If this be true, +(As I have such a heart that both mine ears +Must not in haste abuse) if it be true, +How should I be reveng’d? + +IACHIMO. +Should he make me +Live like Diana’s priest betwixt cold sheets, +Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, +In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. +I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure, +More noble than that runagate to your bed, +And will continue fast to your affection, +Still close as sure. + +IMOGEN. +What ho, Pisanio! + +IACHIMO. +Let me my service tender on your lips. + +IMOGEN. +Away! I do condemn mine ears that have +So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, +Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not +For such an end thou seek’st, as base as strange. +Thou wrong’st a gentleman who is as far +From thy report as thou from honour; and +Solicits here a lady that disdains +Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio! +The King my father shall be made acquainted +Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit +A saucy stranger in his court to mart +As in a Romish stew, and to expound +His beastly mind to us, he hath a court +He little cares for, and a daughter who +He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio! + +IACHIMO. +O happy Leonatus! I may say +The credit that thy lady hath of thee +Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness +Her assur’d credit. Blessed live you long, +A lady to the worthiest sir that ever +Country call’d his! and you his mistress, only +For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. +I have spoke this to know if your affiance +Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord +That which he is new o’er; and he is one +The truest manner’d, such a holy witch +That he enchants societies into him, +Half all men’s hearts are his. + +IMOGEN. +You make amends. + +IACHIMO. +He sits ’mongst men like a descended god: +He hath a kind of honour sets him off +More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, +Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur’d +To try your taking of a false report, which hath +Honour’d with confirmation your great judgement +In the election of a sir so rare, +Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him +Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you, +Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon. + +IMOGEN. +All’s well, sir; take my pow’r i’ th’ court for yours. + +IACHIMO. +My humble thanks. I had almost forgot +T’ entreat your Grace but in a small request, +And yet of moment too, for it concerns +Your lord; myself and other noble friends +Are partners in the business. + +IMOGEN. +Pray what is’t? + +IACHIMO. +Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord +(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums +To buy a present for the Emperor; +Which I, the factor for the rest, have done +In France. ’Tis plate of rare device, and jewels +Of rich and exquisite form, their values great; +And I am something curious, being strange, +To have them in safe stowage. May it please you +To take them in protection? + +IMOGEN. +Willingly; +And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since +My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them +In my bedchamber. + +IACHIMO. +They are in a trunk, +Attended by my men. I will make bold +To send them to you only for this night; +I must aboard tomorrow. + +IMOGEN. +O, no, no. + +IACHIMO. +Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word +By length’ning my return. From Gallia +I cross’d the seas on purpose and on promise +To see your Grace. + +IMOGEN. +I thank you for your pains. +But not away tomorrow! + +IACHIMO. +O, I must, madam. +Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please +To greet your lord with writing, do’t tonight. +I have outstood my time, which is material +To th’ tender of our present. + +IMOGEN. +I will write. +Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept +And truly yielded you. You’re very welcome. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Cloten and the two Lords. + +CLOTEN. +Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss’d the jack, upon an +upcast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on’t; and then a whoreson +jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of +him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. + +FIRST LORD. +What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have +run all out. + +CLOTEN. +When a gentleman is dispos’d to swear, it is not for any standers-by to +curtail his oaths. Ha? + +SECOND LORD. +No, my lord; [_Aside._] nor crop the ears of them. + +CLOTEN. +Whoreson dog! I gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my +rank! + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] To have smell’d like a fool. + +CLOTEN. +I am not vex’d more at anything in th’ earth. A pox on’t! I had rather +not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the +Queen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I +must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your +comb on. + +CLOTEN. +Sayest thou? + +SECOND LORD. +It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you +give offence to. + +CLOTEN. +No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors. + +SECOND LORD. +Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. + +CLOTEN. +Why, so I say. + +FIRST LORD. +Did you hear of a stranger that’s come to court tonight? + +CLOTEN. +A stranger, and I not known on’t? + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not. + +FIRST LORD. +There’s an Italian come, and, ’tis thought, one of Leonatus’ friends. + +CLOTEN. +Leonatus? A banish’d rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who +told you of this stranger? + +FIRST LORD. +One of your lordship’s pages. + +CLOTEN. +Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in’t? + +SECOND LORD. +You cannot derogate, my lord. + +CLOTEN. +Not easily, I think. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being +foolish, do not derogate. + +CLOTEN. +Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls I’ll +win tonight of him. Come, go. + +SECOND LORD. +I’ll attend your lordship. + + [_Exeunt Cloten and First Lord._] + +That such a crafty devil as is his mother +Should yield the world this ass! A woman that +Bears all down with her brain; and this her son +Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, +And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, +Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur’st, +Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d, +A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer +More hateful than the foul expulsion is +Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act +Of the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firm +The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’d +That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand +T’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk +in one corner. + + Enter Immogen in her bed, and a Lady attending. + +IMOGEN. +Who’s there? My woman Helen? + +LADY. +Please you, madam. + +IMOGEN. +What hour is it? + +LADY. +Almost midnight, madam. + +IMOGEN. +I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak; +Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed. +Take not away the taper, leave it burning; +And if thou canst awake by four o’ th’ clock, +I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly. + + [_Exit Lady._] + +To your protection I commend me, gods. +From fairies and the tempters of the night +Guard me, beseech ye! + + [_Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk._] + +IACHIMO. +The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense +Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus +Did softly press the rushes ere he waken’d +The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, +How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily, +And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! +But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d, +How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that +Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper +Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids +To see th’ enclosed lights, now canopied +Under these windows white and azure, lac’d +With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design +To note the chamber. I will write all down: +Such and such pictures; there the window; such +Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures, +Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story. +Ah, but some natural notes about her body +Above ten thousand meaner movables +Would testify, t’ enrich mine inventory. +O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! +And be her sense but as a monument, +Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off; + + [_Taking off her bracelet._] + +As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! +’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, +As strongly as the conscience does within, +To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast +A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops +I’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher +Stronger than ever law could make; this secret +Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en +The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? +Why should I write this down that’s riveted, +Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late +The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down +Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. +To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it. +Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning +May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear; +Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. + + [_Clock strikes._] + +One, two, three. Time, time! + + [_Exit into the trunk._] + +SCENE III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s +apartments. + + Enter Cloten and Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that +ever turn’d up ace. + +CLOTEN. +It would make any man cold to lose. + +FIRST LORD. +But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You +are most hot and furious when you win. + +CLOTEN. +Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish +Imogen, I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not? + +FIRST LORD. +Day, my lord. + +CLOTEN. +I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a +mornings; they say it will penetrate. + + Enter Musicians. + +Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We’ll +try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never +give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a +wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her +consider. + +SONG + + + Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, + And Phœbus ’gins arise, + His steeds to water at those springs + On chalic’d flow’rs that lies; + And winking Mary-buds begin + To ope their golden eyes. + With everything that pretty is, + My lady sweet, arise; + Arise, arise! + +CLOTEN. +So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the +better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and +calves’ guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. + + [_Exeunt Musicians._] + + Enter Cymbeline and Queen. + +SECOND LORD. +Here comes the King. + +CLOTEN. +I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He +cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.—Good morrow +to your Majesty and to my gracious mother. + +CYMBELINE. +Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? +Will she not forth? + +CLOTEN. +I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice. + +CYMBELINE. +The exile of her minion is too new; +She hath not yet forgot him; some more time +Must wear the print of his remembrance on’t, +And then she’s yours. + +QUEEN. +You are most bound to th’ King, +Who lets go by no vantages that may +Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself +To orderly solicits, and be friended +With aptness of the season; make denials +Increase your services; so seem as if +You were inspir’d to do those duties which +You tender to her; that you in all obey her, +Save when command to your dismission tends, +And therein you are senseless. + +CLOTEN. +Senseless? Not so. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; +The one is Caius Lucius. + +CYMBELINE. +A worthy fellow, +Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; +But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him +According to the honour of his sender; +And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, +We must extend our notice. Our dear son, +When you have given good morning to your mistress, +Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need +T’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen. + + [_Exeunt all but Cloten._] + +CLOTEN. +If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not, +Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! + + [_Knocks._] + +I know her women are about her; what +If I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold +Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes +Diana’s rangers false themselves, yield up +Their deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis gold +Which makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief; +Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What +Can it not do and undo? I will make +One of her women lawyer to me, for +I yet not understand the case myself. +By your leave. + + [_Knocks._] + + Enter a Lady. + +LADY. +Who’s there that knocks? + +CLOTEN. +A gentleman. + +LADY. +No more? + +CLOTEN. +Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son. + +LADY. +That’s more +Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours +Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure? + +CLOTEN. +Your lady’s person; is she ready? + +LADY. +Ay, +To keep her chamber. + +CLOTEN. +There is gold for you; sell me your good report. + +LADY. +How? My good name? or to report of you +What I shall think is good? The Princess! + + Enter Imogen. + +CLOTEN. +Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand. + + [_Exit Lady._] + +IMOGEN. +Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains +For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give +Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, +And scarce can spare them. + +CLOTEN. +Still I swear I love you. + +IMOGEN. +If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me. +If you swear still, your recompense is still +That I regard it not. + +CLOTEN. +This is no answer. + +IMOGEN. +But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, +I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith, +I shall unfold equal discourtesy +To your best kindness; one of your great knowing +Should learn, being taught, forbearance. + +CLOTEN. +To leave you in your madness ’twere my sin; +I will not. + +IMOGEN. +Fools are not mad folks. + +CLOTEN. +Do you call me fool? + +IMOGEN. +As I am mad, I do; +If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad; +That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, +You put me to forget a lady’s manners +By being so verbal; and learn now, for all, +That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, +By th’ very truth of it, I care not for you, +And am so near the lack of charity +To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather +You felt than make’t my boast. + +CLOTEN. +You sin against +Obedience, which you owe your father. For +The contract you pretend with that base wretch, +One bred of alms and foster’d with cold dishes, +With scraps o’ th’ court, it is no contract, none. +And though it be allowed in meaner parties +(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls +(On whom there is no more dependency +But brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot, +Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by +The consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil +The precious note of it with a base slave, +A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth, +A pantler; not so eminent! + +IMOGEN. +Profane fellow! +Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more +But what thou art besides, thou wert too base +To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough, +Even to the point of envy, if ’twere made +Comparative for your virtues to be styl’d +The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated +For being preferr’d so well. + +CLOTEN. +The south fog rot him! + +IMOGEN. +He never can meet more mischance than come +To be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment +That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer +In my respect, than all the hairs above thee, +Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! + + Enter Pisanio. + +CLOTEN. +‘His garment’! Now the devil— + +IMOGEN. +To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. + +CLOTEN. +‘His garment’! + +IMOGEN. +I am sprited with a fool; +Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman +Search for a jewel that too casually +Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me, +If I would lose it for a revenue +Of any king’s in Europe! I do think +I saw’t this morning; confident I am +Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it. +I hope it be not gone to tell my lord +That I kiss aught but he. + +PISANIO. +’Twill not be lost. + +IMOGEN. +I hope so. Go and search. + + [_Exit Pisanio._] + +CLOTEN. +You have abus’d me. +‘His meanest garment’! + +IMOGEN. +Ay, I said so, sir. +If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t. + +CLOTEN. +I will inform your father. + +IMOGEN. +Your mother too. +She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope, +But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, +To th’ worst of discontent. + + [_Exit._] + +CLOTEN. +I’ll be reveng’d. +‘His mean’st garment’! Well. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. Philario’s house. + + Enter Posthumus and Philario. + +POSTHUMUS. +Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure +To win the King as I am bold her honour +Will remain hers. + +PHILARIO. +What means do you make to him? + +POSTHUMUS. +Not any; but abide the change of time, +Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish +That warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes +I barely gratify your love; they failing, +I must die much your debtor. + +PHILARIO. +Your very goodness and your company +O’erpays all I can do. By this your king +Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius +Will do’s commission throughly; and I think +He’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages, +Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance +Is yet fresh in their grief. + +POSTHUMUS. +I do believe +Statist though I am none, nor like to be, +That this will prove a war; and you shall hear +The legions now in Gallia sooner landed +In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings +Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen +Are men more order’d than when Julius Cæsar +Smil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courage +Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, +Now mingled with their courages, will make known +To their approvers they are people such +That mend upon the world. + + Enter Iachimo. + +PHILARIO. +See! Iachimo! + +POSTHUMUS. +The swiftest harts have posted you by land, +And winds of all the corners kiss’d your sails, +To make your vessel nimble. + +PHILARIO. +Welcome, sir. + +POSTHUMUS. +I hope the briefness of your answer made +The speediness of your return. + +IACHIMO. +Your lady +Is one of the fairest that I have look’d upon. + +POSTHUMUS. +And therewithal the best; or let her beauty +Look through a casement to allure false hearts, +And be false with them. + +IACHIMO. +Here are letters for you. + +POSTHUMUS. +Their tenour good, I trust. + +IACHIMO. +’Tis very like. + +PHILARIO. +Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court +When you were there? + +IACHIMO. +He was expected then, +But not approach’d. + +POSTHUMUS. +All is well yet. +Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not +Too dull for your good wearing? + +IACHIMO. +If I have lost it, +I should have lost the worth of it in gold. +I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy +A second night of such sweet shortness which +Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. + +POSTHUMUS. +The stone’s too hard to come by. + +IACHIMO. +Not a whit, +Your lady being so easy. + +POSTHUMUS. +Make not, sir, +Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we +Must not continue friends. + +IACHIMO. +Good sir, we must, +If you keep covenant. Had I not brought +The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant +We were to question farther; but I now +Profess myself the winner of her honour, +Together with your ring; and not the wronger +Of her or you, having proceeded but +By both your wills. + +POSTHUMUS. +If you can make’t apparent +That you have tasted her in bed, my hand +And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion +You had of her pure honour gains or loses +Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both +To who shall find them. + +IACHIMO. +Sir, my circumstances, +Being so near the truth as I will make them, +Must first induce you to believe; whose strength +I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not +You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find +You need it not. + +POSTHUMUS. +Proceed. + +IACHIMO. +First, her bedchamber, +(Where I confess I slept not, but profess +Had that was well worth watching) it was hang’d +With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, +Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman +And Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for +The press of boats or pride. A piece of work +So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive +In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d +Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, +Since the true life on’t was— + +POSTHUMUS. +This is true; +And this you might have heard of here, by me +Or by some other. + +IACHIMO. +More particulars +Must justify my knowledge. + +POSTHUMUS. +So they must, +Or do your honour injury. + +IACHIMO. +The chimney +Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece +Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures +So likely to report themselves. The cutter +Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, +Motion and breath left out. + +POSTHUMUS. +This is a thing +Which you might from relation likewise reap, +Being, as it is, much spoke of. + +IACHIMO. +The roof o’ th’ chamber +With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons +(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids +Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely +Depending on their brands. + +POSTHUMUS. +This is her honour! +Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise +Be given to your remembrance; the description +Of what is in her chamber nothing saves +The wager you have laid. + +IACHIMO. +Then, if you can, [_Shows the bracelet_] +Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See! +And now ’tis up again. It must be married +To that your diamond; I’ll keep them. + +POSTHUMUS. +Jove! +Once more let me behold it. Is it that +Which I left with her? + +IACHIMO. +Sir (I thank her) that. +She stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet; +Her pretty action did outsell her gift, +And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said +She priz’d it once. + +POSTHUMUS. +May be she pluck’d it of +To send it me. + +IACHIMO. +She writes so to you, doth she? + +POSTHUMUS. +O, no, no, no! ’tis true. Here, take this too; + + [_Gives the ring._] + +It is a basilisk unto mine eye, +Kills me to look on’t. Let there be no honour +Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love +Where there’s another man. The vows of women +Of no more bondage be to where they are made +Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing. +O, above measure false! + +PHILARIO. +Have patience, sir, +And take your ring again; ’tis not yet won. +It may be probable she lost it, or +Who knows if one her women, being corrupted +Hath stol’n it from her? + +POSTHUMUS. +Very true; +And so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring. +Render to me some corporal sign about her, +More evident than this; for this was stol’n. + +IACHIMO. +By Jupiter, I had it from her arm! + +POSTHUMUS. +Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. +’Tis true, nay, keep the ring, ’tis true. I am sure +She would not lose it. Her attendants are +All sworn and honourable:—they induc’d to steal it! +And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her. +The cognizance of her incontinency +Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. +There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell +Divide themselves between you! + + +PHILARIO. +Sir, be patient; +This is not strong enough to be believ’d +Of one persuaded well of. + +POSTHUMUS. +Never talk on’t; +She hath been colted by him. + +IACHIMO. +If you seek +For further satisfying, under her breast +(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud +Of that most delicate lodging. By my life, +I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hunger +To feed again, though full. You do remember +This stain upon her? + +POSTHUMUS. +Ay, and it doth confirm +Another stain, as big as hell can hold, +Were there no more but it. + +IACHIMO. +Will you hear more? + +POSTHUMUS. +Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns. +Once, and a million! + +IACHIMO. +I’ll be sworn— + +POSTHUMUS. +No swearing. +If you will swear you have not done’t, you lie; +And I will kill thee if thou dost deny +Thou’st made me cuckold. + +IACHIMO. +I’ll deny nothing. + +POSTHUMUS. +O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal! +I will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before +Her father. I’ll do something— + + [_Exit._] + +PHILARIO. +Quite besides +The government of patience! You have won. +Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrath +He hath against himself. + +IACHIMO. +With all my heart. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house. + + Enter Posthumus. + +POSTHUMUS. +Is there no way for men to be, but women +Must be half-workers? We are all bastards, +And that most venerable man which I +Did call my father was I know not where +When I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his tools +Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d +The Dian of that time. So doth my wife +The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance! +Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d, +And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with +A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’t +Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her +As chaste as unsunn’d snow. O, all the devils! +This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was’t not? +Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but, +Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one, +Cried “O!” and mounted; found no opposition +But what he look’d for should oppose and she +Should from encounter guard. Could I find out +The woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion +That tends to vice in man but I affirm +It is the woman’s part. Be it lying, note it, +The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; +Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; +Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, +Nice longing, slanders, mutability, +All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows, +Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all; +For even to vice +They are not constant, but are changing still +One vice but of a minute old for one +Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them, +Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill +In a true hate to pray they have their will: +The very devils cannot plague them better. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter in state Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten and Lords at one door, and at + another Caius Lucius and Attendants. + +CYMBELINE. +Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us? + +LUCIUS. +When Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet +Lives in men’s eyes, and will to ears and tongues +Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain, +And conquer’d it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, +Famous in Cæsar’s praises no whit less +Than in his feats deserving it, for him +And his succession granted Rome a tribute, +Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately +Is left untender’d. + +QUEEN. +And, to kill the marvel, +Shall be so ever. + +CLOTEN. +There be many Cæsars ere such another Julius. Britain is a world by +itself, and we will nothing pay for wearing our own noses. + +QUEEN. +That opportunity, +Which then they had to take from’s, to resume +We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, +The kings your ancestors, together with +The natural bravery of your isle, which stands +As Neptune’s park, ribb’d and pal’d in +With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters, +With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats +But suck them up to th’ top-mast. A kind of conquest +Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag +Of ‘Came, and saw, and overcame.’ With shame +(The first that ever touch’d him) he was carried +From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping +(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, +Like egg-shells mov’d upon their surges, crack’d +As easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof +The fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point +(O, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword, +Made Lud’s Town with rejoicing fires bright +And Britons strut with courage. + +CLOTEN. +Come, there’s no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than +it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Cæsars. Other +of them may have crook’d noses; but to owe such straight arms, none. + +CYMBELINE. +Son, let your mother end. + +CLOTEN. +We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan. I do not say +I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? If +Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his +pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, +pray you now. + +CYMBELINE. +You must know, +Till the injurious Romans did extort +This tribute from us, we were free. Cæsar’s ambition, +Which swell’d so much that it did almost stretch +The sides o’ th’ world, against all colour here +Did put the yoke upon’s; which to shake of +Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon +Ourselves to be. + +CLOTEN. +We do. + +CYMBELINE. +Say then to Cæsar, +Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which +Ordain’d our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar +Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise +Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, +Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws, +Who was the first of Britain which did put +His brows within a golden crown, and call’d +Himself a king. + +LUCIUS. +I am sorry, Cymbeline, +That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar +(Cæsar, that hath moe kings his servants than +Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy. +Receive it from me, then: war and confusion +In Cæsar’s name pronounce I ’gainst thee; look +For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, +I thank thee for myself. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou art welcome, Caius. +Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent +Much under him; of him I gather’d honour, +Which he to seek of me again, perforce, +Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect +That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for +Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent +Which not to read would show the Britons cold; +So Cæsar shall not find them. + +LUCIUS. +Let proof speak. + +CLOTEN. +His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or +longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in +our salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you +fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and +there’s an end. + +LUCIUS. +So, sir. + +CYMBELINE. +I know your master’s pleasure, and he mine; +All the remain is, welcome. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Pisanio reading of a letter. + +PISANIO. +How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not +What monsters her accuse? Leonatus! +O master, what a strange infection +Is fall’n into thy ear! What false Italian +(As poisonous-tongu’d as handed) hath prevail’d +On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No. +She’s punish’d for her truth, and undergoes, +More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults +As would take in some virtue. O my master, +Thy mind to her is now as low as were +Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her? +Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I +Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood? +If it be so to do good service, never +Let me be counted serviceable. How look I +That I should seem to lack humanity +So much as this fact comes to? + + [_Reads._] + +‘Do’t. The letter +That I have sent her, by her own command +Shall give thee opportunity.’ O damn’d paper, +Black as the ink that’s on thee! Senseless bauble, +Art thou a fedary for this act, and look’st +So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. + + Enter Imogen. + +I am ignorant in what I am commanded. + +IMOGEN. +How now, Pisanio? + +PISANIO. +Madam, here is a letter from my lord. + +IMOGEN. +Who? thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus? +O, learn’d indeed were that astronomer +That knew the stars as I his characters; +He’d lay the future open. You good gods, +Let what is here contain’d relish of love, +Of my lord’s health, of his content; yet not +That we two are asunder; let that grieve him! +Some griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them, +For it doth physic love: of his content, +All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be +You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers +And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; +Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet +You clasp young Cupid’s tables. Good news, gods! + + [_Reads._] + +_Justice and your father’s wrath, should he take me in his dominion, +could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would +even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at +Milford Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you, follow. +So he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and your +increasing in love. + LEONATUS POSTHUMUS._ + +O for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio? +He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me +How far ’tis thither. If one of mean affairs +May plod it in a week, why may not I +Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio, +Who long’st like me to see thy lord, who long’st +(O, let me ’bate!) but not like me, yet long’st, +But in a fainter kind. O, not like me, +For mine’s beyond beyond: say, and speak thick, +(Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing +To th’ smothering of the sense) how far it is +To this same blessed Milford. And by th’ way +Tell me how Wales was made so happy as +T’ inherit such a haven. But first of all, +How we may steal from hence; and for the gap +That we shall make in time from our hence-going +And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence. +Why should excuse be born or ere begot? +We’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, +How many score of miles may we well rid +’Twixt hour and hour? + +PISANIO. +One score ’twixt sun and sun, +Madam, ’s enough for you, and too much too. + +IMOGEN. +Why, one that rode to’s execution, man, +Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers +Where horses have been nimbler than the sands +That run i’ th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry. +Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say +She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently +A riding suit, no costlier than would fit +A franklin’s huswife. + +PISANIO. +Madam, you’re best consider. + +IMOGEN. +I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here, +Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them +That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; +Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say. +Accessible is none but Milford way. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. + + Enter from the cave Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +A goodly day not to keep house with such +Whose roof’s as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate +Instructs you how t’ adore the heavens, and bows you +To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs +Are arch’d so high that giants may jet through +And keep their impious turbans on without +Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven! +We house i’ th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly +As prouder livers do. + +GUIDERIUS. +Hail, heaven! + +ARVIRAGUS. +Hail, heaven! + +BELARIUS. +Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill, +Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider, +When you above perceive me like a crow, +That it is place which lessens and sets off; +And you may then revolve what tales I have told you +Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war. +This service is not service so being done, +But being so allow’d. To apprehend thus +Draws us a profit from all things we see, +And often to our comfort shall we find +The sharded beetle in a safer hold +Than is the full-wing’d eagle. O, this life +Is nobler than attending for a check, +Richer than doing nothing for a robe, +Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: +Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine, +Yet keeps his book uncross’d. No life to ours! + +GUIDERIUS. +Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg’d, +Have never wing’d from view o’ th’ nest, nor know not +What air’s from home. Haply this life is best, +If quiet life be best; sweeter to you +That have a sharper known; well corresponding +With your stiff age. But unto us it is +A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, +A prison for a debtor that not dares +To stride a limit. + +ARVIRAGUS. +What should we speak of +When we are old as you? When we shall hear +The rain and wind beat dark December, how, +In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse. +The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing; +We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey, +Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat. +Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage +We make a choir, as doth the prison’d bird, +And sing our bondage freely. + +BELARIUS. +How you speak! +Did you but know the city’s usuries, +And felt them knowingly; the art o’ th’ court, +As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb +Is certain falling, or so slipp’ry that +The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o’ th’ war, +A pain that only seems to seek out danger +I’ th’ name of fame and honour, which dies i’ th’ search, +And hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph +As record of fair act; nay, many times, +Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse, +Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story +The world may read in me; my body’s mark’d +With Roman swords, and my report was once +First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me; +And when a soldier was the theme, my name +Was not far off. Then was I as a tree +Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night +A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, +Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, +And left me bare to weather. + +GUIDERIUS. +Uncertain favour! + +BELARIUS. +My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft, +But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail’d +Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline +I was confederate with the Romans. So +Follow’d my banishment, and this twenty years +This rock and these demesnes have been my world, +Where I have liv’d at honest freedom, paid +More pious debts to heaven than in all +The fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains! +This is not hunters’ language. He that strikes +The venison first shall be the lord o’ th’ feast; +To him the other two shall minister; +And we will fear no poison, which attends +In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys. + + [_Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus._] + +How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! +These boys know little they are sons to th’ King, +Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. +They think they are mine; and though train’d up thus meanly +I’ th’ cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit +The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them +In simple and low things to prince it much +Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, +The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who +The King his father call’d Guiderius—Jove! +When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell +The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out +Into my story; say ‘Thus mine enemy fell, +And thus I set my foot on’s neck’; even then +The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, +Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture +That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, +Once Arviragus, in as like a figure +Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more +His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous’d! +O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows +Thou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon, +At three and two years old, I stole these babes, +Thinking to bar thee of succession as +Thou refts me of my lands. Euriphile, +Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, +And every day do honour to her grave. +Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d, +They take for natural father. The game is up. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Wales, near Milford Haven. + + Enter Pisanio and Imogen. + +IMOGEN. +Thou told’st me, when we came from horse, the place +Was near at hand. Ne’er long’d my mother so +To see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man! +Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind +That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh +From th’ inward of thee? One but painted thus +Would be interpreted a thing perplex’d +Beyond self-explication. Put thyself +Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness +Vanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter? +Why tender’st thou that paper to me with +A look untender? If’t be summer news, +Smile to’t before; if winterly, thou need’st +But keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand? +That drug-damn’d Italy hath out-craftied him, +And he’s at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue +May take off some extremity, which to read +Would be even mortal to me. + +PISANIO. +Please you read, +And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing +The most disdain’d of fortune. + +IMOGEN. +[_Reads._] _Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play’d the strumpet in my bed, +the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak +surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I +expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy +faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take +away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven; she hath +my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make +me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and +equally to me disloyal._ + +PISANIO. +What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper +Hath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander, +Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue +Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath +Rides on the posting winds and doth belie +All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states, +Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave, +This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? + +IMOGEN. +False to his bed? What is it to be false? +To lie in watch there, and to think on him? +To weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature, +To break it with a fearful dream of him, +And cry myself awake? That’s false to’s bed, +Is it? + +PISANIO. +Alas, good lady! + +IMOGEN. +I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, +Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; +Thou then look’dst like a villain; now, methinks, +Thy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy, +Whose mother was her painting, hath betray’d him. +Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, +And for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls +I must be ripp’d. To pieces with me! O, +Men’s vows are women’s traitors! All good seeming, +By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought +Put on for villainy; not born where’t grows, +But worn a bait for ladies. + +PISANIO. +Good madam, hear me. + +IMOGEN. +True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, +Were, in his time, thought false; and Sinon’s weeping +Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity +From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus, +Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men: +Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur’d +From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; +Do thou thy master’s bidding; when thou seest him, +A little witness my obedience. Look! +I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit +The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. +Fear not; ’tis empty of all things but grief; +Thy master is not there, who was indeed +The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. +Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, +But now thou seem’st a coward. + +PISANIO. +Hence, vile instrument! +Thou shalt not damn my hand. + +IMOGEN. +Why, I must die; +And if I do not by thy hand, thou art +No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter +There is a prohibition so divine +That cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart: +Something’s afore’t. Soft, soft! we’ll no defence, +Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? +The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus +All turn’d to heresy? Away, away, +Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more +Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools +Believe false teachers; though those that are betray’d +Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor +Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, +That didst set up my disobedience ’gainst the King +My father, and make me put into contempt the suits +Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find +It is no act of common passage but +A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself +To think, when thou shalt be disedg’d by her +That now thou tirest on, how thy memory +Will then be pang’d by me. Prithee dispatch. +The lamp entreats the butcher. Where’s thy knife? +Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding, +When I desire it too. + +PISANIO. +O gracious lady, +Since I receiv’d command to do this busines +I have not slept one wink. + +IMOGEN. +Do’t, and to bed then. + +PISANIO. +I’ll wake mine eyeballs first. + +IMOGEN. +Wherefore then +Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus’d +So many miles with a pretence? This place? +Mine action and thine own? our horses’ labour? +The time inviting thee? The perturb’d court, +For my being absent? whereunto I never +Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far +To be unbent when thou hast ta’en thy stand, +Th’ elected deer before thee? + +PISANIO. +But to win time +To lose so bad employment, in the which +I have consider’d of a course. Good lady, +Hear me with patience. + +IMOGEN. +Talk thy tongue weary, speak. +I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, +Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, +Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. + +PISANIO. +Then, madam, +I thought you would not back again. + +IMOGEN. +Most like, +Bringing me here to kill me. + +PISANIO. +Not so, neither; +But if I were as wise as honest, then +My purpose would prove well. It cannot be +But that my master is abus’d. Some villain, +Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both +This cursed injury. + +IMOGEN. +Some Roman courtezan! + +PISANIO. +No, on my life! +I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him +Some bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded +I should do so. You shall be miss’d at court, +And that will well confirm it. + +IMOGEN. +Why, good fellow, +What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? +Or in my life what comfort, when I am +Dead to my husband? + +PISANIO. +If you’ll back to th’ court— + +IMOGEN. +No court, no father, nor no more ado +With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, +That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me +As fearful as a siege. + +PISANIO. +If not at court, +Then not in Britain must you bide. + +IMOGEN. +Where then? +Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, +Are they not but in Britain? I’ th’ world’s volume +Our Britain seems as of it, but not in’t; +In a great pool a swan’s nest. Prithee think +There’s livers out of Britain. + +PISANIO. +I am most glad +You think of other place. Th’ ambassador, +Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven +Tomorrow. Now, if you could wear a mind +Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise +That which t’ appear itself must not yet be +But by self-danger, you should tread a course +Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near +The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least, +That though his actions were not visible, yet +Report should render him hourly to your ear +As truly as he moves. + +IMOGEN. +O! for such means, +Though peril to my modesty, not death on’t, +I would adventure. + +PISANIO. +Well then, here’s the point: +You must forget to be a woman; change +Command into obedience; fear and niceness +(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, +Woman it pretty self) into a waggish courage; +Ready in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy, and +As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must +Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, +Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! +Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch +Of common-kissing Titan, and forget +Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein +You made great Juno angry. + +IMOGEN. +Nay, be brief; +I see into thy end, and am almost +A man already. + +PISANIO. +First, make yourself but like one. +Fore-thinking this, I have already fit +(’Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all +That answer to them. Would you, in their serving, +And with what imitation you can borrow +From youth of such a season, ’fore noble Lucius +Present yourself, desire his service, tell him +Wherein you’re happy; which will make him know +If that his head have ear in music; doubtless +With joy he will embrace you; for he’s honourable, +And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad: +You have me, rich; and I will never fail +Beginning nor supplyment. + +IMOGEN. +Thou art all the comfort +The gods will diet me with. Prithee away! +There’s more to be consider’d; but we’ll even +All that good time will give us. This attempt +I am soldier to, and will abide it with +A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee. + +PISANIO. +Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, +Lest, being miss’d, I be suspected of +Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, +Here is a box; I had it from the Queen. +What’s in’t is precious. If you are sick at sea +Or stomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this +Will drive away distemper. To some shade, +And fit you to your manhood. May the gods +Direct you to the best! + +IMOGEN. +Amen. I thank thee. + + [_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius and Lords. + +CYMBELINE. +Thus far, and so farewell. + +LUCIUS. +Thanks, royal sir. +My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence, +And am right sorry that I must report ye +My master’s enemy. + +CYMBELINE. +Our subjects, sir, +Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself +To show less sovereignty than they, must needs +Appear unkinglike. + +LUCIUS. +So, sir. I desire of you +A conduct overland to Milford Haven. +Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you! + +CYMBELINE. +My lords, you are appointed for that office; +The due of honour in no point omit. +So farewell, noble Lucius. + +LUCIUS. +Your hand, my lord. + +CLOTEN. +Receive it friendly; but from this time forth +I wear it as your enemy. + +LUCIUS. +Sir, the event +Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. + +CYMBELINE. +Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, +Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness! + + [_Exeunt Lucius and Lords._] + +QUEEN. +He goes hence frowning; but it honours us +That we have given him cause. + +CLOTEN. +’Tis all the better; +Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. + +CYMBELINE. +Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor +How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely +Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness. +The pow’rs that he already hath in Gallia +Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves +His war for Britain. + +QUEEN. +’Tis not sleepy business, +But must be look’d to speedily and strongly. + +CYMBELINE. +Our expectation that it would be thus +Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, +Where is our daughter? She hath not appear’d +Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender’d +The duty of the day. She looks us like +A thing more made of malice than of duty; +We have noted it. Call her before us, for +We have been too slight in sufferance. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +QUEEN. +Royal sir, +Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir’d +Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, +’Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, +Forbear sharp speeches to her; she’s a lady +So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, +And strokes death to her. + + Enter Attendant. + +CYMBELINE. +Where is she, sir? How +Can her contempt be answer’d? + +ATTENDANT. +Please you, sir, +Her chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer +That will be given to th’ loud of noise we make. + +QUEEN. +My lord, when last I went to visit her, +She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close; +Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity +She should that duty leave unpaid to you +Which daily she was bound to proffer. This +She wish’d me to make known; but our great court +Made me to blame in memory. + +CYMBELINE. +Her doors lock’d? +Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear +Prove false! + + [_Exit._] + +QUEEN. +Son, I say, follow the King. + +CLOTEN. +That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, +I have not seen these two days. + +QUEEN. +Go, look after. + + [_Exit Cloten._] + +Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus! +He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence +Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes +It is a thing most precious. But for her, +Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz’d her; +Or, wing’d with fervour of her love, she’s flown +To her desir’d Posthumus. Gone she is +To death or to dishonour, and my end +Can make good use of either. She being down, +I have the placing of the British crown. + + Enter Cloten. + +How now, my son? + +CLOTEN. +’Tis certain she is fled. +Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none +Dare come about him. + +QUEEN. +All the better. May +This night forestall him of the coming day! + + [_Exit._] + +CLOTEN. +I love and hate her; for she’s fair and royal, +And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite +Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one +The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, +Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but +Disdaining me and throwing favours on +The low Posthumus slanders so her judgement +That what’s else rare is chok’d; and in that point +I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, +To be reveng’d upon her. For when fools +Shall— + + Enter Pisanio. + +Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? +Come hither. Ah, you precious pandar! Villain, +Where is thy lady? In a word, or else +Thou art straightway with the fiends. + +PISANIO. +O good my lord! + +CLOTEN. +Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter— +I will not ask again. Close villain, +I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip +Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? +From whose so many weights of baseness cannot +A dram of worth be drawn. + +PISANIO. +Alas, my lord, +How can she be with him? When was she miss’d? +He is in Rome. + +CLOTEN. +Where is she, sir? Come nearer. +No farther halting! Satisfy me home +What is become of her. + +PISANIO. +O my all-worthy lord! + +CLOTEN. +All-worthy villain! +Discover where thy mistress is at once, +At the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’! +Speak, or thy silence on the instant is +Thy condemnation and thy death. + +PISANIO. +Then, sir, +This paper is the history of my knowledge +Touching her flight. + + [_Presenting a letter._] + +CLOTEN. +Let’s see’t. I will pursue her +Even to Augustus’ throne. + +PISANIO. +[_Aside._] Or this or perish. +She’s far enough; and what he learns by this +May prove his travel, not her danger. + +CLOTEN. +Humh! + +PISANIO. +[_Aside._] I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen, +Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! + +CLOTEN. +Sirrah, is this letter true? + +PISANIO. +Sir, as I think. + +CLOTEN. +It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a +villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I +should have cause to use thee with a serious industry—that is, what +villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly—I would +think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy +relief nor my voice for thy preferment. + +PISANIO. +Well, my good lord. + +CLOTEN. +Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck +to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the +course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou +serve me? + +PISANIO. +Sir, I will. + +CLOTEN. +Give me thy hand; here’s my purse. Hast any of thy late master’s +garments in thy possession? + +PISANIO. +I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took +leave of my lady and mistress. + +CLOTEN. +The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy +first service; go. + +PISANIO. +I shall, my lord. + + [_Exit._] + +CLOTEN. +Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; I’ll +remember’t anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. +I would these garments were come. She said upon a time—the bitterness +of it I now belch from my heart—that she held the very garment of +Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together +with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I +ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my +valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, +my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath +dined—which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that +she so prais’d—to the court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. +She hath despis’d me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge. + + Enter Pisanio with the clothes. + +Be those the garments? + +PISANIO. +Ay, my noble lord. + +CLOTEN. +How long is’t since she went to Milford Haven? + +PISANIO. +She can scarce be there yet. + +CLOTEN. +Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have +commanded thee. The third is that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my +design. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to +thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! +Come, and be true. + + [_Exit._] + +PISANIO. +Thou bid’st me to my loss; for true to thee +Were to prove false, which I will never be, +To him that is most true. To Milford go, +And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, +You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool’s speed +Be cross’d with slowness! Labour be his meed! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + Enter Imogen alone, in boy’s clothes. + +IMOGEN. +I see a man’s life is a tedious one. +I have tir’d myself, and for two nights together +Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick +But that my resolution helps me. Milford, +When from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee, +Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think +Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, +Where they should be reliev’d. Two beggars told me +I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, +That have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis +A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, +When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness +Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood +Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! +Thou art one o’ th’ false ones. Now I think on thee +My hunger’s gone; but even before, I was +At point to sink for food. But what is this? +Here is a path to’t; ’tis some savage hold. +I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, +Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant. +Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever +Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who’s here? +If anything that’s civil, speak; if savage, +Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter. +Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy +But fear the sword, like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t. +Such a foe, good heavens! + + [_Exit into the cave._] + +SCENE VII. The same. + + Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +You, Polydore, have prov’d best woodman and +Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I +Will play the cook and servant; ’tis our match. +The sweat of industry would dry and die +But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs +Will make what’s homely savoury; weariness +Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth +Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, +Poor house, that keep’st thyself! + +GUIDERIUS. +I am thoroughly weary. + +ARVIRAGUS. +I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. + +GUIDERIUS. +There is cold meat i’ th’ cave; we’ll browse on that +Whilst what we have kill’d be cook’d. + +BELARIUS. +[_Looking into the cave._] Stay, come not in. +But that it eats our victuals, I should think +Here were a fairy. + +GUIDERIUS. +What’s the matter, sir? + +BELARIUS. +By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, +An earthly paragon! Behold divineness +No elder than a boy! + + Enter Imogen. + +IMOGEN. +Good masters, harm me not. +Before I enter’d here I call’d, and thought +To have begg’d or bought what I have took. Good troth, +I have stol’n nought; nor would not though I had found +Gold strew’d i’ th’ floor. Here’s money for my meat. +I would have left it on the board, so soon +As I had made my meal, and parted +With pray’rs for the provider. + +GUIDERIUS. +Money, youth? + +ARVIRAGUS. +All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, +As ’tis no better reckon’d but of those +Who worship dirty gods. + +IMOGEN. +I see you’re angry. +Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should +Have died had I not made it. + +BELARIUS. +Whither bound? + +IMOGEN. +To Milford Haven. + +BELARIUS. +What’s your name? + +IMOGEN. +Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who +Is bound for Italy; he embark’d at Milford; +To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, +I am fall’n in this offence. + +BELARIUS. +Prithee, fair youth, +Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds +By this rude place we live in. Well encounter’d! +’Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer +Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. +Boys, bid him welcome. + +GUIDERIUS. +Were you a woman, youth, +I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty +I bid for you as I’d buy. + +ARVIRAGUS. +I’ll make’t my comfort +He is a man. I’ll love him as my brother; +And such a welcome as I’d give to him +After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome! +Be sprightly, for you fall ’mongst friends. + +IMOGEN. +’Mongst friends, +If brothers. [_Aside._] Would it had been so that they +Had been my father’s sons! Then had my prize +Been less, and so more equal ballasting +To thee, Posthumus. + +BELARIUS. +He wrings at some distress. + +GUIDERIUS. +Would I could free’t! + +ARVIRAGUS. +Or I, whate’er it be, +What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! + +BELARIUS. +[_Whispering._] Hark, boys. + +IMOGEN. +[_Aside._] Great men, +That had a court no bigger than this cave, +That did attend themselves, and had the virtue +Which their own conscience seal’d them, laying by +That nothing-gift of differing multitudes, +Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! +I’d change my sex to be companion with them, +Since Leonatus false. + +BELARIUS. +It shall be so. +Boys, we’ll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in. +Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp’d, +We’ll mannerly demand thee of thy story, +So far as thou wilt speak it. + +GUIDERIUS. +Pray draw near. + +ARVIRAGUS. +The night to th’ owl and morn to th’ lark less +welcome. + +IMOGEN. +Thanks, sir. + +ARVIRAGUS. +I pray draw near. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. Rome. A public place. + + Enter two Roman Senators and Tribunes. + +FIRST SENATOR. +This is the tenour of the Emperor’s writ: +That since the common men are now in action +’Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, +And that the legions now in Gallia are +Full weak to undertake our wars against +The fall’n-off Britons, that we do incite +The gentry to this business. He creates +Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes, +For this immediate levy, he commands +His absolute commission. Long live Cæsar! + +TRIBUNE. +Is Lucius general of the forces? + +SECOND SENATOR. +Ay. + +TRIBUNE. +Remaining now in Gallia? + +FIRST SENATOR. +With those legions +Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy +Must be supplyant. The words of your commission +Will tie you to the numbers and the time +Of their dispatch. + +TRIBUNE. +We will discharge our duty. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius. + + Enter Cloten alone. + +CLOTEN. +I am near to th’ place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp’d +it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who +was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? The rather, +saving reverence of the word, for ’tis said a woman’s fitness comes by +fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for +it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own +chamber; I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less +young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the +advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general +services, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this +imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! +Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall +within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to +pieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her +father, who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my +mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my +commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a sore +purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very description +of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + Enter from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus and Imogen. + +BELARIUS. +[_To Imogen._] You are not well. Remain here in the cave; +We’ll come to you after hunting. + +ARVIRAGUS. +[_To Imogen._] Brother, stay here. +Are we not brothers? + +IMOGEN. +So man and man should be; +But clay and clay differs in dignity, +Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. + +GUIDERIUS. +Go you to hunting; I’ll abide with him. + +IMOGEN. +So sick I am not, yet I am not well; +But not so citizen a wanton as +To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me; +Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom +Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me +Cannot amend me; society is no comfort +To one not sociable. I am not very sick, +Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here. +I’ll rob none but myself; and let me die, +Stealing so poorly. + +GUIDERIUS. +I love thee; I have spoke it. +How much the quantity, the weight as much +As I do love my father. + +BELARIUS. +What? how? how? + +ARVIRAGUS. +If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me +In my good brother’s fault. I know not why +I love this youth, and I have heard you say +Love’s reason’s without reason. The bier at door, +And a demand who is’t shall die, I’d say +‘My father, not this youth.’ + +BELARIUS. +[_Aside._] O noble strain! +O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! +Cowards father cowards and base things sire base. +Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. +I’m not their father; yet who this should be +Doth miracle itself, lov’d before me.— +’Tis the ninth hour o’ th’ morn. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Brother, farewell. + +IMOGEN. +I wish ye sport. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Your health. [_To Belarius._] So please you, sir. + +IMOGEN. +[_Aside._] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I +have heard! +Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court. +Experience, O, thou disprov’st report! +Th’ imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, +Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. +I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, +I’ll now taste of thy drug. + + [_Swallows some._] + +GUIDERIUS. +I could not stir him. +He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; +Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter +I might know more. + +BELARIUS. +To th’ field, to th’ field! +We’ll leave you for this time. Go in and rest. + +ARVIRAGUS. +We’ll not be long away. + +BELARIUS. +Pray be not sick, +For you must be our huswife. + +IMOGEN. +Well, or ill, +I am bound to you. + +BELARIUS. +And shalt be ever. + + [_Exit Imogen into the cave._] + +This youth, howe’er distress’d, appears he hath had +Good ancestors. + +ARVIRAGUS. +How angel-like he sings! + +GUIDERIUS. +But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters, +And sauc’d our broths as Juno had been sick, +And he her dieter. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Nobly he yokes +A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh +Was that it was for not being such a smile; +The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly +From so divine a temple to commix +With winds that sailors rail at. + +GUIDERIUS. +I do note +That grief and patience, rooted in him both, +Mingle their spurs together. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Grow patience! +And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine +His perishing root with the increasing vine! + +BELARIUS. +It is great morning. Come, away! Who’s there? + + Enter Cloten. + +CLOTEN. +I cannot find those runagates; that villain +Hath mock’d me. I am faint. + +BELARIUS. +Those runagates? +Means he not us? I partly know him; ’tis +Cloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush. +I saw him not these many years, and yet +I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence! + +GUIDERIUS. +He is but one; you and my brother search +What companies are near. Pray you away; +Let me alone with him. + + [_Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus._] + +CLOTEN. +Soft! What are you +That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers? +I have heard of such. What slave art thou? + +GUIDERIUS. +A thing +More slavish did I ne’er than answering +A slave without a knock. + +CLOTEN. +Thou art a robber, +A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief. + +GUIDERIUS. +To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I +An arm as big as thine, a heart as big? +Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not +My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art; +Why I should yield to thee. + +CLOTEN. +Thou villain base, +Know’st me not by my clothes? + +GUIDERIUS. +No, nor thy tailor, rascal, +Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, +Which, as it seems, make thee. + +CLOTEN. +Thou precious varlet, +My tailor made them not. + +GUIDERIUS. +Hence, then, and thank +The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; +I am loath to beat thee. + +CLOTEN. +Thou injurious thief, +Hear but my name, and tremble. + +GUIDERIUS. +What’s thy name? + +CLOTEN. +Cloten, thou villain. + +GUIDERIUS. +Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, +I cannot tremble at it. Were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, +’Twould move me sooner. + +CLOTEN. +To thy further fear, +Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know +I am son to th’ Queen. + +GUIDERIUS. +I’m sorry for’t; not seeming +So worthy as thy birth. + +CLOTEN. +Art not afeard? + +GUIDERIUS. +Those that I reverence, those I fear—the wise; +At fools I laugh, not fear them. + +CLOTEN. +Die the death. +When I have slain thee with my proper hand, +I’ll follow those that even now fled hence, +And on the gates of Lud’s Town set your heads. +Yield, rustic mountaineer. + + [_Exeunt, fighting._] + + Enter Belarius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +No company’s abroad? + +ARVIRAGUS. +None in the world; you did mistake him, sure. + +BELARIUS. +I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him, +But time hath nothing blurr’d those lines of favour +Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, +And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute +’Twas very Cloten. + +ARVIRAGUS. +In this place we left them. +I wish my brother make good time with him, +You say he is so fell. + +BELARIUS. +Being scarce made up, +I mean to man, he had not apprehension +Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgement +Is oft the cease of fear. + + Enter Guiderius with Cloten’s head. + +But, see, thy brother. + +GUIDERIUS. +This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; +There was no money in’t. Not Hercules +Could have knock’d out his brains, for he had none; +Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne +My head as I do his. + +BELARIUS. +What hast thou done? + +GUIDERIUS. +I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten’s head, +Son to the Queen, after his own report; +Who call’d me traitor, mountaineer, and swore +With his own single hand he’d take us in, +Displace our heads where, thank the gods, they grow, +And set them on Lud’s Town. + +BELARIUS. +We are all undone. + +GUIDERIUS. +Why, worthy father, what have we to lose +But that he swore to take, our lives? The law +Protects not us; then why should we be tender +To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, +Play judge and executioner all himself, +For we do fear the law? What company +Discover you abroad? + +BELARIUS. +No single soul +Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason +He must have some attendants. Though his humour +Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that +From one bad thing to worse, not frenzy, not +Absolute madness could so far have rav’d, +To bring him here alone. Although perhaps +It may be heard at court that such as we +Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time +May make some stronger head, the which he hearing, +As it is like him, might break out and swear +He’d fetch us in; yet is’t not probable +To come alone, either he so undertaking +Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear, +If we do fear this body hath a tail +More perilous than the head. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Let ordinance +Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe’er, +My brother hath done well. + +BELARIUS. +I had no mind +To hunt this day; the boy Fidele’s sickness +Did make my way long forth. + +GUIDERIUS. +With his own sword, +Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en +His head from him. I’ll throw’t into the creek +Behind our rock, and let it to the sea +And tell the fishes he’s the Queen’s son, Cloten. +That’s all I reck. + + [_Exit._] + +BELARIUS. +I fear ’twill be reveng’d. +Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done’t! though valour +Becomes thee well enough. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Would I had done’t, +So the revenge alone pursu’d me! Polydore, +I love thee brotherly, but envy much +Thou hast robb’d me of this deed. I would revenges, +That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, +And put us to our answer. + +BELARIUS. +Well, ’tis done. +We’ll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger +Where there’s no profit. I prithee to our rock. +You and Fidele play the cooks; I’ll stay +Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him +To dinner presently. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Poor sick Fidele! +I’ll willingly to him; to gain his colour +I’d let a parish of such Cloten’s blood, +And praise myself for charity. + + [_Exit._] + +BELARIUS. +O thou goddess, +Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon’st +In these two princely boys! They are as gentle +As zephyrs blowing below the violet, +Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, +Their royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st wind +That by the top doth take the mountain pine +And make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonder +That an invisible instinct should frame them +To royalty unlearn’d, honour untaught, +Civility not seen from other, valour +That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop +As if it had been sow’d. Yet still it’s strange +What Cloten’s being here to us portends, +Or what his death will bring us. + + Enter Guiderius. + +GUIDERIUS. +Where’s my brother? +I have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream, +In embassy to his mother; his body’s hostage +For his return. + + [_Solemn music._] + +BELARIUS. +My ingenious instrument! +Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion +Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! + +GUIDERIUS. +Is he at home? + +BELARIUS. +He went hence even now. + +GUIDERIUS. +What does he mean? Since death of my dear’st mother +It did not speak before. All solemn things +Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? +Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys +Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. +Is Cadwal mad? + + Enter Arviragus with Imogen as dead, bearing her in his arms. + +BELARIUS. +Look, here he comes, +And brings the dire occasion in his arms +Of what we blame him for! + +ARVIRAGUS. +The bird is dead +That we have made so much on. I had rather +Have skipp’d from sixteen years of age to sixty, +To have turn’d my leaping time into a crutch, +Than have seen this. + +GUIDERIUS. +O sweetest, fairest lily! +My brother wears thee not the one half so well +As when thou grew’st thyself. + +BELARIUS. +O melancholy! +Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find +The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare +Might’st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! +Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I, +Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. +How found you him? + +ARVIRAGUS. +Stark, as you see; +Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, +Not as death’s dart, being laugh’d at; his right cheek +Reposing on a cushion. + +GUIDERIUS. +Where? + +ARVIRAGUS. +O’ th’ floor; +His arms thus leagu’d. I thought he slept, and put +My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness +Answer’d my steps too loud. + +GUIDERIUS. +Why, he but sleeps. +If he be gone he’ll make his grave a bed; +With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, +And worms will not come to thee. + +ARVIRAGUS. +With fairest flowers, +Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, +I’ll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack +The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; nor +The azur’d hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor +The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, +Out-sweet’ned not thy breath. The ruddock would, +With charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming +Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie +Without a monument!) bring thee all this; +Yea, and furr’d moss besides, when flow’rs are none, +To winter-ground thy corse— + +GUIDERIUS. +Prithee have done, +And do not play in wench-like words with that +Which is so serious. Let us bury him, +And not protract with admiration what +Is now due debt. To th’ grave. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Say, where shall’s lay him? + +GUIDERIUS. +By good Euriphile, our mother. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Be’t so; +And let us, Polydore, though now our voices +Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground, +As once to our mother; use like note and words, +Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. + +GUIDERIUS. +Cadwal, +I cannot sing. I’ll weep, and word it with thee; +For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse +Than priests and fanes that lie. + +ARVIRAGUS. +We’ll speak it, then. + +BELARIUS. +Great griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for Cloten +Is quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys; +And though he came our enemy, remember +He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting +Together have one dust, yet reverence, +That angel of the world, doth make distinction +Of place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely; +And though you took his life, as being our foe, +Yet bury him as a prince. + +GUIDERIUS. +Pray you fetch him hither. +Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’, +When neither are alive. + +ARVIRAGUS. +If you’ll go fetch him, +We’ll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. + + [_Exit Belarius._] + +GUIDERIUS. +Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th’ East; +My father hath a reason for’t. + +ARVIRAGUS. +’Tis true. + +GUIDERIUS. +Come on, then, and remove him. + +ARVIRAGUS. +So. Begin. + +SONG + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun, + Nor the furious winter’s rages; + Thou thy worldly task hast done, + Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages. + Golden lads and girls all must, + As chimney-sweepers, come to dust._ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great; + Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke. + Care no more to clothe and eat; + To thee the reed is as the oak. + The sceptre, learning, physic, must + All follow this and come to dust._ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Fear no more the lightning flash._ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Nor th’ all-dreaded thunder-stone._ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Fear not slander, censure rash;_ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Thou hast finish’d joy and moan._ + +BOTH. +_ All lovers young, all lovers must + Consign to thee and come to dust._ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ No exorciser harm thee!_ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Nor no witchcraft charm thee!_ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Ghost unlaid forbear thee!_ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Nothing ill come near thee!_ + +BOTH. +_ Quiet consummation have, + And renowned be thy grave!_ + + Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten. + +GUIDERIUS. +We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down. + +BELARIUS. +Here’s a few flowers; but ’bout midnight, more. +The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ th’ night +Are strewings fit’st for graves. Upon their faces. +You were as flow’rs, now wither’d. Even so +These herblets shall which we upon you strew. +Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. +The ground that gave them first has them again. +Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. + + [_Exeunt all but Imogen._] + +IMOGEN. +[_Awaking._] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way? +I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? +’Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? +I have gone all night. Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep. +But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses! + + [_Seeing the body._] + +These flow’rs are like the pleasures of the world; +This bloody man, the care on’t. I hope I dream; +For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, +And cook to honest creatures. But ’tis not so; +’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, +Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes +Are sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith, +I tremble still with fear; but if there be +Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity +As a wren’s eye, fear’d gods, a part of it! +The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it is +Without me, as within me; not imagin’d, felt. +A headless man? The garments of Posthumus? +I know the shape of’s leg; this is his hand, +His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh, +The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face— +Murder in heaven! How! ’Tis gone. Pisanio, +All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, +And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, +Conspir’d with that irregulous devil, Cloten, +Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read +Be henceforth treacherous! Damn’d Pisanio +Hath with his forged letters (damn’d Pisanio) +From this most bravest vessel of the world +Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas, +Where is thy head? Where’s that? Ay me! where’s that? +Pisanio might have kill’d thee at the heart, +And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? +’Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them +Have laid this woe here. O, ’tis pregnant, pregnant! +The drug he gave me, which he said was precious +And cordial to me, have I not found it +Murd’rous to th’ senses? That confirms it home. +This is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten. O! +Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, +That we the horrider may seem to those +Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord! + + [_Falls fainting on the body._] + + Enter Lucius, Captains and a Soothsayer. + +CAPTAIN. +To them the legions garrison’d in Gallia, +After your will, have cross’d the sea, attending +You here at Milford Haven; with your ships, +They are in readiness. + +LUCIUS. +But what from Rome? + +CAPTAIN. +The Senate hath stirr’d up the confiners +And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, +That promise noble service; and they come +Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, +Sienna’s brother. + +LUCIUS. +When expect you them? + +CAPTAIN. +With the next benefit o’ th’ wind. + +LUCIUS. +This forwardness +Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers +Be muster’d; bid the captains look to’t. Now, sir, +What have you dream’d of late of this war’s purpose? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Last night the very gods show’d me a vision +(I fast and pray’d for their intelligence) thus: +I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, wing’d +From the spongy south to this part of the west, +There vanish’d in the sunbeams; which portends, +Unless my sins abuse my divination, +Success to th’ Roman host. + +LUCIUS. +Dream often so, +And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here +Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime +It was a worthy building. How? a page? +Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather; +For nature doth abhor to make his bed +With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. +Let’s see the boy’s face. + +CAPTAIN. +He’s alive, my lord. + +LUCIUS. +He’ll then instruct us of this body. Young one, +Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems +They crave to be demanded. Who is this +Thou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he +That, otherwise than noble nature did, +Hath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interest +In this sad wreck? How came’t? Who is’t? +What art thou? + +IMOGEN. +I am nothing; or if not, +Nothing to be were better. This was my master, +A very valiant Briton and a good, +That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! +There is no more such masters. I may wander +From east to occident; cry out for service; +Try many, all good; serve truly; never +Find such another master. + +LUCIUS. +’Lack, good youth! +Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining than +Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. + +IMOGEN. +Richard du Champ. [_Aside._] If I do lie, and do +No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope +They’ll pardon it.—Say you, sir? + +LUCIUS. +Thy name? + +IMOGEN. +Fidele, sir. + +LUCIUS. +Thou dost approve thyself the very same; +Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. +Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say +Thou shalt be so well master’d; but, be sure, +No less belov’d. The Roman Emperor’s letters, +Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner +Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. + +IMOGEN. +I’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods, +I’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep +As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when +With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha’ strew’d his grave, +And on it said a century of prayers, +Such as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh; +And leaving so his service, follow you, +So please you entertain me. + +LUCIUS. +Ay, good youth; +And rather father thee than master thee. +My friends, +The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us +Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, +And make him with our pikes and partisans +A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d +By thee to us; and he shall be interr’d +As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. +Some falls are means the happier to arise. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio and Attendants. + +CYMBELINE. +Again! and bring me word how ’tis with her. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +A fever with the absence of her son; +A madness, of which her life’s in danger. Heavens, +How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, +The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen +Upon a desperate bed, and in a time +When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, +So needful for this present. It strikes me past +The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, +Who needs must know of her departure and +Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee +By a sharp torture. + +PISANIO. +Sir, my life is yours; +I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress, +I nothing know where she remains, why gone, +Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, +Hold me your loyal servant. + +LORD. +Good my liege, +The day that she was missing he was here. +I dare be bound he’s true and shall perform +All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, +There wants no diligence in seeking him, +And will no doubt be found. + +CYMBELINE. +The time is troublesome. +[_To Pisanio._] We’ll slip you for a season; but our jealousy +Does yet depend. + +LORD. +So please your Majesty, +The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, +Are landed on your coast, with a supply +Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent. + +CYMBELINE. +Now for the counsel of my son and queen! +I am amaz’d with matter. + +LORD. +Good my liege, +Your preparation can affront no less +Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re ready. +The want is but to put those pow’rs in motion +That long to move. + +CYMBELINE. +I thank you. Let’s withdraw, +And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not +What can from Italy annoy us; but +We grieve at chances here. Away! + + [_Exeunt all but Pisanio._] + +PISANIO. +I heard no letter from my master since +I wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange. +Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise +To yield me often tidings. Neither know I +What is betid to Cloten, but remain +Perplex’d in all. The heavens still must work. +Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. +These present wars shall find I love my country, +Even to the note o’ th’ King, or I’ll fall in them. +All other doubts, by time let them be clear’d: +Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +GUIDERIUS. +The noise is round about us. + +BELARIUS. +Let us from it. + +ARVIRAGUS. +What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it +From action and adventure? + +GUIDERIUS. +Nay, what hope +Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans +Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us +For barbarous and unnatural revolts +During their use, and slay us after. + +BELARIUS. +Sons, +We’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us. +To the King’s party there’s no going. Newness +Of Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’d +Among the bands) may drive us to a render +Where we have liv’d, and so extort from’s that +Which we have done, whose answer would be death, +Drawn on with torture. + +GUIDERIUS. +This is, sir, a doubt +In such a time nothing becoming you +Nor satisfying us. + +ARVIRAGUS. +It is not likely +That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, +Behold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyes +And ears so cloy’d importantly as now, +That they will waste their time upon our note, +To know from whence we are. + +BELARIUS. +O, I am known +Of many in the army. Many years, +Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him +From my remembrance. And, besides, the King +Hath not deserv’d my service nor your loves, +Who find in my exile the want of breeding, +The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless +To have the courtesy your cradle promis’d, +But to be still hot summer’s tanlings and +The shrinking slaves of winter. + +GUIDERIUS. +Than be so, +Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th’ army. +I and my brother are not known; yourself +So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown, +Cannot be questioned. + +ARVIRAGUS. +By this sun that shines, +I’ll thither. What thing is’t that I never +Did see man die! scarce ever look’d on blood +But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! +Never bestrid a horse, save one that had +A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel +Nor iron on his heel! I am asham’d +To look upon the holy sun, to have +The benefit of his blest beams, remaining +So long a poor unknown. + +GUIDERIUS. +By heavens, I’ll go! +If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, +I’ll take the better care; but if you will not, +The hazard therefore due fall on me by +The hands of Romans! + +ARVIRAGUS. +So say I. Amen. + +BELARIUS. +No reason I, since of your lives you set +So slight a valuation, should reserve +My crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys! +If in your country wars you chance to die, +That is my bed too, lads, and there I’ll lie. +Lead, lead. [_Aside._] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn +Till it fly out and show them princes born. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp. + + Enter Posthumus alone, with a bloody handkerchief. + +POSTHUMUS. +Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee; for I wish’d +Thou shouldst be colour’d thus. You married ones, +If each of you should take this course, how many +Must murder wives much better than themselves +For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! +Every good servant does not all commands; +No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you +Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never +Had liv’d to put on this; so had you saved +The noble Imogen to repent, and struck +Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, +You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love, +To have them fall no more. You some permit +To second ills with ills, each elder worse, +And make them dread it, to the doers’ thrift. +But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills, +And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither +Among th’ Italian gentry, and to fight +Against my lady’s kingdom. ’Tis enough +That, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress; peace! +I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, +Hear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me +Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself +As does a Britain peasant. So I’ll fight +Against the part I come with; so I’ll die +For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life +Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, +Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril +Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know +More valour in me than my habits show. +Gods, put the strength o’ th’ Leonati in me! +To shame the guise o’ th’ world, I will begin +The fashion less without and more within. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman +camps. + + Enter Lucius, Iachimo and the Roman army at one door, and the British + army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. + They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, + Iachimo and Posthumus. He vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo and then + leaves him. + +IACHIMO. +The heaviness and guilt within my bosom +Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady, +The Princess of this country, and the air on’t +Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, +A very drudge of nature’s, have subdu’d me +In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne +As I wear mine are titles but of scorn. +If that thy gentry, Britain, go before +This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds +Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. + + [_Exit._] + + The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is taken. Then enter + to his rescue Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +Stand, stand! We have th’ advantage of the ground; +The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but +The villainy of our fears. + +GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. +Stand, stand, and fight! + + Enter Posthumus and seconds the Britons; they rescue Cymbeline and + exeunt. Then re-enter Lucius and Iachimo with Imogen. + +LUCIUS. +Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; +For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such +As war were hoodwink’d. + +IACHIMO. +’Tis their fresh supplies. + +LUCIUS. +It is a day turn’d strangely. Or betimes +Let’s reinforce or fly. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the field. + + Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord. + +LORD. +Cam’st thou from where they made the stand? + +POSTHUMUS. +I did: +Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. + +LORD. +I did. + +POSTHUMUS. +No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost, +But that the heavens fought. The King himself +Of his wings destitute, the army broken, +And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying, +Through a strait lane; the enemy, full-hearted, +Lolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work +More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down +Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling +Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm’d +With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living +To die with length’ned shame. + +LORD. +Where was this lane? + +POSTHUMUS. +Close by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf, +Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, +An honest one, I warrant, who deserv’d +So long a breeding as his white beard came to, +In doing this for’s country. Athwart the lane +He, with two striplings (lads more like to run +The country base than to commit such slaughter; +With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer +Than those for preservation cas’d or shame) +Made good the passage, cried to those that fled +‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not our men. +To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand; +Or we are Romans and will give you that, +Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save +But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!’ These three, +Three thousand confident, in act as many— +For three performers are the file when all +The rest do nothing—with this word ‘Stand, stand!’ +Accommodated by the place, more charming +With their own nobleness, which could have turn’d +A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, +Part shame, part spirit renew’d; that some turn’d coward +But by example (O, a sin in war +Damn’d in the first beginners) ’gan to look +The way that they did and to grin like lions +Upon the pikes o’ th’ hunters. Then began +A stop i’ th’ chaser, a retire; anon +A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, +Chickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles; slaves, +The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, +Like fragments in hard voyages, became +The life o’ th’ need. Having found the back-door open +Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! +Some slain before, some dying, some their friends +O’erborne i’ th’ former wave. Ten chas’d by one +Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty. +Those that would die or ere resist are grown +The mortal bugs o’ th’ field. + +LORD. +This was strange chance: +A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. + +POSTHUMUS. +Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made +Rather to wonder at the things you hear +Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon’t, +And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one: + + + ‘Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, + Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.’ + +LORD. +Nay, be not angry, sir. + +POSTHUMUS. +’Lack, to what end? +Who dares not stand his foe I’ll be his friend; +For if he’ll do as he is made to do, +I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too. +You have put me into rhyme. + +LORD. +Farewell; you’re angry. + + [_Exit._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery, +To be i’ th’ field and ask ‘What news?’ of me! +Today how many would have given their honours +To have sav’d their carcasses! took heel to do’t, +And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d, +Could not find death where I did hear him groan, +Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, +’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, +Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we +That draw his knives i’ th’ war. Well, I will find him; +For being now a favourer to the Briton, +No more a Briton, I have resum’d again +The part I came in. Fight I will no more, +But yield me to the veriest hind that shall +Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is +Here made by th’ Roman; great the answer be +Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death; +On either side I come to spend my breath, +Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again, +But end it by some means for Imogen. + + Enter two British Captains and soldiers. + +FIRST CAPTAIN. +Great Jupiter be prais’d! Lucius is taken. +’Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. + +SECOND CAPTAIN. +There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, +That gave th’ affront with them. + +FIRST CAPTAIN. +So ’tis reported; +But none of ’em can be found. Stand! who’s there? + +POSTHUMUS. +A Roman, +Who had not now been drooping here if seconds +Had answer’d him. + +SECOND CAPTAIN. +Lay hands on him; a dog! +A leg of Rome shall not return to tell +What crows have peck’d them here. He brags his service, +As if he were of note. Bring him to th’ King. + + Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio and Roman + captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers + him over to a gaoler. + + [_Exeunt omnes._] + +SCENE IV. Britain. A prison. + + Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers. + +FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you; +So graze as you find pasture. + +SECOND GAOLER. +Ay, or a stomach. + + [_Exeunt Gaolers._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, +I think, to liberty. Yet am I better +Than one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather +Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d +By th’ sure physician death, who is the key +T’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d +More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me +The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, +Then, free for ever! Is’t enough I am sorry? +So children temporal fathers do appease; +Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, +I cannot do it better than in gyves, +Desir’d more than constrain’d. To satisfy, +If of my freedom ’tis the main part, take +No stricter render of me than my all. +I know you are more clement than vile men, +Who of their broken debtors take a third, +A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again +On their abatement; that’s not my desire. +For Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though +’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coin’d it. +’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; +Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake; +You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow’rs, +If you will take this audit, take this life, +And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! +I’ll speak to thee in silence. + + [_Sleeps._] + + Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to + Posthumus, an old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an + ancient matron, his wife and Mother to Posthumus, with music before + them. Then, after other music, follows the two young Leonati, brothers + to Posthumus, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle + Posthumus round as he lies sleeping. + +SICILIUS. +No more, thou thunder-master, show +Thy spite on mortal flies. +With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, +That thy adulteries +Rates and revenges. +Hath my poor boy done aught but well, +Whose face I never saw? +I died whilst in the womb he stay’d +Attending nature’s law; +Whose father then, as men report +Thou orphans’ father art, +Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him +From this earth-vexing smart. + +MOTHER. +Lucina lent not me her aid, +But took me in my throes, +That from me was Posthumus ripp’d, +Came crying ’mongst his foes, +A thing of pity. + +SICILIUS. +Great Nature like his ancestry +Moulded the stuff so fair +That he deserv’d the praise o’ th’ world +As great Sicilius’ heir. + +FIRST BROTHER. +When once he was mature for man, +In Britain where was he +That could stand up his parallel, +Or fruitful object be +In eye of Imogen, that best +Could deem his dignity? + +MOTHER. +With marriage wherefore was he mock’d, +To be exil’d and thrown +From Leonati seat and cast +From her his dearest one, +Sweet Imogen? + +SICILIUS. +Why did you suffer Iachimo, +Slight thing of Italy, +To taint his nobler heart and brain +With needless jealousy, +And to become the geck and scorn +O’ th’ other’s villainy? + +SECOND BROTHER. +For this from stiller seats we came, +Our parents and us twain, +That, striking in our country’s cause, +Fell bravely and were slain, +Our fealty and Tenantius’ right +With honour to maintain. + +FIRST BROTHER. +Like hardiment Posthumus hath +To Cymbeline perform’d. +Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, +Why hast thou thus adjourn’d +The graces for his merits due, +Being all to dolours turn’d? + +SICILIUS. +Thy crystal window ope; look out; +No longer exercise +Upon a valiant race thy harsh +And potent injuries. + +MOTHER. +Since, Jupiter, our son is good, +Take off his miseries. + +SICILIUS. +Peep through thy marble mansion. Help! +Or we poor ghosts will cry +To th’ shining synod of the rest +Against thy deity. + +BROTHERS. +Help, Jupiter! or we appeal, +And from thy justice fly. + + Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle. He + throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. + +JUPITER. +No more, you petty spirits of region low, +Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts +Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know, +Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? +Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest +Upon your never-withering banks of flow’rs. +Be not with mortal accidents opprest: +No care of yours it is; you know ’tis ours. +Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, +The more delay’d, delighted. Be content; +Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift; +His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. +Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in +Our temple was he married. Rise and fade! +He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, +And happier much by his affliction made. +This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein +Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; +And so, away; no farther with your din +Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. +Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. + + [_Ascends._] + +SICILIUS. +He came in thunder; his celestial breath +Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle +Stoop’d as to foot us. His ascension is +More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird +Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, +As when his god is pleas’d. + +ALL. +Thanks, Jupiter! + +SICILIUS. +The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d +His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, +Let us with care perform his great behest. + + [_Ghosts vanish._] + +POSTHUMUS. +[_Waking._] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot +A father to me; and thou hast created +A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn, +Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born. +And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend +On greatness’ favour, dream as I have done; +Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve; +Many dream not to find, neither deserve, +And yet are steep’d in favours; so am I, +That have this golden chance, and know not why. +What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! +Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment +Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects +So follow to be most unlike our courtiers, +As good as promise. + +[_Reads._] _When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without +seeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a +stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years, +shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then +shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in +peace and plenty._ + +’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen +Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing, +Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such +As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, +The action of my life is like it, which +I’ll keep, if but for sympathy. + + Enter Gaoler. + +GAOLER. +Come, sir, are you ready for death? + +POSTHUMUS. +Over-roasted rather; ready long ago. + +GAOLER. +Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well +cook’d. + +POSTHUMUS. +So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot. + +GAOLER. +A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called +to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the +sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth. You come in faint for +want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have +paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain +both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too +light, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now +be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a +trice. You have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what’s past, +is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and +counters; so the acquittance follows. + +POSTHUMUS. +I am merrier to die than thou art to live. + +GAOLER. +Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that +were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he +would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not +which way you shall go. + +POSTHUMUS. +Yes indeed do I, fellow. + +GAOLER. +Your death has eyes in’s head, then; I have not seen him so pictur’d. +You must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to +take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the +after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you shall speed in your +journey’s end, I think you’ll never return to tell one. + +POSTHUMUS. +I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I +am going, but such as wink and will not use them. + +GAOLER. +What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of +eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging’s the way of +winking. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King. + +POSTHUMUS. +Thou bring’st good news: I am call’d to be made free. + +GAOLER. +I’ll be hang’d then. + +POSTHUMUS. +Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. + + [_Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger._] + +GAOLER. +Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw +one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to +live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that die +against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of +one mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of gaolers and +gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a +preferment in’t. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent. + + Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, + Officers and Attendants. + +CYMBELINE. +Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made +Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart +That the poor soldier that so richly fought, +Whose rags sham’d gilded arms, whose naked breast +Stepp’d before targes of proof, cannot be found. +He shall be happy that can find him, if +Our grace can make him so. + +BELARIUS. +I never saw +Such noble fury in so poor a thing; +Such precious deeds in one that promis’d nought +But beggary and poor looks. + +CYMBELINE. +No tidings of him? + +PISANIO. +He hath been search’d among the dead and living, +But no trace of him. + +CYMBELINE. +To my grief, I am +The heir of his reward, [_To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus_] which +I will add +To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, +By whom I grant she lives. ’Tis now the time +To ask of whence you are. Report it. + +BELARIUS. +Sir, +In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen; +Further to boast were neither true nor modest, +Unless I add we are honest. + +CYMBELINE. +Bow your knees. +Arise my knights o’ th’ battle; I create you +Companions to our person, and will fit you +With dignities becoming your estates. + + Enter Cornelius and Ladies. + +There’s business in these faces. Why so sadly +Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, +And not o’ th’ court of Britain. + +CORNELIUS. +Hail, great King! +To sour your happiness I must report +The Queen is dead. + +CYMBELINE. +Who worse than a physician +Would this report become? But I consider +By med’cine life may be prolong’d, yet death +Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? + +CORNELIUS. +With horror, madly dying, like her life; +Which, being cruel to the world, concluded +Most cruel to herself. What she confess’d +I will report, so please you; these her women +Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks +Were present when she finish’d. + +CYMBELINE. +Prithee say. + +CORNELIUS. +First, she confess’d she never lov’d you; only +Affected greatness got by you, not you; +Married your royalty, was wife to your place; +Abhorr’d your person. + +CYMBELINE. +She alone knew this; +And but she spoke it dying, I would not +Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. + +CORNELIUS. +Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love +With such integrity, she did confess +Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, +But that her flight prevented it, she had +Ta’en off by poison. + +CYMBELINE. +O most delicate fiend! +Who is’t can read a woman? Is there more? + +CORNELIUS. +More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had +For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, +Should by the minute feed on life, and ling’ring, +By inches waste you. In which time she purpos’d, +By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to +O’ercome you with her show; and in time, +When she had fitted you with her craft, to work +Her son into th’ adoption of the crown; +But failing of her end by his strange absence, +Grew shameless-desperate, open’d, in despite +Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented +The evils she hatch’d were not effected; so, +Despairing, died. + +CYMBELINE. +Heard you all this, her women? + +LADIES. +We did, so please your Highness. + +CYMBELINE. +Mine eyes +Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; +Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart +That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious +To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter! +That it was folly in me thou mayst say, +And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! + + Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer and other Roman prisoners, + guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen. + +Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute; that +The Britons have raz’d out, though with the loss +Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit +That their good souls may be appeas’d with slaughter +Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; +So think of your estate. + +LUCIUS. +Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day +Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, +We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten’d +Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods +Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives +May be call’d ransom, let it come. Sufficeth +A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer. +Augustus lives to think on’t; and so much +For my peculiar care. This one thing only +I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born, +Let him be ransom’d. Never master had +A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, +So tender over his occasions, true, +So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join +With my request, which I’ll make bold your Highness +Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm +Though he have serv’d a Roman. Save him, sir, +And spare no blood beside. + +CYMBELINE. +I have surely seen him; +His favour is familiar to me. Boy, +Thou hast look’d thyself into my grace, +And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore +To say “Live, boy.” Ne’er thank thy master. Live; +And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, +Fitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it; +Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, +The noblest ta’en. + +IMOGEN. +I humbly thank your Highness. + +LUCIUS. +I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, +And yet I know thou wilt. + +IMOGEN. +No, no! Alack, +There’s other work in hand. I see a thing +Bitter to me as death; your life, good master, +Must shuffle for itself. + +LUCIUS. +The boy disdains me, +He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys +That place them on the truth of girls and boys. +Why stands he so perplex’d? + +CYMBELINE. +What wouldst thou, boy? +I love thee more and more; think more and more +What’s best to ask. Know’st him thou look’st on? Speak, +Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? + +IMOGEN. +He is a Roman, no more kin to me +Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal, +Am something nearer. + +CYMBELINE. +Wherefore ey’st him so? + +IMOGEN. +I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please +To give me hearing. + +CYMBELINE. +Ay, with all my heart, +And lend my best attention. What’s thy name? + +IMOGEN. +Fidele, sir. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou’rt my good youth, my page; +I’ll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely. + + [_Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart._] + +BELARIUS. +Is not this boy reviv’d from death? + +ARVIRAGUS. +One sand another +Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad +Who died and was Fidele. What think you? + +GUIDERIUS. +The same dead thing alive. + +BELARIUS. +Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear. +Creatures may be alike; were’t he, I am sure +He would have spoke to us. + +GUIDERIUS. +But we see him dead. + +BELARIUS. +Be silent; let’s see further. + +PISANIO. +[_Aside._] It is my mistress. +Since she is living, let the time run on +To good or bad. + + [_Cymbeline and Imogen advance._] + +CYMBELINE. +Come, stand thou by our side; +Make thy demand aloud. [_To Iachimo._] Sir, step you forth; +Give answer to this boy, and do it freely, +Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, +Which is our honour, bitter torture shall +Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him. + +IMOGEN. +My boon is that this gentleman may render +Of whom he had this ring. + +POSTHUMUS. +[_Aside._] What’s that to him? + +CYMBELINE. +That diamond upon your finger, say +How came it yours? + +IACHIMO. +Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that +Which to be spoke would torture thee. + +CYMBELINE. +How? me? + +IACHIMO. +I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that +Which torments me to conceal. By villainy +I got this ring; ’twas Leonatus’ jewel, +Whom thou didst banish; and—which more may grieve thee, +As it doth me—a nobler sir ne’er liv’d +’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? + +CYMBELINE. +All that belongs to this. + +IACHIMO. +That paragon, thy daughter, +For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits +Quail to remember—Give me leave, I faint. + +CYMBELINE. +My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength; +I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will +Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak. + +IACHIMO. +Upon a time, unhappy was the clock +That struck the hour: was in Rome, accurs’d +The mansion where: ’twas at a feast, O, would +Our viands had been poison’d (or at least +Those which I heav’d to head) the good Posthumus +(What should I say? he was too good to be +Where ill men were, and was the best of all +Amongst the rar’st of good ones) sitting sadly +Hearing us praise our loves of Italy +For beauty that made barren the swell’d boast +Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming +The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, +Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, +A shop of all the qualities that man +Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, +Fairness which strikes the eye. + +CYMBELINE. +I stand on fire. +Come to the matter. + +IACHIMO. +All too soon I shall, +Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, +Most like a noble lord in love and one +That had a royal lover, took his hint; +And (not dispraising whom we prais’d, therein +He was as calm as virtue) he began +His mistress’ picture; which by his tongue being made, +And then a mind put in’t, either our brags +Were crack’d of kitchen trulls, or his description +Prov’d us unspeaking sots. + +CYMBELINE. +Nay, nay, to th’ purpose. + +IACHIMO. +Your daughter’s chastity (there it begins) +He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams +And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch, +Made scruple of his praise, and wager’d with him +Pieces of gold ’gainst this which then he wore +Upon his honour’d finger, to attain +In suit the place of’s bed, and win this ring +By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, +No lesser of her honour confident +Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; +And would so, had it been a carbuncle +Of Phoebus’ wheel; and might so safely, had it +Been all the worth of’s car. Away to Britain +Post I in this design. Well may you, sir, +Remember me at court, where I was taught +Of your chaste daughter the wide difference +’Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench’d +Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain +Gan in your duller Britain operate +Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; +And, to be brief, my practice so prevail’d +That I return’d with simular proof enough +To make the noble Leonatus mad, +By wounding his belief in her renown +With tokens thus and thus; averring notes +Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet +(O cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks +Of secret on her person, that he could not +But think her bond of chastity quite crack’d, +I having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon +Methinks I see him now— + +POSTHUMUS. +[_Coming forward._] Ay, so thou dost, +Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool, +Egregious murderer, thief, anything +That’s due to all the villains past, in being, +To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, +Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out +For torturers ingenious. It is I +That all th’ abhorred things o’ th’ earth amend +By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, +That kill’d thy daughter; villain-like, I lie; +That caus’d a lesser villain than myself, +A sacrilegious thief, to do’t. The temple +Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. +Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set +The dogs o’ th’ street to bay me. Every villain +Be call’d Posthumus Leonatus, and +Be villainy less than ’twas! O Imogen! +My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, +Imogen, Imogen! + +IMOGEN. +Peace, my lord. Hear, hear! + +POSTHUMUS. +Shall’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page, +There lies thy part. + + [_Strikes her. She falls._] + +PISANIO. +O gentlemen, help! +Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! +You ne’er kill’d Imogen till now. Help, help! +Mine honour’d lady! + +CYMBELINE. +Does the world go round? + +POSTHUMUS. +How comes these staggers on me? + +PISANIO. +Wake, my mistress! + +CYMBELINE. +If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me +To death with mortal joy. + +PISANIO. +How fares my mistress? + +IMOGEN. +O, get thee from my sight; +Thou gav’st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence! +Breathe not where princes are. + +CYMBELINE. +The tune of Imogen! + +PISANIO. +Lady, +The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if +That box I gave you was not thought by me +A precious thing! I had it from the Queen. + +CYMBELINE. +New matter still? + +IMOGEN. +It poison’d me. + +CORNELIUS. +O gods! +I left out one thing which the Queen confess’d, +Which must approve thee honest. ‘If Pisanio +Have’ said she ‘given his mistress that confection +Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv’d +As I would serve a rat.’ + +CYMBELINE. +What’s this, Cornelius? + +CORNELIUS. +The Queen, sir, very oft importun’d me +To temper poisons for her; still pretending +The satisfaction of her knowledge only +In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, +Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose +Was of more danger, did compound for her +A certain stuff, which, being ta’en would cease +The present pow’r of life, but in short time +All offices of nature should again +Do their due functions. Have you ta’en of it? + +IMOGEN. +Most like I did, for I was dead. + +BELARIUS. +My boys, +There was our error. + +GUIDERIUS. +This is sure Fidele. + +IMOGEN. +Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? +Think that you are upon a rock, and now +Throw me again. + + [_Embracing him._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Hang there like fruit, my soul, +Till the tree die! + +CYMBELINE. +How now, my flesh? my child? +What, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act? +Wilt thou not speak to me? + +IMOGEN. +[_Kneeling._] Your blessing, sir. + +BELARIUS. +[_To Guiderius and Arviragus._] Though you did love this youth, I blame +ye not; +You had a motive for’t. + +CYMBELINE. +My tears that fall +Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, +Thy mother’s dead. + +IMOGEN. +I am sorry for’t, my lord. + +CYMBELINE. +O, she was naught, and long of her it was +That we meet here so strangely; but her son +Is gone, we know not how nor where. + +PISANIO. +My lord, +Now fear is from me, I’ll speak troth. Lord Cloten, +Upon my lady’s missing, came to me +With his sword drawn, foam’d at the mouth, and swore, +If I discover’d not which way she was gone, +It was my instant death. By accident +I had a feigned letter of my master’s +Then in my pocket, which directed him +To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; +Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments, +Which he enforc’d from me, away he posts +With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate +My lady’s honour. What became of him +I further know not. + +GUIDERIUS. +Let me end the story: +I slew him there. + +CYMBELINE. +Marry, the gods forfend! +I would not thy good deeds should from my lips +Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth, +Deny’t again. + +GUIDERIUS. +I have spoke it, and I did it. + +CYMBELINE. +He was a prince. + +GUIDERIUS. +A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me +Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me +With language that would make me spurn the sea, +If it could so roar to me. I cut off’s head, +And am right glad he is not standing here +To tell this tale of mine. + +CYMBELINE. +I am sorry for thee. +By thine own tongue thou art condemn’d, and must +Endure our law. Thou’rt dead. + +IMOGEN. +That headless man +I thought had been my lord. + +CYMBELINE. +Bind the offender, +And take him from our presence. + +BELARIUS. +Stay, sir King. +This man is better than the man he slew, +As well descended as thyself, and hath +More of thee merited than a band of Clotens +Had ever scar for. [_To the guard._] Let his arms alone; +They were not born for bondage. + +CYMBELINE. +Why, old soldier, +Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for +By tasting of our wrath? How of descent +As good as we? + +ARVIRAGUS. +In that he spake too far. + +CYMBELINE. +And thou shalt die for’t. + +BELARIUS. +We will die all three; +But I will prove that two on’s are as good +As I have given out him. My sons, I must +For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech, +Though haply well for you. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Your danger’s ours. + +GUIDERIUS. +And our good his. + +BELARIUS. +Have at it then by leave! +Thou hadst, great King, a subject who +Was call’d Belarius. + +CYMBELINE. +What of him? He is +A banish’d traitor. + +BELARIUS. +He it is that hath +Assum’d this age; indeed a banish’d man; +I know not how a traitor. + +CYMBELINE. +Take him hence, +The whole world shall not save him. + +BELARIUS. +Not too hot. +First pay me for the nursing of thy sons, +And let it be confiscate all, so soon +As I have receiv’d it. + +CYMBELINE. +Nursing of my sons? + +BELARIUS. +I am too blunt and saucy: here’s my knee. +Ere I arise I will prefer my sons; +Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, +These two young gentlemen that call me father, +And think they are my sons, are none of mine; +They are the issue of your loins, my liege, +And blood of your begetting. + +CYMBELINE. +How? my issue? + +BELARIUS. +So sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan, +Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish’d. +Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment +Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer’d +Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes +(For such and so they are) these twenty years +Have I train’d up; those arts they have as I +Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as +Your Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, +Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children +Upon my banishment; I mov’d her to’t, +Having receiv’d the punishment before +For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty +Excited me to treason. Their dear loss, +The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shap’d +Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, +Here are your sons again, and I must lose +Two of the sweet’st companions in the world. +The benediction of these covering heavens +Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy +To inlay heaven with stars. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou weep’st and speak’st. +The service that you three have done is more +Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children. +If these be they, I know not how to wish +A pair of worthier sons. + +BELARIUS. +Be pleas’d awhile. +This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, +Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; +This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, +Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp’d +In a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand +Of his queen mother, which for more probation +I can with ease produce. + +CYMBELINE. +Guiderius had +Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; +It was a mark of wonder. + +BELARIUS. +This is he, +Who hath upon him still that natural stamp. +It was wise nature’s end in the donation, +To be his evidence now. + +CYMBELINE. +O, what am I? +A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother +Rejoic’d deliverance more. Blest pray you be, +That, after this strange starting from your orbs, +You may reign in them now! O Imogen, +Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. + +IMOGEN. +No, my lord; +I have got two worlds by’t. O my gentle brothers, +Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter +But I am truest speaker! You call’d me brother, +When I was but your sister: I you brothers, +When we were so indeed. + +CYMBELINE. +Did you e’er meet? + +ARVIRAGUS. +Ay, my good lord. + +GUIDERIUS. +And at first meeting lov’d, +Continu’d so until we thought he died. + +CORNELIUS. +By the Queen’s dram she swallow’d. + +CYMBELINE. +O rare instinct! +When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement +Hath to it circumstantial branches, which +Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv’d you? +And when came you to serve our Roman captive? +How parted with your brothers? how first met them? +Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, +And your three motives to the battle, with +I know not how much more, should be demanded, +And all the other by-dependances, +From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place +Will serve our long interrogatories. See, +Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; +And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye +On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting +Each object with a joy; the counterchange +Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground, +And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. +[_To Belarius._] Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee ever. + +IMOGEN. +You are my father too, and did relieve me +To see this gracious season. + +CYMBELINE. +All o’erjoy’d +Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too, +For they shall taste our comfort. + +IMOGEN. +My good master, +I will yet do you service. + +LUCIUS. +Happy be you! + +CYMBELINE. +The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, +He would have well becom’d this place and grac’d +The thankings of a king. + +POSTHUMUS. +I am, sir, +The soldier that did company these three +In poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for +The purpose I then follow’d. That I was he, +Speak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might +Have made you finish. + +IACHIMO. +[_Kneeling._] I am down again; +But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, +As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, +Which I so often owe; but your ring first, +And here the bracelet of the truest princess +That ever swore her faith. + +POSTHUMUS. +Kneel not to me. +The pow’r that I have on you is to spare you; +The malice towards you to forgive you. Live, +And deal with others better. + +CYMBELINE. +Nobly doom’d! +We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; +Pardon’s the word to all. + +ARVIRAGUS. +You holp us, sir, +As you did mean indeed to be our brother; +Joy’d are we that you are. + +POSTHUMUS. +Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome, +Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought +Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d, +Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows +Of mine own kindred. When I wak’d, I found +This label on my bosom; whose containing +Is so from sense in hardness that I can +Make no collection of it. Let him show +His skill in the construction. + +LUCIUS. +Philarmonus! + +SOOTHSAYER. +Here, my good lord. + +LUCIUS. +Read, and declare the meaning. + +SOOTHSAYER. +[_Reads._] _When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without +seeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a +stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years, +shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then +shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in +peace and plenty._ +Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp; +The fit and apt construction of thy name, +Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. +[_To Cymbeline_] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, +Which we call _mollis aer_, and _mollis aer_ +We term it _mulier_; which _mulier_ I divine +Is this most constant wife, who even now +Answering the letter of the oracle, +Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about +With this most tender air. + +CYMBELINE. +This hath some seeming. + +SOOTHSAYER. +The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, +Personates thee; and thy lopp’d branches point +Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol’n, +For many years thought dead, are now reviv’d, +To the majestic cedar join’d, whose issue +Promises Britain peace and plenty. + +CYMBELINE. +Well, +My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, +Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar +And to the Roman empire, promising +To pay our wonted tribute, from the which +We were dissuaded by our wicked queen, +Whom heavens in justice, both on her and hers, +Have laid most heavy hand. + +SOOTHSAYER. +The fingers of the pow’rs above do tune +The harmony of this peace. The vision +Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke +Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant +Is full accomplish’d; for the Roman eagle, +From south to west on wing soaring aloft, +Lessen’d herself and in the beams o’ th’ sun +So vanish’d; which foreshow’d our princely eagle, +Th’ imperial Cæsar, Cæsar, should again unite +His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, +Which shines here in the west. + +CYMBELINE. +Laud we the gods; +And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils +From our bless’d altars. Publish we this peace +To all our subjects. Set we forward; let +A Roman and a British ensign wave +Friendly together. So through Lud’s Town march; +And in the temple of great Jupiter +Our peace we’ll ratify; seal it with feasts. +Set on there! Never was a war did cease, +Ere bloody hands were wash’d, with such a peace. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle. +Scene II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle +Scene III. A room in Polonius’s house. +Scene IV. The platform. +Scene V. A more remote part of the Castle. + +ACT II +Scene I. A room in Polonius’s house. +Scene II. A room in the Castle. + +ACT III +Scene I. A room in the Castle. +Scene II. A hall in the Castle. +Scene III. A room in the Castle. +Scene IV. Another room in the Castle. + +ACT IV +Scene I. A room in the Castle. +Scene II. Another room in the Castle. +Scene III. Another room in the Castle. +Scene IV. A plain in Denmark. +Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. +Scene VI. Another room in the Castle. +Scene VII. Another room in the Castle. + +ACT V +Scene I. A churchyard. +Scene II. A hall in the Castle. + + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +HAMLET, Prince of Denmark. +CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark, Hamlet’s uncle. +The GHOST of the late king, Hamlet’s father. +GERTRUDE, the Queen, Hamlet’s mother, now wife of Claudius. +POLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain. +LAERTES, Son to Polonius. +OPHELIA, Daughter to Polonius. +HORATIO, Friend to Hamlet. +FORTINBRAS, Prince of Norway. +VOLTEMAND, Courtier. +CORNELIUS, Courtier. +ROSENCRANTZ, Courtier. +GUILDENSTERN, Courtier. +MARCELLUS, Officer. +BARNARDO, Officer. +FRANCISCO, a Soldier +OSRIC, Courtier. +REYNALDO, Servant to Polonius. +Players. +A Gentleman, Courtier. +A Priest. +Two Clowns, Grave-diggers. +A Captain. +English Ambassadors. +Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and Attendants. + +SCENE. Elsinore. + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle. + + Enter Francisco and Barnardo, two sentinels. + +BARNARDO. +Who’s there? + +FRANCISCO. +Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. + +BARNARDO. +Long live the King! + +FRANCISCO. +Barnardo? + +BARNARDO. +He. + +FRANCISCO. +You come most carefully upon your hour. + +BARNARDO. +’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco. + +FRANCISCO. +For this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold, +And I am sick at heart. + +BARNARDO. +Have you had quiet guard? + +FRANCISCO. +Not a mouse stirring. + +BARNARDO. +Well, good night. +If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, +The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. + + Enter Horatio and Marcellus. + +FRANCISCO. +I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there? + +HORATIO. +Friends to this ground. + +MARCELLUS. +And liegemen to the Dane. + +FRANCISCO. +Give you good night. + +MARCELLUS. +O, farewell, honest soldier, who hath reliev’d you? + +FRANCISCO. +Barnardo has my place. Give you good-night. + + [_Exit._] + +MARCELLUS. +Holla, Barnardo! + +BARNARDO. +Say, what, is Horatio there? + +HORATIO. +A piece of him. + +BARNARDO. +Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus. + +MARCELLUS. +What, has this thing appear’d again tonight? + +BARNARDO. +I have seen nothing. + +MARCELLUS. +Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy, +And will not let belief take hold of him +Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us. +Therefore I have entreated him along +With us to watch the minutes of this night, +That if again this apparition come +He may approve our eyes and speak to it. + +HORATIO. +Tush, tush, ’twill not appear. + +BARNARDO. +Sit down awhile, +And let us once again assail your ears, +That are so fortified against our story, +What we two nights have seen. + +HORATIO. +Well, sit we down, +And let us hear Barnardo speak of this. + +BARNARDO. +Last night of all, +When yond same star that’s westward from the pole, +Had made his course t’illume that part of heaven +Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, +The bell then beating one— + +MARCELLUS. +Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again. + + Enter Ghost. + +BARNARDO. +In the same figure, like the King that’s dead. + +MARCELLUS. +Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. + +BARNARDO. +Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio. + +HORATIO. +Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder. + +BARNARDO +It would be spoke to. + +MARCELLUS. +Question it, Horatio. + +HORATIO. +What art thou that usurp’st this time of night, +Together with that fair and warlike form +In which the majesty of buried Denmark +Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak. + +MARCELLUS. +It is offended. + +BARNARDO. +See, it stalks away. + +HORATIO. +Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak! + + [_Exit Ghost._] + +MARCELLUS. +’Tis gone, and will not answer. + +BARNARDO. +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. + +MARCELLUS. +Is it not like the King? + +HORATIO. +As thou art to thyself: +Such was the very armour he had on +When he th’ambitious Norway combated; +So frown’d he once, when in an angry parle +He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. +’Tis strange. + +MARCELLUS. +Thus twice before, and jump 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. + +MARCELLUS. +Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, +Why this same strict and most observant watch +So nightly toils the subject of the land, +And why such daily cast of brazen cannon +And foreign mart for implements of war; +Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task +Does not divide the Sunday from the week. +What might be toward, that this sweaty haste +Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day: +Who is’t that can inform me? + +HORATIO. +That can I; +At least, the whisper goes so. Our last King, +Whose image even but now appear’d to us, +Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, +Thereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride, +Dar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet, +For so this side of our known world esteem’d him, +Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal’d compact, +Well ratified by law and heraldry, +Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands +Which he stood seiz’d of, to the conqueror; +Against the which, a moiety competent +Was gaged by our King; which had return’d +To the inheritance of Fortinbras, +Had he been vanquisher; as by the same cov’nant +And carriage of the article design’d, +His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, +Of unimproved mettle, hot and full, +Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, +Shark’d up a list of lawless resolutes, +For food and diet, to some enterprise +That hath a stomach in’t; which is no other, +As it doth well appear unto our state, +But to recover of us by strong hand +And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands +So by his father lost. And this, I take it, +Is the main motive of our preparations, +The source of this our watch, and the chief head +Of this post-haste and rummage in the land. + +BARNARDO. +I think it be no other but e’en so: +Well may it sort that this portentous figure +Comes armed through our watch so like the King +That was and is the question of these wars. + +HORATIO. +A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye. +In the most high and palmy state of Rome, +A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, +The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead +Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; +As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, +Disasters in the sun; and the moist star, +Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands, +Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. +And even the like precurse of fierce events, +As harbingers preceding still the fates +And prologue to the omen coming on, +Have heaven and earth together demonstrated +Unto our climatures and countrymen. + + Re-enter Ghost. + +But, soft, behold! Lo, where it comes again! +I’ll 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! + + [_The cock crows._] + +Stop it, Marcellus! + +MARCELLUS. +Shall I strike at it with my partisan? + +HORATIO. +Do, if it will not stand. + +BARNARDO. +’Tis here! + +HORATIO. +’Tis here! + + [_Exit Ghost._] + +MARCELLUS. +’Tis gone! +We do it wrong, being so majestical, +To offer it the show of violence, +For it is as the air, invulnerable, +And our vain blows malicious mockery. + +BARNARDO. +It was about to speak, when the cock crew. + +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, +Th’extravagant and erring spirit hies +To his confine. And of the truth herein +This present object made probation. + +MARCELLUS. +It faded on the crowing of the cock. +Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes +Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, +The bird of dawning singeth all night long; +And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, +The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, +No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm; +So hallow’d and so gracious is the time. + +HORATIO. +So have I heard, and do in part believe it. +But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, +Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill. +Break we our watch up, and by my advice, +Let us impart what we have seen tonight +Unto young Hamlet; for upon my life, +This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. +Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, +As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? + +MARCELLUS. +Let’s do’t, I pray, and I this morning know +Where we shall find him most conveniently. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle. + + Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, + Laertes, Voltemand, +Cornelius, Lords and Attendant. + +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. +Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, +Th’imperial jointress to this warlike state, +Have we, as ’twere with a defeated joy, +With one auspicious and one dropping eye, +With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, +In equal scale weighing delight and dole, +Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr’d +Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone +With this affair along. For all, our thanks. +Now follows, that you know young Fortinbras, +Holding a weak supposal of our worth, +Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death +Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, +Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, +He hath not fail’d to pester us with message, +Importing the surrender of those lands +Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, +To our most valiant brother. So much for him. +Now for ourself and for this time of meeting: +Thus much the business is: we have here writ +To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, +Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears +Of this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress +His further gait herein; in that the levies, +The lists, and full proportions are all made +Out of his subject: and we here dispatch +You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand, +For bearers of this greeting to old Norway, +Giving to you no further personal power +To business with the King, more than the scope +Of these dilated articles allow. +Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. + +CORNELIUS and VOLTEMAND. +In that, and all things, will we show our duty. + +KING. +We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. + + [_Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius._] + +And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you? +You told us of some suit. What is’t, Laertes? +You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, +And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, +That shall not be my offer, 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? + +LAERTES. +Dread my lord, +Your leave and favour 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? + +POLONIUS. +He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave +By laboursome petition; and at last +Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent. +I do beseech you give him leave to go. + +KING. +Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, +And thy best graces spend it at thy will! +But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son— + +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. + +QUEEN. +Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, +And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. +Do not for ever with thy vailed lids +Seek for thy noble father in the dust. +Thou know’st ’tis common, all that lives 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. +’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, +Nor customary suits of solemn black, +Nor windy suspiration of forc’d breath, +No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, +Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, +Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, +That can denote me truly. These indeed seem, +For they are actions that a man might play; +But I have that within which passeth show; +These but the trappings and the suits of woe. + +KING. +’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, +To give these mourning duties to your father; +But you must know, your father lost a father, +That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound +In filial obligation, for some term +To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere +In obstinate condolement is a course +Of impious stubbornness. ’Tis unmanly grief, +It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, +A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, +An understanding simple and unschool’d; +For what we know must be, and is as common +As any the most vulgar thing to sense, +Why should we in our peevish opposition +Take it to heart? Fie, ’tis a fault to heaven, +A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, +To reason most absurd, whose common theme +Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, +From the first corse till he that died today, +‘This must be so.’ We pray you throw to earth +This unprevailing woe, and think of us +As of a father; for let the world take note +You are the most immediate to our throne, +And with no less nobility of love +Than that which dearest father bears his son +Do I impart toward you. For your intent +In going back to school in Wittenberg, +It is most retrograde to our desire: +And we beseech you bend you to remain +Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, +Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. + +QUEEN. +Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. +I pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg. + +HAMLET. +I shall in all my best obey you, madam. + +KING. +Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply. +Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; +This gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet +Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, +No jocund health that Denmark drinks today +But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, +And the King’s rouse the heaven shall bruit again, +Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. + + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + +HAMLET. +O that this too too solid flesh would melt, +Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! +Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d +His canon ’gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God! +How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable +Seem to me all the uses of this world! +Fie on’t! Oh fie! ’tis an unweeded garden +That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature +Possess it merely. That it should come to this! +But two months dead—nay, not so much, not two: +So excellent a king; that was to this +Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, +That he might not beteem the winds of heaven +Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! +Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him +As if increase of appetite had grown +By what it fed on; and yet, within a month— +Let me not think on’t—Frailty, thy name is woman! +A little month, or ere those shoes were old +With which she 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 mourn’d longer,—married with mine uncle, +My father’s brother; but no more like my father +Than I to Hercules. Within a month? +Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears +Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, +She married. O most wicked speed, to post +With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! +It is not, nor it cannot come to good. +But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue. + + Enter Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo. + +HORATIO. +Hail to your lordship! + +HAMLET. +I am glad to see you well: +Horatio, or I do forget myself. + +HORATIO. +The same, my lord, +And your poor servant ever. + +HAMLET. +Sir, my good friend; +I’ll change that name with you: +And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— +Marcellus? + +MARCELLUS. +My good lord. + +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 my 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’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. + +HORATIO. +My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral. + +HAMLET. +I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student. +I think it was to see my mother’s wedding. + +HORATIO. +Indeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon. + +HAMLET. +Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak’d 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. + +HORATIO. +Where, my lord? + +HAMLET. +In my mind’s eye, Horatio. + +HORATIO. +I saw him once; he was a goodly king. + +HAMLET. +He was a man, take him for all in all, +I shall not look upon his like again. + +HORATIO. +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 Barnardo, on their watch +In the dead waste and middle of the night, +Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your father, +Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie, +Appears before them, and with solemn march +Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk’d +By their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes, +Within his truncheon’s length; whilst they, distill’d +Almost to jelly with the act of fear, +Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me +In dreadful secrecy impart they did, +And I with them the third night kept the watch, +Where, as they had deliver’d, both in time, +Form of the thing, each word made true and good, +The apparition comes. I knew your father; +These hands are not more like. + +HAMLET. +But where was this? + +MARCELLUS. +My lord, upon the platform where we watch. + +HAMLET. +Did you not speak to it? + +HORATIO. +My lord, I did; +But answer made it none: yet once methought +It lifted up it 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 vanish’d from our sight. + +HAMLET. +’Tis very strange. + +HORATIO. +As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true; +And we did think it writ down in our duty +To let you know of it. + +HAMLET. +Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. +Hold you the watch tonight? + +Mar. and BARNARDO. +We do, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Arm’d, say you? + +Both. +Arm’d, my lord. + +HAMLET. +From top to toe? + +BOTH. +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, look’d he frowningly? + +HORATIO. +A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. + +HAMLET. +Pale, or red? + +HORATIO. +Nay, very pale. + +HAMLET. +And fix’d his eyes upon you? + +HORATIO. +Most constantly. + +HAMLET. +I would I had been there. + +HORATIO. +It would have much amaz’d you. + +HAMLET. +Very like, very like. Stay’d it long? + +HORATIO. +While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. + +MARCELLUS and BARNARDO. +Longer, longer. + +HORATIO. +Not when I saw’t. + +HAMLET. +His beard was grizzled, no? + +HORATIO. +It was, as I have seen it in his life, +A sable silver’d. + +HAMLET. +I will watch tonight; +Perchance ’twill walk again. + +HORATIO. +I warrant you it will. + +HAMLET. +If it assume my noble father’s person, +I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape +And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, +If you have hitherto conceal’d this sight, +Let it be tenable in your silence still; +And whatsoever else shall hap tonight, +Give it an understanding, but no tongue. +I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well. +Upon the platform ’twixt eleven and twelve, +I’ll visit you. + +ALL. +Our duty to your honour. + +HAMLET. +Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. + + [_Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo._] + +My father’s spirit in arms! All is not well; +I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! +Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, +Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A room in Polonius’s house. + + Enter Laertes and Ophelia. + +LAERTES. +My necessaries are embark’d. Farewell. +And, sister, as the winds give benefit +And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, +But let me hear from you. + +OPHELIA. +Do you doubt that? + +LAERTES. +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. + +OPHELIA. +No more but so? + +LAERTES. +Think it no more. +For nature crescent does not grow alone +In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes, +The inward service of the mind and soul +Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now, +And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch +The virtue of his will; but you must fear, +His greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own; +For he himself is subject to his birth: +He may not, as unvalu’d persons do, +Carve for himself; for on his choice depends +The sanctity and health of this whole state; +And therefore must his choice be circumscrib’d +Unto the voice and yielding of that body +Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you, +It fits your wisdom so far to believe it +As he in his particular act and place +May give his saying deed; which is no further +Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. +Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain +If with too credent ear you list his songs, +Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open +To his unmaster’d importunity. +Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; +And keep 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. +Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes: +The canker galls the infants of the spring +Too oft before their buttons be disclos’d, +And in the morn and liquid dew of youth +Contagious blastments are most imminent. +Be wary then, best safety lies in fear. +Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. + +OPHELIA. +I shall th’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 puff’d and reckless libertine +Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, +And recks not his own rede. + +LAERTES. +O, fear me not. +I stay too long. But here my father comes. + + Enter Polonius. + +A double blessing is a double grace; +Occasion smiles upon a second leave. + +POLONIUS. +Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame. +The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, +And you are stay’d for. There, my blessing with you. + + [_Laying his hand on Laertes’s head._] + +And these few precepts in thy memory +Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, +Nor any unproportion’d thought his act. +Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. +Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, +Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel; +But do not dull thy palm with entertainment +Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware +Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, +Bear’t that th’opposed 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 express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy: +For the apparel oft proclaims the man; +And they in France of the best rank and station +Are of a most select and generous chief in that. +Neither a borrower nor a lender be: +For loan oft loses both itself and friend; +And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. +This above all: to thine 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. + +LAERTES. +Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +The time invites you; go, your servants tend. + +LAERTES. +Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well +What I have said to you. + +OPHELIA. +’Tis in my memory lock’d, +And you yourself shall keep the key of it. + +LAERTES. +Farewell. + + [_Exit._] + +POLONIUS. +What is’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you? + +OPHELIA. +So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, well bethought: +’Tis told me he hath very oft of late +Given private time to you; and you yourself +Have of your audience been most free and bounteous. +If it be so,—as so ’tis put on me, +And that in way of caution,—I must tell you +You do not understand yourself so clearly +As it behoves my daughter and your honour. +What is between you? Give me up the truth. + +OPHELIA. +He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders +Of his affection to me. + +POLONIUS. +Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl, +Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. +Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? + +OPHELIA. +I do not know, my lord, what I should think. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, I’ll 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,—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, +Roaming it thus,—you’ll tender me a fool. + +OPHELIA. +My lord, he hath importun’d me with love +In honourable fashion. + +POLONIUS. +Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. + +OPHELIA. +And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, +With almost all the holy vows of heaven. + +POLONIUS. +Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, +When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul +Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, +Giving more light than heat, extinct in both, +Even in their promise, as it is a-making, +You must not take for fire. From this time +Be something scanter of your maiden presence; +Set your entreatments at a higher rate +Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, +Believe so much in him that he is young; +And with a larger tether may he walk +Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia, +Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, +Not of that dye which their investments show, +But mere implorators of unholy suits, +Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, +The better to beguile. This is for all. +I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth +Have you so slander any moment leisure +As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. +Look to’t, I charge you; come your ways. + +OPHELIA. +I shall obey, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The platform. + + Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus. + +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. + +MARCELLUS. +No, it is struck. + +HORATIO. +Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season +Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. + + [_A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within._] + +What does this mean, my lord? + +HAMLET. +The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse, +Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels; +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; +And to my mind, though I am native here, +And to the manner born, it is a custom +More honour’d in the breach than the observance. +This heavy-headed revel east and west +Makes us traduc’d and tax’d of other nations: +They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase +Soil our addition; and indeed it takes +From our achievements, though perform’d at height, +The pith and marrow of our attribute. +So oft it chances in particular men +That for some vicious mole of nature in them, +As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty, +Since nature cannot choose his origin, +By their o’ergrowth of some complexion, +Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; +Or by some habit, that too much o’erleavens +The form of plausive manners;—that these men, +Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, +Being Nature’s livery or Fortune’s star,— +His virtues else,—be they as pure as grace, +As infinite as man may undergo, +Shall in the general censure take corruption +From that particular fault. The dram of evil +Doth all the noble substance often doubt +To his own scandal. + +HORATIO. +Look, my lord, it comes! + + Enter Ghost. + +HAMLET. +Angels and ministers of grace defend us! +Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d, +Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, +Be thy intents wicked or charitable, +Thou com’st in such a questionable shape +That I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee Hamlet, +King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me! +Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell +Why thy canoniz’d bones, hearsed in death, +Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, +Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn’d, +Hath op’d his ponderous and marble jaws +To cast thee up again! What may this mean, +That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, +Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon, +Making night hideous, and we fools of nature +So horridly to shake our disposition +With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? +Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do? + + [_Ghost beckons Hamlet._] + +HORATIO. +It beckons you to go away with it, +As if it some impartment did desire +To you alone. + +MARCELLUS. +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. + +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? +It waves me forth again. I’ll follow it. + +HORATIO. +What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, +Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff +That beetles o’er his base into the sea, +And there assume some other horrible form +Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, +And draw you into madness? Think of it. +The very place puts toys of desperation, +Without more motive, into every brain +That looks so many fadoms to the sea +And hears it roar beneath. + +HAMLET. +It waves me still. +Go on, I’ll follow thee. + +MARCELLUS. +You shall not go, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Hold off your hands. + +HORATIO. +Be rul’d; 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 call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen. + + [_Breaking free from them._] + +By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me. +I say, away!—Go on, I’ll follow thee. + + [_Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet._] + +HORATIO. +He waxes desperate with imagination. + +MARCELLUS. +Let’s follow; ’tis not fit thus to obey him. + +HORATIO. +Have after. To what issue will this come? + +MARCELLUS. +Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. + +HORATIO. +Heaven will direct it. + +MARCELLUS. +Nay, let’s follow him. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. A more remote part of the Castle. + + Enter Ghost and Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak, I’ll go no further. + +GHOST. +Mark me. + +HAMLET. +I will. + +GHOST. +My hour is almost come, +When I to sulph’rous 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? + +GHOST. +I am thy father’s spirit, +Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, +And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, +Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature +Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid +To tell the secrets of my prison-house, +I could a tale unfold whose lightest word +Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood, +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. +O God! + +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. +I find thee apt; +And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed +That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, +Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear. +’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, +A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark +Is by a forged process of my death +Rankly abus’d; but know, thou noble youth, +The serpent that did sting thy father’s life +Now wears his crown. + +HAMLET. +O my prophetic soul! +Mine uncle! + +GHOST. +Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, +With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,— +O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power +So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust +The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen. +O Hamlet, what a falling off was there, +From me, whose love was of that dignity +That it went hand in hand even with the vow +I made to her in marriage; and to decline +Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor +To those of mine. But virtue, as it never will be mov’d, +Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; +So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, +Will sate itself in a celestial bed +And prey on garbage. +But soft! methinks I scent the morning air; +Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, +My custom always of the afternoon, +Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole +With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, +And in the porches of my ears did pour +The leperous distilment, whose effect +Holds such an enmity with blood of man +That swift as quicksilver it courses through +The natural gates and alleys of the body; +And with a sudden vigour it doth posset +And curd, like eager droppings into milk, +The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine; +And a most instant tetter bark’d about, +Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust +All my smooth body. +Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand, +Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatch’d: +Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, +Unhous’led, disappointed, unanel’d; +No reckoning made, but sent to my account +With all my imperfections on my head. +O horrible! O horrible! most horrible! +If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; +Let not the royal bed of Denmark be +A couch for luxury and damned incest. +But howsoever thou pursu’st this act, +Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive +Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, +And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, +To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! +The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, +And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire. +Adieu, adieu, adieu. Hamlet, remember me. + + [_Exit._] + +HAMLET. +O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? +And shall I couple hell? O, fie! 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’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, +All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, +That youth and observation copied there; +And thy commandment all alone shall live +Within the book and volume of my brain, +Unmix’d with baser matter. Yes, by heaven! +O most pernicious woman! +O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! +My tables. Meet it is I set it down, +That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain! +At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. + + [_Writing._] + +So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; +It is ‘Adieu, adieu, remember me.’ +I have sworn’t. + +HORATIO and MARCELLUS. +[_Within._] My lord, my lord. + +MARCELLUS. +[_Within._] Lord Hamlet. + +HORATIO. +[_Within._] Heaven secure him. + +HAMLET. +So be it! + +MARCELLUS. +[_Within._] Illo, ho, ho, my lord! + +HAMLET. +Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come. + + Enter Horatio and Marcellus. + +MARCELLUS. +How is’t, my noble lord? + +HORATIO. +What news, my lord? + +HAMLET. +O, wonderful! + +HORATIO. +Good my lord, tell it. + +HAMLET. +No, you’ll reveal it. + +HORATIO. +Not I, my lord, by heaven. + +MARCELLUS. +Nor I, my lord. + +HAMLET. +How say you then, would heart of man once think it?— +But you’ll be secret? + +HORATIO and MARCELLUS. +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: +You, as your business and desires shall point you,— +For every man hath business and desire, +Such as it is;—and for my own poor part, +Look you, I’ll go pray. + +HORATIO. +These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. + +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, Horatio, +And much offence too. Touching this vision here, +It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you. +For your desire to know what is between us, +O’ermaster’t as you may. And now, good friends, +As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, +Give me one poor request. + +HORATIO. +What is’t, my lord? We will. + +HAMLET. +Never make known what you have seen tonight. + +HORATIO and MARCELLUS. +My lord, we will not. + +HAMLET. +Nay, but swear’t. + +HORATIO. +In faith, my lord, not I. + +MARCELLUS. +Nor I, my lord, in faith. + +HAMLET. +Upon my sword. + +MARCELLUS. +We have sworn, my lord, already. + +HAMLET. +Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. + +GHOST. +[_Cries under the stage._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +Ha, ha boy, say’st thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? +Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage. +Consent to swear. + +HORATIO. +Propose the oath, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Never to speak of this that you have seen. +Swear by my sword. + +GHOST. +[_Beneath._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +_Hic et ubique?_ Then we’ll shift our ground. +Come hither, gentlemen, +And lay your hands again upon my sword. +Never to speak of this that you have heard. +Swear by my sword. + +GHOST. +[_Beneath._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +Well said, old mole! Canst work i’ th’earth so fast? +A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends. + +HORATIO. +O day and night, but this is wondrous strange. + +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 encumber’d thus, or this head-shake, +Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, +As ‘Well, we know’, or ‘We could and if we would’, +Or ‘If we list to speak’; or ‘There be and if they might’, +Or such ambiguous giving out, to note +That you know aught of me:—this not to do. +So grace and mercy at your most need help you, +Swear. + +GHOST. +[_Beneath._] Swear. + +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 t’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. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A room in Polonius’s house. + + Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. + +POLONIUS. +Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. + +REYNALDO. +I will, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, +Before you visit him, to make inquiry +Of his behaviour. + +REYNALDO. +My lord, I did intend it. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, +Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; +And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, +What company, at what expense; and finding +By this encompassment and drift of question, +That they do know my son, come you more nearer +Than your particular demands will touch it. +Take you as ’twere some distant knowledge of him, +As thus, ‘I know his father and his friends, +And in part him’—do you mark this, Reynaldo? + +REYNALDO. +Ay, very well, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +‘And in part him, but,’ you may say, ‘not well; +But if’t be he I mean, he’s very wild; +Addicted so and so;’ and there put on him +What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank +As may dishonour him; take heed of that; +But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips +As are companions noted and most known +To youth and liberty. + +REYNALDO. +As gaming, my lord? + +POLONIUS. +Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, +Quarrelling, drabbing. You may go so far. + +REYNALDO. +My lord, that would dishonour him. + +POLONIUS. +Faith no, as you may season it in the charge. +You must not put another scandal on him, +That he is open to incontinency; +That’s not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly +That they may seem the taints of liberty; +The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, +A savageness in unreclaimed blood, +Of general assault. + +REYNALDO. +But my good lord— + +POLONIUS. +Wherefore should you do this? + +REYNALDO. +Ay, my lord, I would know that. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, sir, here’s my drift, +And I believe it is a fetch of warrant. +You laying these slight sullies on my son, +As ’twere a thing a little soil’d i’ th’ working, +Mark you, +Your party in converse, him you would sound, +Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes +The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur’d +He closes with you in this consequence; +‘Good sir,’ or so; or ‘friend,’ or ‘gentleman’— +According to the phrase or the addition +Of man and country. + +REYNALDO. +Very good, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +And then, sir, does he this,— +He does—What was I about to say? +By the mass, I was about to say something. Where did I leave? + +REYNALDO. +At ‘closes in the consequence.’ +At ‘friend or so,’ and ‘gentleman.’ + +POLONIUS. +At ‘closes in the consequence’ ay, marry! +He closes with you thus: ‘I know the gentleman, +I saw him yesterday, or t’other day, +Or then, or then, with such and such; and, as you say, +There was he gaming, there o’ertook in’s rouse, +There falling out at tennis’: or perchance, +‘I saw him enter such a house of sale’— +_Videlicet_, a brothel, or so forth. See you now; +Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth; +And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, +With windlasses, and with assays of bias, +By indirections find directions out. +So by my former lecture and advice +Shall you my son. You have me, have you not? + +REYNALDO. +My lord, I have. + +POLONIUS. +God b’ wi’ you, fare you well. + +REYNALDO. +Good my lord. + +POLONIUS. +Observe his inclination in yourself. + +REYNALDO. +I shall, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +And let him ply his music. + +REYNALDO. +Well, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +Farewell. + + [_Exit Reynaldo._] + + Enter Ophelia. + +How now, Ophelia, what’s the matter? + +OPHELIA. +Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted. + +POLONIUS. +With what, in the name of God? + +OPHELIA. +My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber, +Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d, +No hat upon his head, his stockings foul’d, +Ungart’red, and down-gyved to his ankle, +Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, +And with a look so piteous in purport +As if he had been loosed out of hell +To speak of horrors, he comes before me. + +POLONIUS. +Mad for thy love? + +OPHELIA. +My lord, I do not know, but truly I do fear it. + +POLONIUS. +What said he? + +OPHELIA. +He took me by the wrist and held me hard; +Then goes he to the length of all his arm; +And with his other hand thus o’er his brow, +He falls to such perusal of my face +As he would draw it. Long stay’d he so, +At last,—a little shaking of mine arm, +And thrice his head thus waving up and down, +He rais’d a sigh so piteous and profound +As it did seem to shatter all his bulk +And end his being. That done, he lets me go, +And with his head over his shoulder turn’d +He seem’d to find his way without his eyes, +For out o’ doors he went without their help, +And to the last bended their light on me. + +POLONIUS. +Come, go with me. I will go seek the King. +This is the very ecstasy of love, +Whose violent property fordoes itself, +And leads the will to desperate undertakings, +As oft as any passion under heaven +That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,— +What, have you given him any hard words of late? + +OPHELIA. +No, my good lord; but as you did command, +I did repel his letters and denied +His access to me. + +POLONIUS. +That hath made him mad. +I am sorry that with better heed and judgment +I had not quoted him. I fear’d he did but trifle, +And meant to wreck thee. But beshrew my jealousy! +It seems it is as proper to our age +To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions +As it is common for the younger sort +To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King. +This must be known, which, being kept close, might move +More grief to hide than hate to utter love. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A room in the Castle. + + Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and Attendants. + +KING. +Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. +Moreover that we much did long to see you, +The need we have to use you did provoke +Our hasty sending. Something have you heard +Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it, +Since nor th’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 th’understanding of himself, +I cannot dream of. I entreat you both +That, being of so young days brought up with him, +And since so neighbour’d to his youth and humour, +That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court +Some little time, so by your companies +To draw him on to pleasures and to gather, +So much as from occasion you may glean, +Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus +That, open’d, lies within our remedy. + +QUEEN. +Good gentlemen, he hath much talk’d of you, +And sure I am, two men there are not living +To whom he more adheres. If it will please you +To show us so much gentry and good will +As to expend your time with us awhile, +For the supply and profit of our hope, +Your visitation shall receive such thanks +As fits a king’s remembrance. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Both your majesties +Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, +Put your dread pleasures more into command +Than to entreaty. + +GUILDENSTERN. +We both obey, +And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, +To lay our service freely at your feet +To be commanded. + +KING. +Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. + +QUEEN. +Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. +And I beseech you instantly to visit +My too much changed son. Go, some of you, +And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Heavens make our presence and our practices +Pleasant and helpful to him. + +QUEEN. +Ay, amen. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and some Attendants._] + + Enter Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +Th’ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, +Are joyfully return’d. + +KING. +Thou still hast been the father of good news. + +POLONIUS. +Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege, +I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, +Both to my God and to my gracious King: +And I do think,—or else this brain of mine +Hunts not the trail of policy so sure +As it hath us’d to do—that I have found +The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy. + +KING. +O speak of that, that do I long to hear. + +POLONIUS. +Give first admittance to th’ambassadors; +My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. + +KING. +Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. + + [_Exit Polonius._] + +He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found +The head and source of all your son’s distemper. + +QUEEN. +I doubt it is no other but the main, +His father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage. + +KING. +Well, we shall sift him. + + Enter Polonius with Voltemand and Cornelius. + +Welcome, my good friends! +Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway? + +VOLTEMAND. +Most fair return of greetings and desires. +Upon our first, he sent out to suppress +His nephew’s levies, which to him appear’d +To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack; +But better look’d into, he truly found +It was against your Highness; whereat griev’d, +That so his sickness, age, and impotence +Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests +On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys, +Receives rebuke from Norway; and in fine, +Makes vow before his uncle never more +To give th’assay of arms against your Majesty. +Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, +Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee, +And his commission to employ those soldiers +So levied as before, against the Polack: +With an entreaty, herein further shown, +[_Gives a paper._] +That it might please you to give quiet pass +Through your dominions for this enterprise, +On such regards of safety and allowance +As therein are set down. + +KING. +It likes us well; +And at our more consider’d time we’ll read, +Answer, and think upon this business. +Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour. +Go to your rest, at night we’ll feast together:. +Most welcome home. + + [_Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius._] + +POLONIUS. +This business is well ended. +My liege and madam, to expostulate +What majesty should be, what duty is, +Why day is day, night night, and time is time. +Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. +Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, +And tediousness the 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. + +POLONIUS. +Madam, I swear I use no art at all. +That he is mad, ’tis true: ’tis true ’tis pity; +And pity ’tis ’tis true. A foolish figure, +But farewell it, for I will use no art. +Mad let us grant him then. And now remains +That we find out the cause of this effect, +Or rather say, the cause of this defect, +For this effect defective comes by cause. +Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend, +I have a daughter—have whilst she is mine— +Who in her duty and obedience, mark, +Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise. +[_Reads._] +_To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia_— +That’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase; ‘beautified’ is a vile +phrase: but you shall hear. +[_Reads._] +_these; in her excellent white bosom, these, &c._ + +QUEEN. +Came this from Hamlet to her? + +POLONIUS. +Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful. +[_Reads._] + _Doubt thou the stars are fire, + Doubt that the sun doth move, + Doubt truth to be a liar, + But never doubt I love. +O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers. I have not art to reckon my +groans. But that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. + Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, + HAMLET._ +This in obedience hath my daughter show’d me; +And more above, hath his solicitings, +As they fell out by time, by means, and place, +All given to mine ear. + +KING. +But how hath she receiv’d his love? + +POLONIUS. +What do you think of me? + +KING. +As of a man faithful and honourable. + +POLONIUS. +I would fain prove so. But what might you think, +When I had seen this hot love on the wing, +As I perceiv’d it, I must tell you that, +Before my daughter told me, what might you, +Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think, +If I had play’d the desk or table-book, +Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, +Or look’d upon this love with idle sight, +What might you think? No, I went round to work, +And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: +‘Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy 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 ’tis this? + +QUEEN. +It may be, very likely. + +POLONIUS. +Hath there been such a time, I’d fain know that, +That I have positively said ‘’Tis so,’ +When it prov’d otherwise? + +KING. +Not that I know. + +POLONIUS. +Take this from this, if this be otherwise. +[_Points to his head and shoulder._] +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? + +POLONIUS. +You know sometimes he walks four hours together +Here in the lobby. + +QUEEN. +So he does indeed. + +POLONIUS. +At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him. +Be you and I behind an arras then, +Mark the encounter. If he love her not, +And be not from his reason fall’n thereon, +Let me be no assistant for a state, +But keep a farm and carters. + +KING. +We will try it. + + Enter Hamlet, reading. + +QUEEN. +But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. + +POLONIUS. +Away, I do beseech you, both away +I’ll board him presently. O, give me leave. + + [_Exeunt King, Queen and Attendants._] + +How does my good Lord Hamlet? + +HAMLET. +Well, God-a-mercy. + +POLONIUS. +Do you know me, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Excellent well. You’re a fishmonger. + +POLONIUS. +Not I, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Then I would you were so honest a man. + +POLONIUS. +Honest, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Ay sir, to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out +of ten thousand. + +POLONIUS. +That’s very true, my lord. + +HAMLET. +For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing +carrion,— +Have you a daughter? + +POLONIUS. +I have, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Let her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your +daughter may conceive. Friend, look to’t. + +POLONIUS. +How say you by that? [_Aside._] Still harping on my daughter. Yet he +knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far +gone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very +near this. I’ll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Words, words, words. + +POLONIUS. +What is the matter, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Between who? + +POLONIUS. +I mean the matter that you read, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Slanders, sir. For the satirical slave 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. + +POLONIUS. +[_Aside._] Though this be madness, yet there is a method in’t.— +Will you walk out of the air, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Into my grave? + +POLONIUS. +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. + +POLONIUS. +Fare you well, my lord. + +HAMLET. +These tedious old fools. + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +POLONIUS. +You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +[_To Polonius._] God save you, sir. + + [_Exit Polonius._] + +GUILDENSTERN. +My honoured lord! + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My most dear lord! + +HAMLET. +My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, +Rosencrantz. Good lads, how do ye both? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +As the indifferent children of the earth. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Happy in that we are not over-happy; +On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button. + +HAMLET. +Nor the soles of her shoe? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Neither, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? + +GUILDENSTERN. +Faith, her privates we. + +HAMLET. +In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s +the news? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest. + +HAMLET. +Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more +in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of +Fortune, that she sends you to prison hither? + +GUILDENSTERN. +Prison, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Denmark’s a prison. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Then is the world one. + +HAMLET. +A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, +Denmark being one o’ th’ worst. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +We think not so, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Why, then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but +thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Why, then your ambition makes it one; ’tis too narrow for your mind. + +HAMLET. +O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of +infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the +ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. + +HAMLET. +A dream itself is but a shadow. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is +but a shadow’s shadow. + +HAMLET. +Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch’d heroes +the beggars’ shadows. Shall we to th’ court? For, by my fay, I cannot +reason. + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +We’ll wait upon you. + +HAMLET. +No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, +to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, +in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +To visit you, my lord, no other occasion. + +HAMLET. +Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you. And sure, +dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent +for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal +justly with me. Come, come; nay, speak. + +GUILDENSTERN. +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 King and Queen have sent for you. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +To what end, my 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. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +[_To Guildenstern._] What say you? + +HAMLET. +[_Aside._] Nay, then I have an eye of you. If you love me, hold not +off. + +GUILDENSTERN. +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 promontory; this +most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging +firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it +appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of +vapours. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason? How infinite +in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable? In action +how like an angel? In apprehension, how like a god? The beauty of the +world, the paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this +quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, +though by your smiling you seem to say so. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. + +HAMLET. +Why did you laugh then, when I said ‘Man delights not me’? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +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; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover +shall not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in peace; +the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle a’ th’ sere; +and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt +for’t. What players are they? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Even those you were wont to take such delight in—the tragedians of the +city. + +HAMLET. +How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and +profit, was better both ways. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation. + +HAMLET. +Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are +they so followed? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +No, indeed, they are not. + +HAMLET. +How comes it? Do they grow rusty? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an +ayry of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, +and are most tyrannically clapped for’t. These are now the fashion, and +so berattle the common stages—so they call them—that many wearing +rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither. + +HAMLET. +What, are they children? Who maintains ’em? How are they escoted? Will +they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say +afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is +most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong to +make them exclaim against their own succession? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it +no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was for a while, no money +bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the +question. + +HAMLET. +Is’t possible? + +GUILDENSTERN. +O, there has been much throwing about of brains. + +HAMLET. +Do the boys carry it away? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Ay, that they do, my lord. Hercules and his load too. + +HAMLET. +It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that +would make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, +fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood, +there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find +it out. + + [_Flourish of trumpets within._] + +GUILDENSTERN. +There are the players. + +HAMLET. +Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. The +appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you +in this garb, lest my extent to the players, which I tell you must show +fairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You +are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived. + +GUILDENSTERN. +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. + + Enter Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +Well be with you, gentlemen. + +HAMLET. +Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer. That great +baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Happily he’s 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: for a Monday morning ’twas so indeed. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, I have news to tell you. + +HAMLET. +My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome— + +POLONIUS. +The actors are come hither, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Buzz, buzz. + +POLONIUS. +Upon my honour. + +HAMLET. +Then came each actor on his ass— + +POLONIUS. +The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, 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! + +POLONIUS. +What treasure had he, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Why— + ’One fair daughter, and no more, + The which he loved passing well.’ + +POLONIUS. +[_Aside._] Still on my daughter. + +HAMLET. +Am I not i’ th’ right, old Jephthah? + +POLONIUS. +If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing +well. + +HAMLET. +Nay, that follows not. + +POLONIUS. +What follows then, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Why, + As by lot, God wot, +and then, you know, + It came to pass, as most like it was. +The first row of the pious chanson will show you more. For look where +my abridgement comes. + + Enter four or five Players. + +You are welcome, masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well. +Welcome, good friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is valanc’d since I +saw thee last. Com’st thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young lady +and mistress! By’r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I +saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a +piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring. Masters, you +are all welcome. We’ll e’en to’t like French falconers, fly at anything +we see. We’ll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your +quality. Come, a passionate speech. + +FIRST PLAYER. +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, +’twas caviare to the general. But it was—as I received it, and others, +whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent +play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as +cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make +the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the +author of affectation, but called it an honest method, as wholesome as +sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it, I +chiefly loved. ’Twas Aeneas’ 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 th’ Hyrcanian beast,—_ +It is not so: it begins with Pyrrhus— + _The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, + Black as his purpose, did the night resemble + When he lay couched in the ominous horse, + Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d + With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot + Now is he total gules, horridly trick’d + With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, + Bak’d and impasted with the parching streets, + That lend a tyrannous and a damned light + To their vile murders. Roasted in wrath and fire, + And thus o’ersized with coagulate gore, + With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus + Old grandsire Priam seeks._ +So, proceed you. + +POLONIUS. +’Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion. + +FIRST PLAYER. + _Anon he finds him, + Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword, + Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, + Repugnant to command. Unequal match’d, + Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; + But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword + Th’unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, + Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top + Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash + Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear. For lo, his sword, + Which was declining on the milky head + Of reverend Priam, seem’d i’ th’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, forg’d 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._ + +POLONIUS. +This is too long. + +HAMLET. +It shall to the barber’s, with your beard.—Prythee say on. +He’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. +Say on; come to Hecuba. + +FIRST PLAYER. + _But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen,—_ + +HAMLET. +‘The mobled queen’? + +POLONIUS. +That’s good! ‘Mobled queen’ is good. + +FIRST PLAYER. + _Run barefoot up and down, threat’ning 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’erteemed loins, + A blanket, in th’alarm of fear caught up— + Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d, + ’Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have pronounc’d. + 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._ + +POLONIUS. +Look, where he has not turn’d his colour, and has tears in’s eyes. Pray +you, no more. + +HAMLET. +’Tis well. I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this 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. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, I will use them according to their desert. + +HAMLET. +God’s bodikin, man, better. Use every man after his desert, and who +should scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The +less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. + +POLONIUS. +Come, sirs. + +HAMLET. +Follow him, friends. We’ll hear a play tomorrow. + + [_Exeunt Polonius with all the Players but the First._] + +Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play _The Murder of Gonzago_? + +FIRST PLAYER. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +We’ll ha’t tomorrow 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 PLAYER. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Very well. Follow that lord, and look you mock him not. + + [_Exit First Player._] + +[_To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern_] My good friends, I’ll leave you +till night. You are welcome to Elsinore. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Good my lord. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +HAMLET. +Ay, so, God b’ wi’ ye. Now I am alone. +O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! +Is it not monstrous that this player here, +But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, +Could force his soul so to his own conceit +That from her working all his visage wan’d; +Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect, +A broken voice, and his whole function suiting +With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! +For Hecuba? +What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, +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 damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward? +Who calls me villain, breaks my pate across? +Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? +Tweaks me by the nose, gives me the lie i’ th’ throat +As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? +Ha! ’Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be +But I am pigeon-liver’d, and lack gall +To make oppression bitter, or ere this +I should have fatted all the region kites +With this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain! +Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! +Oh vengeance! +Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, +That I, the son of a dear father murder’d, +Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, +Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words +And fall a-cursing like a very drab, +A scullion! Fie upon’t! 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 +They have proclaim’d their malefactions. +For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak +With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players +Play something like the murder of my father +Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks; +I’ll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, +I know my course. The spirit that I have seen +May be the devil, and the devil hath power +T’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’ll have grounds +More relative than this. The play’s the thing +Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A room in the Castle. + + Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +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? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +He does confess he feels himself distracted, +But from what cause he will by no means speak. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, +But with a crafty madness keeps aloof +When we would bring him on to some confession +Of his true state. + +QUEEN. +Did he receive you well? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Most like a gentleman. + +GUILDENSTERN. +But with much forcing of his disposition. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Niggard of question, but of our demands, +Most free in his reply. + +QUEEN. +Did you assay him to any pastime? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +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. + +POLONIUS. +’Tis most true; +And he beseech’d 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 inclin’d. +Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, +And drive his purpose on to these delights. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +We shall, my lord. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +KING. +Sweet Gertrude, leave us too, +For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, +That he, as ’twere by accident, may here +Affront Ophelia. +Her father and myself, lawful espials, +Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, +We may of their encounter frankly judge, +And gather by him, as he is behav’d, +If’t be th’affliction of his love or no +That thus he suffers for. + +QUEEN. +I shall obey you. +And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish +That your good beauties be the happy cause +Of Hamlet’s wildness: so shall I hope your virtues +Will bring him to his wonted way again, +To both your honours. + +OPHELIA. +Madam, I wish it may. + + [_Exit Queen._] + +POLONIUS. +Ophelia, walk you here.—Gracious, so please you, +We will bestow ourselves.—[_To Ophelia._] Read on this book, +That show of such an exercise may colour +Your loneliness.—We are oft to blame in this, +’Tis too much prov’d, that with devotion’s 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! + +POLONIUS. +I hear him coming. Let’s withdraw, my lord. + + [_Exeunt King and Polonius._] + + Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +To be, or not to be, that is the question: +Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer +The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, +Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, +And by opposing end them? To die—to sleep, +No more; and by a sleep to say we end +The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks +That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation +Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep. +To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub, +For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, +When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, +Must give us pause. There’s the respect +That makes calamity of so long life. +For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, +The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, +The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, +The insolence of office, and the spurns +That patient merit of the unworthy takes, +When he himself might his quietus make +With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, +To grunt and sweat under a weary life, +But that the dread of something after death, +The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn +No traveller returns, puzzles the will, +And makes us rather bear those ills we have +Than fly to others that we know not of? +Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, +And thus the native hue of resolution +Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, +And enterprises of great pith and moment, +With this regard their currents turn awry +And lose the name of action. Soft you now, +The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons +Be all my sins remember’d. + +OPHELIA. +Good my lord, +How does your honour for this many a day? + +HAMLET. +I humbly thank you; well, well, well. + +OPHELIA. +My lord, I have remembrances of yours +That I have longed long to re-deliver. +I pray you, now receive them. + +HAMLET. +No, not I. +I never gave you aught. + +OPHELIA. +My honour’d lord, you know right well you did, +And with them words of so sweet breath compos’d +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? + +OPHELIA. +My lord? + +HAMLET. +Are you fair? + +OPHELIA. +What means your lordship? + +HAMLET. +That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse +to your beauty. + +OPHELIA. +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. + +OPHELIA. +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. + +OPHELIA. +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 my beck than I have +thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act +them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and +heaven? We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us. Go thy ways to a +nunnery. Where’s your father? + +OPHELIA. +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. + +OPHELIA. +O help him, you sweet heavens! + +HAMLET. +If thou dost marry, I’ll 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. + +OPHELIA. +O heavenly powers, restore him! + +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 nickname God’s creatures, and make your wantonness your +ignorance. Go to, I’ll no more on’t, 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._] + +OPHELIA. +O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! +The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword, +Th’expectancy and rose of the fair state, +The glass of fashion and the mould of form, +Th’observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down! +And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, +That suck’d the honey of his music vows, +Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, +Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh, +That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth +Blasted with ecstasy. O woe is me, +T’have seen what I have seen, see what I see. + + Enter King and Polonius. + +KING. +Love? His affections do not that way tend, +Nor what he spake, though it lack’d 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 brains still beating puts him thus +From fashion of himself. What think you on’t? + +POLONIUS. +It shall do well. But yet do I believe +The origin and commencement of his grief +Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia? +You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said, +We heard it all. My lord, do as you please, +But if you hold it fit, after the play, +Let his queen mother all alone entreat him +To show his grief, let her be round with him, +And I’ll be plac’d, so please you, in the ear +Of all their conference. If she find him not, +To England send him; or confine him where +Your wisdom best shall think. + +KING. +It shall be so. +Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A hall in the Castle. + + Enter Hamlet and certain Players. + +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 your players do, I had as +lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much +with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, +tempest, and, as I may say, 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 robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to +tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for +the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and +noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant. It +out-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. + +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 ’twere the mirror up to nature; +to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age +and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come +tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the +judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance +o’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 men, and not made them +well, they imitated humanity so abominably. + +FIRST PLAYER. +I hope we have reform’d 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 quantity of barren spectators to laugh +too, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then +to be considered. That’s villanous, and shows a most pitiful ambition +in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready. + + [_Exeunt Players._] + + Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +How now, my lord? +Will the King hear this piece of work? + +POLONIUS. +And the Queen too, and that presently. + +HAMLET. +Bid the players make haste. + + [_Exit Polonius._] + +Will you two help to hasten them? + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +We will, my lord. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +HAMLET. +What ho, Horatio! + + Enter Horatio. + +HORATIO. +Here, sweet lord, at your service. + +HAMLET. +Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man +As e’er my conversation cop’d 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 flatter’d? +No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, +And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee +Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? +Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, +And could of men distinguish, her election +Hath seal’d thee for herself. For thou hast been +As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, +A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards +Hast ta’en with equal thanks. And bles’d 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 tonight before the King. +One scene of it comes near the circumstance +Which I have told thee, of my father’s death. +I prythee, when thou see’st that act a-foot, +Even with the very comment of thy soul +Observe mine uncle. If his occulted guilt +Do not itself unkennel in one speech, +It is a damned ghost that we have seen; +And my imaginations are as foul +As Vulcan’s stithy. Give him heedful note; +For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; +And after we will both our judgments join +In censure of his seeming. + +HORATIO. +Well, my lord. +If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, +And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. + +HAMLET. +They are coming to the play. I must be idle. +Get you a place. + + Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, + Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and others. + +KING. +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 play’d once i’ +th’university, you say? + +POLONIUS. +That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. + +HAMLET. +What did you enact? + +POLONIUS. +I did enact Julius Caesar. I was kill’d i’ th’ Capitol. Brutus killed +me. + +HAMLET. +It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the +players ready? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +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. + +POLONIUS. +[_To the King._] O ho! do you mark that? + +HAMLET. +Lady, shall I lie in your lap? + + [_Lying down at Ophelia’s feet._] + +OPHELIA. +No, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I mean, my head upon your lap? + +OPHELIA. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Do you think I meant country matters? + +OPHELIA. +I think nothing, my lord. + +HAMLET. +That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs. + +OPHELIA. +What is, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Nothing. + +OPHELIA. +You are merry, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Who, I? + +OPHELIA. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? For look +you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within’s two +hours. + +OPHELIA. +Nay, ’tis twice two months, my lord. + +HAMLET. +So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I’ll have a suit of +sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then +there’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year. But +by’r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not +thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ‘For, O, for O, the +hobby-horse is forgot!’ + + Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters. + +_Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he +her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her +up, and declines his head upon her neck. Lays him down upon a bank of +flowers. She, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, +takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the King’s ears, and +exits. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate +action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, +seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner +woos the Queen with gifts. She seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in +the end accepts his love._ + + [_Exeunt._] + +OPHELIA. +What means this, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Marry, this is miching mallicho; it means mischief. + +OPHELIA. +Belike this show imports the argument of the play. + + Enter Prologue. + +HAMLET. +We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they’ll +tell all. + +OPHELIA. +Will they tell us what this show meant? + +HAMLET. +Ay, or any show that you’ll show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll +not shame to tell you what it means. + +OPHELIA. +You are naught, you are naught: I’ll mark the play. + +PROLOGUE. + _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? + +OPHELIA. +’Tis brief, my lord. + +HAMLET. +As woman’s love. + + Enter a King and a Queen. + +PLAYER KING. +Full thirty times hath Phoebus’ cart gone round +Neptune’s salt wash and Tellus’ orbed ground, +And thirty dozen moons with borrow’d sheen +About the world have times twelve thirties been, +Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands +Unite commutual in most sacred bands. + +PLAYER 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 holds quantity, +In neither aught, or in extremity. +Now what my love is, proof hath made you know, +And as my love is siz’d, my fear is so. +Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; +Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. + +PLAYER 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, +Honour’d, belov’d, and haply one as kind +For husband shalt thou— + +PLAYER QUEEN. +O confound the rest. +Such love must needs be treason in my breast. +In second husband let me be accurst! +None wed the second but who kill’d the first. + +HAMLET. +[_Aside._] Wormwood, wormwood. + +PLAYER QUEEN. +The instances that second marriage move +Are base respects of thrift, but none of love. +A second time I kill my husband dead, +When second husband kisses me in bed. + +PLAYER 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. +Most necessary ’tis that we forget +To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt. +What to ourselves in passion we propose, +The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. +The violence of either grief or joy +Their own enactures with themselves destroy. +Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; +Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. +This world is not for aye; nor ’tis not strange +That even our loves should with our fortunes change, +For ’tis a question left us yet to prove, +Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. +The great man down, you mark his favourite flies, +The poor advanc’d makes friends of enemies; +And hitherto doth love on fortune tend: +For who not needs shall never lack a friend, +And who in want a hollow friend doth try, +Directly seasons him his enemy. +But orderly to end where I begun, +Our wills and fates do so contrary run +That our devices still are overthrown. +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. + +PLAYER 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. + +HAMLET. +[_To Ophelia._] If she should break it now. + +PLAYER KING. +’Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile. +My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile +The tedious day with sleep. +[_Sleeps._] + +PLAYER QUEEN. +Sleep rock thy brain, +And never come mischance between us twain. + + [_Exit._] + +HAMLET. +Madam, how like you this play? + +QUEEN. +The lady protests too much, methinks. + +HAMLET. +O, but she’ll 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’ th’ world. + +KING. +What do you call the play? + +HAMLET. +_The Mousetrap._ Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a +murder done in Vienna. Gonzago is the Duke’s name, his wife Baptista: +you shall see anon; ’tis a knavish piece of work: but what o’ that? +Your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the +gall’d jade wince; our withers are unwrung. + + Enter Lucianus. + +This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King. + +OPHELIA. +You are a good chorus, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets +dallying. + +OPHELIA. +You are keen, my lord, you are keen. + +HAMLET. +It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge. + +OPHELIA. +Still better, and worse. + +HAMLET. +So you mistake your husbands.—Begin, murderer. Pox, leave thy damnable +faces, and begin. Come, the croaking 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 ears._] + +HAMLET. +He poisons him i’ th’garden for’s 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. + +OPHELIA. +The King rises. + +HAMLET. +What, frighted with false fire? + +QUEEN. +How fares my lord? + +POLONIUS. +Give o’er the play. + +KING. +Give me some light. Away. + +All. +Lights, lights, lights. + + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio._] + +HAMLET. + Why, let the strucken deer go weep, + The hart ungalled play; + For some must watch, while some must sleep, + So runs the world away. +Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, if the rest of my +fortunes turn Turk with me; with two Provincial roses on my razed +shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir? + +HORATIO. +Half a share. + +HAMLET. +A whole one, I. + For thou dost know, O Damon dear, + This realm dismantled was + Of Jove himself, and now reigns here + A very, very—pajock. + +HORATIO. +You might have rhymed. + +HAMLET. +O good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s word for a thousand pound. Didst +perceive? + +HORATIO. +Very well, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Upon the talk of the poisoning? + +HORATIO. +I did very well note him. + +HAMLET. +Ah, ha! Come, some music. Come, the recorders. + For if the king like not the comedy, + Why then, belike he likes it not, perdie. +Come, some music. + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. + +HAMLET. +Sir, a whole history. + +GUILDENSTERN. +The King, sir— + +HAMLET. +Ay, sir, what of him? + +GUILDENSTERN. +Is in his retirement, marvellous distempered. + +HAMLET. +With drink, sir? + +GUILDENSTERN. +No, my lord; rather with choler. + +HAMLET. +Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the +doctor, for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him +into far more choler. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so +wildly from my affair. + +HAMLET. +I am tame, sir, pronounce. + +GUILDENSTERN. +The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me +to you. + +HAMLET. +You are welcome. + +GUILDENSTERN. +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. + +GUILDENSTERN. +What, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Make you a wholesome answer. My wit’s diseased. But, sir, such answer +as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother. +Therefore no more, but to the matter. My mother, you say,— + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and +admiration. + +HAMLET. +O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no sequel +at the heels of this mother’s admiration? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +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? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My lord, you once did love me. + +HAMLET. +And so I do still, by these pickers and stealers. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +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. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +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. + + Re-enter the Players with recorders. + +O, the recorders. Let me see one.—To withdraw with you, why do you go +about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? + +GUILDENSTERN. +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? + +GUILDENSTERN. +My lord, I cannot. + +HAMLET. +I pray you. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Believe me, I cannot. + +HAMLET. +I do beseech you. + +GUILDENSTERN. +I know no touch of it, my lord. + +HAMLET. +’Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and +thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most +eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. + +GUILDENSTERN. +But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. 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. ’Sblood, do you think I am easier +to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though +you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. + + Enter Polonius. + +God bless you, sir. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently. + +HAMLET. +Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? + +POLONIUS. +By the mass, and ’tis like a camel indeed. + +HAMLET. +Methinks it is like a weasel. + +POLONIUS. +It is backed like a weasel. + +HAMLET. +Or like a whale. + +POLONIUS. +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. + +POLONIUS. +I will say so. + + [_Exit._] + +HAMLET. +By and by is easily said. Leave me, friends. + + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + +’Tis 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; +My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites. +How in my words somever she be shent, +To give them seals never, my soul, consent. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A room in the Castle. + + Enter King, 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 dispatch, +And he to England shall along with you. +The terms of our estate may not endure +Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow +Out of his lunacies. + +GUILDENSTERN. +We will ourselves provide. +Most holy and religious fear it is +To keep those many many bodies safe +That live and feed upon your Majesty. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +The single and peculiar life is bound +With all the strength and armour of the mind, +To keep itself from ’noyance; but much more +That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest +The lives of many. The cease of majesty +Dies not alone; but like a gulf doth draw +What’s near it with it. It is a massy wheel +Fix’d on the summit of the highest mount, +To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things +Are mortis’d and adjoin’d; which when it falls, +Each small annexment, petty consequence, +Attends the boist’rous ruin. Never alone +Did the King sigh, but with a general groan. + +KING. +Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; +For we will fetters put upon this fear, +Which now goes too free-footed. + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +We will haste us. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + + Enter Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, he’s going to his mother’s closet. +Behind the arras I’ll convey myself +To hear the process. I’ll warrant she’ll tax him home, +And as you said, and wisely was it said, +’Tis 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’ll call upon you ere you go to bed, +And tell you what I know. + +KING. +Thanks, dear my lord. + + [_Exit Polonius._] + +O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; +It hath the primal eldest curse upon’t,— +A brother’s murder! Pray can I not, +Though inclination be as sharp as will: +My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, +And, like a man to double business bound, +I stand in pause where I shall first begin, +And both neglect. What if this cursed hand +Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood, +Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens +To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy +But to confront the visage of offence? +And what’s in prayer but this twofold force, +To be forestalled ere we come to fall, +Or pardon’d being down? Then I’ll look up. +My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer +Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder! +That cannot be; since I am still possess’d +Of those effects for which I did the murder,— +My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. +May one be pardon’d and retain th’offence? +In the corrupted currents of this world +Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice, +And oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself +Buys out the law. But ’tis not so above; +There is no shuffling, there the action lies +In his true nature, and we ourselves compell’d +Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, +To give in evidence. What then? What rests? +Try what repentance can. What can it not? +Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? +O wretched state! O bosom black as death! +O limed soul, that struggling to be free, +Art more engag’d! Help, angels! Make assay: +Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, +Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. +All may be well. + + [_Retires and kneels._] + + Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Now might I do it pat, now he is praying. +And now I’ll do’t. And so he goes to heaven; +And so am I reveng’d. That would be scann’d: +A villain kills my father, and for that +I, his sole son, do this same villain send +To heaven. O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. +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, +’Tis heavy with him. And am I then reveng’d, +To take him in the purging of his soul, +When he is fit and season’d for his passage? No. +Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: +When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage, +Or in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed, +At gaming, swearing; or about some act +That has no relish of salvation in’t, +Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, +And that his soul may be as damn’d and black +As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. +This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. + + [_Exit._] + + The King rises and advances. + +KING. +My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. +Words without thoughts never to heaven go. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Another room in the Castle. + + Enter Queen and Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +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 screen’d and stood between +Much heat and him. I’ll silence me e’en here. +Pray you be round with him. + +HAMLET. +[_Within._] Mother, mother, mother. + +QUEEN. +I’ll warrant you, Fear me not. +Withdraw, I hear him coming. + + [_Polonius goes 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’ll set those to you that can speak. + +HAMLET. +Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge. +You go not till I set you up a glass +Where you may see the inmost part of you. + +QUEEN. +What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me? +Help, help, ho! + +POLONIUS. +[_Behind._] What, ho! help, help, help! + +HAMLET. +How now? A rat? [_Draws._] +Dead for a ducat, dead! + + [_Makes a pass through the arras._] + +POLONIUS. +[_Behind._] O, I am slain! + + [_Falls and dies._] + +QUEEN. +O me, what hast thou done? + +HAMLET. +Nay, I know not. is it the King? + + [_Draws forth Polonius._] + +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, ’twas my word.— +[_To Polonius._] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! +I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune, +Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger.— +Leave wringing of your hands. Peace, sit you down, +And let me wring your heart, for so I shall, +If it be made of penetrable stuff; +If damned custom have not braz’d it so, +That it is proof and bulwark against sense. + +QUEEN. +What have I done, that thou dar’st wag thy tongue +In noise so rude against me? + +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. +Ay me, what act, +That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? + +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 mildew’d ear +Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? +Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, +And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? +You cannot call it love; for at your age +The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble, +And waits upon the judgment: and what judgment +Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, +Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense +Is apoplex’d, for madness would not err +Nor sense to ecstacy was ne’er so thrall’d +But it reserv’d some quantity of choice +To serve in such a difference. What devil was’t +That thus hath cozen’d you at hoodman-blind? +Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, +Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, +Or but a sickly part of one true sense +Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? +Rebellious hell, +If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones, +To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, +And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame +When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, +Since frost itself as actively doth burn, +And reason panders will. + +QUEEN. +O Hamlet, speak no more. +Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul, +And there I see such black and grained spots +As will not leave their tinct. + +HAMLET. +Nay, but to live +In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, +Stew’d in corruption, honeying and making love +Over the nasty sty. + +QUEEN. +O speak to me no more; +These words like daggers enter in mine ears; +No more, sweet Hamlet. + +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 +And put it in his pocket! + +QUEEN. +No more. + +HAMLET. +A king of shreds and patches!— + + Enter Ghost. + +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, laps’d in time and passion, lets go by +The important acting of your dread command? +O say! + +GHOST. +Do not forget. This visitation +Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. +But look, amazement on thy mother sits. +O step between her and her fighting soul. +Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. +Speak to her, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +How is it with you, lady? + +QUEEN. +Alas, how is’t with you, +That you do bend your eye on vacancy, +And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? +Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep, +And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, +Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements, +Start up and stand an end. O gentle son, +Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper +Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? + +HAMLET. +On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares, +His form and cause conjoin’d, 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. + +HAMLET. +Nor did you nothing hear? + +QUEEN. +No, nothing but ourselves. + +HAMLET. +Why, look you there! look how it steals away! +My father, in his habit as he liv’d! +Look where he goes even now out at the portal. + + [_Exit Ghost._] + +QUEEN. +This is the very coinage of your brain. +This bodiless creation ecstasy +Is very cunning in. + +HAMLET. +Ecstasy! +My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time, +And makes as healthful music. It is not madness +That I have utter’d. Bring me to the test, +And I the matter will re-word; which madness +Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, +Lay not that flattering unction to your soul +That not your trespass, but my madness speaks. +It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, +Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, +Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven, +Repent what’s past, avoid what is to come; +And do not spread the compost on the weeds, +To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; +For in the fatness of these pursy times +Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, +Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. + +QUEEN. +O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. + +HAMLET. +O throw away the worser part of it, +And live the purer with the other half. +Good night. But go not to mine uncle’s bed. +Assume a virtue, if you have it not. +That monster custom, who all sense doth eat, +Of habits evil, is angel yet in this, +That to the use of actions fair and good +He likewise gives a frock or livery +That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, +And that shall lend a kind of easiness +To the next abstinence. The next more easy; +For use almost can change the stamp of nature, +And either curb the devil, or throw him out +With wondrous potency. Once more, good night, +And when you are desirous to be bles’d, +I’ll blessing beg of you. For this same lord +[_Pointing to Polonius._] +I do repent; but heaven hath pleas’d it so, +To punish me with this, and this with me, +That I must be their scourge and minister. +I will bestow him, and will answer well +The death I gave him. So again, good night. +I must be cruel, only to be kind: +Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. +One word more, good lady. + +QUEEN. +What shall I do? + +HAMLET. +Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: +Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed, +Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse, +And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, +Or paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers, +Make you to ravel all this matter out, +That I essentially am not in madness, +But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know, +For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise, +Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, +Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so? +No, in despite of sense and secrecy, +Unpeg the basket on the house’s top, +Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, +To try conclusions, in the basket creep +And break your own neck down. + +QUEEN. +Be thou assur’d, if words be made of breath, +And breath of life, I have no life to breathe +What thou hast said to me. + +HAMLET. +I must to England, you know that? + +QUEEN. +Alack, +I had forgot. ’Tis so concluded on. + +HAMLET. +There’s letters seal’d: and my two schoolfellows, +Whom I will trust as I will adders fang’d,— +They bear the mandate, they must sweep my way +And marshal me to knavery. Let it work; +For ’tis the sport to have the enginer +Hoist with his own petard, and ’t shall go hard +But I will delve one yard below their mines +And blow them at the moon. O, ’tis most sweet, +When in one line two crafts directly meet. +This man shall set me packing. +I’ll lug the guts into the neighbour room. +Mother, good night. Indeed, this counsellor +Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, +Who was in life a foolish peating knave. +Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. +Good night, mother. + + [_Exit Hamlet dragging out Polonius._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. A room in the Castle. + + Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +KING. +There’s matter in these sighs. These profound heaves +You must translate. ’tis fit we understand them. +Where is your son? + +QUEEN. +Bestow this place on us a little while. + + [_To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who go out._] + +Ah, my good lord, what have I seen tonight! + +KING. +What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? + +QUEEN. +Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend +Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit +Behind the arras hearing something stir, +Whips out his rapier, cries ‘A rat, a rat!’ +And in this brainish apprehension kills +The unseen good old man. + +KING. +O heavy deed! +It had been so with us, had we been there. +His liberty is full of threats to all; +To you yourself, to us, to everyone. +Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer’d? +It will be laid to us, whose providence +Should have kept short, restrain’d, and out of haunt +This mad young man. But so much was our love +We would not understand what was most fit, +But like the owner of a foul disease, +To keep it from divulging, let it feed +Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? + +QUEEN. +To draw apart the body he hath kill’d, +O’er whom his very madness, like some ore +Among a mineral of metals base, +Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done. + +KING. +O Gertrude, come away! +The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch +But we will ship him hence, and this vile deed +We must with all our majesty and skill +Both countenance and excuse.—Ho, Guildenstern! + + Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +Friends both, go join you with some further aid: +Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, +And from his mother’s closet hath he dragg’d him. +Go seek him out, speak fair, and bring the body +Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +Come, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends, +And let them know both what we mean to do +And what’s untimely done, so haply slander, +Whose whisper o’er the world’s diameter, +As level as the cannon to his blank, +Transports his poison’d shot, may miss our name, +And hit the woundless air. O, come away! +My soul is full of discord and dismay. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another room in the Castle. + + Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Safely stowed. + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +[_Within._] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! + +HAMLET. +What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. + + Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? + +HAMLET. +Compounded it with dust, whereto ’tis kin. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Tell us where ’tis, that we may take it thence, +And bear it to the chapel. + +HAMLET. +Do not believe it. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Believe what? + +HAMLET. +That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded +of a sponge—what replication should be made by the son of a king? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Take you me for a sponge, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Ay, sir; that soaks up the King’s countenance, his rewards, his +authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he +keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be +last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but +squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +I understand you not, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the King. + +HAMLET. +The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King +is a thing— + +GUILDENSTERN. +A thing, my lord! + +HAMLET. +Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another room in the Castle. + + Enter King, attended. + +KING. +I have sent to seek him and to find the body. +How dangerous is it that this man goes loose! +Yet must not we put the strong law on him: +He’s lov’d of the distracted multitude, +Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; +And where ’tis so, th’offender’s scourge is weigh’d, +But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, +This sudden sending him away must seem +Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown +By desperate appliance are reliev’d, +Or not at all. + + Enter Rosencrantz. + +How now? What hath befall’n? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Where the dead body is bestow’d, my lord, +We cannot get from him. + +KING. +But where is he? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Without, my lord, guarded, to know your pleasure. + +KING. +Bring him before us. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord. + + Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. + +KING. +Now, Hamlet, where’s Polonius? + +HAMLET. +At supper. + +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. Your worm is your only emperor for diet. +We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. +Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service,—two dishes, +but to one table. That’s the end. + +KING. +Alas, alas! + +HAMLET. +A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the +fish that hath fed of that worm. + +KING. +What dost thou mean by this? + +HAMLET. +Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts +of a beggar. + +KING. +Where is Polonius? + +HAMLET. +In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there, +seek him i’ th’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 some Attendants._] Go seek him there. + +HAMLET. +He will stay till you come. + + [_Exeunt Attendants._] + +KING. +Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,— +Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve +For that which thou hast done,—must send thee hence +With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself; +The bark is ready, and the wind at help, +Th’associates tend, and everything is bent +For England. + +HAMLET. +For England? + +KING. +Ay, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Good. + +KING. +So is it, if thou knew’st our purposes. + +HAMLET. +I see a cherub that sees them. But, come; for England! Farewell, dear +mother. + +KING. +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._] + +KING. +Follow him at foot. Tempt him with speed aboard; +Delay it not; I’ll have him hence tonight. +Away, for everything is seal’d and done +That else leans on th’affair. Pray you make haste. + + [_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +And England, if my love thou hold’st at aught,— +As my great power thereof may give thee sense, +Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red +After the Danish sword, and thy free awe +Pays homage to us,—thou mayst not coldly set +Our sovereign process, which imports at full, +By letters conjuring to that effect, +The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; +For like the hectic in my blood he rages, +And thou must cure me. Till I know ’tis done, +Howe’er my haps, my joys were ne’er begun. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. A plain in Denmark. + + Enter Fortinbras and Forces marching. + +FORTINBRAS. +Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king. +Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras +Craves the conveyance of a promis’d march +Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. +If that his Majesty would aught with us, +We shall express our duty in his eye; +And let him know so. + +CAPTAIN. +I will do’t, my lord. + +FORTINBRAS. +Go softly on. + + [_Exeunt all but the Captain._] + + Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern &c. + +HAMLET. +Good sir, whose powers are these? + +CAPTAIN. +They are of Norway, sir. + +HAMLET. +How purpos’d, sir, I pray you? + +CAPTAIN. +Against some part of Poland. + +HAMLET. +Who commands them, sir? + +CAPTAIN. +The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. + +HAMLET. +Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, +Or for some frontier? + +CAPTAIN. +Truly to speak, and with no addition, +We go to gain a little patch of ground +That hath in it no profit but the name. +To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; +Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole +A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. + +HAMLET. +Why, then the Polack never will defend it. + +CAPTAIN. +Yes, it is already garrison’d. + +HAMLET. +Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats +Will not debate the question of this straw! +This is th’imposthume of much wealth and peace, +That inward breaks, and shows no cause without +Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. + +CAPTAIN. +God b’ wi’ you, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Will’t please you go, my lord? + +HAMLET. +I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before. + + [_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + +How all occasions do inform against me, +And spur my dull revenge. What is a man +If his chief good and market of his time +Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. +Sure he that made us with such large discourse, +Looking before and after, gave us not +That capability and godlike reason +To fust in us unus’d. Now whether it be +Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple +Of thinking too precisely on th’event,— +A thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom +And ever three parts coward,—I do not know +Why yet I live to say this thing’s to do, +Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means +To do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me, +Witness this army of such mass and charge, +Led by a delicate and tender prince, +Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff’d, +Makes mouths at the invisible event, +Exposing what is mortal and unsure +To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, +Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great +Is not to stir without great argument, +But greatly to find quarrel in a straw +When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then, +That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d, +Excitements of my reason and my blood, +And let all sleep, while to my shame I see +The imminent death of twenty thousand men +That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, +Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot +Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, +Which is not tomb enough and continent +To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, +My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + + Enter Queen, Horatio and a Gentleman. + +QUEEN. +I will not speak with her. + +GENTLEMAN. +She is importunate, indeed distract. +Her mood will needs be pitied. + +QUEEN. +What would she have? + +GENTLEMAN. +She speaks much of her father; says she hears +There’s tricks i’ th’ world, and hems, and beats her heart, +Spurns enviously at straws, speaks things in doubt, +That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing, +Yet the unshaped use of it doth move +The hearers to collection; they aim at it, +And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts, +Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them, +Indeed would make one think there might be thought, +Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. +’Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew +Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. + +QUEEN. +Let her come in. + + [_Exit Gentleman._] + +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 Ophelia. + +OPHELIA. +Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark? + +QUEEN. +How now, Ophelia? + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + How should I your true love know + From another one? + By his cockle bat and staff + And his sandal shoon. + +QUEEN. +Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? + +OPHELIA. +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— + +OPHELIA. +Pray you mark. +[_Sings._] + White his shroud as the mountain snow. + + Enter King. + +QUEEN. +Alas, look here, my lord! + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + Larded all with sweet flowers; + Which bewept to the grave did go + With true-love showers. + +KING. +How do you, pretty lady? + +OPHELIA. +Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we +know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! + +KING. +Conceit upon her father. + +OPHELIA. +Pray you, let’s have no words of this; but when they ask you what it +means, say you this: +[_Sings._] + Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day, + All in the morning betime, + And I a maid at your window, + To be your Valentine. + + Then up he rose and donn’d his clothes, + And dupp’d the chamber door, + Let in the maid, that out a maid + Never departed more. + +KING. +Pretty Ophelia! + +OPHELIA. +Indeed la, without an oath, I’ll make an end on’t. +[_Sings._] + By Gis and by Saint Charity, + Alack, and fie for shame! + Young men will do’t if they come to’t; + By Cock, they are to blame. + + Quoth she, before you tumbled me, + You promis’d me to wed. + So would I ha’ done, by yonder sun, + An thou hadst not come to my bed. + +KING. +How long hath she been thus? + +OPHELIA. +I hope all will be well. We must be patient. But I cannot choose but +weep, to think they would lay him i’ th’ cold ground. My brother shall +know of it. And so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! +Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night. + + [_Exit._] + +KING. +Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. + + [_Exit Horatio._] + +O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs +All from her father’s death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, +When sorrows come, they come not single spies, +But in battalions. First, her father slain; +Next, your son gone; and he most violent author +Of his own just remove; the people muddied, +Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers +For good Polonius’ death; and we have done but greenly +In hugger-mugger to inter him. Poor Ophelia +Divided from herself and her fair judgment, +Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts. +Last, and as much containing as all these, +Her brother is in secret come from France, +Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, +And wants not buzzers to infect his ear +With pestilent speeches of his father’s death, +Wherein necessity, of matter beggar’d, +Will nothing stick our person to arraign +In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, +Like to a murdering piece, in many places +Gives me superfluous death. + + [_A noise within._] + +QUEEN. +Alack, what noise is this? + +KING. +Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. + + Enter a Gentleman. + +What is the matter? + +GENTLEMAN. +Save yourself, my lord. +The ocean, overpeering of his list, +Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste +Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, +O’erbears your offices. The rabble call him lord, +And, as the world were now but to begin, +Antiquity forgot, custom not known, +The ratifiers and props of every word, +They cry ‘Choose we! Laertes shall be king!’ +Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds, +‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king.’ + +QUEEN. +How cheerfully on the false trail they cry. +O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. + + [_A noise within._] + +KING. +The doors are broke. + + Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. + +LAERTES. +Where is this king?—Sirs, stand you all without. + +Danes. +No, let’s come in. + +LAERTES. +I pray you, give me leave. + +DANES. +We will, we will. + + [_They retire without the door._] + +LAERTES. +I thank you. Keep the door. O thou vile king, +Give me my father. + +QUEEN. +Calmly, good Laertes. + +LAERTES. +That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard; +Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot +Even here between the chaste unsmirched brow +Of my true mother. + +KING. +What is the cause, Laertes, +That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?— +Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person. +There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, +That treason can but peep to what it would, +Acts little of his will.—Tell me, Laertes, +Why thou art thus incens’d.—Let him go, Gertrude:— +Speak, man. + +LAERTES. +Where is my father? + +KING. +Dead. + +QUEEN. +But not by him. + +KING. +Let him demand his fill. + +LAERTES. +How came he dead? I’ll not be juggled with. +To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil! +Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! +I dare damnation. To this point I stand, +That both the worlds, I give to negligence, +Let come what comes; only I’ll be reveng’d +Most throughly for my father. + +KING. +Who shall stay you? + +LAERTES. +My will, not all the world. +And for my means, I’ll 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? + +LAERTES. +None but his enemies. + +KING. +Will you know them then? + +LAERTES. +To his good friends thus wide I’ll 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. + +DANES. +[_Within._] Let her come in. + +LAERTES. +How now! What noise is that? + + Re-enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers. + +O heat, dry up my brains. Tears seven times salt, +Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye. +By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, +Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! +Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! +O heavens, is’t possible a young maid’s wits +Should be as mortal as an old man’s life? +Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine, +It sends some precious instance of itself +After the thing it loves. + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + They bore him barefac’d on the bier, + Hey no nonny, nonny, hey nonny + And on his grave rain’d many a tear.— + Fare you well, my dove! + +LAERTES. +Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, +It could not move thus. + +OPHELIA. +You must sing ‘Down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.’ O, how the +wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his master’s +daughter. + +LAERTES. +This nothing’s more than matter. + +OPHELIA. +There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray love, remember. And +there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. + +LAERTES. +A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted. + +OPHELIA. +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. O you must wear +your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some +violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a +good end. +[_Sings._] + For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. + +LAERTES. +Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself +She turns to favour and to prettiness. + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + And will he not come again? + And will he not come again? + No, no, he is dead, + Go to thy death-bed, + He never will come again. + + His beard was as white as snow, + All flaxen was his poll. + He is gone, he is gone, + And we cast away moan. + God ha’ mercy on his soul. + +And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b’ wi’ ye. + + [_Exit._] + +LAERTES. +Do you see this, O God? + +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 touch’d, we will our kingdom give, +Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours +To you in satisfaction; but if not, +Be you content to lend your patience to us, +And we shall jointly labour with your soul +To give it due content. + +LAERTES. +Let this be so; +His means of death, his obscure burial,— +No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones, +No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,— +Cry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth, +That I must call’t in question. + +KING. +So you shall. +And where th’offence is let the great axe fall. +I pray you go with me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Another room in the Castle. + + Enter Horatio and a Servant. + +HORATIO. +What are they that would speak with me? + +SERVANT. +Sailors, sir. They say they have letters for you. + +HORATIO. +Let them come in. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +I do not know from what part of the world +I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. + + Enter Sailors. + +FIRST SAILOR. +God bless you, sir. + +HORATIO. +Let him bless thee too. + +FIRST SAILOR. +He shall, sir, and’t please him. There’s a letter for you, sir. It +comes from th’ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be +Horatio, as I am let to know it is. + +HORATIO. +[_Reads._] ‘Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these +fellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were +two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us +chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled +valour, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant they got +clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt +with me like thieves of mercy. But they knew what they did; I am to do +a good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and +repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have +words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too +light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee +where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England: +of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. + He that thou knowest thine, + HAMLET.’ + +Come, I will give you way for these your letters, +And do’t the speedier, that you may direct me +To him from whom you brought them. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Another room in the Castle. + + Enter King and Laertes. + +KING. +Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, +And you must put me in your heart for friend, +Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, +That he which hath your noble father slain +Pursu’d my life. + +LAERTES. +It well appears. But tell me +Why you proceeded not against these feats, +So crimeful and so capital in nature, +As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, +You mainly were stirr’d up. + +KING. +O, for two special reasons, +Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew’d, +But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother +Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,— +My virtue or my plague, be it either which,— +She’s so conjunctive to my life and soul, +That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, +I could not but by her. The other motive, +Why to a public count I might not go, +Is the great love the general gender bear him, +Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, +Would like the spring that turneth wood to stone, +Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows, +Too slightly timber’d for so loud a wind, +Would have reverted to my bow again, +And not where I had aim’d them. + +LAERTES. +And so have I a noble father lost, +A sister driven into desperate terms, +Whose worth, if praises may go back again, +Stood challenger on mount of all the age +For her perfections. But my revenge will come. + +KING. +Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think +That we are made of stuff so flat and dull +That we can let our beard be shook with danger, +And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more. +I lov’d your father, and we love ourself, +And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine— + + Enter a Messenger. + +How now? What news? + +MESSENGER. +Letters, my lord, from Hamlet. +This to your Majesty; this to the Queen. + +KING. +From Hamlet! Who brought them? + +MESSENGER. +Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not. +They were given me by Claudio. He receiv’d them +Of him that brought them. + +KING. +Laertes, you shall hear them. +Leave us. + + [_Exit Messenger._] + +[_Reads._] ‘High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your +kingdom. Tomorrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes. When I +shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions 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? + +LAERTES. +Know you the hand? + +KING. +’Tis Hamlet’s character. ’Naked!’ +And in a postscript here he says ‘alone.’ +Can you advise me? + +LAERTES. +I am 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 diest thou.’ + +KING. +If it be so, Laertes,— +As how should it be so? How otherwise?— +Will you be rul’d by me? + +LAERTES. +Ay, my lord; +So you will not o’errule me to a peace. + +KING. +To thine own peace. If he be now return’d, +As checking at his voyage, and that he means +No more to undertake it, I will work him +To exploit, now ripe in my device, +Under the which he shall not choose but fall; +And for his death no wind shall breathe, +But even his mother shall uncharge the practice +And call it accident. + +LAERTES. +My lord, I will be rul’d; +The rather if you could devise it so +That I might be the organ. + +KING. +It falls right. +You have been talk’d of since your travel much, +And that in Hamlet’s hearing, for a quality +Wherein they say you shine. Your sum of parts +Did not together pluck such envy from him +As did that one, and that, in my regard, +Of the unworthiest siege. + +LAERTES. +What part is that, my lord? + +KING. +A very riband in the cap of youth, +Yet needful too, for youth no less becomes +The light and careless livery that it wears +Than settled age his sables and his weeds, +Importing health and graveness. Two months since +Here was a gentleman of Normandy,— +I’ve seen myself, and serv’d against, the French, +And they can well on horseback, but this gallant +Had witchcraft in’t. He grew unto his seat, +And to such wondrous doing brought his horse, +As had he been incorps’d and demi-natur’d +With the brave beast. So far he topp’d my thought +That I in forgery of shapes and tricks, +Come short of what he did. + +LAERTES. +A Norman was’t? + +KING. +A Norman. + +LAERTES. +Upon my life, Lamond. + +KING. +The very same. + +LAERTES. +I know him well. He is the brooch indeed +And gem of all the nation. + +KING. +He made confession of you, +And gave you such a masterly report +For art and exercise in your defence, +And for your rapier most especially, +That he cried out ’twould be a sight indeed +If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation +He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye, +If you oppos’d them. Sir, this report of his +Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy +That he could nothing do but wish and beg +Your sudden coming o’er to play with him. +Now, out of this,— + +LAERTES. +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? + +LAERTES. +Why ask you this? + +KING. +Not that I think you did not love your father, +But that I know love is begun by time, +And that I see, in passages of proof, +Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. +There lives within the very flame of love +A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it; +And nothing is at a like goodness still, +For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, +Dies in his own too much. That we would do, +We should do when we would; for this ‘would’ changes, +And hath abatements and delays as many +As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; +And then this ‘should’ is like a spendthrift sigh +That hurts by easing. But to the quick o’ th’ulcer: +Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake +To show yourself your father’s son in deed, +More than in words? + +LAERTES. +To cut his throat i’ th’ 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 return’d shall know you are come home: +We’ll 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. + +LAERTES. +I will do’t. +And for that purpose I’ll 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 +This is but scratch’d withal. I’ll touch my point +With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly, +It may be death. + +KING. +Let’s further think of this, +Weigh what convenience both of time and means +May fit us to our shape. If this should fail, +And that our drift look through our bad performance. +’Twere better not assay’d. Therefore this project +Should have a back or second, that might hold +If this did blast in proof. Soft, let me see. +We’ll make a solemn wager on your cunnings,— +I ha’t! When in your motion you are hot and dry, +As make your bouts more violent to that end, +And that he calls for drink, I’ll have prepar’d him +A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, +If he by chance escape your venom’d stuck, +Our purpose may hold there. + + Enter Queen. + +How now, sweet Queen? + +QUEEN. +One woe doth tread upon another’s heel, +So fast they follow. Your sister’s drown’d, Laertes. + +LAERTES. +Drown’d! O, where? + +QUEEN. +There is a willow grows aslant a brook, +That shows his hoary leaves in the glassy stream. +There with fantastic garlands did she make +Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, +That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, +But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them. +There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds +Clamb’ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, +When down her weedy trophies and herself +Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, +And mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up, +Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, +As one incapable of her own distress, +Or like a creature native and indued +Unto that element. But long it could not be +Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, +Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay +To muddy death. + +LAERTES. +Alas, then she is drown’d? + +QUEEN. +Drown’d, drown’d. + +LAERTES. +Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, +And therefore I forbid my tears. But yet +It is our trick; nature her custom holds, +Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, +The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord, +I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, +But that this folly douts it. + + [_Exit._] + +KING. +Let’s follow, Gertrude; +How much I had to do to calm his rage! +Now fear I this will give it start again; +Therefore let’s follow. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. A churchyard. + + Enter two Clowns with spades, &c. + +FIRST CLOWN. +Is she to be buried in Christian burial, when she wilfully seeks her +own salvation? + +SECOND CLOWN. +I tell thee she is, and therefore make her grave straight. The crowner +hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial. + +FIRST CLOWN. +How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence? + +SECOND CLOWN. +Why, ’tis found so. + +FIRST CLOWN. +It must be _se offendendo_, 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 CLOWN. +Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,— + +FIRST CLOWN. +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 +drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death +shortens not his own life. + +SECOND CLOWN. +But is this law? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Ay, marry, is’t, crowner’s quest law. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Will you ha’ the truth on’t? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she +should have been buried out o’ Christian burial. + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, there thou say’st. And the more pity that great folk should have +countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their +even Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but +gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they hold up Adam’s profession. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Was he a gentleman? + +FIRST CLOWN. +He was the first that ever bore arms. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Why, he had none. + +FIRST CLOWN. +What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The +Scripture says Adam digg’d. Could he dig without arms? I’ll put another +question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess +thyself— + +SECOND CLOWN. +Go to. + +FIRST CLOWN. +What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, +or the carpenter? + +SECOND CLOWN. +The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. + +FIRST CLOWN. +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 CLOWN. +Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Marry, now I can tell. + +FIRST CLOWN. +To’t. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Mass, I cannot tell. + + Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. + +FIRST CLOWN. +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 he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to +Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor. + + [_Exit Second Clown._] + +[_Digs and sings._] + + In youth when I did love, did love, + Methought it was very sweet; + To contract, O, the time for, a, my behove, + O methought there was nothing meet. + +HAMLET. +Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at +grave-making? + +HORATIO. +Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. + +HAMLET. +’Tis e’en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. + +FIRST CLOWN. +[_Sings._] + But age with his stealing steps + Hath claw’d me in his clutch, + And hath shipp’d me into 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 th’ ground, as if ’twere Cain’s jawbone, that did the first +murder! This might be the pate of a politician which this ass now +o’er-offices, one that would circumvent God, might it not? + +HORATIO. +It might, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Or of a courtier, which could say ‘Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost +thou, good lord?’ This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my +lord such-a-one’s horse when he meant to beg it, might it not? + +HORATIO. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Why, e’en so: and now my Lady Worm’s; chapless, and knocked about the +mazard with a sexton’s spade. Here’s fine revolution, an we had the +trick to see’t. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play +at loggets with ’em? Mine ache to think on’t. + +FIRST CLOWN. +[_Sings._] + A pickaxe 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._] + +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? +Hum. This fellow might be in’s time a great buyer of land, with his +statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his +recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his +recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers +vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the +length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his +lands will scarcely lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself +have no more, ha? + +HORATIO. +Not a jot more, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? + +HORATIO. +Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. + +HAMLET. +They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will +speak to this fellow.—Whose grave’s this, sir? + +FIRST CLOWN. +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 CLOWN. +You lie out on’t, sir, and therefore ’tis not yours. +For my part, I do not lie in’t, yet it is mine. + +HAMLET. +Thou dost lie in’t, to be in’t and say it is thine. ’Tis for the dead, +not for the quick; therefore thou liest. + +FIRST CLOWN. +’Tis a quick lie, sir; ’t will away again from me to you. + +HAMLET. +What man dost thou dig it for? + +FIRST CLOWN. +For no man, sir. + +HAMLET. +What woman then? + +FIRST CLOWN. +For none neither. + +HAMLET. +Who is to be buried in’t? + +FIRST CLOWN. +One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she’s dead. + +HAMLET. +How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation +will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note +of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so +near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.—How long hast thou +been a grave-maker? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Of all the days i’ th’ year, I came to’t that day that our last King +Hamlet o’ercame Fortinbras. + +HAMLET. +How long is that since? + +FIRST CLOWN. +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 CLOWN. +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 CLOWN. +’Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. + +HAMLET. +How came he mad? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Very strangely, they say. + +HAMLET. +How strangely? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Faith, e’en with losing his wits. + +HAMLET. +Upon what ground? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty +years. + +HAMLET. +How long will a man lie i’ th’earth ere he rot? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Faith, if he be not rotten before he die,—as we have many pocky corses +nowadays that will scarce hold the laying in,—he will last you some +eight year or nine year. A tanner will last you nine year. + +HAMLET. +Why he more than another? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, sir, his hide is so tann’d with his trade that he will keep out +water a great while. And your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson +dead body. Here’s a skull now; this skull hath lain in the earth +three-and-twenty years. + +HAMLET. +Whose was it? + +FIRST CLOWN. +A whoreson, mad fellow’s it was. Whose do you think it was? + +HAMLET. +Nay, I know not. + +FIRST CLOWN. +A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! A pour’d a flagon of Rhenish on my +head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester. + +HAMLET. +This? + +FIRST CLOWN. +E’en that. + +HAMLET. +Let me see. [_Takes the skull._] Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, +Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath +borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my +imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I +have kiss’d 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 chop-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.—Prythee, +Horatio, tell me one thing. + +HORATIO. +What’s that, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’ th’earth? + +HORATIO. +E’en so. + +HAMLET. +And smelt so? Pah! + + [_Throws down the skull._] + +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. +’Twere to consider too curiously to consider so. + +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? +Imperious Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay, +Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. +O, that that earth which kept the world in awe +Should patch a wall t’expel the winter’s flaw. +But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King. + + Enter priests, &c, in procession; the corpse of Ophelia, Laertes and + Mourners following; King, Queen, their Trains, &c. + +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 it own life. ’Twas of some estate. +Couch we awhile and mark. + + [_Retiring with Horatio._] + +LAERTES. +What ceremony else? + +HAMLET. +That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark. + +LAERTES. +What ceremony else? + +PRIEST. +Her obsequies have been as far enlarg’d +As we have warranties. Her death was doubtful; +And but that great command o’ersways the order, +She should in ground unsanctified have lodg’d +Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers, +Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her. +Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites, +Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home +Of bell and burial. + +LAERTES. +Must there no more be done? + +PRIEST. +No more be done. +We should profane the service of the dead +To sing sage requiem and such rest to her +As to peace-parted souls. + +LAERTES. +Lay her i’ th’earth, +And from her fair and unpolluted flesh +May violets spring. I tell thee, churlish priest, +A minist’ring angel shall my sister be +When thou liest howling. + +HAMLET. +What, the fair Ophelia? + +QUEEN. +[_Scattering flowers._] Sweets to the sweet. Farewell. +I hop’d thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife; +I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid, +And not have strew’d thy grave. + +LAERTES. +O, treble woe +Fall ten times treble on that cursed head +Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense +Depriv’d thee of. Hold off the earth a while, +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. +[_Advancing._] +What is he whose grief +Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow +Conjures the wand’ring stars, and makes them stand +Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, +Hamlet the Dane. +[_Leaps into the grave._] + +LAERTES. +[_Grappling with him._] The devil take thy soul! + +HAMLET. +Thou pray’st not well. +I prythee take thy fingers from my throat; +For though I am not splenative and rash, +Yet have I in me something dangerous, +Which let thy wiseness fear. Away thy hand! + +KING. +Pluck them asunder. + +QUEEN. +Hamlet! Hamlet! + +All. +Gentlemen! + +HORATIO. +Good my lord, be quiet. + + [_The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave._] + +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 lov’d Ophelia; forty thousand brothers +Could not, with all their quantity of love, +Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? + +KING. +O, he is mad, Laertes. + +QUEEN. +For love of God forbear him! + +HAMLET. +’Swounds, show me what thou’lt do: +Woul’t weep? woul’t fight? woul’t fast? woul’t tear thyself? +Woul’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? +I’ll 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’lt mouth, +I’ll rant as well as thou. + +QUEEN. +This is mere madness: +And thus awhile the fit will work on him; +Anon, as patient as the female dove, +When that her golden couplets are disclos’d, +His silence will sit drooping. + +HAMLET. +Hear you, sir; +What is the reason that you use me thus? +I lov’d you ever. But it is no matter. +Let Hercules himself do what he may, +The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. + + [_Exit._] + +KING. +I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. + + [_Exit Horatio._] + +[_To Laertes_] +Strengthen your patience in our last night’s speech; +We’ll put the matter to the present push.— +Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. +This grave shall have a living monument. +An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; +Till then in patience our proceeding be. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A hall in the Castle. + + Enter Hamlet and Horatio. + +HAMLET. +So much for this, sir. Now let me see the other; +You do remember all the circumstance? + +HORATIO. +Remember it, my lord! + +HAMLET. +Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting +That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay +Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly, +And prais’d be rashness for it,—let us know, +Our indiscretion sometime serves us well, +When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us +There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, +Rough-hew them how we will. + +HORATIO. +That is most certain. + +HAMLET. +Up from my cabin, +My sea-gown scarf’d about me, in the dark +Grop’d I to find out them; had my desire, +Finger’d their packet, and in fine, withdrew +To mine own room again, making so bold, +My fears forgetting manners, to unseal +Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio, +Oh royal knavery! an exact command, +Larded with many several sorts of reasons, +Importing Denmark’s health, and England’s too, +With ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, +That on the supervise, no leisure bated, +No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, +My head should be struck off. + +HORATIO. +Is’t possible? + +HAMLET. +Here’s the commission, read it at more leisure. +But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed? + +HORATIO. +I beseech you. + +HAMLET. +Being thus benetted round with villanies,— +Or I could make a prologue to my brains, +They had begun the play,—I sat me down, +Devis’d a new commission, wrote it fair: +I once did hold it, as our statists do, +A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much +How to forget that learning; but, sir, now +It did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know +The effect of what I wrote? + +HORATIO. +Ay, good my lord. + +HAMLET. +An earnest conjuration from the King, +As England was his faithful tributary, +As love between them like the palm might flourish, +As peace should still her wheaten garland wear +And stand a comma ’tween their amities, +And many such-like ‘as’es of great charge, +That on the view and know of these contents, +Without debatement further, more or less, +He should the bearers put to sudden death, +Not shriving-time allow’d. + +HORATIO. +How was this seal’d? + +HAMLET. +Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. +I had my father’s signet in my purse, +Which was the model of that Danish seal: +Folded the writ up in the form of the other, +Subscrib’d it: gave’t th’impression; plac’d it safely, +The changeling never known. Now, the next day +Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent +Thou know’st already. + +HORATIO. +So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to’t. + +HAMLET. +Why, man, they did make love to this employment. +They are not near my conscience; their defeat +Does by their own insinuation grow. +’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes +Between the pass and fell incensed points +Of mighty opposites. + +HORATIO. +Why, what a king is this! + +HAMLET. +Does it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon,— +He that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my mother, +Popp’d in between th’election and my hopes, +Thrown out his angle for my proper life, +And with such cozenage—is’t not perfect conscience +To quit him with this arm? And is’t not to be damn’d +To let this canker of our nature come +In further evil? + +HORATIO. +It must be shortly known to him from England +What is the issue of the business there. + +HAMLET. +It will be short. The interim is mine; +And a man’s life’s no more than to say ‘One’. +But I am very sorry, good Horatio, +That to Laertes I forgot myself; +For by the image of my cause I see +The portraiture of his. I’ll court his favours. +But sure the bravery of his grief did put me +Into a tow’ring passion. + +HORATIO. +Peace, who comes here? + + Enter Osric. + +OSRIC. +Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. + +HAMLET. +I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this waterfly? + +HORATIO. +No, my good lord. + +HAMLET. +Thy state is the more gracious; for ’tis a vice to know him. He hath +much land, and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib +shall stand at the king’s mess; ’tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious +in the possession of dirt. + +OSRIC. +Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing +to you from his Majesty. + +HAMLET. +I will receive it with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his +right use; ’tis for the head. + +OSRIC. +I thank your lordship, ’tis very hot. + +HAMLET. +No, believe me, ’tis very cold, the wind is northerly. + +OSRIC. +It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. + +HAMLET. +Methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion. + +OSRIC. +Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry,—as ’twere—I cannot tell how. +But, my lord, his Majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a +great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter,— + +HAMLET. +I beseech you, remember,— + + [_Hamlet moves him to put on his hat._] + +OSRIC. +Nay, in good faith; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is newly +come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most +excellent differences, of very soft society and great showing. Indeed, +to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry; for +you shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see. + +HAMLET. +Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you, though I know, to +divide him inventorially would dizzy th’arithmetic of memory, and yet +but yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of +extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article and his infusion of +such dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of him, his semblable +is his mirror and who else would trace him his umbrage, nothing more. + +OSRIC. +Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. + +HAMLET. +The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer +breath? + +OSRIC. +Sir? + +HORATIO. +Is’t not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do’t, sir, +really. + +HAMLET. +What imports the nomination of this gentleman? + +OSRIC. +Of Laertes? + +HORATIO. +His purse is empty already, all’s golden words are spent. + +HAMLET. +Of him, sir. + +OSRIC. +I know you are not ignorant,— + +HAMLET. +I would you did, sir; yet in faith if you did, it would not much +approve me. Well, sir? + +OSRIC. +You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is,— + +HAMLET. +I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence; +but to know a man well were to know himself. + +OSRIC. +I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him, by them +in his meed he’s unfellowed. + +HAMLET. +What’s his weapon? + +OSRIC. +Rapier and dagger. + +HAMLET. +That’s two of his weapons. But well. + +OSRIC. +The King, sir, hath wager’d 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? + +HORATIO. +I knew you must be edified by the margin ere you had done. + +OSRIC. +The carriages, sir, are the hangers. + +HAMLET. +The phrase would be more german to the matter if we could carry cannon +by our sides. I would it might be hangers till then. But on. Six +Barbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, and three +liberal conceited carriages: that’s the French bet against the Danish. +Why is this all imponed, as you call it? + +OSRIC. +The King, sir, hath laid that in a dozen passes between you and him, he +shall not exceed you three hits. He hath laid on twelve for nine. And +it would come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe the +answer. + +HAMLET. +How if I answer no? + +OSRIC. +I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial. + +HAMLET. +Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his Majesty, it is the +breathing time of day with me. Let the foils be brought, the gentleman +willing, and the King hold his purpose, I will win for him if I can; if +not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits. + +OSRIC. +Shall I re-deliver you e’en so? + +HAMLET. +To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will. + +OSRIC. +I commend my duty to your lordship. + +HAMLET. +Yours, yours. + + [_Exit Osric._] + +He does well to commend it himself, there are no tongues else for’s +turn. + +HORATIO. +This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head. + +HAMLET. +He did comply with his dug before he suck’d it. Thus has he,—and many +more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on,— only got +the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yeasty +collection, which carries them through and through the most fanned and +winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are +out, + + Enter a Lord. + +LORD. +My lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings +back to him that you attend him in the hall. He sends to know if your +pleasure hold to play with Laertes or that you will take longer time. + +HAMLET. +I am constant to my purposes, they follow the King’s pleasure. If his +fitness speaks, mine is ready. Now or whensoever, provided I be so able +as now. + +LORD. +The King and Queen and all are coming down. + +HAMLET. +In happy time. + +LORD. +The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes +before you fall to play. + +HAMLET. +She well instructs me. + + [_Exit Lord._] + +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. I shall win at the odds. 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, ’tis 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 has aught of what he leaves, what is’t to leave betimes? + + Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric and Attendants with foils &c. + +KING. +Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. + + [_The King puts Laertes’s hand into Hamlet’s._] + +HAMLET. +Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong; +But pardon’t as you are a gentleman. +This presence knows, and you must needs have heard, +How I am punish’d with sore distraction. +What I have done +That might your nature, honour, and exception +Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. +Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet. +If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away, +And when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes, +Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. +Who does it, then? His madness. If’t be so, +Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d; +His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy. +Sir, in this audience, +Let my disclaiming from a purpos’d evil +Free me so far in your most generous thoughts +That I have shot my arrow o’er the house +And hurt my brother. + +LAERTES. +I am satisfied in nature, +Whose motive in this case should stir me most +To my revenge. But in my terms of honour +I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement +Till by some elder masters of known honour +I have a voice and precedent of peace +To keep my name ungor’d. But till that time +I do receive your offer’d love like love, +And will not wrong it. + +HAMLET. +I embrace it freely, +And will this brother’s wager frankly play.— +Give us the foils; come on. + +LAERTES. +Come, one for me. + +HAMLET. +I’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance +Your skill shall like a star i’ th’ darkest night, +Stick fiery off indeed. + +LAERTES. +You mock me, sir. + +HAMLET. +No, by this hand. + +KING. +Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, +You know the wager? + +HAMLET. +Very well, my lord. +Your Grace has laid the odds o’ the weaker side. + +KING. +I do not fear it. I have seen you both; +But since he is better’d, we have therefore odds. + +LAERTES. +This is too heavy. Let me see another. + +HAMLET. +This likes me well. These foils have all a length? + + [_They prepare to play._] + +OSRIC. +Ay, my good lord. + +KING. +Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. +If Hamlet give the first or second hit, +Or quit in answer of the third exchange, +Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; +The King shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath, +And in the cup an union shall he throw +Richer than that which four successive kings +In Denmark’s crown have worn. Give me the cups; +And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, +The trumpet to the cannoneer without, +The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth, +‘Now the King drinks to Hamlet.’ Come, begin. +And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. + +HAMLET. +Come on, sir. + +LAERTES. +Come, my lord. + + [_They play._] + +HAMLET. +One. + +LAERTES. +No. + +HAMLET. +Judgment. + +OSRIC. +A hit, a very palpable hit. + +LAERTES. +Well; again. + +KING. +Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; +Here’s to thy health. + + [_Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off within._] + +Give him the cup. + +HAMLET. +I’ll play this bout first; set it by awhile. + + [_They play._] + +Come. Another hit; what say you? + + +LAERTES. +A touch, a touch, I do confess. + +KING. +Our son shall win. + +QUEEN. +He’s fat, and scant of breath. +Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows. +The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Good madam. + +KING. +Gertrude, do not drink. + +QUEEN. +I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me. + +KING. +[_Aside._] It is the poison’d cup; it is too late. + +HAMLET. +I dare not drink yet, madam. By and by. + +QUEEN. +Come, let me wipe thy face. + +LAERTES. +My lord, I’ll hit him now. + +KING. +I do not think’t. + +LAERTES. +[_Aside._] And yet ’tis almost ’gainst my conscience. + +HAMLET. +Come for the third, Laertes. You do but dally. +I pray you pass with your best violence. +I am afeard you make a wanton of me. + +LAERTES. +Say you so? Come on. + + [_They play._] + +OSRIC. +Nothing neither way. + +LAERTES. +Have at you now. + + [_Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and + Hamlet wounds Laertes._] + +KING. +Part them; they are incens’d. + +HAMLET. +Nay, come again! + + [_The Queen falls._] + +OSRIC. +Look to the Queen there, ho! + +HORATIO. +They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord? + +OSRIC. +How is’t, Laertes? + +LAERTES. +Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric. +I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery. + +HAMLET. +How does the Queen? + +KING. +She swoons to see them bleed. + +QUEEN. +No, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! +The drink, the drink! I am poison’d. + + [_Dies._] + +HAMLET. +O villany! Ho! Let the door be lock’d: +Treachery! Seek it out. + + [_Laertes falls._] + +LAERTES. +It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain. +No medicine in the world can do thee good. +In thee there is not half an hour of life; +The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, +Unbated and envenom’d. The foul practice +Hath turn’d itself on me. Lo, here I lie, +Never to rise again. Thy mother’s poison’d. +I can no more. The King, the King’s to blame. + +HAMLET. +The point envenom’d too! +Then, venom, to thy work. + + [_Stabs the King._] + +OSRIC and LORDS. +Treason! treason! + +KING. +O yet defend me, friends. I am but hurt. + +HAMLET. +Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, +Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? +Follow my mother. + + [_King dies._] + +LAERTES. +He is justly serv’d. +It is a poison temper’d by himself. +Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. +Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee, +Nor thine on me. + + [_Dies._] + +HAMLET. +Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. +I am dead, Horatio. Wretched Queen, adieu. +You that look pale and tremble at this chance, +That are but mutes or audience to this act, +Had I but time,—as this fell sergeant, death, +Is strict in his arrest,—O, I could tell you,— +But let it be. Horatio, I am dead, +Thou liv’st; report me and my cause aright +To the unsatisfied. + +HORATIO. +Never believe it. +I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. +Here’s yet some liquor left. + +HAMLET. +As th’art a man, +Give me the cup. Let go; by Heaven, I’ll have’t. +O good Horatio, what a wounded name, +Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me. +If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, +Absent thee from felicity awhile, +And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, +To tell my story. + + [_March afar off, and shot within._] + +What warlike noise is this? + +OSRIC. +Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, +To the ambassadors of England gives +This warlike volley. + +HAMLET. +O, I die, Horatio. +The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit: +I cannot live to hear the news from England, +But I do prophesy th’election lights +On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. +So tell him, with the occurrents more and less, +Which have solicited. The rest is silence. + + [_Dies._] + +HORATIO. +Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, +And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. +Why does the drum come hither? + + [_March within._] + + Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors and others. + +FORTINBRAS. +Where is this sight? + +HORATIO. +What is it you would see? +If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. + +FORTINBRAS. +This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death, +What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, +That thou so many princes at a shot +So bloodily hast struck? + +FIRST AMBASSADOR. +The sight is dismal; +And our affairs from England come too late. +The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, +To tell him his commandment is fulfill’d, +That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. +Where should we have our thanks? + +HORATIO. +Not from his mouth, +Had it th’ability of life to thank you. +He never gave commandment for their death. +But since, so jump upon this bloody question, +You from the Polack wars, and you from England +Are here arriv’d, give order that these bodies +High on a stage be placed to the view, +And let me speak to th’ yet unknowing world +How these things came about. So shall you hear +Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts, +Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters, +Of deaths put on by cunning and forc’d cause, +And, in this upshot, purposes mistook +Fall’n on the inventors’ heads. All this can I +Truly deliver. + +FORTINBRAS. +Let us haste to hear it, +And call the noblest to the audience. +For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. +I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, +Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. + +HORATIO. +Of that I shall have also cause to speak, +And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more. +But let this same be presently perform’d, +Even while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance +On plots and errors happen. + +FORTINBRAS. +Let four captains +Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage, +For he was likely, had he been put on, +To have prov’d most royally; and for his passage, +The soldiers’ music and the rites of war +Speak loudly for him. +Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this +Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. +Go, bid the soldiers shoot. + + [_A dead march._] + + [_Exeunt, bearing off the bodies, after which a peal of ordnance is + shot off._] + + + +THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY the Fourth. +HENRY, PRINCE of Wales, son to the King. +Prince John of LANCASTER, son to the King. +Earl of WESTMORELAND. +Sir Walter BLUNT. +Thomas Percy, Earl of WORCESTER. +Henry Percy, Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND. +Henry Percy, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. +Edmund MORTIMER, Earl of March. +Scroop, ARCHBISHOP of York. +SIR MICHAEL, his Friend. +Archibald, Earl of DOUGLAS. +Owen GLENDOWER. +Sir Richard VERNON. +Sir John FALSTAFF. +POINS. +GADSHILL. +PETO. +BARDOLPH. +LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur. +Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower. +Mrs. Quickly, Hostess in Eastcheap. +Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, +Carriers, Travellers and Attendants. + +SCENE. England and Wales. + +ACT I + +SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. + +[Enter the King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.] + +KING. +So shaken as we are, so wan with care, +Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, +And breathe short-winded accents of new broils +To be commenced in strands afar remote. +No more the thirsty entrance of this soil +Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood; +No more shall trenching war channel her fields, +Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs +Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, +Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, +All of one nature, of one substance bred, +Did lately meet in the intestine shock +And furious close of civil butchery, +Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, +March all one way, and be no more opposed +Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: +The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, +No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, +As far as to the sepulchre of Christ— +Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross +We are impressed and engaged to fight— +Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, +To chase these pagans in those holy fields +Over whose acres walk’d those blessed feet +Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail’d +For our advantage on the bitter cross. +But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old, +And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go: +Therefore we meet not now.—Then let me hear +Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, +What yesternight our Council did decree +In forwarding this dear expedience. + +WESTMORELAND. +My liege, this haste was hot in question, +And many limits of the charge set down +But yesternight; when, all athwart, there came +A post from Wales loaden with heavy news; +Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, +Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight +Against th’ irregular and wild Glendower, +Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken; +A thousand of his people butchered, +Upon whose dead corpse’ there was such misuse, +Such beastly, shameless transformation, +By those Welshwomen done, as may not be +Without much shame re-told or spoken of. + +KING. +It seems, then, that the tidings of this broil +Brake off our business for the Holy Land. + +WESTMORELAND. +This, match’d with other, did, my gracious lord; +For more uneven and unwelcome news +Came from the North, and thus it did import: +On Holy-rood day the gallant Hotspur there, +Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, +That ever-valiant and approved Scot, +At Holmedon met; +Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, +As by discharge of their artillery, +And shape of likelihood, the news was told; +For he that brought them, in the very heat +And pride of their contention did take horse, +Uncertain of the issue any way. + +KING. +Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, +Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, +Stain’d with the variation of each soil +Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; +And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. +The Earl of Douglas is discomfited: +Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, +Balk’d in their own blood, did Sir Walter see +On Holmedon’s plains: of prisoners, Hotspur took +Mordake the Earl of Fife and eldest son +To beaten Douglas; and the Earls of Athol, +Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. +And is not this an honourable spoil, +A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? + +WESTMORELAND. +Faith, ’tis a conquest for a prince to boast of. + +KING. +Yea, there thou makest me sad, and makest me sin +In envy that my Lord Northumberland +Should be the father to so blest a son,— +A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue; +Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; +Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride: +Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, +See riot and dishonour stain the brow +Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved +That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged +In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, +And call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet! +Then would I have his Harry, and he mine: +But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, +Of this young Percy’s pride? the prisoners, +Which he in this adventure hath surprised, +To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, +I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. + +WESTMORELAND. +This is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester, +Malevolent to you in all aspects; +Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up +The crest of youth against your dignity. + +KING. +But I have sent for him to answer this; +And for this cause awhile we must neglect +Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. +Cousin, on Wednesday next our Council we +Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords: +But come yourself with speed to us again; +For more is to be said and to be done +Than out of anger can be uttered. + +WESTMORELAND. +I will, my liege. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE II. The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s. + +[Enter Prince Henry and Falstaff.] + +FALSTAFF. +Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? + +PRINCE. +Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee +after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast +forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a +devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups +of sack, and minutes capons, and the blessed Sun himself a fair hot +wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be +so superfluous to demand the time of the day. + +FALSTAFF. +Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the +Moon and the seven stars, and not by Phoebus,—he, that wandering knight +so fair. And I pr’ythee, sweet wag, when thou art king,—as, God save +thy Grace—Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none,— + +PRINCE. +What, none? + +FALSTAFF. +No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and +butter. + +PRINCE. +Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. + +FALSTAFF. +Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires +of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be +Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the Moon; and let +men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by +our noble and chaste mistress the Moon, under whose countenance we +steal. + +PRINCE. +Thou say’st well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us that are +the Moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the +sea is, by the Moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most +resolutely snatch’d on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on +Tuesday morning; got with swearing Lay by, and spent with crying Bring +in; now ill as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in +as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the +tavern a most sweet wench? + +PRINCE. +As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff +jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? + +FALSTAFF. +How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and thy quiddities? what +a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? + +PRINCE. +Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? + +FALSTAFF. +Well, thou hast call’d her to a reckoning many a time and oft. + +PRINCE. +Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? + +FALSTAFF. +No; I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. + +PRINCE. +Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would +not, I have used my credit. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, and so used it, that, were it not here apparent that thou art +heir-apparent—But I pr’ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows +standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobb’d as +it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not thou, +when thou art king, hang a thief. + +PRINCE. +No; thou shalt. + +FALSTAFF. +Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge. + +PRINCE. +Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the +thieves, and so become a rare hangman. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour; as well as +waiting in the Court, I can tell you. + +PRINCE. +For obtaining of suits? + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. +’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg’d bear. + +PRINCE. +Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. + +PRINCE. +What say’st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? + +FALSTAFF. +Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, the most +comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince,—But, Hal, I pr’ythee +trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a +commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the Council +rated me the other day in the street about you, sir,—but I mark’d him +not; and yet he talk’d very wisely,—but I regarded him not; and yet he +talk’d wisely, and in the street too. + +PRINCE. +Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man +regards it. + +FALSTAFF. +O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a +saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! +Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should +speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over +this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a +villain: I’ll be damn’d for never a king’s son in Christendom. + +PRINCE. +Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I’ll make one: an I do not, call me +villain, and baffle me. + +PRINCE. +I see a good amendment of life in thee,—from praying to purse-taking. + +FALSTAFF. +Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal; ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his +vocation. + +[Enter Poins.] + +POINS. +Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be +saved by merit, what hole in Hell were hot enough for him? This is the +most omnipotent villain that ever cried Stand! to a true man. + +PRINCE. +Good morrow, Ned. + +POINS. +Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? what says Sir John +Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the Devil and thee about thy soul, +that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a +cold capon’s leg? + +PRINCE. +Sir John stands to his word,—the Devil shall have his bargain; +for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs,—he will give the +Devil his due. + +POINS. +Then art thou damn’d for keeping thy word with the Devil. + +PRINCE. +Else he had been damn’d for cozening the Devil. + +POINS. +But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o’clock, early at +Gads-hill! there are pilgrims gong to Canterbury with rich offerings, +and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visards for you +all; you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in +Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may +do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full +of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home and be hang’d. + +FALSTAFF. +Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for +going. + +POINS. +You will, chops? + +FALSTAFF. +Hal, wilt thou make one? + +PRINCE. +Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. + +FALSTAFF. +There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou +camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten +shillings. + +PRINCE. +Well, then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap. + +FALSTAFF. +Why, that’s well said. + +PRINCE. +Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home. + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor, then, when thou art king. + +PRINCE. +I care not. + +POINS. +Sir John, I pr’ythee, leave the Prince and me alone: I will lay him +down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of +profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be +believed, that the true Prince may, for recreation- sake, prove a false +thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell; you +shall find me in Eastcheap. + +PRINCE. +Farewell, thou latter Spring! farewell, All-hallown Summer! + +[Exit Falstaff.] + +POINS. +Now, my good sweet honey-lord, ride with us to-morrow: I have a jest +to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and +Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid: yourself +and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do +not rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders. + +PRINCE. +But how shall we part with them in setting forth? + +POINS. +Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place +of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they +adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner +achieved but we’ll set upon them. + +PRINCE. +Ay, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, +and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. + +POINS. +Tut! our horses they shall not see,—I’ll tie them in the wood; our +visards we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases +of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. + +PRINCE. +But I doubt they will be too hard for us. + +POINS. +Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever +turn’d back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, +I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the +incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we +meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what +blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the +jest. + +PRINCE. +Well, I’ll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and meet me +to-night in Eastcheap; there I’ll sup. Farewell. + +POINS. +Farewell, my lord. + +[Exit.] + +PRINCE. +I know you all, and will awhile uphold +The unyok’d humour of your idleness: +Yet herein will I imitate the Sun, +Who doth permit the base contagious clouds +To smother-up his beauty from the world, +That, when he please again to be himself, +Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at, +By breaking through the foul and ugly mists +Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. +If all the year were playing holidays, +To sport would be as tedious as to work; +But, when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come, +And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. +So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, +And pay the debt I never promised, +By how much better than my word I am, +By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes; +And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, +My reformation, glittering o’er my fault, +Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes +Than that which hath no foil to set it off. +I’ll so offend, to make offence a skill; +Redeeming time, when men think least I will. + +[Exit.] + +SCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. + +[Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter +Blunt, and others.] + +KING. +My blood hath been too cold and temperate, +Unapt to stir at these indignities, +And you have found me; for, accordingly, +You tread upon my patience: but be sure +I will from henceforth rather be myself, +Mighty and to be fear’d, than my condition, +Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, +And therefore lost that title of respect +Which the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud. + +WORCESTER. +Our House, my sovereign liege, little deserves +The scourge of greatness to be used on it; +And that same greatness too which our own hands +Have holp to make so portly. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +My good lord,— + +KING. +Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see +Danger and disobedience in thine eye: +O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, +And majesty might never yet endure +The moody frontier of a servant brow. +You have good leave to leave us: when we need +Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. + +[Exit Worcester.] + +[To Northumberland.] + +You were about to speak. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Yea, my good lord. +Those prisoners in your Highness’ name demanded, +Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, +Were, as he says, not with such strength denied +As is deliver’d to your Majesty: +Either envy, therefore, or misprision +Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. + +HOTSPUR. +My liege, I did deny no prisoners. +But, I remember, when the fight was done, +When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, +Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, +Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress’d, +Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap’d +Show’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home: +He was perfumed like a milliner; +And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held +A pouncet-box, which ever and anon +He gave his nose, and took’t away again; +Who therewith angry, when it next came there, +Took it in snuff: and still he smiled and talk’d; +And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, +He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly, +To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse +Betwixt the wind and his nobility. +With many holiday and lady terms +He question’d me; amongst the rest, demanded +My prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf. +I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, +Out of my grief and my impatience +To be so pester’d with a popinjay, +Answer’d neglectingly, I know not what,— +He should, or he should not; for’t made me mad +To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, +And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman +Of guns and drums and wounds,—God save the mark!— +And telling me the sovereign’st thing on Earth +Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; +And that it was great pity, so it was, +This villainous salt-petre should be digg’d +Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, +Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d +So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, +He would himself have been a soldier. +This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, +I answered indirectly, as I said; +And I beseech you, let not his report +Come current for an accusation +Betwixt my love and your high Majesty. + +BLUNT. +The circumstance consider’d, good my lord, +Whatever Harry Percy then had said +To such a person, and in such a place, +At such a time, with all the rest re-told, +May reasonably die, and never rise +To do him wrong, or any way impeach +What then he said, so he unsay it now. + +KING. +Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, +But with proviso and exception, +That we at our own charge shall ransom straight +His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; +Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray’d +The lives of those that he did lead to fight +Against that great magician, damn’d Glendower, +Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March +Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, +Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? +Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears +When they have lost and forfeited themselves? +No, on the barren mountains let him starve; +For I shall never hold that man my friend +Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost +To ransom home revolted Mortimer. + +HOTSPUR. +Revolted Mortimer! +He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, +But by the chance of war: to prove that true +Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, +Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, +When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank, +In single opposition, hand to hand, +He did confound the best part of an hour +In changing hardiment with great Glendower. +Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink, +Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood; +Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, +Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, +And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank +Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. +Never did base and rotten policy +Colour her working with such deadly wounds; +Nor never could the noble Mortimer +Receive so many, and all willingly: +Then let not him be slander’d with revolt. + +KING. +Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him; +He never did encounter with Glendower: +I tell thee, +He durst as well have met the Devil alone +As Owen Glendower for an enemy. +Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth +Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer: +Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, +Or you shall hear in such a kind from me +As will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland, +We license your departure with your son.— +Send us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it. + +[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train.] + +HOTSPUR. +An if the Devil come and roar for them, +I will not send them: I will after straight, +And tell him so; for I will else my heart, +Although it be with hazard of my head. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile: +Here comes your uncle. + +[Re-enter Worcester.] + +HOTSPUR. +Speak of Mortimer! +Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul +Want mercy, if I do not join with him: +Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins, +And shed my dear blood drop by drop i’ the dust, +But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer +As high i’ the air as this unthankful King, +As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke. + +NORTH. +[To Worcester.] +Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad. + +WORCESTER. +Who struck this heat up after I was gone? + +HOTSPUR. +He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; +And when I urged the ransom once again +Of my wife’s brother, then his cheek look’d pale, +And on my face he turn’d an eye of death, +Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. + +WORCESTER. +I cannot blame him: was not he proclaim’d +By Richard that dead is the next of blood? + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +He was; I heard the proclamation: +And then it was when the unhappy King— +Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth +Upon his Irish expedition; +From whence he intercepted did return +To be deposed, and shortly murdered. + +WORCESTER. +And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth +Live scandalized and foully spoken of. + +HOTSPUR. +But, soft! I pray you; did King Richard then +Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer +Heir to the crown? + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +He did; myself did hear it. + +HOTSPUR. +Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King, +That wish’d him on the barren mountains starve. +But shall it be, that you, that set the crown +Upon the head of this forgetful man, +And for his sake wear the detested blot +Of murderous subornation,—shall it be, +That you a world of curses undergo, +Being the agents, or base second means, +The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?— +O, pardon me, that I descend so low, +To show the line and the predicament +Wherein you range under this subtle King;— +Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, +Or fill up chronicles in time to come, +That men of your nobility and power +Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,— +As both of you, God pardon it! have done,— +To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, +And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? +And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, +That you are fool’d, discarded, and shook off +By him for whom these shames ye underwent? +No! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem +Your banish’d honours, and restore yourselves +Into the good thoughts of the world again; +Revenge the jeering and disdain’d contempt +Of this proud King, who studies day and night +To answer all the debt he owes to you +Even with the bloody payment of your deaths: +Therefore, I say,— + +WORCESTER. +Peace, cousin, say no more: +And now I will unclasp a secret book, +And to your quick-conceiving discontent +I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous; +As full of peril and adventurous spirit +As to o’er-walk a current roaring loud +On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. + +HOTSPUR. +If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim! +Send danger from the east unto the west, +So honour cross it from the north to south, +And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs +To rouse a lion than to start a hare! + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Imagination of some great exploit +Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. + +HOTSPUR. +By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, +To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced Moon; +Or dive into the bottom of the deep, +Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, +And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; +So he that doth redeem her thence might wear +Without corrival all her dignities: +But out upon this half-faced fellowship! + +WORCESTER. +He apprehends a world of figures here, +But not the form of what he should attend.— +Good cousin, give me audience for a while. + +HOTSPUR. +I cry you mercy. + +WORCESTER. +Those same noble Scots +That are your prisoners,— + +HOTSPUR. +I’ll keep them all; +By God, he shall not have a Scot of them; +No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: +I’ll keep them, by this hand. + +WORCESTER. +You start away, +And lend no ear unto my purposes. +Those prisoners you shall keep;— + +HOTSPUR. +Nay, I will; that’s flat. +He said he would not ransom Mortimer; +Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer; +But I will find him when he lies asleep, +And in his ear I’ll holla Mortimer! +Nay, +I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak +Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, +To keep his anger still in motion. + +WORCESTER. +Hear you, cousin; a word. + +HOTSPUR. +All studies here I solemnly defy, +Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: +And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales, +But that I think his father loves him not, +And would be glad he met with some mischance, +I’d have him poison’d with a pot of ale. + +WORCESTER. +Farewell, kinsman: I will talk to you +When you are better temper’d to attend. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool +Art thou, to break into this woman’s mood, +Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! + +HOTSPUR. +Why, look you, I am whipp’d and scourged with rods, +Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear +Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. +In Richard’s time,—what do you call the place?— +A plague upon’t!—it is in Gioucestershire;— +’Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept, +His uncle York;—where I first bow’d my knee +Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke;— +When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +At Berkeley-castle. + +HOTSPUR. +You say true:— +Why, what a candy deal of courtesy +This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! +Look, when his infant fortune came to age, +And, Gentle Harry Percy, and kind cousin,— +O, the Devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me!— +Good uncle, tell your tale; for I have done. + +WORCESTER. +Nay, if you have not, to’t again; +We’ll stay your leisure. + +HOTSPUR. +I have done, i’faith. + +WORCESTER. +Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. +Deliver them up without their ransom straight, +And make the Douglas’ son your only mean +For powers in Scotland; which, for divers reasons +Which I shall send you written, be assured, +Will easily be granted.— +[To Northumberland.] You, my lord, +Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d, +Shall secretly into the bosom creep +Of that same noble prelate, well beloved, +Th’ Archbishop. + +HOTSPUR. +Of York, is’t not? + +WORCESTER. +True; who bears hard +His brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. +I speak not this in estimation, +As what I think might be, but what I know +Is ruminated, plotted, and set down, +And only stays but to behold the face +Of that occasion that shall bring it on. + +HOTSPUR. +I smell’t: upon my life, it will do well. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Before the game’s a-foot, thou still lett’st slip. + +HOTSPUR. +Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:— +And then the power of Scotland and of York +To join with Mortimer, ha? + +WORCESTER. +And so they shall. + +HOTSPUR. +In faith, it is exceedingly well aim’d. + +WORCESTER. +And ’tis no little reason bids us speed, +To save our heads by raising of a head; +For, bear ourselves as even as we can, +The King will always think him in our debt, +And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, +Till he hath found a time to pay us home: +And see already how he doth begin +To make us strangers to his looks of love. + +HOTSPUR. +He does, he does: we’ll be revenged on him. + +WORCESTER. +Cousin, farewell: no further go in this +Than I by letters shall direct your course. +When time is ripe,— which will be suddenly,— +I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer; +Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, +As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, +To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, +Which now we hold at much uncertainty. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust. + +HOTSPUR. +Uncle, adieu: O, let the hours be short, +Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! + +[Exeunt.] + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Rochester. An Inn-Yard. + +[Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand.] + +FIRST CARRIER. +Heigh-ho! an’t be not four by the day, I’ll be hang’d: +Charles’ wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse’ not +pack’d.—What, ostler! + +OSTLER. +[within.] Anon, anon. + +FIRST CARRIER. +I pr’ythee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the +poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess. + +[Enter another Carrier.] + +SECOND CARRIER. +Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to +give poor jades the bots; this house is turned upside down since Robin +ostler died. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death +of him. + +SECOND CARRIER. +I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas: + I am stung like a tench. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Like a tench! by the Mass, there is ne’er a king in Christendom could +be better bit than I have been since the first cock.—What, + +ostler! come away and be hang’d; come away. + +SECOND CARRIER. +I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as +far as Charing-cross. + +FIRST CARRIER. +’Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler! A +plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An +’twere not as good a deed as drink to break the pate of thee, I am a +very villain. Come, and be hang’d: hast no faith in thee? + +[Enter Gadshill.] + +GADSHILL. +Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock? + +FIRST CARRIER. +I think it be two o’clock. + +GADSHILL. +I pr’ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith. + +GADSHILL. +I pr’ythee, lend me thine. + +SECOND CARRIER. +Ay, when? canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth a? marry, I’ll see +thee hang’d first. + +GADSHILL. +Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London? + +SECOND CARRIER. +Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.— +Come, neighbour Muggs, we’ll call up the gentlemen: they will +along with company, for they have great charge. + +[Exeunt Carriers.] + +GADSHILL. +What, ho! chamberlain! + +CHAMBERLAIN. +[Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. + +GADSHILL. +That’s even as fair as—at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variest +no more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from +labouring; thou lay’st the plot how. + +[Enter Chamberlain.] + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you +yesternight: there’s a franklin in the wild of Kent hath brought three +hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his +company last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that hath +abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call +for eggs and butter; they will away presently. + +GADSHILL. +Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee +this neck. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +No, I’ll none of it: I pr’ythee, keep that for the hangman; for +I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of +falsehood may. + +GADSHILL. +What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I’ll make a fat pair +of gallows; for, if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou +know’st he is no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that thou +dreamest not of, the which, for sport-sake, are content to do the +profession some grace; that would, if matters should be look’d into, +for their own credit-sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot +land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad +mustachio purple-hued malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity, +burgomasters and great oneyers; such as can hold in, such as will +strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner +than pray: and yet, zwounds, I lie; for they pray continually to their +saint, the Commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her, but prey on her, +for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +What, the Commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in foul +way? + +GADSHILL. +She will, she will; justice hath liquor’d her. We steal as in a castle, +cock-sure; we have the receipt of fernseed,—we walk invisible. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to +fern-seed for your walking invisible. + +GADSHILL. +Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as +I am a true man. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief. + +GADSHILL. +Go to; homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my +gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE II. The Road by Gads-hill. + +[Enter Prince Henry and Poins; Bardolph and Peto at some distance.] + +POINS. +Come, shelter, shelter: I have remov’d Falstaff’s horse, and he frets +like a gumm’d velvet. + +PRINCE. +Stand close. + +[They retire.] + +[Enter Falstaff.] + +FALSTAFF. +Poins! Poins, and be hang’d! Poins! + +PRINCE. +[Coming forward.] +Peace, ye fat-kidney’d rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep! + +FALSTAFF. +Where’s Poins, Hal? + +PRINCE. +He is walk’d up to the top of the hill: I’ll go seek him. + +[Retires.] + +FALSTAFF. +I am accursed to rob in that thief’s company: the rascal hath removed +my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by +the squire further a-foot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but +to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that +rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty +year, and yet I am bewitch’d with the rogue’s company. If the rascal +have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hang’d; it +could not be else: I have drunk medicines.— Poins!—Hal!—a plague upon +you both!—Bardolph!—Peto!—I’ll starve, ere I’ll rob a foot further. An +’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and to leave +these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. +Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles a-foot with +me; and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: a plague +upon’t, when thieves cannot be true one to another! [They whistle.] +Whew!—A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my +horse, and be hang’d! + +PRINCE. +[Coming forward.] Peace! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground, +and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers. + +FALSTAFF. +Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not +bear mine own flesh so far a-foot again for all the coin in thy +father’s exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus? + +PRINCE. +Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted. + +FALSTAFF. +I pr’ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son. + +PRINCE. +Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler? + +FALSTAFF. +Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, +I’ll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to +filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison. When a jest is so +forward, and a-foot too, I hate it. + +[Enter Gadshill.] + +GADSHILL. +Stand! + +FALSTAFF. +So I do, against my will. + +POINS. +O, ’tis our setter: I know his voice. + +[Comes forward with Bardolph and Peto.] + +BARDOLPH. +What news? + +GADSHILL. +Case ye, case ye; on with your visards: there’s money of the King’s +coming down the hill; ’tis going to the King’s exchequer. + +FALSTAFF. +You lie, ye rogue; ’tis going to the King’s tavern. + +GADSHILL. +There’s enough to make us all. + +FALSTAFF. +To be hang’d. + +PRINCE. +Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned +Poins and I will walk lower; if they ’scape from your +encounter, then they light on us. + +PETO. +How many be there of them? + +GADSHILL. +Some eight or ten. + +FALSTAFF. +Zwounds, will they not rob us? + +PRINCE. +What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? + +FALSTAFF. +Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, +Hal. + +PRINCE. +Well, we leave that to the proof. + +POINS. +Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou need’st him, +there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. + +FALSTAFF. +Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang’d. + +PRINCE. +[aside to POINTZ.] Ned, where are our disguises? + +POINS. +[aside to PRINCE HENRY.] Here, hard by: stand close. + +[Exeunt Prince and Poins.] + +FALSTAFF. +Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I: every man to his +business. + +[Enter Travellers.] + +FIRST TRAVELLER. +Come, neighbour: +The boy shall lead our horses down the hill; +We’ll walk a-foot awhile and ease our legs. + +FALSTAFF, GADSHILL., &C. +Stand! + +SECOND TRAVELLER. +Jesu bless us! + +FALSTAFF. +Strike; down with them; cut the villains’ throats. Ah, whoreson +caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth: down with them; +fleece them. + +FIRST TRAVELLER. +O, we’re undone, both we and ours for ever! + +FALSTAFF. +Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs; I would +your store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves! young men must +live. You are grand-jurors, are ye? we’ll jure ye, i’faith. + +[Exeunt Fals., Gads., &c., driving the Travellers out.] + +[Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins, in buckram suits.] + +PRINCE. +The thieves have bound the true men. Now, could thou and I rob the +thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, +laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. + +POINS. +Stand close: I hear them coming. + +[They retire.] + +[Re-enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto.] + +FALSTAFF. +Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. +An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there’s no +equity stirring: there’s no more valour in that Poins than in a + +wild duck. + +[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them.] + +PRINCE. +Your money! + +POINS. +Villains! + +[Falstaff, after a blow or two, and the others run away, leaving the +booty behind them.] + +PRINCE. +Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: +The thieves are scatter’d, and possess’d with fear +So strongly that they dare not meet each other; +Each takes his fellow for an officer. +Away, good Ned. Fat Falstaff sweats to death, +And lards the lean earth as he walks along: +Were’t not for laughing, I should pity him. + +POINS. +How the rogue roar’d! + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE III. Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. + +[Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.] + +HOTSPUR. +—But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be +there, in respect of the love I bear your House.—He could be contented; +why is he not, then? In respect of the love he bears our House!—he +shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. +Let me see some more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous;—Why, +that’s certain: ’tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but +I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this +flower, safety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you +have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too +light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.— Say you so, say +you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and +you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good +plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good +friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. +What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends the +plot and the general course of the action. Zwounds! an I were now by +this rascal, I could brain him with his lady’s fan. Is there not my +father, my uncle, and myself? Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, +and Owen Glendower? is there not, besides, the Douglas? have I not all +their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and +are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is +this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and +cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I +could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of +skimm’d milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the +King: we are prepared. I will set forward to-night.— + +[Enter Lady Percy.] + +How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours. + +LADY PERCY. +O, my good lord, why are you thus alone? +For what offence have I this fortnight been +A banish’d woman from my Harry’s bed? +Tell me, sweet lord, what is’t that takes from thee +Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? +Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, +And start so often when thou sitt’st alone? +Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; +And given my treasures and my rights of thee +To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy? +In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch’d, +And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars; +Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; +Cry Courage! to the field! And thou hast talk’d +Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, +Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, +Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, +Of prisoners ransomed, and of soldiers slain, +And all the currents of a heady fight. +Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, +And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep, +That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, +Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream; +And in thy face strange motions have appear’d, +Such as we see when men restrain their breath +On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these? +Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, +And I must know it, else he loves me not. + +HOTSPUR. +What, ho! + +[Enter a Servant.] + +Is Gilliams with the packet gone? + +SERVANT. +He is, my lord, an hour ago. + +HOTSPUR. +Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? + +SERVANT. +One horse, my lord, he brought even now. + +HOTSPUR. +What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? + +SERVANT. +It is, my lord. + +HOTSPUR. +That roan shall be my throne. +Well, I will back him straight: O esperance!— +Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. + +[Exit Servant.] + +LADY PERCY. +But hear you, my lord. + +HOTSPUR. +What say’st thou, my lady? + +LADY PERCY. +What is it carries you away? + +HOTSPUR. +Why, my horse, my love, my horse. + +LADY PERCY. +Out, you mad-headed ape! +A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen +As you are toss’d with. In faith, +I’ll know your business, Harry, that I will. +I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir +About his title, and hath sent for you +To line his enterprise: but if you go,— + +HOTSPUR. +So far a-foot, I shall be weary, love. + +LADY PERCY. +Come, come, you paraquito, answer me +Directly to this question that I ask: +In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, +An if thou wilt not tell me true. + +HOTSPUR. +Away, +Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not, +I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world +To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: +We must have bloody noses and crack’d crowns, +And pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!— +What say’st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me? + +LADY PERCY. +Do you not love me? do you not indeed? +Well, do not, then; for, since you love me not, +I will not love myself. Do you not love me? +Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. + +HOTSPUR. +Come, wilt thou see me ride? +And when I am o’ horseback, I will swear +I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; +I must not have you henceforth question me +Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: +Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude, +This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. +I know you wise; but yet no further wise +Than Harry Percy’s wife; constant you are; +But yet a woman: and, for secrecy, +No lady closer; for I well believe +Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; +And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. + +LADY PERCY. +How! so far? + +HOTSPUR. +Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate: +Whither I go, thither shall you go too; +To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. +Will this content you, Kate? + +LADY PERCY. +It must of force. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s-Head Tavern. + +[Enter Prince Henry.] + +PRINCE. +Ned, pr’ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh +a little. + +[Enter Poins.] + +POINS. +Where hast been, Hal? + +PRINCE. +With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I +have sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn +brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their Christian +names, as, Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their +salvation, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of +courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a +corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,—by the Lord, so they call +me;—and, when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads +in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and, when you +breathe in your watering, they cry hem! and bid you play it off. To +conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I +can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell +thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in +this action. But, sweet Ned,—to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee +this pennyworth of sugar, clapp’d even now into my hand by an +under-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life than +Eight shillings and sixpence, and You are welcome; with this shrill +addition, Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,—or +so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr’ythee, +do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what +end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis! that +his tale to me may be nothing but Anon. Step aside, and I’ll show thee +a precedent. + +[Exit Poins.] + +POINS. +[Within.] Francis! + +PRINCE. + +Thou art perfect. + +POINS. +[Within.] Francis! + +[Enter Francis.] + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph. + +PRINCE. +Come hither, Francis. + +FRANCIS. +My lord? + +PRINCE. +How long hast thou to serve, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Forsooth, five years, and as much as to— + +POINS. +[within.] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +Five year! by’r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, +Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy +indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and run from it? + +FRANCIS. +O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, +I could find in my heart— + +POINS. +[within.] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +How old art thou, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Let me see,—about Michaelmas next I shall be— + +POINS. +[within.] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, sir.—Pray you, stay a little, my lord. + +PRINCE. +Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a +pennyworth, was’t not? + +FRANCIS. +O Lord, sir, I would it had been two! + +PRINCE. +I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and +thou shalt have it. + +POINS. +[within.] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon. + +PRINCE. +Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, +Francis, a Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, +Francis,— + +FRANCIS. +My lord? + +PRINCE. +—wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, nott-pated, +agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, +Spanish-pouch,— + +FRANCIS. +O Lord, sir, who do you mean? + +PRINCE. +Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for, look you, +Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it +cannot come to so much. + +FRANCIS. +What, sir? + +POINS. +[within.] Francis! + +PRINCE. +Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call? + +[Here they both call him; Francis stands amazed, not knowing which way +to go.] + +[Enter Vintner.] + +VINTNER. +What, stand’st thou still, and hear’st such a calling? Look to the +guests within. [Exit Francis.]—My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen +more, are at the door: shall I let them in? + +PRINCE. +Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. + +[Exit Vintner.] + +Poins! + +[Re-enter Poins.] + +POINS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we +be merry? + +POINS. +As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning match have you +made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what’s the issue? + +PRINCE. +I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the +old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve +o’clock at midnight.—What’s o’clock, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +[Within.] Anon, anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet +the son of a woman! His industry is up-stairs and down-stairs; his +eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy’s mind, the +Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots +at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, Fie upon this +quiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou + kill’d to-day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he; and answers, +Some fourteen, an hour after,—a trifle, a trifle. I pr’ythee, call in +Falstaff: I’ll play Percy, and that damn’d brawn shall play Dame +Mortimer his wife. Rivo! says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in +tallow. + +[Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; followed by +Francis with wine.] + +POINS. +Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? + +FALSTAFF. +A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and +amen!— +Give me a cup of sack, boy.—Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew +nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all +cowards!— +Give me a cup of sack, rogue.—Is there no virtue extant? + +[Drinks.] + +PRINCE. +Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted +butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the Sun! if thou didst, then +behold that compound. + +FALSTAFF. +You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery +to be found in villainous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of +sack with lime in it, a villanous coward.—Go thy ways, old Jack: die +when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face +of the Earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good +men unhang’d in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God +help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could +sing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards! I say still. + +PRINCE. +How now, wool-sack? what mutter you? + +FALSTAFF. +A king’s son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of +lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, +I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales! + +PRINCE. +Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter? + +FALSTAFF. +Are not you a coward? answer me to that:—and Poins there? + +POINS. +Zwounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab +thee. + +FALSTAFF. +I call thee coward! I’ll see thee damn’d ere I call thee coward: but I +would give a thousand pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You are +straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back: +call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give +me them that will face me.—Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I +drunk to-day. + +PRINCE. +O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last. + +FALSTAFF. +All is one for that. A plague of all cowards! still say I. + +[Drinks.] + +PRINCE. +What’s the matter? + +FALSTAFF. +What’s the matter? there be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound +this day morning. + +PRINCE. +Where is it, Jack? where is it? + +FALSTAFF. +Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us! + +PRINCE. +What, a hundred, man? + +FALSTAFF. +I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two +hours together. I have ’scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust +through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut through and +through; my sword hack’d like a hand-saw,—ecce signum! I never dealt +better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! +Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are +villains and the sons of darkness. + +PRINCE. +Speak, sirs; how was it? + +GADSHILL. +We four set upon some dozen,— + +FALSTAFF. +Sixteen at least, my lord. + +GADSHILL. +—and bound them. + +PETO. +No, no; they were not bound. + +FALSTAFF. +You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew else, an +Ebrew Jew. + +GADSHILL. +As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us,— + +FALSTAFF. +And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. + +PRINCE. +What, fought you with them all? + +FALSTAFF. +All? I know not what you call all; but if I fought not with fifty of +them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty +upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. + +PRINCE. +Pray God you have not murdered some of them. + +FALSTAFF. +Nay, that’s past praying for: I have pepper’d two of them; two I +am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, +Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. +Thou knowest my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point. +Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,— + +PRINCE. +What, four? thou saidst but two even now. + +FALSTAFF. +Four, Hal; I told thee four. + +POINS. +Ay, ay, he said four. + +FALSTAFF. +These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more +ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. + +PRINCE. +Seven? why, there were but four even now. + +FALSTAFF. +In buckram? + +POINS. +Ay, four, in buckram suits. + +FALSTAFF. +Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. + +PRINCE. +[aside to Poins.] Pr’ythee let him alone; we shall have more anon. + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear me, Hal? + +PRINCE. +Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. + +FALSTAFF. +Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I +told thee of,— + +PRINCE. +So, two more already. + +FALSTAFF. +—their points being broken,— + +POINS. +Down fell their hose. + +FALSTAFF. +—began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in foot and +hand; and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid. + +PRINCE. +O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! + +FALSTAFF. +But, as the Devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal +Green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, +that thou couldst not see thy hand. + +PRINCE. +These lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain, +open, palpable. Why, thou nott-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene +greasy tallow-keech,— + +FALSTAFF. +What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth? + +PRINCE. +Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so +dark thou couldst not see thy hand? come, tell us your reason: what +sayest thou to this? + +POINS. +Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. + +FALSTAFF. +What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the strappado, or all the racks in +the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on +compulsion! if reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give +no man a reason upon compulsion, I. + +PRINCE. +I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this +bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,— + +FALSTAFF. +Away, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you +stock-fish,— +O, for breath to utter what is like thee!—you tailor’s-yard, you +sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck,— + +PRINCE. +Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and, when thou hast tired +thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this:— + +POINS. +Mark, Jack. + +PRINCE. +—We two saw you four set on four; you bound them, and were masters of +their wealth.—Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.— Then did +we two set on you four; and, with a word, outfaced you from your prize, +and have it; yea, and can show it you here in the house: and, Falstaff, +you carried yourself away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and +roared for mercy, and still ran and roar’d, as ever I heard bull-calf. +What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then +say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst +thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? + +POINS. +Come, let’s hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now? + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my +masters: Was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? should I turn upon +the true Prince? why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but +beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true Prince. Instinct is a +great matter; I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better +of myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a +true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money.— +[To Hostess within.] Hostess, clap-to the doors: watch to-night, pray +to-morrow.—Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good +fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a play +extempore? + +PRINCE. +Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. + +FALSTAFF. +Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! + +[Enter the Hostess.] + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, my lord the Prince,— + +PRINCE. +How now, my lady the hostess! What say’st thou to me? + +HOSTESS. +Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the Court at door would speak +with you: he says he comes from your father. + +PRINCE. +Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again +to my mother. + +FALSTAFF. +What manner of man is he? + +HOSTESS. +An old man. + +FALSTAFF. +What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his +answer? + +PRINCE. +Pr’ythee, do, Jack. + +FALSTAFF. +Faith, and I’ll send him packing. + +[Exit.] + +PRINCE. +Now, sirs:—by’r Lady, you fought fair;—so did you, Peto;—so did you, +Bardolph: you are lions, too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not +touch the true Prince; no,—fie! + +BARDOLPH. +Faith, I ran when I saw others run. + +PRINCE. +Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hack’d? + +PETO. +Why, he hack’d it with his dagger; and said he would swear truth out of +England, but he would make you believe it was done in fight; and +persuaded us to do the like. + +BARDOLPH. +Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make them bleed; and +then to beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of +true men. I did that I did not this seven year before; I blush’d to +hear his monstrous devices. + +PRINCE. +O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert +taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush’d extempore. Thou +hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rann’st away: what +instinct hadst thou for it? + +BARDOLPH. +My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? + +PRINCE. +I do. + +BARDOLPH. +What think you they portend? + +PRINCE. +Hot livers and cold purses. + +BARDOLPH. +Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. + +PRINCE. +No, if rightly taken, halter.—Here comes lean Jack, here comes +bare-bone.— + +[Enter Falstaff.] + +How now, my sweet creature of bombast! How long is’t ago, Jack, since +thou saw’st thine own knee? + +FALSTAFF. +My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s +talon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman’s thumb-ring: +a plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. +There’s villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your +father; you must to the Court in the morning. That same mad fellow of +the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, and +swore the Devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook,—what +a plague call you him? + +POINS. +O, Glendower. + +FALSTAFF. +Owen, Owen,—the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer; and old +Northumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that +runs o’ horseback up a hill perpendicular,— + +PRINCE. +He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. + +FALSTAFF. +You have hit it. + +PRINCE. +So did he never the sparrow. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run. + +PRINCE. +Why, what a rascal art thou, then, to praise him so for running! + +FALSTAFF. +O’ horseback, ye cuckoo! but a-foot he will not budge a foot. + +PRINCE. +Yes, Jack, upon instinct. + +FALSTAFF. +I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and +a thousand blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy +father’s beard is turn’d white with the news: you may buy land now as +cheap as stinking mackerel. But, tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible +afeard? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three +such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that +devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood +thrill at it? + +PRINCE. +Not a whit, i’faith; I lack some of thy instinct. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to thy +father. If thou love life, practise an answer. + +PRINCE. +Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my +life. + +FALSTAFF. +Shall I? content: this chair shall be my state, this dagger my +sceptre, and this cushion my crown. + +PRINCE. +Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden +dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be +moved.— Give me a cup of sack, to make my eyes look red, that it may be +thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in +King Cambyses’ vein. + +PRINCE. +Well, here is my leg. + +FALSTAFF. +And here is my speech.—Stand aside, nobility. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i faith! + +FALSTAFF. +Weep not, sweet Queen; for trickling tears are vain. + +HOSTESS. +O, the Father, how he holds his countenance! + +FALSTAFF. +For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen; +For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever +I see! + +FALSTAFF. +Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.—Harry, I do not only +marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: + for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it +grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou +art my son, I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion; but +chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy +nether lip, that doth warrant me. If, then, thou be son to me, here +lies the point: Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall +the blessed Sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a +question not to be ask’d. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and +take purses? a question to be ask’d. There is a thing, Harry, which +thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the +name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; +so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to +thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in +words only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I +have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. + +PRINCE. +What manner of man, an it like your Majesty? + +FALSTAFF. +A goodly portly man, i’faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a +pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some +fifty, or, by’r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, +his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth +me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If, then, the tree may be +known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I +speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest +banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou +been this month? + +PRINCE. +Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my +father. + +FALSTAFF. +Depose me! if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in +word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a +poulter’s hare. + +PRINCE. +Well, here I am set. + +FALSTAFF. +And here I stand.—Judge, my masters. + +PRINCE. +Now, Harry, whence come you? + +FALSTAFF. +My noble lord, from Eastcheap. + +PRINCE. +The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. + +FALSTAFF. +’Sblood, my lord, they are false.—Nay, I’ll tickle ye for a young +prince, i’faith. + +PRINCE. +Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne’er look on me. Thou art +violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in +the likeness of an old fat man,—a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost +thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of +beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of +sack, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that +reverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in +years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat +and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in +craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villainous, but in all +things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? + +FALSTAFF. +I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace? + +PRINCE. +That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old +white-bearded Satan. + +FALSTAFF. +My lord, the man I know. + +PRINCE. +I know thou dost. + +FALSTAFF. +But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more +than I know. That he is old,—(the more the pity,—his white hairs do +witness it. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be +old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn’d: if +to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be loved. No, +my good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but, for +sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant +Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack +Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy +Harry’s company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. + +PRINCE. +I do, I will. + +[A knocking heard.] + +[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.] + +[Enter Bardolph, running.] + +BARDOLPH. +O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the +door. + +FALSTAFF. +Out, ye rogue!—Play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of +that Falstaff. + +[Re-enter the Hostess, hastily.] + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, my lord, my lord,— + +PRINCE. +Heigh, heigh! the Devil rides upon a fiddlestick: what’s the matter? + +HOSTESS. +The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search +the house. Shall I let them in? + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: +thou art essentially mad without seeming so. + +PRINCE. +And thou a natural coward, without instinct. + +FALSTAFF. +I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, let him +enter: if I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my +bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as +another. + +PRINCE. +Go, hide thee behind the arras:—the rest walk, up above. Now, my +masters, for a true face and good conscience. + +FALSTAFF. +Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I’ll hide +me. + +PRINCE. +Call in the sheriff.— + +[Exeunt all but the Prince and Poins.] + +[Enter Sheriff and Carrier.] + +Now, master sheriff, what’s your will with me? + +SHERIFF. +First, pardon me, my lord. A hue-and-cry +Hath followed certain men unto this house. + +PRINCE. +What men? + +SHERIFF. +One of them is well known, my gracious lord,— +A gross fat man. + +CARRIER. +As fat as butter. + +PRINCE. +The man, I do assure you, is not here; +For I myself at this time have employ’d him. +And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, +That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, +Send him to answer thee, or any man, +For any thing he shall be charged withal: +And so, let me entreat you leave the house. + +SHERIFF. +I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen +Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. + +PRINCE. +It may be so: if he have robb’d these men, +He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. + +SHERIFF. +Good night, my noble lord. + +PRINCE. +I think it is good morrow, is it not? + +SHERIFF. +Indeed, my lord, I think’t be two o’clock. + +[Exit Sheriff and Carrier.] + +PRINCE. +This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth. + +POINS. +Falstaff!—fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. + +PRINCE. +Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. + +[Poins searches.] + +What hast thou found? + +POINS. +Nothing but papers, my lord. + +PRINCE. +Let’s see what they be: read them. + +POINS. +[reads] +Item, A capon, . . . . . . . . . 2s. 2d. +Item, Sauce, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4d. +Item, Sack two gallons ,. . . 5s. 8d. +Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. +Item, Bread, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .ob. + +PRINCE. +O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal +of sack! What there is else, keep close; we’ll read it at more +advantage: there let him sleep till day. I’ll to the Court in the +morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. +I’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know his death will +be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with +advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so, good morrow, +Poins. + +POINS. +Good morrow, good my lord. + +[Exeunt.] + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House. + +[Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower.] + +MORTIMER. +These promises are fair, the parties sure, +And our induction full of prosperous hope. + +HOTSPUR. +Lord Mortimer,—and cousin Glendower,—Will you sit down?— +And uncle Worcester,—A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. + +GLENDOWER. +No, here it is. +Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur; +For by that name as oft as Lancaster +Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with +A rising sigh he wisheth you in Heaven. + +HOTSPUR. +And you in Hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. + +GLENDOWER. +I cannot blame him: at my nativity +The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, +Of burning cressets; ay, and at my birth +The frame and huge foundation of the Earth +Shaked like a coward. + +HOTSPUR. +Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother’s cat had +but kitten’d, though yourself had never been born. + +GLENDOWER. +I say the Earth did shake when I was born. + +HOTSPUR. +And I say the Earth was not of my mind, if you suppose as fearing you +it shook. + +GLENDOWER. +The Heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble. + +HOTSPUR. +O, then th’ Earth shook to see the Heavens on fire, +And not in fear of your nativity. +Diseased Nature oftentimes breaks forth +In strange eruptions; oft the teeming Earth +Is with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d +By the imprisoning of unruly wind +Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving, +Shakes the old beldam Earth, and topples down +Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth, +Our grandam Earth, having this distemperature, +In passion shook. + +GLENDOWER. +Cousin, of many men +I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave +To tell you once again, that at my birth +The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; +The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds +Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. +These signs have mark’d me extraordinary; +And all the courses of my life do show +I am not in the roll of common men. +Where is he living,—clipp’d in with the sea +That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,— +Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? +And bring him out that is but woman’s son +Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, +And hold me pace in deep experiments. + +HOTSPUR. +I think there is no man speaks better Welsh.—I’ll to dinner. + +MORTIMER. +Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. + +GLENDOWER. +I can call spirits from the vasty deep. + +HOTSPUR. +Why, so can I, or so can any man; +But will they come when you do call for them? + +GLENDOWER. +Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the Devil. + +HOTSPUR. +And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the Devil +By telling truth: tell truth, and shame the Devil. +If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, +And I’ll be sworn I’ve power to shame him hence. +O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil! + +MORTIMER. +Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat. + +GLENDOWER. +Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head +Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye +And sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent +Him bootless home and weather-beaten back. + +HOTSPUR. +Home without boots, and in foul weather too! +How ’scaped he agues, in the Devil’s name! + +GLENDOWER. +Come, here’s the map: shall we divide our right +According to our threefold order ta’en? + +MORTIMER. +Th’ archdeacon hath divided it +Into three limits very equally. +England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, +By south and east is to my part assign’d: +All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, +And all the fertile land within that bound, +To Owen Glendower:—and, dear coz, to you +The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. +And our indentures tripartite are drawn; +Which being sealed interchangeably,— +A business that this night may execute,— +To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, +And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth +To meet your father and the Scottish power, +As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. +My father Glendower is not ready yet, +Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:— +[To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together +Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. + +GLENDOWER. +A shorter time shall send me to you, lords: +And in my conduct shall your ladies come; +From whom you now must steal, and take no leave, +For there will be a world of water shed +Upon the parting of your wives and you. + +HOTSPUR. +Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here, +In quantity equals not one of yours. +See how this river comes me cranking in, +And cuts me from the best of all my land +A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. +I’ll have the current in this place damn’d up; +And here the smug and sliver Trent shall run +In a new channel, fair and evenly: +It shall not wind with such a deep indent, +To rob me of so rich a bottom here. + +GLENDOWER. +Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth. + +MORTIMER. +Yea, but +Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up +With like advantage on the other side; +Gelding th’ opposed continent as much +As on the other side it takes from you. + +WORCESTER. +Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, +And on this north side win this cape of land; +And then he runneth straight and evenly. + +HOTSPUR. +I’ll have it so: a little charge will do it. + +GLENDOWER. +I will not have it alter’d. + +HOTSPUR. +Will not you? + +GLENDOWER. +No, nor you shall not. + +HOTSPUR. +Who shall say me nay? + +GLENDOWER. +Why, that will I. + +HOTSPUR. +Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh. + +GLENDOWER. +I can speak English, lord, as well as you; +For I was train’d up in the English Court; +Where, being but young, I framed to the harp +Many an English ditty lovely well, +And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, +A virtue that was never seen in you. + +HOTSPUR. +Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart: +I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew, +Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers; +I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d, +Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree; +And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, +Nothing so much as mincing poetry: +’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. + +GLENDOWER. +Come, you shall have Trent turn’d. + +HOTSPUR. +I do not care: I’ll give thrice so much land +To any well-deserving friend; +But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, +I’ll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. +Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? +GLEND. + +The Moon shines fair; you may away by night: +I’ll in and haste the writer, and withal +Break with your wives of your departure hence: +I am afraid my daughter will run mad, +So much she doteth on her Mortimer. + +[Exit.] + +MORTIMER. +Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! + +HOTSPUR. +I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me +With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, +Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, +And of a dragon and a finless fish, +A clip-wing’d griffin and a moulten raven, +A couching lion and a ramping cat, +And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff +As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, +He held me last night at the least nine hours +In reckoning up the several devils’ names +That were his lacqueys: I cried hum, and well, +But mark’d him not a word. O, he’s as tedious +As a tired horse, a railing wife; +Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live +With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, +Than feed on cates and have him talk to me +In any summer-house in Christendom. + +MORTIMER. +In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; +Exceedingly well-read, and profited +In strange concealments; valiant as a lion, +And wondrous affable, and as bountiful +As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? +He holds your temper in a high respect, +And curbs himself even of his natural scope +When you do cross his humour; faith, he does: +I warrant you, that man is not alive +Might so have tempted him as you have done, +Without the taste of danger and reproof: +But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. + +WORCESTER. +In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blunt; +And since your coming hither have done enough +To put him quite beside his patience. +You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: +Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood— +And that’s the dearest grace it renders you,— +Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, +Defect of manners, want of government, +Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain; +The least of which haunting a nobleman +Loseth men’s hearts, and leaves behind a stain +Upon the beauty of all parts besides, +Beguiling them of commendation. + +HOTSPUR. +Well, I am school’d: good manners be your speed! +Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. + +[Re-enter Glendower, with Lady Mortimer and Lady Percy.] + +MORTIMER. +This is the deadly spite that angers me, +My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. + +GLENDOWER. +My daughter weeps: she will not part with you; +She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars. + +MORTIMER. +Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy +Shall follow in your conduct speedily. + +[Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in the +same.] + +GLENDOWER. +She’s desperate here; a peevish self-will’d harlotry, +One that no persuasion can do good upon. + +[Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.] + +MORTIMER. +I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh +Which thou pour’st down from these swelling heavens +I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, +In such a parley should I answer thee. + +[Lady Mortimer speaks to him again in Welsh.] + +I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, +And that’s a feeling disputation: +But I will never be a truant, love, +Till I have learn’d thy language; for thy tongue +Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d, +Sung by a fair queen in a Summer’s bower, +With ravishing division, to her lute. + +GLENDOWER. +Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. + +[Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer again in Welsh.] + +MORTIMER. +O, I am ignorance itself in this! + +GLENDOWER. +She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down, +And rest your gentle head upon her lap, +And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, +And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, +Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness; +Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep, +As is the difference betwixt day and night, +The hour before the heavenly-harness’d team +Begins his golden progress in the East. + +MORTIMER. +With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing: +By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. + +GLENDOWER. +Do so: +An those musicians that shall play to you +Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, +And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. + +HOTSPUR. +Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: come, quick, quick, that I +may lay my head in thy lap. + +LADY PERCY. +Go, ye giddy goose. + +[The music plays.] + +HOTSPUR. +Now I perceive the Devil understands Welsh; +And ’tis no marvel he’s so humorous. +By’r Lady, he’s a good musician. + +LADY PERCY. +Then should you be nothing but musical; for you are altogether governed +by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. + +HOTSPUR. +I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. + +LADY PERCY. +Wouldst thou have thy head broken? + +HOTSPUR. +No. + +LADY PERCY. +Then be still. + +HOTSPUR. +Neither; ’tis a woman’s fault. + +LADY PERCY. +Now God help thee! + +HOTSPUR. +Peace! she sings. + +[A Welsh song by Lady Mortimer.] + +Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too. + +LADY PERCY. +Not mine, in good sooth. + +HOTSPUR. +Not yours, in good sooth! ’Heart! you swear like a +comfit-maker’s wife. Not mine, in good sooth; and, As true +as I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day; +And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, +As if thou ne’er walk’dst further than Finsbury. +Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, +A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth, +And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, +To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing. + +LADY PERCY. +I will not sing. + +HOTSPUR. +’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast-teacher. +An the indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; +and so, come in when ye will. + +[Exit.] + +GLENDOWER. +Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow +As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. +By this our book’s drawn; we’ll but seal, and then +To horse immediately. + +MORTIMER. +With all my heart. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE II. London. A Room in the Palace. + +[Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, and Lords.] + +KING. +Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I +Must have some private conference: but be near at hand, +For we shall presently have need of you. + +[Exeunt Lords.] + +I know not whether God will have it so, +For some displeasing service I have done, +That, in His secret doom, out of my blood +He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me; +But thou dost, in thy passages of life, +Make me believe that thou art only mark’d +For the hot vengeance and the rod of Heaven +To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, +Could such inordinate and low desires, +Such poor, such base, such lewd, such mean attempts, +Such barren pleasures, rude society, +As thou art match’d withal and grafted to, +Accompany the greatness of thy blood, +And hold their level with thy princely heart? + +PRINCE. +So please your Majesty, I would I could +Quit all offences with as clear excuse +As well as I am doubtless I can purge +Myself of many I am charged withal: +Yet such extenuation let me beg, +As, in reproof of many tales devised +By smiling pick-thanks and base news-mongers,— +Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,— +I may, for some things true, wherein my youth +Hath faulty wander’d and irregular, +Find pardon on my true submission. + +KING. +God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry, +At thy affections, which do hold a wing +Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. +Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost, +Which by thy younger brother is supplied; +And art almost an alien to the hearts +Of all the Court and princes of my blood: +The hope and expectation of thy time +Is ruin’d; and the soul of every man +Prophetically does forethink thy fall. +Had I so lavish of my presence been, +So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men, +So stale and cheap to vulgar company, +Opinion, that did help me to the crown, +Had still kept loyal to possession, +And left me in reputeless banishment, + +A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. +By being seldom seen, I could not stir +But, like a comet, I was wonder’d at; +That men would tell their children, This is he; +Others would say, Where, which is Bolingbroke? +And then I stole all courtesy from Heaven, +And dress’d myself in such humility, +That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts, +Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, +Even in the presence of the crowned King. +Thus did I keep my person fresh and new; +My presence, like a robe pontifical, +Ne’er seen but wonder’d at: and so my state, +Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast, +And won by rareness such solemnity. +The skipping King, he ambled up and down +With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, +Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state, +Mingled his royalty, with capering fools; +Had his great name profaned with their scorns; +And gave his countenance, against his name, +To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push +Of every beardless vain comparative; +Grew a companion to the common streets, +Enfeoff’d himself to popularity; +That, being dally swallow’d by men’s eyes, +They surfeited with honey, and began +To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little +More than a little is by much too much. +So, when he had occasion to be seen, +He was but as the cuckoo is in June, +Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes +As, sick and blunted with community, +Afford no extraordinary gaze, +Such as is bent on sun-like majesty +When it shines seldom in admiring eyes; +But rather drowsed, and hung their eyelids down, +Slept in his face, and render’d such aspect +As cloudy men use to their adversaries, +Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and full. +And in that very line, Harry, stand’st thou; +For thou hast lost thy princely privilege +With vile participation: not an eye +But is a-weary of thy common sight, +Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more; +Which now doth that I would not have it do, +Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. + +PRINCE. +I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, +Be more myself. + +KING. +For all the world, +As thou art to this hour, was Richard then +When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; +And even as I was then is Percy now. +Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, +He hath more worthy interest to the state +Than thou, the shadow of succession; +For, of no right, nor colour like to right, +He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, +Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws; +And, being no more in debt to years than thou, +Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on +To bloody battles and to bruising arms. +What never-dying honour hath he got +Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds, +Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, +Holds from all soldiers chief majority +And military title capital +Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ: +Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing-clothes, +This infant warrior, in his enterprises +Discomfited great Douglas; ta’en him once, +Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, +To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, +And shake the peace and safety of our throne. +And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, +Th’ Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, and Mortimer +Capitulate against us, and are up. +But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? +Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, +Which art my near’st and dearest enemy? +Thou that art like enough,—through vassal fear, +Base inclination, and the start of spleen,— +To fight against me under Percy’s pay, +To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns, +To show how much thou art degenerate. + +PRINCE. +Do not think so; you shall not find it so: +And God forgive them that so much have sway’d +Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me! +I will redeem all this on Percy’s head, +And, in the closing of some glorious day, +Be bold to tell you that I am your son; +When I will wear a garment all of blood, +And stain my favour in a bloody mask, +Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it: +And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights, +That this same child of honour and renown, +This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, +And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet. +For every honour sitting on his helm, +Would they were multitudes, and on my head +My shames redoubled! for the time will come, +That I shall make this northern youth exchange +His glorious deeds for my indignities. +Percy is but my factor, good my lord, +T’ engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; +And I will call hall to so strict account, +That he shall render every glory up, +Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, +Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. +This, in the name of God, I promise here: +The which if I perform, and do survive, +I do beseech your Majesty, may salve +The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: +If not, the end of life cancels all bands; +And I will die a hundred thousand deaths +Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. + +KING. +A hundred thousand rebels die in this. +Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein.— + +[Enter Sir Walter Blunt.] + +How now, good Blunt! thy looks are full of speed. + +BLUNT. +So is the business that I come to speak of. +Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word +That Douglas and the English rebels met +Th’ eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury: +A mighty and a fearful head they are, +If promises be kept on every hand, +As ever offer’d foul play in a State. + +KING. +The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; +With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster; +For this advertisement is five days old. +On Wednesday next you, Harry, shall set forward; +On Thursday we ourselves will march: +Our meeting is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you +Shall march through Glostershire; by which account, +Our business valued, some twelve days hence +Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. +Our hands are full of business: let’s away; +Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE III. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s-Head Tavern. + +[Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.] + +FALSTAFF. +Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not +bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s +loose gown; I am withered like an old apple-John. Well, I’ll repent, +and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart +shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not +forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a +brewer’s horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, +hath been the spoil of me. + +BARDOLPH. +Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. + +FALSTAFF. +Why, there is it: come, sing me a song; make me merry. I was as +virtuously given as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore +little; diced not above seven times a week; paid money that I borrowed +—three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live +out of all order, out of all compass. + +BARDOLPH. +Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all +compass, —out of all reasonable compass, Sir John. + +FALSTAFF. +Do thou amend thy face, and I’ll amend my life: thou art our admiral, +thou bearest the lantern in the poop,—but ’tis in the nose of thee; +thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. + +BARDOLPH. +Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. + +FALSTAFF. +No, I’ll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a +death’s-head or a memento mori: I never see thy face but I think upon +hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his +robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would +swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire, that’s God’s angel: + but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light +in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou rann’st up Gad’s-hill +in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an +ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there’s no purchase in money. O, +thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast +saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in +the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk +me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler’s +in Europe. I have maintain’d that salamander of yours with fire any +time this two-and-thirty years; God reward me for it! + +BARDOLPH. +’Sblood, I would my face were in your stomach! + +FALSTAFF. +God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn’d.— + +[Enter the Hostess.] + +How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you enquir’d yet who pick’d my +pocket? + +HOSTESS. +Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you think I keep thieves +in my house? I have search’d, I have inquired, so has my husband, man +by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never +lost in my house before. + +FALSTAFF. +Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair; and +I’ll be sworn my pocket was pick’d. Go to, you are a woman, go. + +HOSTESS. +Who, I? no; I defy thee: God’s light, I was never call’d so in mine +own house before. + +FALSTAFF. +Go to, I know you well enough. + +HOSTESS. +No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John: you +owe me money, Sir John; and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: +I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. + +FALSTAFF. +Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers’ wives, and +they have made bolters of them. + +HOSTESS. +Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. +You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings, +and money lent you, four-and-twenty pound. + +FALSTAFF. +He had his part of it; let him pay. + +HOSTESS. +He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. + +FALSTAFF. +How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich? let them coin his +nose, let them coin his cheeks: I’ll not pay a denier. What, will you +make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I +shall have my pocket pick’d? I have lost a seal-ring of my +grandfather’s worth forty mark. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that +ring was copper! + +FALSTAFF. +How! the Prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: ’sblood, an he were here, I +would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.— + +[Enter Prince Henry and Poins, marching. Falstaff meets them, playing +on his truncheon like a fife.] + +How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i’faith? must we all march? + +BARDOLPH. +Yea, two-and-two, Newgate-fashion. + +HOSTESS. +My lord, I pray you, hear me. + +PRINCE. +What say’st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him +well; he is an honest man. + +HOSTESS. +Good my lord, hear me. + +FALSTAFF. +Pr’ythee, let her alone, and list to me. + +PRINCE. +What say’st thou, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket +pick’d: this house is turn’d bawdy-house; they pick pockets. + +PRINCE. +What didst thou lose, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece +and a seal-ring of my grandfather’s. + +PRINCE. +A trifle, some eight-penny matter. + +HOSTESS. +So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your Grace say so; and, my +lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth’d man as he is; +and said he would cudgel you. + +PRINCE. +What! he did not? + +HOSTESS. +There’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. + +FALSTAFF. +There’s no more faith in thee than in a stew’d prune; nor no more truth +in thee than in a drawn fox; and, for woman-hood, Maid Marian may be +the deputy’s wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. + +HOSTESS. +Say, what thing? what thing? I am an honest man’s wife: and, setting +thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so. + +FALSTAFF. +Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise. + +HOSTESS. +Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? + +FALSTAFF. +What beast! why, an otter. + +PRINCE. +An otter, Sir John, why an otter? + +FALSTAFF. +Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. + +HOSTESS. +Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to +have me, thou knave, thou! + +PRINCE. +Thou say’st true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly. + +HOSTESS. +So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you ought him a +thousand pound. + +PRINCE. +Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? + +FALSTAFF. + +A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love is worth a million; thou +owest me thy love. + +HOSTESS. +Nay, my lord, he call’d you Jack, and said he would cudgel you. + +FALSTAFF. +Did I, Bardolph? + +BARDOLPH. +Indeed, Sir John, you said so. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, if he said my ring was copper. + +PRINCE. +I say ’tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now? + +FALSTAFF. +Why, Hal, thou know’st, as thou art but man, I dare; but as thou art +prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion’s whelp. + +PRINCE. +And why not as the lion? + +FALSTAFF. +The King himself is to be feared as the lion: dost thou think I’ll +fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle +break. + +PRINCE. +Sirrah, there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of +thine; it is all fill’d up with midriff. Charge an honest woman with +picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson, impudent, emboss’d rascal, if +there were anything in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, and one poor +pennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded,—if thy pocket were +enrich’d with any other injuries but these, I am a villain: and yet +you will stand to it; you will not pocket-up wrong. Art thou not +ashamed! + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know’st, in the state of innocency Adam fell; +and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou +see’st I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty. +You confess, then, you pick’d my pocket? + +PRINCE. +It appears so by the story. + +FALSTAFF. +Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, +look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable +to any honest reason; thou see’st I am pacified.—Still? Nay, pr’ythee, +be gone. + +[Exit Hostess.] + +Now, Hal, to the news at Court: for the robbery, lad, how is that +answered? + +PRINCE. +O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee: the money is +paid back again. + +FALSTAFF. +O, I do not like that paying back; ’tis a double labour. + +PRINCE. +I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. + +FALSTAFF. +Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with +unwash’d hands too. + +BARDOLPH. +Do, my lord. + +PRINCE. +I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of Foot. + +FALSTAFF. +I would it had been of Horse. Where shall I find one that can steal +well? O, for a fine thief, of the age of two-and-twenty or thereabouts! +I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels; they +offend none but the virtuous: I laud them, I praise them. + +PRINCE. +Bardolph,— + +BARDOLPH. +My lord? + +PRINCE. +Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, +To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.— + +[Exit Bardolph.] + +Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou and I +Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time.— + +[Exit Poins.] + +Meet me to-morrow, Jack, i’ the Temple-hall +At two o’clock in th’ afternoon: +There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive +Money and order for their furniture. +The land is burning; Percy stands on high; +And either they or we must lower lie. + +[Exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +Rare words! brave world!—Hostess, my breakfast; come:— +O, I could wish this tavern were my drum! + +[Exit.] + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. + +[Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.] + +HOTSPUR. +Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth +In this fine age were not thought flattery, +Such attribution should the Douglas have, +As not a soldier of this season’s stamp +Should go so general-current through the world. +By God, I cannot flatter; I defy +The tongues of soothers; but a braver place +In my heart’s love hath no man than yourself: +Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. + +DOUGLAS. +Thou art the king of honour: +No man so potent breathes upon the ground +But I will beard him. + +HOTSPUR. +Do so, and ’tis well.— + +[Enter a Messenger with letters.] + +What letters hast thou there?—I can but thank you. + +MESSENGER. +These letters come from your father. + +HOTSPUR. +Letters from him! why comes he not himself? + +MESSENGER. +He cannot come, my lord; he’s grievous sick. + +HOTSPUR. +Zwounds! how has he the leisure to be sick +In such a justling time? Who leads his power? +Under whose government come they along? + +MESSENGER. +His letters bears his mind, not I, my lord. + +WORCESTER. +I pr’ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? + +MESSENGER. +He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth, +And at the time of my departure thence +He was much fear’d by his physicians. + +WORCESTER. +I would the state of time had first been whole +Ere he by sickness had been visited: +His health was never better worth than now. + +HOTSPUR. +Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect +The very life-blood of our enterprise; +’Tis catching hither, even to our camp. + +He writes me here, that inward sickness,— +And that his friends by deputation could not +So soon be drawn; no did he think it meet +To lay so dangerous and dear a trust +On any soul removed, but on his own. +Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, +That with our small conjunction we should on, +To see how fortune is disposed to us; +For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, +Because the King is certainly possess’d +Of all our purposes. What say you to it? + +WORCESTER. +Your father’s sickness is a maim to us. + +HOTSPUR. +A perilous gash, a very limb lopp’d off:— +And yet, in faith, ’tis not; his present want +Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good +To set the exact wealth of all our states +All at one cast? to set so rich a main +On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? +It were not good; for therein should we read +The very bottom and the soul of hope, +The very list, the very utmost bound +Of all our fortunes. + +DOUGLAS. +Faith, and so we should; +Where now remains a sweet reversion; +And we may boldly spend upon the hope +Of what is to come in: +A comfort of retirement lives in this. + +HOTSPUR. +A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, +If that the Devil and mischance look big +Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. + +WORCESTER. +But yet I would your father had been here. +The quality and hair of our attempt +Brooks no division: it will be thought +By some, that know not why he is away, +That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike +Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence: +And think how such an apprehension +May turn the tide of fearful faction, +And breed a kind of question in our cause; +For well you know we of the offering side +Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, +And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence +The eye of reason may pry in upon us. +This absence of your father’s draws a curtain, +That shows the ignorant a kind of fear +Before not dreamt of. + +HOTSPUR. +Nay, you strain too far. +I, rather, of his absence make this use: +It lends a lustre and more great opinion, +A larger dare to our great enterprise, +Than if the earl were here; for men must think, +If we, without his help, can make a head +To push against the kingdom, with his help +We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down. +Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. + +DOUGLAS. +As heart can think: there is not such a word +Spoke in Scotland as this term of fear. + +[Enter Sir Richard Vernon.] + +HOTSPUR. +My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. + +VERNON. +Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. +The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, +Is marching hitherwards; with him Prince John. + +HOTSPUR. +No harm: what more? + +VERNON. +And further, I have learn’d +The King himself in person is set forth, +Or hitherwards intended speedily, +With strong and mighty preparation. + +HOTSPUR. +He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, +The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, +And his comrades, that daff the world aside, +And bid it pass? + +VERNON. +All furnish’d, all in arms; +All plumed like estridges that with the wind +Bate it; like eagles having lately bathed; +Glittering in golden coats, like images; +As full of spirit as the month of May +And gorgeous as the Sun at midsummer; +Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. +I saw young Harry—with his beaver on, +His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm’d— +Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury, +And vault it with such ease into his seat, +As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds, +To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, +And witch the world with noble horsemanship. + +HOTSPUR. +No more, no more: worse than the Sun in March, +This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; +They come like sacrifices in their trim, +And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, +All hot and bleeding, will we offer them: +The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit +Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire +To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, +And yet not ours.—Come, let me taste my horse, +Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, +Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales: +Harry and Harry shall, hot horse to horse, +Meet, and ne’er part till one drop down a corse.— +O, that Glendower were come! + +VERNON. +There is more news: +I learn’d in Worcester, as I rode along, +He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. + +DOUGLAS. +That’s the worst tidings that I hear of yet. + +WORCESTER. +Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. + +HOTSPUR. +What may the King’s whole battle reach unto? + +VERNON. +To thirty thousand. + +HOTSPUR. +Forty let it be: +My father and Glendower being both away, +The powers of us may serve so great a day. +Come, let us take a muster speedily: +Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. + +DOUGLAS. +Talk not of dying: I am out of fear +Of death or death’s hand for this one half-year. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE II. A public Road near Coventry. + +[Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.] + +FALSTAFF. +Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our +soldiers shall march through; we’ll to Sutton-Co’fil’ to-night. + +BARDOLPH. +Will you give me money, captain? + +FALSTAFF. +Lay out, lay out. + +BARDOLPH. +This bottle makes an angel. + +FALSTAFF. +An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty, +take them all; I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant +Peto meet me at the town’s end. + +BARDOLPH. +I will, captain: farewell. + +[Exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have +misused the King’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred +and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press’d me none but +good householders, yeomen’s sons; inquired me out contracted bachelors, +such as had been ask’d twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm +slaves as had as lief hear the Devil as a drum; such as fear the report +of a caliver worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I press’d me +none but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bodies no bigger +than pins’-heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my +whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of +companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the +glutton’s dogs licked his sores; and such as, indeed, were never +soldiers, but discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to younger +brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a +calm world and a long peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than +an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them +that have bought out their services, that you would think that I had a +hundred and fifty tattered Prodigals lately come from swine-keeping, +from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told +me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and press’d the dead bodies. No eye +hath seen such scarecrows. I’ll not march through Coventry with them, +that’s flat: nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if +they had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. +There’s but a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is +two napkins tack’d together and thrown over the shoulders like a +herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen +from my host at Saint Alban’s, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. +But that’s all one; they’ll find linen enough on every hedge. + +[Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland.] + +PRINCE. +How now, blown Jack! how now, quilt! + +FALSTAFF. +What, Hal! how now, mad wag! what a devil dost thou in +Warwickshire?—My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy: +I thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury. + +WESTMORELAND. +Faith, Sir John, ’tis more than time that I were there, and you too; +but my powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us +all: we must away all, to-night. + +FALSTAFF. +Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream. + +PRINCE. +I think, to steal cream, indeed; for thy theft hath already made thee +butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after? + +FALSTAFF. +Mine, Hal, mine. + +PRINCE. +I did never see such pitiful rascals. + +FALSTAFF. +Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder; +they’ll fill a pit as well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal +men. + +WESTMORELAND. +Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare,—too +beggarly. + +FALSTAFF. +Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and, for +their bareness, I am sure they never learn’d that of me. + +PRINCE. +No, I’ll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs bare. But, +sirrah, make haste: Percy is already in the field. + +[Exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +What, is the King encamp’d? + +WESTMORELAND. +He is, Sir John: I fear we shall stay too long. + +[Exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +Well, +To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast +Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. + +[Exit.] + +SCENE III. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. + +[Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon.] + +HOTSPUR. +We’ll fight with him to-night. + +WORCESTER. +It may not be. + +DOUGLAS. +You give him, then, advantage. + +VERNON. +Not a whit. + +HOTSPUR. +Why say you so? looks he not for supply? + +VERNON. +So do we. + +HOTSPUR. +His is certain, ours is doubtful. + +WORCESTER. +Good cousin, be advised; stir not to-night. + +VERNON. +Do not, my lord. + +DOUGLAS. +You do not counsel well: +You speak it out of fear and cold heart. + +VERNON. +Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life,— +And I dare well maintain it with my life,— +If well-respected honour bid me on, +I hold as little counsel with weak fear +As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives: +Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle +Which of us fears. + +DOUGLAS. +Yea, or to-night. + +VERNON. +Content. + +HOTSPUR. +To-night, say I. + +VERNON. +Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, +Being men of such great leading as you are, +That you foresee not what impediments +Drag back our expedition: certain Horse +Of my cousin Vernon’s are not yet come up: +Your uncle Worcester’s Horse came but to-day; +And now their pride and mettle is asleep, +Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, +That not a horse is half the half himself. + +HOTSPUR. +So are the horses of the enemy +In general, journey-bated and brought low: +The better part of ours are full of rest. + +WORCESTER. +The number of the King exceedeth ours. +For God’s sake, cousin, stay till all come in. + +[The Trumpet sounds a parley.] + +[Enter Sir Walter Blunt.] + +BLUNT. +I come with gracious offers from the King, +If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. + +HOTSPUR. +Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt; and would to God +You were of our determination! +Some of us love you well; and even those some +Envy your great deservings and good name, +Because you are not of our quality, +But stand against us like an enemy. + +BLUNT. +And God defend but still I should stand so, +So long as out of limit and true rule +You stand against anointed majesty! +But to my charge: the King hath sent to know +The nature of your griefs; and whereupon +You conjure from the breast of civil peace +Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land +Audacious cruelty. If that the King +Have any way your good deserts forgot, +Which he confesseth to be manifold, +He bids you name your griefs; and with all speed +You shall have your desires with interest, +And pardon absolute for yourself and these +Herein misled by your suggestion. + +HOTSPUR. +The King is kind; and well we know the King +Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. +My father and my uncle and myself +Did give him that same royalty he wears; +And—when he was not six-and-twenty strong, +Sick in the world’s regard, wretched and low, +A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home— +My father gave him welcome to the shore: +And—when he heard him swear and vow to God, +He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, +To sue his livery and beg his peace, +With tears of innocence and terms of zeal— +My father, in kind heart and pity moved, +Swore him assistance, and performed it too. +Now, when the lords and barons of the realm +Perceived Northumberland did lean to him, +The more and less came in with cap and knee; +Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, +Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, +Laid gifts before him, proffer’d him their oaths, +Give him their heirs as pages, follow’d him +Even at the heels in golden multitudes. +He presently—as greatness knows itself— +Steps me a little higher than his vow +Made to my father, while his blood was poor, +Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg; +And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform +Some certain edicts and some strait decrees +That lie too heavy on the commonwealth; +Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep +Over his country’s wrongs; and, by this face, +This seeming brow of justice, did he win +The hearts of all that he did angle for: +Proceeded further; cut me off the heads +Of all the favourites, that the absent King +In deputation left behind him here +When he was personal in the Irish war. + +BLUNT. +Tut, I came not to hear this. + +HOTSPUR. +Then to the point: +In short time after, he deposed the King; +Soon after that, deprived him of his life; +And, in the neck of that, task’d the whole State: +To make that worse, suffer’d his kinsman March +(Who is, if every owner were well placed, +Indeed his king) to be engaged in Wales, +There without ransom to lie forfeited; +Disgraced me in my happy victories, +Sought to entrap me by intelligence; +Rated my uncle from the Council-board; +In rage dismiss’d my father from the Court; +Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong; +And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out +This head of safety; and withal to pry +Into his title, the which now we find +Too indirect for long continuance. + +BLUNT. +Shall I return this answer to the King? + +HOTSPUR. +Not so, Sir Walter: we’ll withdraw awhile. +Go to the King; and let there be impawn’d +Some surety for a safe return again, +And in the morning early shall my uncle +Bring him our purposes: and so, farewell. + +BLUNT. +I would you would accept of grace and love. + +HOTSPUR. +And may be so we shall. + +BLUNT. +Pray God you do. + +[Exeunt.] + +SCENE IV. York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace. + +[Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael.] + +ARCHBISHOP. +Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief +With winged haste to the Lord Marshal; +This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest +To whom they are directed. If you knew +How much they do import, you would make haste. + +SIR MICHAEL. +My good lord, +I guess their tenour. + +ARCHBISHOP. +Like enough you do. +To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day +Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men +Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, +As I am truly given to understand, +The King, with mighty and quick-raised power, +Meets with Lord Harry: and, I fear, Sir Michael, +What with the sickness of Northumberland, +Whose power was in the first proportion, +And what with Owen Glendower’s absence thence, +Who with them was a rated sinew too, +And comes not in, o’er-rul’d by prophecies,— +I fear the power of Percy is too weak +To wage an instant trial with the King. + +SIR MICHAEL. +Why, my good lord, you need not fear; +There’s Douglas and Lord Mortimer. + +ARCHBISHOP. +No, Mortimer’s not there. + +SIR MICHAEL. +But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, +And there’s my Lord of Worcester; and a head +Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. + +ARCHBISHOP. +And so there is: but yet the King hath drawn +The special head of all the land together; +The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, +The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; +And many more corrivals and dear men +Of estimation and command in arms. + +SIR MICHAEL. +Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed. + +ARCHBISHOP. +I hope no less, yet needful ’tis to fear; +And, to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed: +For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King +Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, +For he hath heard of our confederacy; +And ’tis but wisdom to make strong against him: +Therefore make haste. I must go write again +To other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael. + +[Exeunt.] + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury. + +[Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir +John Falstaff.] + +KING. +How bloodily the Sun begins to peer +Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale +At his distemperature. + +PRINCE. +The southern wind +Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; +And by his hollow whistling in the leaves +Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. + +KING. +Then with the losers let it sympathize, +For nothing can seem foul to those that win.— + +[The trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester and Vernon.] + +How, now, my Lord of Worcester! ’tis not well +That you and I should meet upon such terms +As now we meet. You have deceived our trust; +And made us doff our easy robes of peace, +To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: +This is not well, my lord, this is not well. +What say you to’t? will you again unknit +This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, +And move in that obedient orb again +Where you did give a fair and natural light; +And be no more an exhaled meteor, +A prodigy of fear, and a portent +Of broached mischief to the unborn times? + +WORCESTER. +Hear me, my liege: +For mine own part, I could be well content +To entertain the lag-end of my life +With quiet hours; for I do protest, +I have not sought the day of this dislike. + +KING. +You have not sought it! why, how comes it, then? + +FALSTAFF. +Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. + +PRINCE. +Peace, chewet, peace! + +WORCESTER. +It pleased your Majesty to turn your looks +Of favour from myself and all our House; +And yet I must remember you, my lord, +We were the first and dearest of your friends. +For you my staff of office did I break +In Richard’s time; and posted day and night +To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, +When yet you were in place and in account +Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. +It was myself, my brother, and his son, +That brought you home, and boldly did outdare +The dangers of the time. You swore to us,— +And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,— +That you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state; +Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right, +The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: +To this we swore our aid. But in short space +It rain’d down fortune showering on your head; +And such a flood of greatness fell on you,— +What with our help, what with the absent King, +What with the injuries of a wanton time, +The seeming sufferances that you had borne, +And the contrarious winds that held the King +So long in his unlucky Irish wars +That all in England did repute him dead,— +And, from this swarm of fair advantages, +You took occasion to be quickly woo’d +To gripe the general sway into your hand; +Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; +And, being fed by us, you used us so +As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo-bird, +Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; +Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, +That even our love thirst not come near your sight +For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing +We were enforced, for safety-sake, to fly +Out of your sight, and raise this present head: +Whereby we stand opposed by such means +As you yourself have forged against yourself, +By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, +And violation of all faith and troth +Sworn to tis in your younger enterprise. + +KING. +These things, indeed, you have articulate, +Proclaim’d at market-crosses, read in churches, +To face the garment of rebellion +With some fine colour that may please the eye +Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, +Which gape and rub the elbow at the news +Of hurlyburly innovation: +And never yet did insurrection want +Such water-colours to impaint his cause; +Nor moody beggars, starving for a time +Of pellmell havoc and confusion. + +PRINCE. +In both our armies there is many a soul +Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, +If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, +The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world +In praise of Henry Percy: by my hopes, +This present enterprise set off his head, +I do not think a braver gentleman, +More active-valiant or more valiant-young, +More daring or more bold, is now alive +To grace this latter age with noble deeds. +For my part,—I may speak it to my shame,— +I have a truant been to chivalry; +And so I hear he doth account me too: +Yet this before my father’s Majesty,— +I am content that he shall take the odds +Of his great name and estimation, +And will, to save the blood on either side, +Try fortune with him in a single fight. + +KING. +And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, +Albeit considerations infinite +Do make against it.—No, good Worcester, no; +We love our people well; even those we love +That are misled upon your cousin’s part; +And, will they take the offer of our grace, +Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man +Shall be my friend again, and I’ll be his: +So tell your cousin, and then bring me word +What he will do: but, if he will not yield, +Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, +And they shall do their office. So, be gone; +We will not now be troubled with reply: +We offer fair; take it advisedly. + +[Exit Worcester with Vernon.] + +PRINCE. +It will not be accepted, on my life: +The Douglas and the Hotspur both together +Are confident against the world in arms. + +KING. +Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; +For, on their answer, will we set on them: +And God befriend us, as our cause is just! + +[Exeunt the King, Blunt, and Prince John.] + +FALSTAFF. +Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; ’tis a +point of friendship. + +PRINCE. +Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. +Say thy prayers, and farewell. + +FALSTAFF. +I would it were bedtime, Hal, and all well. + +PRINCE. +Why, thou owest God a death. + +[Exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +’Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay Him before His day. What need +I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter; +honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come +on? how then? Can honor set-to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away +the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? no. +What is honour? a word. What is that word, honour? air. A trim +reckoning!—Who hath it? he that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? no. +Doth be hear it? no. Is it insensible, then? yea, to the dead. But will +it not live with the living? no. Why? detraction will not suffer it. +Therefore I’ll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon:—and so ends my +catechism. + +[Exit.] + +SCENE II. The Rebel Camp. + +[Enter Worcester and Vernon.] + +WORCESTER. +O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, +The liberal-kind offer of the King. + +VERNON. +’Twere best he did. + +WORCESTER. +Then are we all undone. +It is not possible, it cannot be, +The King should keep his word in loving us; +He will suspect us still, and find a time +To punish this offence in other faults: +Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; +For treason is but trusted like the fox, +Who, ne’er so tame, so cherish’d, and lock’d up, +Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. +Look how we can, or sad or merrily, +Interpretation will misquote our looks; +And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, +The better cherish’d, still the nearer death. +My nephew’s trespass may be well forgot: +It hath th’ excuse of youth and heat of blood, +And an adopted name of privilege,— +A hare-brain’d Hotspur, govern’d by a spleen: +All his offences live upon my head +And on his father’s: we did train him on; +And, his corruption being ta’en from us, +We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. +Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, +In any case, the offer of the King. + +VERNON. +Deliver what you will, I’ll say ’tis so. +Here comes your cousin. + +[Enter Hotspur and Douglas; Officers and Soldiers behind.] + +HOTSPUR. +My uncle is return’d: deliver up +My Lord of Westmoreland.—Uncle, what news? + +WORCESTER. +The King will bid you battle presently. + +DOUGLAS. +Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland. + +HOTSPUR. +Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. + +DOUGLAS. +Marry, I shall, and very willingly. + +[Exit.] + +WORCESTER. +There is no seeming mercy in the King. + +HOTSPUR. +Did you beg any? God forbid! + +WORCESTER. +I told him gently of our grievances, +Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, +By new-forswearing that he is forsworn: +He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge +With haughty arms this hateful name in us. + +[Re-enter Douglas.] + +DOUGLAS. +Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown +A brave defiance in King Henry’s teeth, +And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it; +Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. + +WORCESTER. +The Prince of Wales stepp’d forth before the King, +And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. + +HOTSPUR. +O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads; +And that no man might draw short breath to-day +But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, +How show’d his tasking? seem’d it in contempt? + +VERNON. +No, by my soul: I never in my life +Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, +Unless a brother should a brother dare +To gentle exercise and proof of arms. +He gave you all the duties of a man; +Trimm’d up your praises with a princely tongue; +Spoke your deservings like a chronicle; +Making you ever better than his praise, +By still dispraising praise valued with you; +And, which became him like a prince indeed, +He made a blushing cital of himself; +And chid his truant youth with such a grace, +As if he master’d there a double spirit, +Of teaching and of learning instantly. +There did he pause: but let me tell the world, +If he outlive the envy of this day, +England did never owe so sweet a hope, +So much misconstrued in his wantonness. + +HOTSPUR. +Cousin, I think thou art enamoured +Upon his follies: never did I hear +Of any prince so wild o’ liberty. +But be he as he will, yet once ere night +I will embrace him with a soldier’s arm, +That he shall shrink under my courtesy.— +Arm, arm with speed: and, fellows, soldiers, friends, +Better consider what you have to do +Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, +Can lift your blood up with persuasion. + +[Enter a Messenger.] + +MESSENGER. +My lord, here are letters for you. + +HOTSPUR. +I cannot read them now.— +O gentlemen, the time of life is short! +To spend that shortness basely were too long, +If life did ride upon a dial’s point, +Still ending at th’ arrival of an hour. +An if we live, we live to tread on kings; +If die, brave death, when princes die with us! +Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair, +When the intent of bearing them is just. + +[Enter another Messenger.] + +MESSENGER. +My lord, prepare: the King comes on apace. + +HOTSPUR. +I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, +For I profess not talking; only this, +Let each man do his best: and here draw I +A sword, whose temper I intend to stain +With the best blood that I can meet withal +In the adventure of this perilous day. +Now, Esperance! Percy! and set on. +Sound all the lofty instruments of war, +And by that music let us all embrace; +For, Heaven to Earth, some of us never shall +A second time do such a courtesy. + +[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.] + +SCENE III. Plain between the Camps. + +[Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the battle. +Then enter Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt, meeting.] + +BLUNT. +What is thy name, that in the battle thus +Thou crossest me? what honour dost thou seek +Upon my head? + +DOUGLAS. +Know, then, my name is Douglas, +And I do haunt thee in the battle thus +Because some tell me that thou art a king. + +BLUNT. +They tell thee true. + +DOUGLAS. +The Lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought +Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, King Harry, +This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee, +Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. + +BLUNT. +I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; +And thou shalt find a king that will revenge +Lord Stafford’s death. + +[They fight, and Blunt is slain. Enter Hotspur.] + +HOTSPUR. +O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, +I never had triumphed o’er a Scot. + +DOUGLAS. +All’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King. + +HOTSPUR. +Where? + +DOUGLAS. +Here. + +HOTSPUR. +This, Douglas? no; I know this face full well: +A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; +Semblably furnish’d like the King himself. + +DOUGLAS. +A fool go with thy soul, where’re it goes! +A borrow’d title hast thou bought too dear: +Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? + +HOTSPUR. +The King hath many marching in his coats. + +DOUGLAS. +Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; +I’ll murder all his wardrobe piece by piece, +Until I meet the King. + +HOTSPUR. +Up, and away! +Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. + +[Exeunt.] + +[Alarums. Enter Falstaff.] + +FALSTAFF. +Though I could ’scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here’s +no scoring but upon the pate.—Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt: +there’s honour for you! here’s no vanity! I am as hot as molten lead, +and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me! I need no more weight than +mine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered: +there’s not three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for +the town’s end, to beg during life. But who comes here? + +[Enter Prince Henry.] + +PRINCE. +What, stand’st thou idle here? lend me thy sword: +Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff +Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, +Whose deaths are yet unrevenged: I pr’ythee, +Lend me thy sword. + +FALSTAFF. +O Hal, I pr’ythee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk +Gregory never did such deeds in arms as I have done this +day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure. + +PRINCE. +He is indeed; and living to kill thee. +I pr’ythee, lend me thy sword. + +FALSTAFF. +Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but +take my pistol, if thou wilt. + +PRINCE. +Give it me: what, is it in the case? + +FALSTAFF. +Ay, Hal. ’Tis hot, ’tis hot: there’s that will sack a city. + +[The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.] + +What, is’t a time to jest and dally now? + +[Throws it at him, and exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +Well, if Percy be alive, I’ll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; +if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of +me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: give me life; +which if I can save, so; if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there’s +an end. + +[Exit.] + +SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field. + +[Alarums. Excursions. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, +Lancaster, and Westmoreland.] + +KING. +I pr’ythee, +Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleedest too much.— +Lord John of Lancaster, go you unto him. + +LANCASTER. +Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. + +PRINCE. +I do beseech your Majesty, make up, +Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. + +KING. +I will do so.— +My Lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. + +WESTMORELAND. +Come, my lord, I’ll lead you to your tent. + +PRINCE. +Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help: +And God forbid, a shallow scratch should drive +The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, +Where stain’d nobility lies trodden on, +And rebels’ arms triumph in massacres! + +LANCASTER. +We breathe too long:—come, cousin Westmoreland, +Our duty this way lies; for God’s sake, come. + +[Exeunt Lancaster and Westmoreland.] + +PRINCE. +By Heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster; +I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: +Before, I loved thee as a brother, John; +But now I do respect thee as my soul. + +KING. +I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point +With lustier maintenance than I did look for +Of such an ungrown warrior. + +PRINCE. +O, this boy +Lends mettle to us all! + +[Exit.] + +[Alarums. Enter Douglas.] + +DOUGLAS. +Another king! they grow like Hydra’s heads: +I am the Douglas, fatal to all those + +That wear those colours on them.—What art thou, +That counterfeit’st the person of a king? + +KING. +The King himself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart +So many of his shadows thou hast met, +And not the very King. I have two boys +Seek Percy and thyself about the field: +But, seeing thou fall’st on me so luckily, +I will assay thee; so, defend thyself. + +DOUGLAS. +I fear thou art another counterfeit; +And yet, in faith, thou bear’st thee like a king: +But mine I’m sure thou art, whoe’er thou be, +And thus I win thee. + +[They fight; the King being in danger, re-enter Prince Henry.] + +PRINCE. +Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like +Never to hold it up again! the spirits +Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms: +It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee; +Who never promiseth but he means to pay.— + +[They fight: Douglas flies.] + +Cheerly, my lord: how fares your Grace? +Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, +And so hath Clifton: I’ll to Clifton straight. + +KING. +Stay, and breathe awhile: +Thou hast redeem’d thy lost opinion; +And show’d thou makest some tender of my life, +In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. + +PRINCE. +O God, they did me too much injury +That ever said I hearken’d for your death! +If it were so, I might have let alone +Th’ insulting hand of Douglas over you, +Which would have been as speedy in your end +As all the poisonous potions in the world, +And saved the treacherous labour of your son. + +KING. +Make up to Clifton: I’ll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey. + +[Exit.] + +[Enter Hotspur.] + +HOTSPUR. +If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. + +PRINCE. +Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name. + +HOTSPUR. +My name is Harry Percy. + +PRINCE. +Why, then I see +A very valiant rebel of the name. +I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, +To share with me in glory any more: +Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; +Nor can one England brook a double reign, +Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. + +HOTSPUR. +Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come +To end the one of us; and would to God +Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! + +PRINCE. +I’ll make it greater ere I part from thee; +And all the budding honours on thy crest +I’ll crop, to make a garland for my head. + +HOTSPUR. +I can no longer brook thy vanities. + +[They fight.] + +[Enter Falstaff.] + +FALSTAFF. +Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy’s play here, I +can tell you. + +[Re-enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he +were dead, and exit Douglas. Hotspure is wounded, and falls.] + +HOTSPUR. +O Harry, thou hast robb’d me of my youth! +I better brook the loss of brittle life +Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; +They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh: +But thoughts the slave of life, and life Time’s fool, +And Time, that takes survey of all the world, +Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, +But that the earthy and cold hand of death +Lies on my tongue: no, Percy, thou art dust, +And food for— + +[Dies.] + +PRINCE. +For worms, brave Percy: fare thee well, great heart! +Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk! +When that this body did contain a spirit, +A kingdom for it was too small a bound; +But now two paces of the vilest earth +Is room enough. This earth that bears thee dead +Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. +If thou wert sensible of courtesy, +I should not make so dear a show of zeal: +But let my favours hide thy mangled face; +And, even in thy behalf, I’ll thank myself +For doing these fair rites of tenderness. +Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to Heaven! +Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, +But not remember’d in thy epitaph!— + +[Sees Falstaff on the ground.] + +What, old acquaintance? could not all this flesh +Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell! +I could have better spared a better man: +O, I should have a heavy miss of thee, +If I were much in love with vanity! +Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, +Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. +Embowell’d will I see thee by-and-by: +Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. + +[Exit.] + +FALSTAFF. +[Rising.] Embowell’d! if thou embowel me to-day, I’ll give you leave to +powder me and eat me too to-morrow. ’Sblood, ’twas time to counterfeit, +or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit! I +lie; I am no counterfeit: to die, is to be a counterfeit; for he is +but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man: but to +counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, +but the true and perfect image of life indeed. The better part of +valour is discretion; in the which better part I have saved my life.— +Zwounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: how, +if he should counterfeit too, and rise? by my faith, I am afraid he +would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I’ll make him sure; yea, +and I’ll swear I kill’d him. Why may not he rise as well as I? Nothing +confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, with a new +wound in your thigh, come you along with me. + +[Takes Hotspur on his hack.] + +[Re-enter Prince Henry and Lancaster.] + +PRINCE. +Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou flesh’d +Thy maiden sword. + +LANCASTER. +But, soft! whom have we here? +Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? + +PRINCE. +I did; I saw him dead, breathless and bleeding +Upon the ground.— +Art thou alive? or is it fantasy +That plays upon our eyesight? I pr’ythee, speak; +We will not trust our eyes without our ears. +Thou art not what thou seem’st. + +FALSTAFF. +No, that’s certain; I am not a double man: but if I be not Jack +Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy! [Throwing the body down.] +if your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next +Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. + +PRINCE. +Why, Percy I kill’d myself, and saw thee dead. + +FALSTAFF. +Didst thou?— Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!— I grant you +I was down and out of breath; and so was he: but we rose both at an +instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be +believed, so; if not, let them that should reward valour bear the sin +upon their own heads. I’ll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound +in the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, zwounds, I +would make him eat a piece of my sword. + +LANCASTER. +This is the strangest tale that ever I heard. + +PRINCE. +This is the strangest fellow, brother John.— +Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: +For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, +I’ll gild it with the happiest terms I have.— + +[A retreat is sounded.] + +The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. +Come, brother, let’s to th’ highest of the field, +To see what friends are living, who are dead. + +[Exeunt Prince Henry and Lancaster.] + +FALSTAFF. +I’ll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward +him! If I do grow great, I’ll grow less; for I’ll purge, and leave +sack, and live cleanly as a nobleman should do. + +[Exit, bearing off the body.] + +SCENE V. Another Part of the Field. + +[The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, +Lancaster, Westmoreland, and others, with Worcester and +Vernon prisoners.] + +KING. +Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.— +Ill-spirited Worcester! did not we send grace, +Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? +And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? +Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman’s trust? +Three knights upon our party slain to-day, +A noble earl, and many a creature else, +Had been alive this hour, +If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne +Betwixt our armies true intelligence. + +WORCESTER. +What I have done my safety urged me to; +And I embrace this fortune patiently, +Since not to be avoided it fails on me. + +KING. +Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too: +Other offenders we will pause upon.— + +[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded.] + +How goes the field? + +PRINCE. +The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw +The fortune of the day quite turn’d from him, +The noble Percy slain, and all his men +Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; +And, falling from a hill, he was so bruised +That the pursuers took him. At my tent +The Douglas is: and I beseech your Grace +I may dispose of him. + +KING. +With all my heart. + +PRINCE. +Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you +This honourable bounty shall belong: +Go to the Douglas, and deliver him +Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free: +His valour, shown upon our crests to-day, +Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds +Even in the bosom of our adversaries. + +KING. +Then this remains, that we divide our power.— +You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, +Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed, +To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop, +Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: +Myself,—and you, son Harry,—will towards Wales, +To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March. +Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, +Meeting the check of such another day; +And since this business so fair is done, +Let us not leave till all our own be won. + +[Exeunt.] + + + +THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + +Dramatis Personae + + RUMOUR, the Presenter + KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards HENRY + PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER + PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER + THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE + Sons of Henry IV + + EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND + SCROOP, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK + LORD MOWBRAY + LORD HASTINGS + LORD BARDOLPH + SIR JOHN COLVILLE + TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland + Opposites against King Henry IV + + EARL OF WARWICK + EARL OF WESTMORELAND + EARL OF SURREY + EARL OF KENT + GOWER + HARCOURT + BLUNT + Of the King's party + + LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + SERVANT, to Lord Chief Justice + + SIR JOHN FALSTAFF + EDWARD POINS + BARDOLPH + PISTOL + PETO + Irregular humourists + + PAGE, to Falstaff + + ROBERT SHALLOW and SILENCE, country Justices + DAVY, servant to Shallow + + FANG and SNARE, Sheriff's officers + + RALPH MOULDY + SIMON SHADOW + THOMAS WART + FRANCIS FEEBLE + PETER BULLCALF + Country soldiers + + FRANCIS, a drawer + + LADY NORTHUMBERLAND + LADY PERCY, Percy's widow + HOSTESS QUICKLY, of the Boar's Head, Eastcheap + DOLL TEARSHEET + + LORDS, Attendants, Porter, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, Servants, + Speaker of the Epilogue + + SCENE: England + +INDUCTION + INDUCTION. + Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle + + Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues + + RUMOUR. Open your ears; for which of you will stop + The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? + I, from the orient to the drooping west, + Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold + The acts commenced on this ball of earth. + Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, + The which in every language I pronounce, + Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. + I speak of peace while covert emnity, + Under the smile of safety, wounds the world; + And who but Rumour, who but only I, + Make fearful musters and prepar'd defence, + Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief, + Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, + And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe + Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, + And of so easy and so plain a stop + That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, + The still-discordant wav'ring multitude, + Can play upon it. But what need I thus + My well-known body to anatomize + Among my household? Why is Rumour here? + I run before King Harry's victory, + Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, + Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops, + Quenching the flame of bold rebellion + Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I + To speak so true at first? My office is + To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell + Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, + And that the King before the Douglas' rage + Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. + This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns + Between that royal field of Shrewsbury + And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, + Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, + Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on, + And not a man of them brings other news + Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour's tongues + They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. + Exit + +ACT I. SCENE I. Warkworth. Before NORTHUMBERLAND'S Castle + +Enter LORD BARDOLPH + + LORD BARDOLPH. Who keeps the gate here, ho? + + The PORTER opens the gate + + Where is the Earl? + PORTER. What shall I say you are? + LORD BARDOLPH. Tell thou the Earl + That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. + PORTER. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard. + Please it your honour knock but at the gate, + And he himself will answer. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND + + LORD BARDOLPH. Here comes the Earl. Exit PORTER + NORTHUMBERLAND. What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now + Should be the father of some stratagem. + The times are wild; contention, like a horse + Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose + And bears down all before him. + LORD BARDOLPH. Noble Earl, + I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Good, an God will! + LORD BARDOLPH. As good as heart can wish. + The King is almost wounded to the death; + And, in the fortune of my lord your son, + Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts + Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John, + And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; + And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John, + Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day, + So fought, so followed, and so fairly won, + Came not till now to dignify the times, + Since Cxsar's fortunes! + NORTHUMBERLAND. How is this deriv'd? + Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury? + LORD BARDOLPH. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence; + A gentleman well bred and of good name, + That freely rend'red me these news for true. + + Enter TRAVERS + + NORTHUMBERLAND. Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent + On Tuesday last to listen after news. + LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; + And he is furnish'd with no certainties + More than he haply may retail from me. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you? + TRAVERS. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back + With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, + Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard + A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, + That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse. + He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him + I did demand what news from Shrewsbury. + He told me that rebellion had bad luck, + And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold. + With that he gave his able horse the head + And, bending forward, struck his armed heels + Against the panting sides of his poor jade + Up to the rowel-head; and starting so, + He seem'd in running to devour the way, + Staying no longer question. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Ha! Again: + Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold? + Of Hotspur, Coldspur? that rebellion + Had met ill luck? + LORD BARDOLPH. My lord, I'll tell you what: + If my young lord your son have not the day, + Upon mine honour, for a silken point + I'll give my barony. Never talk of it. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers + Give then such instances of loss? + LORD BARDOLPH. Who- he? + He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n + The horse he rode on and, upon my life, + Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. + + Enter Morton + + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, + Foretells the nature of a tragic volume. + So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood + Hath left a witness'd usurpation. + Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? + MORTON. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; + Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask + To fright our party. + NORTHUMBERLAND. How doth my son and brother? + Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek + Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. + Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, + So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone, + Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night + And would have told him half his Troy was burnt; + But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, + And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it. + This thou wouldst say: 'Your son did thus and thus; + Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas'- + Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; + But in the end, to stop my ear indeed, + Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, + Ending with 'Brother, son, and all, are dead.' + MORTON. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; + But for my lord your son- + NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, he is dead. + See what a ready tongue suspicion hath! + He that but fears the thing he would not know + Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes + That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; + Tell thou an earl his divination lies, + And I will take it as a sweet disgrace + And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. + MORTON. You are too great to be by me gainsaid; + Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. + I see a strange confession in thine eye; + Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin + To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: + The tongue offends not that reports his death; + And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, + Not he which says the dead is not alive. + Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news + Hath but a losing office, and his tongue + Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, + Rememb'red tolling a departing friend. + LORD BARDOLPH. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. + MORTON. I am sorry I should force you to believe + That which I would to God I had not seen; + But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, + Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out-breath'd, + To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down + The never-daunted Percy to the earth, + From whence with life he never more sprung up. + In few, his death- whose spirit lent a fire + Even to the dullest peasant in his camp- + Being bruited once, took fire and heat away + From the best-temper'd courage in his troops; + For from his metal was his party steeled; + Which once in him abated, an the rest + Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. + And as the thing that's heavy in itself + Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, + So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, + Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear + That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim + Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, + Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester + Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot, + The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword + Had three times slain th' appearance of the King, + Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame + Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight, + Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all + Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out + A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, + Under the conduct of young Lancaster + And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. + NORTHUMBERLAND. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. + In poison there is physic; and these news, + Having been well, that would have made me sick, + Being sick, have in some measure made me well; + And as the wretch whose fever-weak'ned joints, + Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, + Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire + Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, + Weak'ned with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, + Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch! + A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel + Must glove this hand; and hence, thou sickly coif! + Thou art a guard too wanton for the head + Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. + Now bind my brows with iron; and approach + The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring + To frown upon th' enrag'd Northumberland! + Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature's hand + Keep the wild flood confin'd! Let order die! + And let this world no longer be a stage + To feed contention in a ling'ring act; + But let one spirit of the first-born Cain + Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set + On bloody courses, the rude scene may end + And darkness be the burier of the dead! + LORD BARDOLPH. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. + MORTON. Sweet Earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. + The lives of all your loving complices + Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er + To stormy passion, must perforce decay. + You cast th' event of war, my noble lord, + And summ'd the account of chance before you said + 'Let us make head.' It was your pre-surmise + That in the dole of blows your son might drop. + You knew he walk'd o'er perils on an edge, + More likely to fall in than to get o'er; + You were advis'd his flesh was capable + Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit + Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd; + Yet did you say 'Go forth'; and none of this, + Though strongly apprehended, could restrain + The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall'n, + Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth + More than that being which was like to be? + LORD BARDOLPH. We all that are engaged to this loss + Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas + That if we wrought out life 'twas ten to one; + And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd + Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; + And since we are o'erset, venture again. + Come, we will put forth, body and goods. + MORTON. 'Tis more than time. And, my most noble lord, + I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth: + The gentle Archbishop of York is up + With well-appointed pow'rs. He is a man + Who with a double surety binds his followers. + My lord your son had only but the corpse, + But shadows and the shows of men, to fight; + For that same word 'rebellion' did divide + The action of their bodies from their souls; + And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd, + As men drink potions; that their weapons only + Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls + This word 'rebellion'- it had froze them up, + As fish are in a pond. But now the Bishop + Turns insurrection to religion. + Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, + He's follow'd both with body and with mind; + And doth enlarge his rising with the blood + Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones; + Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause; + Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, + Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; + And more and less do flock to follow him. + NORTHUMBERLAND. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, + This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. + Go in with me; and counsel every man + The aptest way for safety and revenge. + Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed- + Never so few, and never yet more need. Exeunt + +SCENE II. London. A street + +Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, with his PAGE bearing his sword and buckler + + FALSTAFF. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? + PAGE. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but + for the party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than he + knew for. + FALSTAFF. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of + this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything + that intends to laughter, more than I invent or is invented on + me. I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in + other men. I do here walk before thee like a sow that hath + overwhelm'd all her litter but one. If the Prince put thee into + my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I + have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be + worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never mann'd with + an agate till now; but I will inset you neither in gold nor + silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your + master, for a jewel- the juvenal, the Prince your master, whose + chin is not yet fledge. I will sooner have a beard grow in the + palm of my hand than he shall get one off his cheek; and yet he + will not stick to say his face is a face-royal. God may finish it + when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss yet. He may keep it still at + a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it; + and yet he'll be crowing as if he had writ man ever since his + father was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he's almost + out of mine, I can assure him. What said Master Dommelton about + the satin for my short cloak and my slops? + PAGE. He said, sir, you should procure him better assurance than + Bardolph. He would not take his band and yours; he liked not the + security. + FALSTAFF. Let him be damn'd, like the Glutton; pray God his tongue + be hotter! A whoreson Achitophel! A rascal-yea-forsooth knave, to + bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security! The + whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and + bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is through with + them in honest taking-up, then they must stand upon security. I + had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer to stop + it with security. I look'd 'a should have sent me two and twenty + yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. + Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of + abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it; and + yet cannot he see, though he have his own lanthorn to light him. + Where's Bardolph? + PAGE. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship horse. + FALSTAFF. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in + Smithfield. An I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were + mann'd, hors'd, and wiv'd. + + Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT + + PAGE. Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed the Prince for + striking him about Bardolph. FALSTAFF. Wait close; I will not see + him. CHIEF JUSTICE. What's he that goes there? SERVANT. Falstaff, + an't please your lordship. CHIEF JUSTICE. He that was in question for + the robb'ry? SERVANT. He, my lord; but he hath since done good + service at Shrewsbury, and, as I hear, is now going with some charge + to the Lord John of Lancaster. CHIEF JUSTICE. What, to York? Call him + back again. SERVANT. Sir John Falstaff! FALSTAFF. Boy, tell him I am + deaf. PAGE. You must speak louder; my master is deaf. CHIEF JUSTICE. + I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything good. Go, pluck him by + the elbow; I must speak with him. SERVANT. Sir John! FALSTAFF. What! + a young knave, and begging! Is there not wars? Is there not + employment? Doth not the King lack subjects? Do not the rebels need + soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse + shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the + name of rebellion can tell how to make it. SERVANT. You mistake me, + sir. FALSTAFF. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? Setting my + knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had + said so. SERVANT. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your + soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you you in your throat, + if you say I am any other than an honest man. FALSTAFF. I give thee + leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! If thou + get'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou tak'st leave, thou wert + better be hang'd. You hunt counter. Hence! Avaunt! SERVANT. Sir, my + lord would speak with you. CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John Falstaff, a word + with you. FALSTAFF. My good lord! God give your lordship good time of + day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad. I heard say your lordship + was sick; I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, + though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, + some relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your + lordship to have a reverend care of your health. CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir + John, I sent for you before your expedition to Shrewsbury. FALSTAFF. + An't please your lordship, I hear his Majesty is return'd with some + discomfort from Wales. CHIEF JUSTICE. I talk not of his Majesty. You + would not come when I sent for you. FALSTAFF. And I hear, moreover, + his Highness is fall'n into this same whoreson apoplexy. CHIEF + JUSTICE. Well God mend him! I pray you let me speak with you. + FALSTAFF. This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an't + please your lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson + tingling. CHIEF JUSTICE. What tell you me of it? Be it as it is. + FALSTAFF. It hath it original from much grief, from study, and + perturbation of the brain. I have read the cause of his effects in + Galen; it is a kind of deafness. CHIEF JUSTICE. I think you are + fall'n into the disease, for you hear not what I say to you. + FALSTAFF. Very well, my lord, very well. Rather an't please you, it + is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am + troubled withal. CHIEF JUSTICE. To punish you by the heels would + amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your + physician. FALSTAFF. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so + patient. Your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me + in respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow + your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or + indeed a scruple itself. CHIEF JUSTICE. I sent for you, when there + were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. + FALSTAFF. As I was then advis'd by my learned counsel in the laws of + this land-service, I did not come. CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the truth is, + Sir John, you live in great infamy. FALSTAFF. He that buckles himself + in my belt cannot live in less. CHIEF JUSTICE. Your means are very + slender, and your waste is great. FALSTAFF. I would it were + otherwise; I would my means were greater and my waist slenderer. + CHIEF JUSTICE. You have misled the youthful Prince. FALSTAFF. The + young Prince hath misled me. I am the fellow with the great belly, + and he my dog. CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, I am loath to gall a new-heal'd + wound. Your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over + your night's exploit on Gadshill. You may thank th' unquiet time for + your quiet o'erposting that action. FALSTAFF. My lord- CHIEF JUSTICE. + But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. + FALSTAFF. To wake a wolf is as bad as smell a fox. CHIEF JUSTICE. + What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. FALSTAFF. A + wassail candle, my lord- all tallow; if I did say of wax, my growth + would approve the truth. CHIEF JUSTICE. There is not a white hair in + your face but should have his effect of gravity. FALSTAFF. His effect + of gravy, gravy, CHIEF JUSTICE. You follow the young Prince up and + down, like his ill angel. FALSTAFF. Not so, my lord. Your ill angel + is light; but hope he that looks upon me will take me without + weighing. And yet in some respects, I grant, I cannot go- I cannot + tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermongers' times + that true valour is turn'd berod; pregnancy is made a tapster, and + his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings; all the other gifts + appertinent to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are not + worth a gooseberry. You that are old consider not the capacities of + us that are young; you do measure the heat of our livers with the + bitterness of your galls; and we that are in the vaward of our youth, + must confess, are wags too. CHIEF JUSTICE. Do you set down your name + in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the + characters of age? Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow + cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not + your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit + single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity? And will you + yet call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John! FALSTAFF. My lord, + I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white + head and something a round belly. For my voice- I have lost it with + hallooing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will + not. The truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; and + he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the + money, and have at him. For the box of the ear that the Prince gave + you- he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible + lord. I have check'd him for it; and the young lion repents- marry, + not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old sack. CHIEF + JUSTICE. Well, God send the Prince a better companion! FALSTAFF. God + send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, the King hath sever'd you. I hear you are going + with Lord John of Lancaster against the Archbishop and the Earl of + Northumberland. FALSTAFF. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. + But look you pray, all you that kiss my Lady Peace at home, that our + armies join not in a hot day; for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts + out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily. If it be a hot + day, and I brandish anything but a bottle, I would I might never spit + white again. There is not a dangerous action can peep out his head + but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last ever; but it was alway + yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, to + make it too common. If ye will needs say I am an old man, you should + give me rest. I would to God my name were not so terrible to the + enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death with a rust than + to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. CHIEF JUSTICE. Well, + be honest, be honest; and God bless your expedition! FALSTAFF. Will + your lordship lend me a thousand pound to furnish me forth? CHIEF + JUSTICE. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear + crosses. Fare you well. Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Exeunt + CHIEF JUSTICE and SERVANT FALSTAFF. If I do, fillip me with a + three-man beetle. A man can no more separate age and covetousness + than 'a can part young limbs and lechery; but the gout galls the one, + and the pox pinches the other; and so both the degrees prevent my + curses. Boy! PAGE. Sir? FALSTAFF. What money is in my purse? PAGE. + Seven groats and two pence. FALSTAFF. I can get no remedy against + this consumption of the purse; borrowing only lingers and lingers it + out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of + Lancaster; this to the Prince; this to the Earl of Westmoreland; and + this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since + I perceiv'd the first white hair of my chin. About it; you know where + to find me. [Exit PAGE] A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! + for the one or the other plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis no + matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension + shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of anything. + I will turn diseases to commodity. Exit + +SCENE III. York. The ARCHBISHOP'S palace + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP, THOMAS MOWBRAY the EARL MARSHAL, LORD HASTINGS, +and LORD BARDOLPH + + ARCHBISHOP. Thus have you heard our cause and known our means; + And, my most noble friends, I pray you all + Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes- + And first, Lord Marshal, what say you to it? + MOWBRAY. I well allow the occasion of our amis; + But gladly would be better satisfied + How, in our means, we should advance ourselves + To look with forehead bold and big enough + Upon the power and puissance of the King. + HASTINGS. Our present musters grow upon the file + To five and twenty thousand men of choice; + And our supplies live largely in the hope + Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns + With an incensed fire of injuries. + LORD BARDOLPH. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus: + Whether our present five and twenty thousand + May hold up head without Northumberland? + HASTINGS. With him, we may. + LORD BARDOLPH. Yea, marry, there's the point; + But if without him we be thought too feeble, + My judgment is we should not step too far + Till we had his assistance by the hand; + For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, + Conjecture, expectation, and surmise + Of aids incertain, should not be admitted. + ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed + It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. + LORD BARDOLPH. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, + Eating the air and promise of supply, + Flatt'ring himself in project of a power + Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts; + And so, with great imagination + Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, + And, winking, leapt into destruction. + HASTINGS. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt + To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. + LORD BARDOLPH. Yes, if this present quality of war- + Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot- + Lives so in hope, as in an early spring + We see th' appearing buds; which to prove fruit + Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair + That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, + We first survey the plot, then draw the model; + And when we see the figure of the house, + Then we must rate the cost of the erection; + Which if we find outweighs ability, + What do we then but draw anew the model + In fewer offices, or at least desist + To build at all? Much more, in this great work- + Which is almost to pluck a kingdom down + And set another up- should we survey + The plot of situation and the model, + Consent upon a sure foundation, + Question surveyors, know our own estate + How able such a work to undergo- + To weigh against his opposite; or else + We fortify in paper and in figures, + Using the names of men instead of men; + Like one that draws the model of a house + Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, + Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost + A naked subject to the weeping clouds + And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. + HASTINGS. Grant that our hopes- yet likely of fair birth- + Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd + The utmost man of expectation, + I think we are so a body strong enough, + Even as we are, to equal with the King. + LORD BARDOLPH. What, is the King but five and twenty thousand? + HASTINGS. To us no more; nay, not so much, Lord Bardolph; + For his divisions, as the times do brawl, + Are in three heads: one power against the French, + And one against Glendower; perforce a third + Must take up us. So is the unfirm King + In three divided; and his coffers sound + With hollow poverty and emptiness. + ARCHBISHOP. That he should draw his several strengths together + And come against us in full puissance + Need not be dreaded. + HASTINGS. If he should do so, + He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh + Baying at his heels. Never fear that. + LORD BARDOLPH. Who is it like should lead his forces hither? + HASTINGS. The Duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland; + Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth; + But who is substituted against the French + I have no certain notice. + ARCHBISHOP. Let us on, + And publish the occasion of our arms. + The commonwealth is sick of their own choice; + Their over-greedy love hath surfeited. + An habitation giddy and unsure + Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. + O thou fond many, with what loud applause + Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke + Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! + And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, + Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him + That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. + So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge + Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; + And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit up, + And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? + They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die + Are now become enamour'd on his grave. + Thou that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, + When through proud London he came sighing on + After th' admired heels of Bolingbroke, + Criest now 'O earth, yield us that king again, + And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurs'd! + Past and to come seems best; things present, worst. + MOWBRAY. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? + HASTINGS. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. + Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. London. A street + +Enter HOSTESS with two officers, FANG and SNARE + + HOSTESS. Master Fang, have you ent'red the action? + FANG. It is ent'red. + HOSTESS. Where's your yeoman? Is't a lusty yeoman? Will 'a stand + to't? + FANG. Sirrah, where's Snare? + HOSTESS. O Lord, ay! good Master Snare. + SNARE. Here, here. + FANG. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff. + HOSTESS. Yea, good Master Snare; I have ent'red him and all. + SNARE. It may chance cost some of our lives, for he will stab. + HOSTESS. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabb'd me in mine own + house, and that most beastly. In good faith, 'a cares not what + mischief he does, if his weapon be out; he will foin like any + devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. + FANG. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. + HOSTESS. No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow. + FANG. An I but fist him once; an 'a come but within my vice! + HOSTESS. I am undone by his going; I warrant you, he's an + infinitive thing upon my score. Good Master Fang, hold him sure. + Good Master Snare, let him not scape. 'A comes continuantly to + Pie-corner- saving your manhoods- to buy a saddle; and he is + indited to dinner to the Lubber's Head in Lumbert Street, to + Master Smooth's the silkman. I pray you, since my exion is + ent'red, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be + brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor + lone woman to bear; and I have borne, and borne, and borne; and + have been fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, and fubb'd off, from this + day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no + honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass and + a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. + + Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, PAGE, and BARDOLPH + + Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, + with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Master Fang and + Master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices. + FALSTAFF. How now! whose mare's dead? What's the matter? + FANG. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress Quickly. + FALSTAFF. Away, varlets! Draw, Bardolph. Cut me off the villian's + head. Throw the quean in the channel. + HOSTESS. Throw me in the channel! I'll throw thee in the channel. + Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! Murder, murder! Ah, + thou honeysuckle villain! wilt thou kill God's officers and the + King's? Ah, thou honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a + man-queller and a woman-queller. + FALSTAFF. Keep them off, Bardolph. + FANG. A rescue! a rescue! + HOSTESS. Good people, bring a rescue or two. Thou wot, wot thou! + thou wot, wot ta? Do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! + PAGE. Away, you scullion! you rampallian! you fustilarian! + I'll tickle your catastrophe. + + Enter the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE and his men + + CHIEF JUSTICE. What is the matter? Keep the peace here, ho! + HOSTESS. Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you, stand to me. + CHIEF JUSTICE. How now, Sir John! what, are you brawling here? + Doth this become your place, your time, and business? + You should have been well on your way to York. + Stand from him, fellow; wherefore hang'st thou upon him? + HOSTESS. O My most worshipful lord, an't please your Grace, I am a + poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. + CHIEF JUSTICE. For what sum? + HOSTESS. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all- all I + have. He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my + substance into that fat belly of his. But I will have some of it + out again, or I will ride thee a nights like a mare. + FALSTAFF. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any + vantage of ground to get up. + CHIEF JUSTICE. How comes this, Sir John? Fie! What man of good + temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not + ashamed to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by + her own? + FALSTAFF. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? + HOSTESS. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money + too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in + my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon + Wednesday in Wheeson week, when the Prince broke thy head for + liking his father to singing-man of Windsor- thou didst swear to + me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my + lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keech, the + butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickly? Coming + in to borrow a mess of vinegar, telling us she had a good dish of + prawns, whereby thou didst desire to eat some, whereby I told + thee they were ill for green wound? And didst thou not, when she + was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with + such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam? + And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch the thirty + shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath. Deny it, if thou + canst. + FALSTAFF. My lord, this is a poor mad soul, and she says up and + down the town that her eldest son is like you. She hath been in + good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But + for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress + against them. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your + manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a + confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more + than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level + consideration. You have, as it appears to me, practis'd upon the + easy yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses + both in purse and in person. + HOSTESS. Yea, in truth, my lord. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the debt you owe her, and + unpay the villainy you have done with her; the one you may do + with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. + FALSTAFF. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without reply. You + call honourable boldness impudent sauciness; if a man will make + curtsy and say nothing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble + duty rememb'red, I will not be your suitor. I say to you I do + desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty + employment in the King's affairs. + CHIEF JUSTICE. You speak as having power to do wrong; but answer in + th' effect of your reputation, and satisfy the poor woman. + FALSTAFF. Come hither, hostess. + + Enter GOWER + + CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, Master Gower, what news? + GOWER. The King, my lord, and Harry Prince of Wales + Are near at hand. The rest the paper tells. [Gives a letter] + FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! + HOSTESS. Faith, you said so before. + FALSTAFF. As I am a gentleman! Come, no more words of it. + HOSTESS. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn + both my plate and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. + FALSTAFF. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy + walls, a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the Prodigal, or + the German hunting, in water-work, is worth a thousand of these + bed-hangers and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, + if thou canst. Come, and 'twere not for thy humours, there's not + a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw the + action. Come, thou must not be in this humour with me; dost not + know me? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. + HOSTESS. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles; + i' faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, so God save me, la! + FALSTAFF. Let it alone; I'll make other shift. You'll be a fool + still. + HOSTESS. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. + I hope you'll come to supper. you'll pay me all together? + FALSTAFF. Will I live? [To BARDOLPH] Go, with her, with her; hook + on, hook on. + HOSTESS. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at supper? + FALSTAFF. No more words; let's have her. + Exeunt HOSTESS, BARDOLPH, and OFFICERS + CHIEF JUSTICE. I have heard better news. + FALSTAFF. What's the news, my lord? + CHIEF JUSTICE. Where lay the King to-night? + GOWER. At Basingstoke, my lord. + FALSTAFF. I hope, my lord, all's well. What is the news, my lord? + CHIEF JUSTICE. Come all his forces back? + GOWER. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, + Are march'd up to my Lord of Lancaster, + Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. + FALSTAFF. Comes the King back from Wales, my noble lord? + CHIEF JUSTICE. You shall have letters of me presently. + Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. + FALSTAFF. My lord! + CHIEF JUSTICE. What's the matter? + FALSTAFF. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? + GOWER. I must wait upon my good lord here, I thank you, good Sir + John. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to + take soldiers up in counties as you go. + FALSTAFF. Will you sup with me, Master Gower? + CHIEF JUSTICE. What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir + John? + FALSTAFF. Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool that + taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord; tap for + tap, and so part fair. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Now, the Lord lighten thee! Thou art a great fool. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. London. Another street + +Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS + + PRINCE. Before God, I am exceeding weary. + POINS. Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not have + attach'd one of so high blood. + PRINCE. Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion of + my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me to + desire small beer? + POINS. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to + remember so weak a composition. + PRINCE. Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by my + troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But + indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with my + greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name, or + to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of silk + stockings thou hast- viz., these, and those that were thy + peach-colour'd ones- or to bear the inventory of thy shirts- as, + one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the + tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb of + linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast + not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries + have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows whether + those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his + kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the fault; + whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily + strengthened. + POINS. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you + should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would + do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? + PRINCE. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? + POINS. Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent good thing. + PRINCE. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. + POINS. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will + tell. + PRINCE. Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad, now + my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee- as to one it + pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend- I could be + sad and sad indeed too. + POINS. Very hardly upon such a subject. + PRINCE. By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil's book + as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency: let the end + try the man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that my + father is so sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath + in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow. + POINS. The reason? + PRINCE. What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep? + POINS. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. + PRINCE. It would be every man's thought; and thou art a blessed + fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man's thought in the + world keeps the road-way better than thine. Every man would think + me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful + thought to think so? + POINS. Why, because you have been so lewd and so much engraffed to + Falstaff. + PRINCE. And to thee. + POINS. By this light, I am well spoke on; I can hear it with mine + own ears. The worst that they can say of me is that I am a second + brother and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two + things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes + Bardolph. + + Enter BARDOLPH and PAGE + + PRINCE. And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from me + Christian; and look if the fat villain have not transform'd him + ape. + BARDOLPH. God save your Grace! + PRINCE. And yours, most noble Bardolph! + POINS. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you be + blushing? Wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms + are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's + maidenhead? + PAGE. 'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I + could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I + spied his eyes; and methought he had made two holes in the + alewife's new petticoat, and so peep'd through. + PRINCE. Has not the boy profited? + BARDOLPH. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! + PAGE. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, away! + PRINCE. Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy? + PAGE. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamt she was delivered of a + firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream. + PRINCE. A crown's worth of good interpretation. There 'tis, boy. + [Giving a crown] + POINS. O that this blossom could be kept from cankers! + Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. + BARDOLPH. An you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallows + shall have wrong. + PRINCE. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? + BARDOLPH. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace's coming to town. + There's a letter for you. + POINS. Deliver'd with good respect. And how doth the martlemas, + your master? + BARDOLPH. In bodily health, sir. + POINS. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that moves + not him. Though that be sick, it dies not. + PRINCE. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my dog; + and he holds his place, for look you how he writes. + POINS. [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight'- Every man must know that + as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those that + are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but they + say 'There's some of the King's blood spilt.' 'How comes that?' + says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as + ready as a borrower's cap: 'I am the King's poor cousin, sir.' + PRINCE. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from + Japhet. But the letter: [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to + the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, + greeting.' + POINS. Why, this is a certificate. + PRINCE. Peace! [Reads] 'I will imitate the honourable Romans in + brevity.'- + POINS. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. + PRINCE. [Reads] 'I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I + leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses thy + favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. + Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell. + Thine, by yea and no- which is as much as to say as + thou usest him- JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars, + JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with + all Europe.' + POINS. My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him eat it. + PRINCE. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use + me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister? + POINS. God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so. + PRINCE. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits + of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in + London? + BARDOLPH. Yea, my lord. + PRINCE. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank? + BARDOLPH. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap. + PRINCE. What company? + PAGE. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. + PRINCE. Sup any women with him? + PAGE. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll + Tearsheet. + PRINCE. What pagan may that be? + PAGE. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's. + PRINCE. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull. + Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? + POINS. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you. + PRINCE. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that + I am yet come to town. There's for your silence. + BARDOLPH. I have no tongue, sir. + PAGE. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. + PRINCE. Fare you well; go. Exeunt BARDOLPH and PAGE + This Doll Tearsheet should be some road. + POINS. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Albans and + London. + PRINCE. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his + true colours, and not ourselves be seen? + POINS. Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at + his table as drawers. + PRINCE. From a god to a bull? A heavy descension! It was Jove's + case. From a prince to a prentice? A low transformation! That + shall be mine; for in everything the purpose must weigh with the + folly. Follow me, Ned. + Exeunt + +SCENE III. Warkworth. Before the castle + +Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, + Give even way unto my rough affairs; + Put not you on the visage of the times + And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. + LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. I have given over, I will speak no more. + Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; + And but my going nothing can redeem it. + LADY PERCY. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! + The time was, father, that you broke your word, + When you were more endear'd to it than now; + When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, + Threw many a northward look to see his father + Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. + Who then persuaded you to stay at home? + There were two honours lost, yours and your son's. + For yours, the God of heaven brighten it! + For his, it stuck upon him as the sun + In the grey vault of heaven; and by his light + Did all the chivalry of England move + To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass + Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. + He had no legs that practis'd not his gait; + And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, + Became the accents of the valiant; + For those who could speak low and tardily + Would turn their own perfection to abuse + To seem like him: so that in speech, in gait, + In diet, in affections of delight, + In military rules, humours of blood, + He was the mark and glass, copy and book, + That fashion'd others. And him- O wondrous him! + O miracle of men!- him did you leave- + Second to none, unseconded by you- + To look upon the hideous god of war + In disadvantage, to abide a field + Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name + Did seem defensible. So you left him. + Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong + To hold your honour more precise and nice + With others than with him! Let them alone. + The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong. + Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, + To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, + Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew your heart, + Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me + With new lamenting ancient oversights. + But I must go and meet with danger there, + Or it will seek me in another place, + And find me worse provided. + LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. O, fly to Scotland + Till that the nobles and the armed commons + Have of their puissance made a little taste. + LADY PERCY. If they get ground and vantage of the King, + Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, + To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, + First let them try themselves. So did your son; + He was so suff'red; so came I a widow; + And never shall have length of life enough + To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, + That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, + For recordation to my noble husband. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Come, come, go in with me. 'Tis with my mind + As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, + That makes a still-stand, running neither way. + Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop, + But many thousand reasons hold me back. + I will resolve for Scotland. There am I, + Till time and vantage crave my company. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. London. The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap + +Enter FRANCIS and another DRAWER + + FRANCIS. What the devil hast thou brought there-apple-johns? Thou + knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john. + SECOND DRAWER. Mass, thou say'st true. The Prince once set a dish + of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir + Johns; and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now take my leave + of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.' It ang'red him + to the heart; but he hath forgot that. + FRANCIS. Why, then, cover and set them down; and see if thou canst + find out Sneak's noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some + music. + + Enter third DRAWER + + THIRD DRAWER. Dispatch! The room where they supp'd is too hot; + they'll come in straight. + FRANCIS. Sirrah, here will be the Prince and Master Poins anon; and + they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must + not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word. + THIRD DRAWER. By the mass, here will be old uds; it will be an + excellent stratagem. + SECOND DRAWER. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. + Exeunt second and third DRAWERS + + Enter HOSTESS and DOLL TEARSHEET + + HOSTESS. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent + good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart + would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any + rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much + canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes + the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now? + DOLL. Better than I was- hem. + HOSTESS. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold. + Lo, here comes Sir John. + + Enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. [Singing] 'When Arthur first in court'- Empty the + jordan. [Exit FRANCIS]- [Singing] 'And was a worthy king'- How + now, Mistress Doll! + HOSTESS. Sick of a calm; yea, good faith. + FALSTAFF. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they are + sick. + DOLL. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort you + give me? + FALSTAFF. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. + DOLL. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them + not. + FALSTAFF. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make + the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant + that, my poor virtue, grant that. + DOLL. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. + FALSTAFF. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.' For to serve bravely + is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with his + pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the + charg'd chambers bravely- + DOLL. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself! + HOSTESS. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet + but you fall to some discord. You are both, i' good truth, as + rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's + confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be + you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier + vessel. + DOLL. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head? + There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you + have not seen a hulk better stuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll be + friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and whether + I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares. + + Re-enter FRANCIS + + FRANCIS. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below and would speak with you. + DOLL. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it is + the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England. + HOSTESS. If he swagger, let him not come here. No, by my faith! I + must live among my neighbours; I'll no swaggerers. I am in good + name and fame with the very best. Shut the door. There comes no + swaggerers here; I have not liv'd all this while to have + swaggering now. Shut the door, I pray you. + FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear, hostess? + HOSTESS. Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no + swaggerers here. + FALSTAFF. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient. + HOSTESS. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me; and your ancient + swagg'rer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the + debuty, t' other day; and, as he said to me- 'twas no longer ago + than Wednesday last, i' good faith!- 'Neighbour Quickly,' says + he- Master Dumbe, our minister, was by then- 'Neighbour Quickly,' + says he 'receive those that are civil, for' said he 'you are in + an ill name.' Now 'a said so, I can tell whereupon. 'For' says he + 'you are an honest woman and well thought on, therefore take heed + what guests you receive. Receive' says he 'no swaggering + companions.' There comes none here. You would bless you to hear + what he said. No, I'll no swagg'rers. + FALSTAFF. He's no swagg'rer, hostess; a tame cheater, i' faith; you + may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He'll not swagger + with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of + resistance. Call him up, drawer. + Exit FRANCIS + HOSTESS. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, + nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I am + the worse when one says 'swagger.' Feel, masters, how I shake; + look you, I warrant you. + DOLL. So you do, hostess. + HOSTESS. Do I? Yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen leaf. I + cannot abide swagg'rers. + + Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and PAGE + + PISTOL. God save you, Sir John! + FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with + a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess. + PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets. + FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend + her. + HOSTESS. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I'll drink no + more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I. + PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you. + DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor, + base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy + rogue, away! I am meat for your master. + PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy. + DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this + wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the + saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you + basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? + God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much! + PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for this. + FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here. + Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. + HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain. + DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not ashamed + to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would + truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you + have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For tearing + a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him, + rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A + captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as odious + as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before it + was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't. + BARDOLPH. Pray thee go down, good ancient. + FALSTAFF. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll. + PISTOL. Not I! I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear + her; I'll be reveng'd of her. + PAGE. Pray thee go down. + PISTOL. I'll see her damn'd first; to Pluto's damn'd lake, by this + hand, to th' infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. + Hold hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have + we not Hiren here? + HOSTESS. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i' faith; I + beseek you now, aggravate your choler. + PISTOL. These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses, + And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, + Which cannot go but thirty mile a day, + Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, + And Troiant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with + King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar. + Shall we fall foul for toys? + HOSTESS. By my troth, Captain, these are very bitter words. + BARDOLPH. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a brawl anon. + PISTOL. Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren + here? + HOSTESS. O' my word, Captain, there's none such here. What the + good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake, be + quiet. + PISTOL. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis. + Come, give's some sack. + 'Si fortune me tormente sperato me contento.' + Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire. + Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there. + [Laying down his sword] + Come we to full points here, and are etceteras nothings? + FALSTAFF. Pistol, I would be quiet. + PISTOL. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the seven + stars. + DOLL. For God's sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such a + fustian rascal. + PISTOL. Thrust him down stairs! Know we not Galloway nags? + FALSTAFF. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling. + Nay, an 'a do nothing but speak nothing, 'a shall be nothing + here. + BARDOLPH. Come, get you down stairs. + PISTOL. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue? + [Snatching up his sword] + Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days! + Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds + Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say! + HOSTESS. Here's goodly stuff toward! + FALSTAFF. Give me my rapier, boy. + DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. + FALSTAFF. Get you down stairs. + [Drawing and driving PISTOL out] + HOSTESS. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house afore + I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now. + Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. + Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH + DOLL. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you + whoreson little valiant villain, you! + HOSTESS. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? Methought 'a made a shrewd + thrust at your belly. + + Re-enter BARDOLPH + + FALSTAFF. Have you turn'd him out a doors? + BARDOLPH. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk. You have hurt him, sir, i' + th' shoulder. + FALSTAFF. A rascal! to brave me! + DOLL. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou + sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson + chops. Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as + Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better + than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain! + FALSTAFF. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket. + DOLL. Do, an thou dar'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I'll canvass + thee between a pair of sheets. + + Enter musicians + + PAGE. The music is come, sir. + FALSTAFF. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A rascal + bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver. + DOLL. I' faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church. Thou + whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave + fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up thine + old body for heaven? + + Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers + + FALSTAFF. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's-head; do + not bid me remember mine end. + DOLL. Sirrah, what humour's the Prince of? + FALSTAFF. A good shallow young fellow. 'A would have made a good + pantler; 'a would ha' chipp'd bread well. + DOLL. They say Poins has a good wit. + FALSTAFF. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit's as thick as + Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him than is in a + mallet. + DOLL. Why does the Prince love him so, then? + FALSTAFF. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 'a plays at + quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' + ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and + jumps upon join'd-stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears + his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds + no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol + faculties 'a has, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the + which the Prince admits him. For the Prince himself is such + another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their + avoirdupois. + PRINCE. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off? + POINS. Let's beat him before his whore. + PRINCE. Look whe'er the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd + like a parrot. + POINS. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive + performance? + FALSTAFF. Kiss me, Doll. + PRINCE. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says th' + almanac to that? + POINS. And look whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping + to his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper. + FALSTAFF. Thou dost give me flattering busses. + DOLL. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart. + FALSTAFF. I am old, I am old. + DOLL. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of + them all. + FALSTAFF. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money a + Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. 'A + grows late; we'll to bed. Thou't forget me when I am gone. + DOLL. By my troth, thou't set me a-weeping, an thou say'st so. + Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, + hearken a' th' end. + FALSTAFF. Some sack, Francis. + PRINCE & POINS. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing] + FALSTAFF. Ha! a bastard son of the King's? And art thou not Poins + his brother? + PRINCE. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou + lead! + FALSTAFF. A better than thou. I am a gentleman: thou art a drawer. + PRINCE. Very true, sir, and I come to draw you out by the ears. + HOSTESS. O, the Lord preserve thy Grace! By my troth, welcome to + London. Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine. O Jesu, are + you come from Wales? + FALSTAFF. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light + flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. + [Leaning his band upon DOLL] + DOLL. How, you fat fool! I scorn you. + POINS. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and turn all + to a merriment, if you take not the heat. + PRINCE. YOU whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of + me even now before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman! + HOSTESS. God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is, by my + troth. + FALSTAFF. Didst thou hear me? + PRINCE. Yea; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by + Gadshill. You knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to + try my patience. + FALSTAFF. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within + hearing. + PRINCE. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse, and + then I know how to handle you. + FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour; no abuse. + PRINCE. Not- to dispraise me, and call me pander, and + bread-chipper, and I know not what! + FALSTAFF. No abuse, Hal. + POINS. No abuse! + FALSTAFF. No abuse, Ned, i' th' world; honest Ned, none. I + disprais'd him before the wicked- that the wicked might not fall + in love with thee; in which doing, I have done the part of a + careful friend and a true subject; and thy father is to give me + thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none; no, faith, boys, + none. + PRINCE. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth not + make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is + she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy + boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his + nose, of the wicked? + POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. + FALSTAFF. The fiend hath prick'd down Bardolph irrecoverable; and + his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but + roast malt-worms. For the boy- there is a good angel about him; + but the devil outbids him too. + PRINCE. For the women? + FALSTAFF. For one of them- she's in hell already, and burns poor + souls. For th' other- I owe her money; and whether she be damn'd + for that, I know not. + HOSTESS. No, I warrant you. + FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for that. + Marry, there is another indictment upon thee for suffering flesh + to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which I + think thou wilt howl. + HOSTESS. All vict'lers do so. What's a joint of mutton or two in a + whole Lent? + PRINCE. You, gentlewoman- + DOLL. What says your Grace? + FALSTAFF. His Grace says that which his flesh rebels against. + [Knocking within] + HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th' door there, + Francis. + + Enter PETO + + PRINCE. Peto, how now! What news? + PETO. The King your father is at Westminster; + And there are twenty weak and wearied posts + Come from the north; and as I came along + I met and overtook a dozen captains, + Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, + And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. + PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame + So idly to profane the precious time, + When tempest of commotion, like the south, + Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt + And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. + Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night. + + Exeunt PRINCE, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH + + FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we + must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking within] More + knocking at the door! + + Re-enter BARDOLPH + + How now! What's the matter? + BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently; + A dozen captains stay at door for you. + FALSTAFF. [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.- Farewell, + hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of + merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the man of + action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent + away post, I will see you again ere I go. + DOLL. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst! + Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. + FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell. + Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH + HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these twenty-nine + years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man + -well fare thee well. + BARDOLPH. [ Within] Mistress Tearsheet! + HOSTESS. What's the matter? + BARDOLPH. [ Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master. + HOSTESS. O, run Doll, run, run, good Come. [To BARDOLPH] She + comes blubber'd.- Yea, will you come, Doll? Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. Westminster. The palace + +Enter the KING in his nightgown, with a page + + KING. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick; + But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters + And well consider of them. Make good speed. Exit page + How many thousands of my poorest subjects + Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep, + Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, + That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, + And steep my senses in forgetfulness? + Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, + Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, + And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, + Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, + Under the canopies of costly state, + And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody? + O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile + In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch + A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell? + Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast + Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains + In cradle of the rude imperious surge, + And in the visitation of the winds, + Who take the ruffian billows by the top, + Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them + With deafing clamour in the slippery clouds, + That with the hurly death itself awakes? + Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose + To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; + And in the calmest and most stillest night, + With all appliances and means to boot, + Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down! + Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. + + Enter WARWICK and Surrey + + WARWICK. Many good morrows to your Majesty! + KING. Is it good morrow, lords? + WARWICK. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. + KING. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords. + Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? + WARWICK. We have, my liege. + KING. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom + How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, + And with what danger, near the heart of it. + WARWICK. It is but as a body yet distempered; + Which to his former strength may be restored + With good advice and little medicine. + My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. + KING. O God! that one might read the book of fate, + And see the revolution of the times + Make mountains level, and the continent, + Weary of solid firmness, melt itself + Into the sea; and other times to see + The beachy girdle of the ocean + Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, + And changes fill the cup of alteration + With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, + The happiest youth, viewing his progress through, + What perils past, what crosses to ensue, + Would shut the book and sit him down and die. + 'Tis not ten years gone + Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends, + Did feast together, and in two years after + Were they at wars. It is but eight years since + This Percy was the man nearest my soul; + Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs + And laid his love and life under my foot; + Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard + Gave him defiance. But which of you was by- + [To WARWICK] You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember- + When Richard, with his eye brim full of tears, + Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, + Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? + 'Northumberland, thou ladder by the which + My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne'- + Though then, God knows, I had no such intent + But that necessity so bow'd the state + That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss- + 'The time shall come'- thus did he follow it- + 'The time will come that foul sin, gathering head, + Shall break into corruption' so went on, + Foretelling this same time's condition + And the division of our amity. + WARWICK. There is a history in all men's lives, + Figuring the natures of the times deceas'd; + The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, + With a near aim, of the main chance of things + As yet not come to life, who in their seeds + And weak beginning lie intreasured. + Such things become the hatch and brood of time; + And, by the necessary form of this, + King Richard might create a perfect guess + That great Northumberland, then false to him, + Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; + Which should not find a ground to root upon + Unless on you. + KING. Are these things then necessities? + Then let us meet them like necessities; + And that same word even now cries out on us. + They say the Bishop and Northumberland + Are fifty thousand strong. + WARWICK. It cannot be, my lord. + Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, + The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace + To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord, + The powers that you already have sent forth + Shall bring this prize in very easily. + To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd + A certain instance that Glendower is dead. + Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill; + And these unseasoned hours perforce must ad + Unto your sickness. + KING. I will take your counsel. + And, were these inward wars once out of hand, + We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice, SHALLOW'S house + +Enter SHALLOW and SILENCE, meeting; MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, +BULLCALF, and servants behind + + SHALLOW. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir; give me + your hand, sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth my + good cousin Silence? + SILENCE. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. + SHALLOW. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest + daughter and mine, my god-daughter Ellen? + SILENCE. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow! + SHALLOW. By yea and no, sir. I dare say my cousin William is become + a good scholar; he is at Oxford still, is he not? + SILENCE. Indeed, sir, to my cost. + SHALLOW. 'A must, then, to the Inns o' Court shortly. I was once of + Clement's Inn; where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet. + SILENCE. You were call'd 'lusty Shallow' then, cousin. + SHALLOW. By the mass, I was call'd anything; and I would have done + anything indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little + John Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis + Pickbone, and Will Squele a Cotsole man- you had not four such + swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. And I may say to + you we knew where the bona-robas were, and had the best of them + all at commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, boy, + and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. + SILENCE. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about + soldiers? + SHALLOW. The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break + Scoggin's head at the court gate, when 'a was a crack not thus + high; and the very same day did I fight with one Sampson + Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. Jesu, Jesu, the mad + days that I have spent! and to see how many of my old + acquaintance are dead! + SILENCE. We shall all follow, cousin. + SHALLOW. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure. Death, as the + Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all shall die. How a good yoke + of bullocks at Stamford fair? + SILENCE. By my troth, I was not there. + SHALLOW. Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet? + SILENCE. Dead, sir. + SHALLOW. Jesu, Jesu, dead! drew a good bow; and dead! 'A shot a + fine shoot. John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on + his head. Dead! 'A would have clapp'd i' th' clout at twelve + score, and carried you a forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen + and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see. + How a score of ewes now? + SILENCE. Thereafter as they be- a score of good ewes may be worth + ten pounds. + SHALLOW. And is old Double dead? + + Enter BARDOLPH, and one with him + + SILENCE. Here come two of Sir John Falstaffs men, as I think. + SHALLOW. Good morrow, honest gentlemen. + BARDOLPH. I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow? + SHALLOW. I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this county, + and one of the King's justices of the peace. What is your good + pleasure with me? + BARDOLPH. My captain, sir, commends him to you; my captain, Sir + John Falstaff- a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant + leader. + SHALLOW. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good back-sword man. + How doth the good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife doth? + BARDOLPH. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommodated than with a + wife. + SHALLOW. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well said indeed + too. 'Better accommodated!' It is good; yea, indeed, is it. Good + phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. + 'Accommodated!' It comes of accommodo. Very good; a good phrase. + BARDOLPH. Pardon, sir; I have heard the word. 'Phrase' call you it? + By this day, I know not the phrase; but I will maintain the word + with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding + good command, by heaven. Accommodated: that is, when a man is, as + they say, accommodated; or, when a man is being-whereby 'a may be + thought to be accommodated; which is an excellent thing. + + Enter FALSTAFF + + SHALLOW. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me + your good hand, give me your worship's good hand. By my troth, + you like well and bear your years very well. Welcome, good Sir + John. + FALSTAFF. I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. + Master Surecard, as I think? + SHALLOW. No, Sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with + me. + FALSTAFF. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the + peace. + SILENCE. Your good worship is welcome. + FALSTAFF. Fie! this is hot weather. Gentlemen, have you provided me + here half a dozen sufficient men? + SHALLOW. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit? + FALSTAFF. Let me see them, I beseech you. + SHALLOW. Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Where's the roll? Let + me see, let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so,- so, so- yea, + marry, sir. Rafe Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do + so, let them do so. Let me see; where is Mouldy? + MOULDY. Here, an't please you. + SHALLOW. What think you, Sir John? A good-limb'd fellow; young, + strong, and of good friends. + FALSTAFF. Is thy name Mouldy? + MOULDY. Yea, an't please you. + FALSTAFF. 'Tis the more time thou wert us'd. + SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are + mouldy lack use. Very singular good! In faith, well said, Sir + John; very well said. + FALSTAFF. Prick him. + MOULDY. I was prick'd well enough before, an you could have let me + alone. My old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry + and her drudgery. You need not to have prick'd me; there are + other men fitter to go out than I. + FALSTAFF. Go to; peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time + you were spent. + MOULDY. Spent! + SHALLOW. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; know you where you are? + For th' other, Sir John- let me see. Simon Shadow! + FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to be + a cold soldier. + SHALLOW. Where's Shadow? + SHADOW. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Shadow, whose son art thou? + SHADOW. My mother's son, sir. + FALSTAFF. Thy mother's son! Like enough; and thy father's shadow. + So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often + so indeed; but much of the father's substance! + SHALLOW. Do you like him, Sir John? + FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him; for we have a + number of shadows fill up the muster-book. + SHALLOW. Thomas Wart! + FALSTAFF. Where's he? + WART. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart? + WART. Yea, sir. + FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart. + SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John? + FALSTAFF. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built upon his + back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more. + SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir; you can do it. I commend + you well. Francis Feeble! + FEEBLE. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble? + FEEBLE. A woman's tailor, sir. + SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir? + FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man's tailor, he'd ha' + prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as + thou hast done in a woman's petticoat? + FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. + FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous + Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most + magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman's tailor- well, Master + Shallow, deep, Master Shallow. + FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir. + FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend + him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private + soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that + suffice, most forcible Feeble. + FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir. + FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? + SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o' th' green! + FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. + BULLCALF. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till + he roar again. + BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain- + FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art prick'd? + BULLCALF. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man. + FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou? + BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with + ringing in the King's affairs upon his coronation day, sir. + FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. We will have + away thy cold; and I will take such order that thy friends shall + ring for thee. Is here all? + SHALLOW. Here is two more call'd than your number. You must have + but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. + FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry + dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the + windmill in Saint George's Field? + FALSTAFF. No more of that, Master Shallow, no more of that. + SHALLOW. Ha, 'twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive? + FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. She never could away with me. + FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide + Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th' heart. She was then + a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well? + FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose but be old; + certain she's old; and had Robin Nightwork, by old Nightwork, + before I came to Clement's Inn. + SILENCE. That's fifty-five year ago. + SHALLOW. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this + knight and I have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well? + FALSTAFF. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir + John, we have. Our watchword was 'Hem, boys!' Come, let's to + dinner; come, let's to dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen! + Come, come. + Exeunt FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES + BULLCALF. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and + here's four Harry ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very + truth, sir, I had as lief be hang'd, sir, as go. And yet, for + mine own part, sir, I do not care; but rather because I am + unwilling and, for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my + friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part so much. + BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside. + MOULDY. And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame's sake, + stand my friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I + am gone; and she is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have + forty, sir. + BARDOLPH. Go to; stand aside. + FEEBLE. By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God + a death. I'll ne'er bear a base mind. An't be my destiny, so; + an't be not, so. No man's too good to serve 's Prince; and, let + it go which way it will, he that dies this year is quit for the + next. + BARDOLPH. Well said; th'art a good fellow. + FEEBLE. Faith, I'll bear no base mind. + + Re-enter FALSTAFF and the JUSTICES + + FALSTAFF. Come, sir, which men shall I have? + SHALLOW. Four of which you please. + BARDOLPH. Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free Mouldy + and Bullcalf. + FALSTAFF. Go to; well. + SHALLOW. Come, Sir John, which four will you have? + FALSTAFF. Do you choose for me. + SHALLOW. Marry, then- Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow. + FALSTAFF. Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till + you are past service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow you come + unto it. I will none of you. + SHALLOW. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your + likeliest men, and I would have you serv'd with the best. + FALSTAFF. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man? + Care I for the limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big + assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here's + Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is. 'A shall charge you + and discharge you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer, come + off and on swifter than he that gibbets on the brewer's bucket. + And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow- give me this man. He + presents no mark to the enemy; the foeman may with as great aim + level at the edge of a penknife. And, for a retreat- how swiftly + will this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me the + spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into + Wart's hand, Bardolph. + BARDOLPH. Hold, Wart. Traverse- thus, thus, thus. + FALSTAFF. Come, manage me your caliver. So- very well. Go to; very + good; exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, + chopt, bald shot. Well said, i' faith, Wart; th'art a good scab. + Hold, there's a tester for thee. + SHALLOW. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do it right. I + remember at Mile-end Green, when I lay at Clement's Inn- I was + then Sir Dagonet in Arthur's show- there was a little quiver + fellow, and 'a would manage you his piece thus; and 'a would + about and about, and come you in and come you in. 'Rah, tah, + tah!' would 'a say; 'Bounce!' would 'a say; and away again would + 'a go, and again would 'a come. I shall ne'er see such a fellow. + FALSTAFF. These fellows will do well. Master Shallow, God keep you! + Master Silence, I will not use many words with you: Fare you + well! Gentlemen both, I thank you. I must a dozen mile to-night. + Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. + SHALLOW. Sir John, the Lord bless you; God prosper your affairs; + God send us peace! At your return, visit our house; let our old + acquaintance be renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the + court. + FALSTAFF. Fore God, would you would. + SHALLOW. Go to; I have spoke at a word. God keep you. + FALSTAFF. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [Exeunt JUSTICES] On, + Bardolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt all but FALSTAFF] As I + return, I will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of + justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this + vice of lying! This same starv'd justice hath done nothing but + prate to me of the wildness of his youth and the feats he hath + done about Turnbull Street; and every third word a lie, duer paid + to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at + Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring. + When 'a was naked, he was for all the world like a fork'd radish, + with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. 'A was so + forlorn that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible. 'A + was the very genius of famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the + whores call'd him mandrake. 'A came ever in the rearward of the + fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutch'd huswifes that + he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his fancies or + his good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger become a squire, + and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn + brother to him; and I'll be sworn 'a ne'er saw him but once in + the Tiltyard; and then he burst his head for crowding among the + marshal's men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat his own + name; for you might have thrust him and all his apparel into an + eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a + court- and now has he land and beeves. Well, I'll be acquainted + with him if I return; and 't shall go hard but I'll make him a + philosopher's two stones to me. If the young dace be a bait for + the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature but I may snap + at him. Let time shape, and there an end. Exit + +ACT IV. SCENE I. Yorkshire. Within the Forest of Gaultree + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, MOWBRAY, HASTINGS, and others + + ARCHBISHOP. What is this forest call'd + HASTINGS. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please your Grace. + ARCHBISHOP. Here stand, my lords, and send discoverers forth + To know the numbers of our enemies. + HASTINGS. We have sent forth already. + ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis well done. + My friends and brethren in these great affairs, + I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd + New-dated letters from Northumberland; + Their cold intent, tenour, and substance, thus: + Here doth he wish his person, with such powers + As might hold sortance with his quality, + The which he could not levy; whereupon + He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, + To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers + That your attempts may overlive the hazard + And fearful meeting of their opposite. + MOWBRAY. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground + And dash themselves to pieces. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + HASTINGS. Now, what news? + MESSENGER. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, + In goodly form comes on the enemy; + And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number + Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. + MOWBRAY. The just proportion that we gave them out. + Let us sway on and face them in the field. + + Enter WESTMORELAND + + ARCHBISHOP. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? + MOWBRAY. I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. + WESTMORELAND. Health and fair greeting from our general, + The Prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. + ARCHBISHOP. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, in peace, + What doth concern your coming. + WESTMORELAND. Then, my lord, + Unto your Grace do I in chief address + The substance of my speech. If that rebellion + Came like itself, in base and abject routs, + Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, + And countenanc'd by boys and beggary- + I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd + In his true, native, and most proper shape, + You, reverend father, and these noble lords, + Had not been here to dress the ugly form + Of base and bloody insurrection + With your fair honours. You, Lord Archbishop, + Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd, + Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd, + Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd, + Whose white investments figure innocence, + The dove, and very blessed spirit of peace- + Wherefore you do so ill translate yourself + Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, + Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war; + Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, + Your pens to lances, and your tongue divine + To a loud trumpet and a point of war? + ARCHBISHOP. Wherefore do I this? So the question stands. + Briefly to this end: we are all diseas'd + And with our surfeiting and wanton hours + Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, + And we must bleed for it; of which disease + Our late King, Richard, being infected, died. + But, my most noble Lord of Westmoreland, + I take not on me here as a physician; + Nor do I as an enemy to peace + Troop in the throngs of military men; + But rather show awhile like fearful war + To diet rank minds sick of happiness, + And purge th' obstructions which begin to stop + Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. + I have in equal balance justly weigh'd + What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, + And find our griefs heavier than our offences. + We see which way the stream of time doth run + And are enforc'd from our most quiet there + By the rough torrent of occasion; + And have the summary of all our griefs, + When time shall serve, to show in articles; + Which long ere this we offer'd to the King, + And might by no suit gain our audience: + When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, + We are denied access unto his person, + Even by those men that most have done us wrong. + The dangers of the days but newly gone, + Whose memory is written on the earth + With yet appearing blood, and the examples + Of every minute's instance, present now, + Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms; + Not to break peace, or any branch of it, + But to establish here a peace indeed, + Concurring both in name and quality. + WESTMORELAND. When ever yet was your appeal denied; + Wherein have you been galled by the King; + What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you + That you should seal this lawless bloody book + Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, + And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? + ARCHBISHOP. My brother general, the commonwealth, + To brother horn an household cruelty, + I make my quarrel in particular. + WESTMORELAND. There is no need of any such redress; + Or if there were, it not belongs to you. + MOWBRAY. Why not to him in part, and to us all + That feel the bruises of the days before, + And suffer the condition of these times + To lay a heavy and unequal hand + Upon our honours? + WESTMORELAND. O my good Lord Mowbray, + Construe the times to their necessities, + And you shall say, indeed, it is the time, + And not the King, that doth you injuries. + Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, + Either from the King or in the present time, + That you should have an inch of any ground + To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd + To all the Duke of Norfolk's signiories, + Your noble and right well-rememb'red father's? + MOWBRAY. What thing, in honour, had my father lost + That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me? + The King that lov'd him, as the state stood then, + Was force perforce compell'd to banish him, + And then that Henry Bolingbroke and he, + Being mounted and both roused in their seats, + Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, + Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down, + Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, + And the loud trumpet blowing them together- + Then, then, when there was nothing could have stay'd + My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, + O, when the King did throw his warder down- + His own life hung upon the staff he threw- + Then threw he down himself, and all their lives + That by indictment and by dint of sword + Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. + WESTMORELAND. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you know not what. + The Earl of Hereford was reputed then + In England the most valiant gentleman. + Who knows on whom fortune would then have smil'd? + But if your father had been victor there, + He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry; + For all the country, in a general voice, + Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers and love + Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, + And bless'd and grac'd indeed more than the King. + But this is mere digression from my purpose. + Here come I from our princely general + To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace + That he will give you audience; and wherein + It shall appear that your demands are just, + You shall enjoy them, everything set off + That might so much as think you enemies. + MOWBRAY. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer; + And it proceeds from policy, not love. + WESTMORELAND. Mowbray. you overween to take it so. + This offer comes from mercy, not from fear; + For, lo! within a ken our army lies- + Upon mine honour, all too confident + To give admittance to a thought of fear. + Our battle is more full of names than yours, + Our men more perfect in the use of arms, + Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; + Then reason will our hearts should be as good. + Say you not, then, our offer is compell'd. + MOWBRAY. Well, by my will we shall admit no parley. + WESTMORELAND. That argues but the shame of your offence: + A rotten case abides no handling. + HASTINGS. Hath the Prince John a full commission, + In very ample virtue of his father, + To hear and absolutely to determine + Of what conditions we shall stand upon? + WESTMORELAND. That is intended in the general's name. + I muse you make so slight a question. + ARCHBISHOP. Then take, my Lord of Westmoreland, this schedule, + For this contains our general grievances. + Each several article herein redress'd, + All members of our cause, both here and hence, + That are insinewed to this action, + Acquitted by a true substantial form, + And present execution of our wills + To us and to our purposes confin'd- + We come within our awful banks again, + And knit our powers to the arm of peace. + WESTMORELAND. This will I show the general. Please you, lords, + In sight of both our battles we may meet; + And either end in peace- which God so frame!- + Or to the place of diff'rence call the swords + Which must decide it. + ARCHBISHOP. My lord, we will do so. Exit WESTMORELAND + MOWBRAY. There is a thing within my bosom tells me + That no conditions of our peace can stand. + HASTINGS. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace + Upon such large terms and so absolute + As our conditions shall consist upon, + Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. + MOWBRAY. Yea, but our valuation shall be such + That every slight and false-derived cause, + Yea, every idle, nice, and wanton reason, + Shall to the King taste of this action; + That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, + We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind + That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, + And good from bad find no partition. + ARCHBISHOP. No, no, my lord. Note this: the King is weary + Of dainty and such picking grievances; + For he hath found to end one doubt by death + Revives two greater in the heirs of life; + And therefore will he wipe his tables clean, + And keep no tell-tale to his memory + That may repeat and history his los + To new remembrance. For full well he knows + He cannot so precisely weed this land + As his misdoubts present occasion: + His foes are so enrooted with his friends + That, plucking to unfix an enemy, + He doth unfasten so and shake a friend. + So that this land, like an offensive wife + That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes, + As he is striking, holds his infant up, + And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm + That was uprear'd to execution. + HASTINGS. Besides, the King hath wasted all his rods + On late offenders, that he now doth lack + The very instruments of chastisement; + So that his power, like to a fangless lion, + May offer, but not hold. + ARCHBISHOP. 'Tis very true; + And therefore be assur'd, my good Lord Marshal, + If we do now make our atonement well, + Our peace will, like a broken limb united, + Grow stronger for the breaking. + MOWBRAY. Be it so. + Here is return'd my Lord of Westmoreland. + + Re-enter WESTMORELAND + + WESTMORELAND. The Prince is here at hand. Pleaseth your lordship + To meet his Grace just distance 'tween our armies? + MOWBRAY. Your Grace of York, in God's name then, set forward. + ARCHBISHOP. Before, and greet his Grace. My lord, we come. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. Another part of the forest + +Enter, from one side, MOWBRAY, attended; afterwards, the ARCHBISHOP, +HASTINGS, and others; from the other side, PRINCE JOHN of LANCASTER, +WESTMORELAND, OFFICERS, and others + + PRINCE JOHN. You are well encount'red here, my cousin Mowbray. + Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop; + And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. + My Lord of York, it better show'd with you + When that your flock, assembled by the bell, + Encircled you to hear with reverence + Your exposition on the holy text + Than now to see you here an iron man, + Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, + Turning the word to sword, and life to death. + That man that sits within a monarch's heart + And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, + Would he abuse the countenance of the king, + Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach + In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop, + It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken + How deep you were within the books of God? + To us the speaker in His parliament, + To us th' imagin'd voice of God himself, + The very opener and intelligencer + Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, + And our dull workings. O, who shall believe + But you misuse the reverence of your place, + Employ the countenance and grace of heav'n + As a false favourite doth his prince's name, + In deeds dishonourable? You have ta'en up, + Under the counterfeited zeal of God, + The subjects of His substitute, my father, + And both against the peace of heaven and him + Have here up-swarm'd them. + ARCHBISHOP. Good my Lord of Lancaster, + I am not here against your father's peace; + But, as I told my Lord of Westmoreland, + The time misord'red doth, in common sense, + Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form + To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace + The parcels and particulars of our grief, + The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court, + Whereon this hydra son of war is born; + Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep + With grant of our most just and right desires; + And true obedience, of this madness cur'd, + Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. + MOWBRAY. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes + To the last man. + HASTINGS. And though we here fall down, + We have supplies to second our attempt. + If they miscarry, theirs shall second them; + And so success of mischief shall be born, + And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up + Whiles England shall have generation. + PRINCE JOHN. YOU are too shallow, Hastings, much to shallow, + To sound the bottom of the after-times. + WESTMORELAND. Pleaseth your Grace to answer them directly + How far forth you do like their articles. + PRINCE JOHN. I like them all and do allow them well; + And swear here, by the honour of my blood, + My father's purposes have been mistook; + And some about him have too lavishly + Wrested his meaning and authority. + My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd; + Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, + Discharge your powers unto their several counties, + As we will ours; and here, between the armies, + Let's drink together friendly and embrace, + That all their eyes may bear those tokens home + Of our restored love and amity. + ARCHBISHOP. I take your princely word for these redresses. + PRINCE JOHN. I give it you, and will maintain my word; + And thereupon I drink unto your Grace. + HASTINGS. Go, Captain, and deliver to the army + This news of peace. Let them have pay, and part. + I know it will please them. Hie thee, Captain. + Exit Officer + ARCHBISHOP. To you, my noble Lord of Westmoreland. + WESTMORELAND. I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains + I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, + You would drink freely; but my love to ye + Shall show itself more openly hereafter. + ARCHBISHOP. I do not doubt you. + WESTMORELAND. I am glad of it. + Health to my lord and gentle cousin, Mowbray. + MOWBRAY. You wish me health in very happy season, + For I am on the sudden something ill. + ARCHBISHOP. Against ill chances men are ever merry; + But heaviness foreruns the good event. + WESTMORELAND. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow + Serves to say thus, 'Some good thing comes to-morrow.' + ARCHBISHOP. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. + MOWBRAY. So much the worse, if your own rule be true. + [Shouts within] + PRINCE JOHN. The word of peace is rend'red. Hark, how they shout! + MOWBRAY. This had been cheerful after victory. + ARCHBISHOP. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; + For then both parties nobly are subdu'd, + And neither party loser. + PRINCE JOHN. Go, my lord, + And let our army be discharged too. + Exit WESTMORELAND + And, good my lord, so please you let our trains + March by us, that we may peruse the men + We should have cop'd withal. + ARCHBISHOP. Go, good Lord Hastings, + And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. + Exit HASTINGS + PRINCE JOHN. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-night together. + + Re-enter WESTMORELAND + + Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? + WESTMORELAND. The leaders, having charge from you to stand, + Will not go off until they hear you speak. + PRINCE JOHN. They know their duties. + + Re-enter HASTINGS + + HASTINGS. My lord, our army is dispers'd already. + Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their courses + East, west, north, south; or like a school broke up, + Each hurries toward his home and sporting-place. + WESTMORELAND. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings; for the which + I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason; + And you, Lord Archbishop, and you, Lord Mowbray, + Of capital treason I attach you both. + MOWBRAY. Is this proceeding just and honourable? + WESTMORELAND. Is your assembly so? + ARCHBISHOP. Will you thus break your faith? + PRINCE JOHN. I pawn'd thee none: + I promis'd you redress of these same grievances + Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, + I will perform with a most Christian care. + But for you, rebels- look to taste the due + Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. + Most shallowly did you these arms commence, + Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. + Strike up our drums, pursue the scatt'red stray. + God, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. + Some guard these traitors to the block of death, + Treason's true bed and yielder-up of breath. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Another part of the forest + +Alarum; excursions. Enter FALSTAFF and COLVILLE, meeting + + FALSTAFF. What's your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of + what place, I pray? + COLVILLE. I am a knight sir; and my name is Colville of the Dale. + FALSTAFF. Well then, Colville is your name, a knight is your + degree, and your place the Dale. Colville shall still be your + name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place- a place + deep enough; so shall you be still Colville of the Dale. + COLVILLE. Are not you Sir John Falstaff? + FALSTAFF. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do you yield, + sir, or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops + of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death; therefore rouse up + fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy. + COLVILLE. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that thought + yield me. + FALSTAFF. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; + and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. + An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most + active fellow in Europe. My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me. + Here comes our general. + + Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WESTMORELAND, + BLUNT, and others + + PRINCE JOHN. The heat is past; follow no further now. + Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. + Exit WESTMORELAND + Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? + When everything is ended, then you come. + These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, + One time or other break some gallows' back. + FALSTAFF. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never + knew yet but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you + think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? Have I, in my poor and + old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with + the very extremest inch of possibility; I have found'red nine + score and odd posts; and here, travel tainted as I am, have, in + my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir John Colville of the + Dale,a most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what of that? + He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd + fellow of Rome-I came, saw, and overcame. + PRINCE JOHN. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving. + FALSTAFF. I know not. Here he is, and here I yield him; and I + beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this day's + deeds; or, by the Lord, I will have it in a particular ballad + else, with mine own picture on the top on't, Colville kissing my + foot; to the which course if I be enforc'd, if you do not all + show like gilt twopences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, + o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the + element, which show like pins' heads to her, believe not the word + of the noble. Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. + PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too heavy to mount. + FALSTAFF. Let it shine, then. + PRINCE JOHN. Thine's too thick to shine. + FALSTAFF. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, + and call it what you will. + PRINCE JOHN. Is thy name Colville? + COLVILLE. It is, my lord. + PRINCE JOHN. A famous rebel art thou, Colville. + FALSTAFF. And a famous true subject took him. + COLVILLE. I am, my lord, but as my betters are + That led me hither. Had they been rul'd by me, + You should have won them dearer than you have. + FALSTAFF. I know not how they sold themselves; but thou, like a + kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis; and I thank thee for + thee. + + Re-enter WESTMORELAND + + PRINCE JOHN. Now, have you left pursuit? + WESTMORELAND. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. + PRINCE JOHN. Send Colville, with his confederates, + To York, to present execution. + Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. + Exeunt BLUNT and others + And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords. + I hear the King my father is sore sick. + Our news shall go before us to his Majesty, + Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him + And we with sober speed will follow you. + FALSTAFF. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through + Gloucestershire; and, when you come to court, stand my good lord, + pray, in your good report. + PRINCE JOHN. Fare you well, Falstaff. I, in my condition, + Shall better speak of you than you deserve. + Exeunt all but FALSTAFF + FALSTAFF. I would you had but the wit; 'twere better than your + dukedom. Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not + love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh- but that's no marvel; + he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys come + to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and + making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male + green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They + are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too, + but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold + operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all + the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it + apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and + delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, + which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of + your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before, + cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the + badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it, + and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It + illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the + rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital + commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their + captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue, + doth any deed of courage- and this valour comes of sherris. So + that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets + it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil + till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes + it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did + naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and + bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent + endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, + that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, + the first humane principle I would teach them should be to + forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. + + Enter BARDOLPH + + How now, Bardolph! + BARDOLPH. The army is discharged all and gone. + FALSTAFF. Let them go. I'll through Gloucestershire, and there will + I visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already + temp'ring between my finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal + with him. Come away. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber + +Enter the KING, PRINCE THOMAS OF CLARENCE, PRINCE HUMPHREY OF +GLOUCESTER, +WARWICK, and others + + KING. Now, lords, if God doth give successful end + To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, + We will our youth lead on to higher fields, + And draw no swords but what are sanctified. + Our navy is address'd, our power connected, + Our substitutes in absence well invested, + And everything lies level to our wish. + Only we want a little personal strength; + And pause us till these rebels, now afoot, + Come underneath the yoke of government. + WARWICK. Both which we doubt not but your Majesty + Shall soon enjoy. + KING. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, + Where is the Prince your brother? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. + KING. And how accompanied? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. I do not know, my lord. + KING. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, with him? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. No, my good lord, he is in presence here. + CLARENCE. What would my lord and father? + KING. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. + How chance thou art not with the Prince thy brother? + He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas. + Thou hast a better place in his affection + Than all thy brothers; cherish it, my boy, + And noble offices thou mayst effect + Of mediation, after I am dead, + Between his greatness and thy other brethren. + Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love, + Nor lose the good advantage of his grace + By seeming cold or careless of his will; + For he is gracious if he be observ'd. + He hath a tear for pity and a hand + Open as day for melting charity; + Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he is flint; + As humorous as winter, and as sudden + As flaws congealed in the spring of day. + His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd. + Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, + When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth; + But, being moody, give him line and scope + Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, + Confound themselves with working. Learn this, Thomas, + And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, + A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, + That the united vessel of their blood, + Mingled with venom of suggestion- + As, force perforce, the age will pour it in- + Shall never leak, though it do work as strong + As aconitum or rash gunpowder. + CLARENCE. I shall observe him with all care and love. + KING. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? + CLARENCE. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. + KING. And how accompanied? Canst thou tell that? + CLARENCE. With Poins, and other his continual followers. + KING. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; + And he, the noble image of my youth, + Is overspread with them; therefore my grief + Stretches itself beyond the hour of death. + The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, + In forms imaginary, th'unguided days + And rotten times that you shall look upon + When I am sleeping with my ancestors. + For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, + When rage and hot blood are his counsellors + When means and lavish manners meet together, + O, with what wings shall his affections fly + Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! + WARWICK. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite. + The Prince but studies his companions + Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the language, + 'Tis needful that the most immodest word + Be look'd upon and learnt; which once attain'd, + Your Highness knows, comes to no further use + But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, + The Prince will, in the perfectness of time, + Cast off his followers; and their memory + Shall as a pattern or a measure live + By which his Grace must mete the lives of other, + Turning past evils to advantages. + KING. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb + In the dead carrion. + + Enter WESTMORELAND + + Who's here? Westmoreland? + WESTMORELAND. Health to my sovereign, and new happiness + Added to that that am to deliver! + Prince John, your son, doth kiss your Grace's hand. + Mowbray, the Bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, + Are brought to the correction of your law. + There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, + But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. + The manner how this action hath been borne + Here at more leisure may your Highness read, + With every course in his particular. + KING. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, + Which ever in the haunch of winter sings + The lifting up of day. + + Enter HARCOURT + + Look here's more news. + HARCOURT. From enemies heaven keep your Majesty; + And, when they stand against you, may they fall + As those that I am come to tell you of! + The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bardolph, + With a great power of English and of Scots, + Are by the shrieve of Yorkshire overthrown. + The manner and true order of the fight + This packet, please it you, contains at large. + KING. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? + Will Fortune never come with both hands full, + But write her fair words still in foulest letters? + She either gives a stomach and no food- + Such are the poor, in health- or else a feast, + And takes away the stomach- such are the rich + That have abundance and enjoy it not. + I should rejoice now at this happy news; + And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy. + O me! come near me now I am much ill. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. Comfort, your Majesty! + CLARENCE. O my royal father! + WESTMORELAND. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up. + WARWICK. Be patient, Princes; you do know these fits + Are with his Highness very ordinary. + Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. + CLARENCE. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs. + Th' incessant care and labour of his mind + Hath wrought the mure that should confine it in + So thin that life looks through, and will break out. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. The people fear me; for they do observe + Unfather'd heirs and loathly births of nature. + The seasons change their manners, as the year + Had found some months asleep, and leapt them over. + CLARENCE. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between; + And the old folk, Time's doting chronicles, + Say it did so a little time before + That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. + WARWICK. Speak lower, Princes, for the King recovers. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. This apoplexy will certain be his end. + KING. I pray you take me up, and bear me hence + Into some other chamber. Softly, pray. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Westminster. Another chamber + +The KING lying on a bed; CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, and others in +attendance + + KING. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; + Unless some dull and favourable hand + Will whisper music to my weary spirit. + WARWICK. Call for the music in the other room. + KING. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. + CLARENCE. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. + WARWICK. Less noise! less noise! + + Enter PRINCE HENRY + + PRINCE. Who saw the Duke of Clarence? + CLARENCE. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. + PRINCE. How now! Rain within doors, and none abroad! + How doth the King? + PRINCE HUMPHREY. Exceeding ill. + PRINCE. Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. He alt'red much upon the hearing it. + PRINCE. If he be sick with joy, he'll recover without physic. + WARWICK. Not so much noise, my lords. Sweet Prince, speak low; + The King your father is dispos'd to sleep. + CLARENCE. Let us withdraw into the other room. + WARWICK. Will't please your Grace to go along with us? + PRINCE. No; I will sit and watch here by the King. + Exeunt all but the PRINCE + Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, + Being so troublesome a bedfellow? + O polish'd perturbation! golden care! + That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide + To many a watchful night! Sleep with it now! + Yet not so sound and half so deeply sweet + As he whose brow with homely biggen bound + Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! + When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit + Like a rich armour worn in heat of day + That scald'st with safety. By his gates of breath + There lies a downy feather which stirs not. + Did he suspire, that light and weightless down + Perforce must move. My gracious lord! my father! + This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep + That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd + So many English kings. Thy due from me + Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood + Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, + Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously. + My due from thee is this imperial crown, + Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, + Derives itself to me. [Putting on the crown] Lo where it sits- + Which God shall guard; and put the world's whole strength + Into one giant arm, it shall not force + This lineal honour from me. This from thee + Will I to mine leave as 'tis left to me. Exit + KING. Warwick! Gloucester! Clarence! + + Re-enter WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE + + CLARENCE. Doth the King call? + WARWICK. What would your Majesty? How fares your Grace? + KING. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? + CLARENCE. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, + Who undertook to sit and watch by you. + KING. The Prince of Wales! Where is he? Let me see him. + He is not here. + WARWICK. This door is open; he is gone this way. + PRINCE HUMPHREY. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. + KING. Where is the crown? Who took it from my pillow? + WARWICK. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. + KING. The Prince hath ta'en it hence. Go, seek him out. + Is he so hasty that he doth suppose + My sleep my death? + Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. + Exit WARWICK + This part of his conjoins with my disease + And helps to end me. See, sons, what things you are! + How quickly nature falls into revolt + When gold becomes her object! + For this the foolish over-careful fathers + Have broke their sleep with thoughts, + Their brains with care, their bones with industry; + For this they have engrossed and pil'd up + The cank'red heaps of strange-achieved gold; + For this they have been thoughtful to invest + Their sons with arts and martial exercises; + When, like the bee, tolling from every flower + The virtuous sweets, + Our thighs with wax, our mouths with honey pack'd, + We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, + Are murd'red for our pains. This bitter taste + Yields his engrossments to the ending father. + + Re-enter WARWICK + + Now where is he that will not stay so long + Till his friend sickness hath determin'd me? + WARWICK. My lord, I found the Prince in the next room, + Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, + With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, + That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood, + Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife + With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. + KING. But wherefore did he take away the crown? + + Re-enter PRINCE HENRY + + Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. + Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. + Exeunt all but the KING and the PRINCE + PRINCE. I never thought to hear you speak again. + KING. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought. + I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. + Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair + That thou wilt needs invest thee with my honours + Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! + Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. + Stay but a little, for my cloud of dignity + Is held from falling with so weak a wind + That it will quickly drop; my day is dim. + Thou hast stol'n that which, after some few hours, + Were thine without offense; and at my death + Thou hast seal'd up my expectation. + Thy life did manifest thou lov'dst me not, + And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. + Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts, + Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, + To stab at half an hour of my life. + What, canst thou not forbear me half an hour? + Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself; + And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear + That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. + Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse + Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head; + Only compound me with forgotten dust; + Give that which gave thee life unto the worms. + Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; + For now a time is come to mock at form- + Harry the Fifth is crown'd. Up, vanity: + Down, royal state. All you sage counsellors, hence. + And to the English court assemble now, + From every region, apes of idleness. + Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum. + Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, + Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit + The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? + Be happy, he will trouble you no more. + England shall double gild his treble guilt; + England shall give him office, honour, might; + For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks + The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog + Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. + O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! + When that my care could not withhold thy riots, + What wilt thou do when riot is thy care? + O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. + Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! + PRINCE. O, pardon me, my liege! But for my tears, + The moist impediments unto my speech, + I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke + Ere you with grief had spoke and I had heard + The course of it so far. There is your crown, + And he that wears the crown immortally + Long guard it yours! [Kneeling] If I affect it more + Than as your honour and as your renown, + Let me no more from this obedience rise, + Which my most inward true and duteous spirit + Teacheth this prostrate and exterior bending! + God witness with me, when I here came in + And found no course of breath within your Majesty, + How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign, + O, let me in my present wildness die, + And never live to show th' incredulous world + The noble change that I have purposed! + Coming to look on you, thinking you dead- + And dead almost, my liege, to think you were- + I spake unto this crown as having sense, + And thus upbraided it: 'The care on thee depending + Hath fed upon the body of my father; + Therefore thou best of gold art worst of gold. + Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, + Preserving life in med'cine potable; + But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, + Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most royal liege, + Accusing it, I put it on my head, + To try with it- as with an enemy + That had before my face murd'red my father- + The quarrel of a true inheritor. + But if it did infect my blood with joy, + Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; + If any rebel or vain spirit of mine + Did with the least affection of a welcome + Give entertainment to the might of it, + Let God for ever keep it from my head, + And make me as the poorest vassal is, + That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! + KING. O my son, + God put it in thy mind to take it hence, + That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, + Pleading so wisely in excuse of it! + Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, + And hear, I think, the very latest counsel + That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, + By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways + I met this crown; and I myself know well + How troublesome it sat upon my head: + To thee it shall descend with better quiet, + Better opinion, better confirmation; + For all the soil of the achievement goes + With me into the earth. It seem'd in me + But as an honour snatch'd with boist'rous hand; + And I had many living to upbraid + My gain of it by their assistances; + Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, + Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears + Thou seest with peril I have answered; + For all my reign hath been but as a scene + Acting that argument. And now my death + Changes the mood; for what in me was purchas'd + Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; + So thou the garland wear'st successively. + Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, + Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; + And all my friends, which thou must make thy friends, + Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; + By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, + And by whose power I well might lodge a fear + To be again displac'd; which to avoid, + I cut them off; and had a purpose now + To lead out many to the Holy Land, + Lest rest and lying still might make them look + Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, + Be it thy course to busy giddy minds + With foreign quarrels, that action, hence borne out, + May waste the memory of the former days. + More would I, but my lungs are wasted so + That strength of speech is utterly denied me. + How I came by the crown, O God, forgive; + And grant it may with thee in true peace live! + PRINCE. My gracious liege, + You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; + Then plain and right must my possession be; + Which I with more than with a common pain + 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. + + Enter PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER, WARWICK, LORDS, and others + + KING. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. + PRINCE JOHN. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father! + KING. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son John; + But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown + From this bare wither'd trunk. Upon thy sight + My worldly business makes a period. + Where is my Lord of Warwick? + PRINCE. My Lord of Warwick! + KING. Doth any name particular belong + Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? + WARWICK. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. + KING. Laud be to God! Even there my life must end. + It hath been prophesied to me many years, + I should not die but in Jerusalem; + Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land. + But bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; + In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S house + +Enter SHALLOW, FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE + + SHALLOW. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to-night. + What, Davy, I say! + FALSTAFF. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow. + SHALLOW. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excus'd; excuses + shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall + not be excus'd. Why, Davy! + + Enter DAVY + + DAVY. Here, sir. + SHALLOW. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy; let me see, Davy; let me see, + Davy; let me see- yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither. + Sir John, you shall not be excus'd. + DAVY. Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and, + again, sir- shall we sow the headland with wheat? + SHALLOW. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook- are there no + young pigeons? + DAVY. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note for shoeing and + plough-irons. + SHALLOW. Let it be cast, and paid. Sir John, you shall not be + excused. + DAVY. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had; and, + sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages about the sack he + lost the other day at Hinckley fair? + SHALLOW. 'A shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of + short-legg'd hens, a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny + kickshaws, tell William cook. + DAVY. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? + SHALLOW. Yea, Davy; I will use him well. A friend i' th' court is + better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they + are arrant knaves and will backbite. + DAVY. No worse than they are backbitten, sir; for they have + marvellous foul linen. + SHALLOW. Well conceited, Davy- about thy business, Davy. + DAVY. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor of Woncot + against Clement Perkes o' th' hill. + SHALLOW. There, is many complaints, Davy, against that Visor. That + Visor is an arrant knave, on my knowledge. + DAVY. I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God + forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his + friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to speak for + himself, when a knave is not. I have serv'd your worship truly, + sir, this eight years; an I cannot once or twice in a quarter + bear out a knave against an honest man, I have but a very little + credit with your worship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir; + therefore, I beseech you, let him be countenanc'd. + SHALLOW. Go to; I say he shall have no wrong. Look about, + DAVY. [Exit DAVY] Where are you, Sir John? Come, come, come, off + with your boots. Give me your hand, Master Bardolph. + BARDOLPH. I am glad to see your worship. + SHALLOW. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master Bardolph. + [To the PAGE] And welcome, my tall fellow. Come, Sir John. + FALSTAFF. I'll follow you, good Master Robert Shallow. + [Exit SHALLOW] Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt BARDOLPH + and PAGE] If I were sawed into quantities, I should make four + dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as Master Shallow. It is a + wonderful thing to see the semblable coherence of his men's + spirits and his. They, by observing of him, do bear themselves + like foolish justices: he, by conversing with them, is turned + into a justice-like serving-man. Their spirits are so married in + conjunction with the participation of society that they flock + together in consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit to + Master Shallow, I would humour his men with the imputation of + being near their master; if to his men, I would curry with Master + Shallow that no man could better command his servants. It is + certain that either wise bearing or ignorant carriage is caught, + as men take diseases, one of another; therefore let men take heed + of their company. I will devise matter enough out of this Shallow + to keep Prince Harry in continual laughter the wearing out of six + fashions, which is four terms, or two actions; and 'a shall laugh + without intervallums. O, it is much that a lie with a slight + oath, and a jest with a sad brow will do with a fellow that never + had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh till + his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up! + SHALLOW. [Within] Sir John! + FALSTAFF. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Master Shallow. + Exit + +SCENE II. Westminster. The palace + +Enter, severally, WARWICK, and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + + WARWICK. How now, my Lord Chief Justice; whither away? + CHIEF JUSTICE. How doth the King? + WARWICK. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I hope, not dead. + WARWICK. He's walk'd the way of nature; + And to our purposes he lives no more. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I would his Majesty had call'd me with him. + The service that I truly did his life + Hath left me open to all injuries. + WARWICK. Indeed, I think the young king loves you not. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I know he doth not, and do arm myself + To welcome the condition of the time, + Which cannot look more hideously upon me + Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. + + Enter LANCASTER, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, + WESTMORELAND, and others + + WARWICK. Here comes the heavy issue of dead Harry. + O that the living Harry had the temper + Of he, the worst of these three gentlemen! + How many nobles then should hold their places + That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! + CHIEF JUSTICE. O God, I fear all will be overturn'd. + PRINCE JOHN. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow. + GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. Good morrow, cousin. + PRINCE JOHN. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. + WARWICK. We do remember; but our argument + Is all too heavy to admit much talk. + PRINCE JOHN. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy! + CHIEF JUSTICE. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! + PRINCE HUMPHREY. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend indeed; + And I dare swear you borrow not that face + Of seeming sorrow- it is sure your own. + PRINCE JOHN. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find, + You stand in coldest expectation. + I am the sorrier; would 'twere otherwise. + CLARENCE. Well, you must now speak Sir John Falstaff fair; + Which swims against your stream of quality. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in honour, + Led by th' impartial conduct of my soul; + And never shall you see that I will beg + A ragged and forestall'd remission. + If truth and upright innocency fail me, + I'll to the King my master that is dead, + And tell him who hath sent me after him. + WARWICK. Here comes the Prince. + + Enter KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended + + CHIEF JUSTICE. Good morrow, and God save your Majesty! + KING. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, + Sits not so easy on me as you think. + Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear. + This is the English, not the Turkish court; + Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, + But Harry Harry. Yet be sad, good brothers, + For, by my faith, it very well becomes you. + Sorrow so royally in you appears + That I will deeply put the fashion on, + And wear it in my heart. Why, then, be sad; + But entertain no more of it, good brothers, + Than a joint burden laid upon us all. + For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, + I'll be your father and your brother too; + Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. + Yet weep that Harry's dead, and so will I; + But Harry lives that shall convert those tears + By number into hours of happiness. + BROTHERS. We hope no otherwise from your Majesty. + KING. You all look strangely on me; and you most. + You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. + CHIEF JUSTICE. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, + Your Majesty hath no just cause to hate me. + KING. No? + How might a prince of my great hopes forget + So great indignities you laid upon me? + What, rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison, + Th' immediate heir of England! Was this easy? + May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten? + CHIEF JUSTICE. I then did use the person of your father; + The image of his power lay then in me; + And in th' administration of his law, + Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, + Your Highness pleased to forget my place, + The majesty and power of law and justice, + The image of the King whom I presented, + And struck me in my very seat of judgment; + Whereon, as an offender to your father, + I gave bold way to my authority + And did commit you. If the deed were ill, + Be you contented, wearing now the garland, + To have a son set your decrees at nought, + To pluck down justice from your awful bench, + To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword + That guards the peace and safety of your person; + Nay, more, to spurn at your most royal image, + And mock your workings in a second body. + Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours; + Be now the father, and propose a son; + Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, + See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, + Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd; + And then imagine me taking your part + And, in your power, soft silencing your son. + After this cold considerance, sentence me; + And, as you are a king, speak in your state + What I have done that misbecame my place, + My person, or my liege's sovereignty. + KING. You are right, Justice, and you weigh this well; + Therefore still bear the balance and the sword; + And I do wish your honours may increase + Till you do live to see a son of mine + Offend you, and obey you, as I did. + So shall I live to speak my father's words: + 'Happy am I that have a man so bold + That dares do justice on my proper son; + And not less happy, having such a son + That would deliver up his greatness so + Into the hands of justice.' You did commit me; + For which I do commit into your hand + Th' unstained sword that you have us'd to bear; + With this remembrance- that you use the same + With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit + As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand. + You shall be as a father to my youth; + My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; + And I will stoop and humble my intents + To your well-practis'd wise directions. + And, Princes all, believe me, I beseech you, + My father is gone wild into his grave, + For in his tomb lie my affections; + And with his spirits sadly I survive, + To mock the expectation of the world, + To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out + Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down + After my seeming. The tide of blood in me + Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now. + Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, + Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, + And flow henceforth in formal majesty. + Now call we our high court of parliament; + And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, + That the great body of our state may go + In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; + That war, or peace, or both at once, may be + As things acquainted and familiar to us; + In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. + Our coronation done, we will accite, + As I before rememb'red, all our state; + And- God consigning to my good intents- + No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, + God shorten Harry's happy life one day. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard + +Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the PAGE, and DAVY + + SHALLOW. Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we + will eat a last year's pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish + of caraways, and so forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed. + FALSTAFF. Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and rich. + SHALLOW. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John + -marry, good air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy; well said, Davy. + FALSTAFF. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your + serving-man and your husband. + SHALLOW. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir + John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good + varlet. Now sit down, now sit down; come, cousin. + SILENCE. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a- we shall [Singing] + + Do nothing but eat and make good cheer, + And praise God for the merry year; + When flesh is cheap and females dear, + And lusty lads roam here and there, + So merrily, + And ever among so merrily. + + FALSTAFF. There's a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I'll give you + a health for that anon. + SHALLOW. Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy. + DAVY. Sweet sir, sit; I'll be with you anon; most sweet sir, sit. + Master Page, good Master Page, sit. Proface! What you want in + meat, we'll have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's all. + Exit + SHALLOW. Be merry, Master Bardolph; and, my little soldier there, + be merry. + SILENCE. [Singing] + + Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; + For women are shrews, both short and tall; + 'Tis merry in hall when beards wag an; + And welcome merry Shrove-tide. + Be merry, be merry. + + FALSTAFF. I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this + mettle. + SILENCE. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now. + + Re-enter DAVY + + DAVY. [To BARDOLPH] There's a dish of leather-coats for you. + SHALLOW. Davy! + DAVY. Your worship! I'll be with you straight. [To BARDOLPH] + A cup of wine, sir? + SILENCE. [Singing] + + A cup of wine that's brisk and fine, + And drink unto the leman mine; + And a merry heart lives long-a. + + FALSTAFF. Well said, Master Silence. + SILENCE. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' th' night. + FALSTAFF. Health and long life to you, Master Silence! + SILENCE. [Singing] + + Fill the cup, and let it come, + I'll pledge you a mile to th' bottom. + + SHALLOW. Honest Bardolph, welcome; if thou want'st anything and + wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief + and welcome indeed too. I'll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all + the cabileros about London. + DAVY. I hope to see London once ere I die. + BARDOLPH. An I might see you there, Davy! + SHALLOW. By the mass, you'R crack a quart together- ha! will you + not, Master Bardolph? + BARDOLPH. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot. + SHALLOW. By God's liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by + thee, I can assure thee that. 'A will not out, 'a; 'tis true + bred. + BARDOLPH. And I'll stick by him, sir. + SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing; be merry. + [One knocks at door] Look who's at door there, ho! Who knocks? + Exit DAVY + FALSTAFF. [To SILENCE, who has drunk a bumper] Why, now you have + done me right. + SILENCE. [Singing] + + Do me right, + And dub me knight. + Samingo. + + Is't not so? + FALSTAFF. 'Tis so. + SILENCE. Is't so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat. + + Re-enter DAVY + + DAVY. An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come from the + court with news. + FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in. + + Enter PISTOL + + How now, Pistol? + PISTOL. Sir John, God save you! + FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? + PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, + thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm. + SILENCE. By'r lady, I think 'a be, but goodman Puff of Barson. + PISTOL. Puff! + Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base! + Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, + And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; + And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, + And golden times, and happy news of price. + FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world. + PISTOL. A foutra for the world and worldlings base! + I speak of Africa and golden joys. + FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? + Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. + SILENCE. [Singing] And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. + PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? + And shall good news be baffled? + Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. + SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. + PISTOL. Why, then, lament therefore. + SHALLOW. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the + court, I take it there's but two ways- either to utter them or + conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority. + PISTOL. Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die. + SHALLOW. Under King Harry. + PISTOL. Harry the Fourth- or Fifth? + SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth. + PISTOL. A foutra for thine office! + Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King; + Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth. + When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like + The bragging Spaniard. + FALSTAFF. What, is the old king dead? + PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just. + FALSTAFF. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow, + choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I + will double-charge thee with dignities. + BARDOLPH. O joyful day! + I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. + PISTOL. What, I do bring good news? + FALSTAFF. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord + Shallow, be what thou wilt- I am Fortune's steward. Get on thy + boots; we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph! + [Exit BARDOLPH] Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal + devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow! + I know the young King is sick for me. Let us take any man's + horses: the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed are + they that have been my friends; and woe to my Lord Chief Justice! + PISTOL. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! + 'Where is the life that late I led?' say they. + Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days! Exeunt + +SCENE IV. London. A street + +Enter BEADLES, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET + + HOSTESS. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die, + that I might have thee hang'd. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out of + joint. + FIRST BEADLE. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she + shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been + a man or two lately kill'd about her. + DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what, + thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with do + miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou + paper-fac'd villain. + HOSTESS. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a + bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb + miscarry! + FIRST BEADLE. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; + you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for + the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you. + DOLL. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you + as soundly swing'd for this- you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy + famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear + half-kirtles. + FIRST BEADLE. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. + HOSTESS. O God, that right should thus overcome might! + Well, of sufferance comes ease. + DOLL. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice. + HOSTESS. Ay, come, you starv'd bloodhound. + DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones! + HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou! + DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal! + FIRST BEADLE. Very well. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Westminster. Near the Abbey + +Enter GROOMS, strewing rushes + + FIRST GROOM. More rushes, more rushes! + SECOND GROOM. The trumpets have sounded twice. + THIRD GROOM. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they come from the + coronation. Dispatch, dispatch. Exeunt + + Trumpets sound, and the KING and his train pass + over the stage. After them enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, + PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and page + + FALSTAFF. Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow; I will make the + King do you grace. I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and do + but mark the countenance that he will give me. + PISTOL. God bless thy lungs, good knight! + FALSTAFF. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. [To SHALLOW] O, if + I had had to have made new liveries, I would have bestowed the + thousand pound I borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter; this poor + show doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. + SHALLOW. It doth so. + FALSTAFF. It shows my earnestness of affection- + SHALLOW. It doth so. + FALSTAFF. My devotion- + SHALLOW. It doth, it doth, it doth. + FALSTAFF. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate, + not to remember, not to have patience to shift me- + SHALLOW. It is best, certain. + FALSTAFF. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating with + desire to see him; thinking of nothing else, putting all affairs + else in oblivion, as if there were nothing else to be done but to + see him. + PISTOL. 'Tis 'semper idem' for 'obsque hoc nihil est.' 'Tis all in + every part. + SHALLOW. 'Tis so, indeed. + PISTOL. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver + And make thee rage. + Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, + Is in base durance and contagious prison; + Hal'd thither + By most mechanical and dirty hand. + Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake, + For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth. + FALSTAFF. I will deliver her. + [Shouts,within, and the trumpets sound] + PISTOL. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. + + Enter the KING and his train, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + among them + + FALSTAFF. God save thy Grace, King Hal; my royal Hal! + PISTOL. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame! + FALSTAFF. God save thee, my sweet boy! + KING. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man. + CHIEF JUSTICE. Have you your wits? Know you what 'tis you speak? + FALSTAFF. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! + KING. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers. + How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! + I have long dreamt of such a kind of man, + So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; + But being awak'd, I do despise my dream. + Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace; + Leave gormandizing; know the grave doth gape + For thee thrice wider than for other men- + Reply not to me with a fool-born jest; + Presume not that I am the thing I was, + For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, + That I have turn'd away my former self; + So will I those that kept me company. + When thou dost hear I am as I have been, + Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, + The tutor and the feeder of my riots. + Till then I banish thee, on pain of death, + As I have done the rest of my misleaders, + Not to come near our person by ten mile. + For competence of life I will allow you, + That lack of means enforce you not to evils; + And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, + We will, according to your strengths and qualities, + Give you advancement. Be it your charge, my lord, + To see perform'd the tenour of our word. + Set on. Exeunt the KING and his train + FALSTAFF. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pounds. + SHALLOW. Yea, marry, Sir John; which I beseech you to let me have + home with me. + FALSTAFF. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not you grieve at + this; I shall be sent for in private to him. Look you, he must + seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancements; I will be the + man yet that shall make you great. + SHALLOW. I cannot perceive how, unless you give me your doublet, + and stuff me out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me + have five hundred of my thousand. + FALSTAFF. Sir, I will be as good as my word. This that you heard + was but a colour. + SHALLOW. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John. + FALSTAFF. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, Lieutenant + Pistol; come, Bardolph. I shall be sent for soon at night. + + Re-enter PRINCE JOHN, the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, + with officers + + CHIEF JUSTICE. Go, carry Sir John Falstaff to the Fleet; + Take all his company along with him. + FALSTAFF. My lord, my lord- + CHIEF JUSTICE. I cannot now speak. I will hear you soon. + Take them away. + PISTOL. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. + Exeunt all but PRINCE JOHN and the LORD CHIEF JUSTICE + PRINCE JOHN. I like this fair proceeding of the King's. + He hath intent his wonted followers + Shall all be very well provided for; + But all are banish'd till their conversations + Appear more wise and modest to the world. + CHIEF JUSTICE. And so they are. + PRINCE JOHN. The King hath call'd his parliament, my lord. + CHIEF JUSTICE. He hath. + PRINCE JOHN. I will lay odds that, ere this year expire, + We bear our civil swords and native fire + As far as France. I heard a bird so sing, + Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the King. + Come, will you hence? Exeunt + +EPILOGUE EPILOGUE. + + First my fear, then my curtsy, last my speech. My fear, is your + displeasure; my curtsy, my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons. + If you look for a good speech now, you undo me; for what I have to + say is of mine own making; and what, indeed, I should say will, I + doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the + venture. Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in + the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to + promise you a better. I meant, indeed, to pay you with this; which if + like an ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my + gentle creditors, lose. Here I promis'd you I would be, and here I + commit my body to your mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you + some, and, as most debtors do, promise you infinitely; and so I kneel + down before you- but, indeed, to pray for the Queen. If my tongue + cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to use my legs? + And yet that were but light payment-to dance out of your debt. But a + good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and so would I. + All the gentlewomen here have forgiven me. If the gentlemen will not, + then the gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was never + seen before in such an assembly. One word more, I beseech you. If you + be not too much cloy'd with fat meat, our humble author will continue + the story, with Sir John in it, and make you merry with fair + Katherine of France; where, for anything I know, Falstaff shall die + of a sweat, unless already 'a be killed with your hard opinions; for + Oldcastle died a martyr and this is not the man. My tongue is weary; + when my legs are too, I will bid you good night. + + + +THE LIFE OF KING HENRY V + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Prologue. +Scene I. London. An ante-chamber in the King’s palace. +Scene II. The same. The presence chamber. + +ACT II +Chorus. +Scene I. London. A street. +Scene II. Southampton. A council-chamber. +Scene III. London. Before a tavern. +Scene IV. France. The King’s palace. + +ACT III +Chorus. +Scene I. France. Before Harfleur. +Scene II. The same. +Scene III. Before the gates. +Scene IV. The French King’s palace. +Scene V. The same. +Scene VI. The English camp in Picardy. +Scene VII. The French camp, near Agincourt. + +ACT IV +Chorus. +Scene I. The English camp at Agincourt. +Scene II. The French camp. +Scene III. The English camp. +Scene IV. The field of battle. +Scene V. Another part of the field. +Scene VI. Another part of the field. +Scene VII. Another part of the field. +Scene VIII. Before King Henry’s pavilion. + +ACT V +Chorus. +Scene I. France. The English camp. +Scene II. France. A royal palace. +Epilogue. + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY V. +DUKE OF CLARENCE, brother to the King. +DUKE OF BEDFORD, brother to the King. +DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, brother to the King. +DUKE OF EXETER, uncle to the King. +DUKE OF YORK, cousin to the King. +EARL OF SALISBURY. +EARL OF HUNTINGDON. +EARL OF WESTMORLAND. +EARL OF WARWICK. +ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. +BISHOP OF ELY. +EARL OF CAMBRIDGE. +LORD SCROOP. +SIR THOMAS GREY. +SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM, officer in King Henry’s army. +GOWER, officer in King Henry’s army. +FLUELLEN, officer in King Henry’s army. +MACMORRIS, officer in King Henry’s army. +JAMY, officer in King Henry’s army. +BATES, soldier in the same. +COURT, soldier in the same. +WILLIAMS, soldier in the same. +PISTOL. +NYM. +BARDOLPH. +BOY. +A Herald. + +CHARLES VI, king of France. +LEWIS, the Dauphin. +DUKE OF BERRY. +DUKE OF BRITTANY. +DUKE OF BURGUNDY. +DUKE OF ORLEANS. +DUKE OF BOURBON. +The Constable of France. +RAMBURES, French Lord. +GRANDPRÉ, French Lord. +Governor of Harfleur +MONTJOY, a French herald. +Ambassadors to the King of England. + +ISABEL, queen of France. +KATHARINE, daughter to Charles and Isabel. +ALICE, a lady attending on her. +HOSTESS of a tavern in Eastcheap, formerly Mistress Nell Quickly, and +now married to Pistol. + +CHORUS. + +Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, and +Attendants. + +SCENE: England; afterwards France. + + +PROLOGUE. + + Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend +The brightest heaven of invention, +A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, +And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! +Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, +Assume the port of Mars, and at his heels, +Leash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire +Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, +The flat unraised spirits that hath dar’d +On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth +So great an object. Can this cockpit hold +The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram +Within this wooden O the very casques +That did affright the air at Agincourt? +O pardon! since a crooked figure may +Attest in little place a million, +And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, +On your imaginary forces work. +Suppose within the girdle of these walls +Are now confin’d two mighty monarchies, +Whose high upreared and abutting fronts +The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder; +Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts. +Into a thousand parts divide one man, +And make imaginary puissance. +Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them +Printing their proud hoofs i’ th’ receiving earth. +For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, +Carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, +Turning the accomplishment of many years +Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, +Admit me Chorus to this history; +Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, +Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the King’s palace. + + Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely. + +CANTERBURY. +My lord, I’ll tell you, that self bill is urg’d +Which in the eleventh year of the last king’s reign +Was like, and had indeed against us passed +But that the scambling and unquiet time +Did push it out of farther question. + +ELY. +But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? + +CANTERBURY. +It must be thought on. If it pass against us, +We lose the better half of our possession: +For all the temporal lands, which men devout +By testament have given to the Church, +Would they strip from us; being valu’d thus: +As much as would maintain, to the King’s honour, +Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, +Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; +And, to relief of lazars and weak age, +Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil, +A hundred almshouses right well supplied; +And to the coffers of the King beside, +A thousand pounds by th’ year. Thus runs the bill. + +ELY. +This would drink deep. + +CANTERBURY. +’Twould drink the cup and all. + +ELY. +But what prevention? + +CANTERBURY. +The King is full of grace and fair regard. + +ELY. +And a true lover of the holy Church. + +CANTERBURY. +The courses of his youth promis’d it not. +The breath no sooner left his father’s body +But that his wildness, mortified in him, +Seemed to die too; yea, at that very moment +Consideration like an angel came +And whipped th’ offending Adam out of him, +Leaving his body as a paradise +T’ envelope and contain celestial spirits. +Never was such a sudden scholar made, +Never came reformation in a flood +With such a heady currance scouring faults, +Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness +So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, +As in this king. + +ELY. +We are blessed in the change. + +CANTERBURY. +Hear him but reason in divinity +And, all-admiring, with an inward wish +You would desire the King were made a prelate; +Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, +You would say it hath been all in all his study; +List his discourse of war, and you shall hear +A fearful battle rendered you in music; +Turn him to any cause of policy, +The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, +Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, +The air, a chartered libertine, is still, +And the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears +To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; +So that the art and practic part of life +Must be the mistress to this theoric: +Which is a wonder how his Grace should glean it, +Since his addiction was to courses vain, +His companies unlettered, rude, and shallow, +His hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports, +And never noted in him any study, +Any retirement, any sequestration +From open haunts and popularity. + +ELY. +The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, +And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best +Neighboured by fruit of baser quality; +And so the Prince obscured his contemplation +Under the veil of wildness, which, no doubt, +Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, +Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. + +CANTERBURY. +It must be so, for miracles are ceased, +And therefore we must needs admit the means +How things are perfected. + +ELY. +But, my good lord, +How now for mitigation of this bill +Urged by the Commons? Doth his Majesty +Incline to it, or no? + +CANTERBURY. +He seems indifferent, +Or rather swaying more upon our part +Than cherishing th’ exhibitors against us; +For I have made an offer to his Majesty, +Upon our spiritual convocation +And in regard of causes now in hand, +Which I have opened to his Grace at large, +As touching France, to give a greater sum +Than ever at one time the clergy yet +Did to his predecessors part withal. + +ELY. +How did this offer seem received, my lord? + +CANTERBURY. +With good acceptance of his Majesty; +Save that there was not time enough to hear, +As I perceived his Grace would fain have done, +The severals and unhidden passages +Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms, +And generally to the crown and seat of France, +Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. + +ELY. +What was th’ impediment that broke this off? + +CANTERBURY. +The French ambassador upon that instant +Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come +To give him hearing. Is it four o’clock? + +ELY. +It is. + +CANTERBURY. +Then go we in, to know his embassy, +Which I could with a ready guess declare +Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. + +ELY. +I’ll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. The presence chamber. + + Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, Clarence, Warwick, Westmorland, + Exeter and Attendants. + +KING HENRY. +Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury? + +EXETER. +Not here in presence. + +KING HENRY. +Send for him, good uncle. + +WESTMORLAND. +Shall we call in th’ ambassador, my liege? + +KING HENRY. +Not yet, my cousin. We would be resolved, +Before we hear him, of some things of weight +That task our thoughts concerning us and France. + + Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely. + +CANTERBURY. +God and his angels guard your sacred throne +And make you long become it! + +KING HENRY. +Sure, we thank you. +My learned lord, we pray you to proceed +And justly and religiously unfold +Why the law Salic that they have in France +Or should or should not bar us in our claim. +And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, +That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, +Or nicely charge your understanding soul +With opening titles miscreate, whose right +Suits not in native colours with the truth; +For God doth know how many now in health +Shall drop their blood in approbation +Of what your reverence shall incite us to. +Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, +How you awake our sleeping sword of war. +We charge you in the name of God, take heed; +For never two such kingdoms did contend +Without much fall of blood, whose guiltless drops +Are every one a woe, a sore complaint +’Gainst him whose wrongs gives edge unto the swords +That makes such waste in brief mortality. +Under this conjuration speak, my lord, +For we will hear, note, and believe in heart +That what you speak is in your conscience washed +As pure as sin with baptism. + +CANTERBURY. +Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers, +That owe yourselves, your lives, and services +To this imperial throne. There is no bar +To make against your Highness’ claim to France +But this, which they produce from Pharamond: +_In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant_, +“No woman shall succeed in Salic land;” +Which Salic land the French unjustly gloze +To be the realm of France, and Pharamond +The founder of this law and female bar. +Yet their own authors faithfully affirm +That the land Salic is in Germany, +Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe; +Where Charles the Great, having subdu’d the Saxons, +There left behind and settled certain French; +Who, holding in disdain the German women +For some dishonest manners of their life, +Establish’d then this law, to wit, no female +Should be inheritrix in Salic land; +Which Salic, as I said, ’twixt Elbe and Sala, +Is at this day in Germany call’d Meissen. +Then doth it well appear the Salic law +Was not devised for the realm of France; +Nor did the French possess the Salic land +Until four hundred one and twenty years +After defunction of King Pharamond, +Idly suppos’d the founder of this law, +Who died within the year of our redemption +Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great +Subdu’d the Saxons, and did seat the French +Beyond the river Sala, in the year +Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, +King Pepin, which deposed Childeric, +Did, as heir general, being descended +Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, +Make claim and title to the crown of France. +Hugh Capet also, who usurp’d the crown +Of Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male +Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great, +To find his title with some shows of truth, +Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught, +Convey’d himself as the heir to the Lady Lingare, +Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son +To Lewis the Emperor, and Lewis the son +Of Charles the Great. Also, King Lewis the Tenth, +Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, +Could not keep quiet in his conscience, +Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied +That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, +Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, +Daughter to Charles, the foresaid Duke of Lorraine; +By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great +Was re-united to the crown of France. +So that, as clear as is the summer’s sun, +King Pepin’s title and Hugh Capet’s claim, +King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear +To hold in right and title of the female. +So do the kings of France unto this day, +Howbeit they would hold up this Salic law +To bar your Highness claiming from the female, +And rather choose to hide them in a net +Than amply to imbar their crooked titles +Usurp’d from you and your progenitors. + +KING HENRY. +May I with right and conscience make this claim? + +CANTERBURY. +The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! +For in the Book of Numbers is it writ, +“When the man dies, let the inheritance +Descend unto the daughter.” Gracious lord, +Stand for your own! Unwind your bloody flag! +Look back into your mighty ancestors! +Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire’s tomb, +From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit, +And your great-uncle’s, Edward the Black Prince, +Who on the French ground play’d a tragedy, +Making defeat on the full power of France, +Whiles his most mighty father on a hill +Stood smiling to behold his lion’s whelp +Forage in blood of French nobility. +O noble English, that could entertain +With half their forces the full pride of France +And let another half stand laughing by, +All out of work and cold for action! + +ELY. +Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, +And with your puissant arm renew their feats. +You are their heir; you sit upon their throne; +The blood and courage that renowned them +Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege +Is in the very May-morn of his youth, +Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. + +EXETER. +Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth +Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, +As did the former lions of your blood. + +WESTMORLAND. +They know your Grace hath cause and means and might; +So hath your Highness. Never King of England +Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects, +Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England +And lie pavilion’d in the fields of France. + +CANTERBURY. +O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, +With blood and sword and fire to win your right; +In aid whereof we of the spiritualty +Will raise your Highness such a mighty sum +As never did the clergy at one time +Bring in to any of your ancestors. + +KING HENRY. +We must not only arm to invade the French, +But lay down our proportions to defend +Against the Scot, who will make road upon us +With all advantages. + +CANTERBURY. +They of those marches, gracious sovereign, +Shall be a wall sufficient to defend +Our inland from the pilfering borderers. + +KING HENRY. +We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, +But fear the main intendment of the Scot, +Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; +For you shall read that my great-grandfather +Never went with his forces into France +But that the Scot on his unfurnish’d kingdom +Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, +With ample and brim fullness of his force, +Galling the gleaned land with hot assays, +Girdling with grievous siege castles and towns; +That England, being empty of defence, +Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. + +CANTERBURY. +She hath been then more fear’d than harm’d, my liege; +For hear her but exampl’d by herself: +When all her chivalry hath been in France, +And she a mourning widow of her nobles, +She hath herself not only well defended +But taken and impounded as a stray +The King of Scots; whom she did send to France +To fill King Edward’s fame with prisoner kings, +And make her chronicle as rich with praise +As is the ooze and bottom of the sea +With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. + +WESTMORLAND. +But there’s a saying very old and true, +“If that you will France win, +Then with Scotland first begin.” +For once the eagle England being in prey, +To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot +Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, +Playing the mouse in absence of the cat, +To tear and havoc more than she can eat. + +EXETER. +It follows then the cat must stay at home; +Yet that is but a crush’d necessity, +Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, +And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. +While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, +The advised head defends itself at home; +For government, though high and low and lower, +Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, +Congreeing in a full and natural close, +Like music. + +CANTERBURY. +Therefore doth heaven divide +The state of man in divers functions, +Setting endeavour in continual motion, +To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, +Obedience; for so work the honey-bees, +Creatures that by a rule in nature teach +The act of order to a peopled kingdom. +They have a king and officers of sorts, +Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, +Others like merchants, venture trade abroad, +Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, +Make boot upon the summer’s velvet buds, +Which pillage they with merry march bring home +To the tent-royal of their emperor; +Who, busied in his majesty, surveys +The singing masons building roofs of gold, +The civil citizens kneading up the honey, +The poor mechanic porters crowding in +Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, +The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, +Delivering o’er to executors pale +The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, +That many things, having full reference +To one consent, may work contrariously. +As many arrows, loosed several ways, +Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town; +As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea; +As many lines close in the dial’s centre; +So many a thousand actions, once afoot, +End in one purpose, and be all well borne +Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege! +Divide your happy England into four, +Whereof take you one quarter into France, +And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. +If we, with thrice such powers left at home, +Cannot defend our own doors from the dog, +Let us be worried and our nation lose +The name of hardiness and policy. + +KING HENRY. +Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. + + [_Exeunt some Attendants._] + +Now are we well resolv’d; and, by God’s help, +And yours, the noble sinews of our power, +France being ours, we’ll bend it to our awe, +Or break it all to pieces. Or there we’ll sit, +Ruling in large and ample empery +O’er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms, +Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, +Tombless, with no remembrance over them. +Either our history shall with full mouth +Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave, +Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, +Not worshipp’d with a waxen epitaph. + + Enter Ambassadors of France. + +Now are we well prepar’d to know the pleasure +Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear +Your greeting is from him, not from the King. + +FIRST AMBASSADOR. +May’t please your Majesty to give us leave +Freely to render what we have in charge, +Or shall we sparingly show you far off +The Dauphin’s meaning and our embassy? + +KING HENRY. +We are no tyrant, but a Christian king, +Unto whose grace our passion is as subject +As is our wretches fett’red in our prisons; +Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness +Tell us the Dauphin’s mind. + +AMBASSADOR. +Thus, then, in few. +Your Highness, lately sending into France, +Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right +Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third. +In answer of which claim, the prince our master +Says that you savour too much of your youth, +And bids you be advis’d there’s nought in France +That can be with a nimble galliard won. +You cannot revel into dukedoms there. +He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, +This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, +Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim +Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. + +KING HENRY. +What treasure, uncle? + +EXETER. +Tennis-balls, my liege. + +KING HENRY. +We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us. +His present and your pains we thank you for. +When we have match’d our rackets to these balls, +We will, in France, by God’s grace, play a set +Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard. +Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler +That all the courts of France will be disturb’d +With chaces. And we understand him well, +How he comes o’er us with our wilder days, +Not measuring what use we made of them. +We never valu’d this poor seat of England; +And therefore, living hence, did give ourself +To barbarous licence; as ’tis ever common +That men are merriest when they are from home. +But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, +Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness +When I do rouse me in my throne of France. +For that I have laid by my majesty +And plodded like a man for working days, +But I will rise there with so full a glory +That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, +Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. +And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his +Hath turn’d his balls to gun-stones, and his soul +Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance +That shall fly with them; for many a thousand widows +Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands, +Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; +And some are yet ungotten and unborn +That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn. +But this lies all within the will of God, +To whom I do appeal; and in whose name +Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on +To venge me as I may, and to put forth +My rightful hand in a well-hallow’d cause. +So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin +His jest will savour but of shallow wit, +When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.— +Convey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well. + + [_Exeunt Ambassadors._] + +EXETER. +This was a merry message. + +KING HENRY. +We hope to make the sender blush at it. +Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour +That may give furtherance to our expedition; +For we have now no thought in us but France, +Save those to God, that run before our business. +Therefore, let our proportions for these wars +Be soon collected, and all things thought upon +That may with reasonable swiftness add +More feathers to our wings; for, God before, +We’ll chide this Dauphin at his father’s door. +Therefore let every man now task his thought, +That this fair action may on foot be brought. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + + Flourish. Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Now all the youth of England are on fire, +And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies. +Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought +Reigns solely in the breast of every man. +They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, +Following the mirror of all Christian kings, +With winged heels, as English Mercuries. +For now sits Expectation in the air, +And hides a sword from hilts unto the point +With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, +Promis’d to Harry and his followers. +The French, advis’d by good intelligence +Of this most dreadful preparation, +Shake in their fear, and with pale policy +Seek to divert the English purposes. +O England! model to thy inward greatness, +Like little body with a mighty heart, +What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, +Were all thy children kind and natural! +But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out +A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills +With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, +One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, +Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, +Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland, +Have, for the gilt of France,—O guilt indeed!— +Confirm’d conspiracy with fearful France; +And by their hands this grace of kings must die, +If hell and treason hold their promises, +Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. +Linger your patience on, and we’ll digest +The abuse of distance, force a play. +The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; +The King is set from London; and the scene +Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton. +There is the playhouse now, there must you sit; +And thence to France shall we convey you safe, +And bring you back, charming the narrow seas +To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, +We’ll not offend one stomach with our play. +But, till the King come forth, and not till then, +Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE I. London. A street. + + Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph. + +BARDOLPH. +Well met, Corporal Nym. + +NYM. +Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph. + +BARDOLPH. +What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? + +NYM. +For my part, I care not. I say little; but when time shall serve, there +shall be smiles; but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I +will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one, but what though? +It will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man’s sword +will; and there’s an end. + +BARDOLPH. +I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we’ll be all three +sworn brothers to France. Let it be so, good Corporal Nym. + +NYM. +Faith, I will live so long as I may, that’s the certain of it; and when +I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That is my rest, that is +the rendezvous of it. + +BARDOLPH. +It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly; and +certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her. + +NYM. +I cannot tell. Things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and they may +have their throats about them at that time; and some say knives have +edges. It must be as it may. Though patience be a tired mare, yet she +will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. + + Enter Pistol and Hostess. + +BARDOLPH. +Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be patient here. +How now, mine host Pistol! + +PISTOL. +Base tike, call’st thou me host? +Now, by this hand, I swear I scorn the term; +Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. + +HOSTESS. +No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or +fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles, +but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. [_Nym and Pistol +draw._] O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! We shall see wilful +adultery and murder committed. + +BARDOLPH. +Good Lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here. + +NYM. +Pish! + +PISTOL. +Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear’d cur of Iceland! + +HOSTESS. +Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword. + +NYM. +Will you shog off? I would have you _solus_. + +PISTOL. +_Solus_, egregious dog! O viper vile! +The _solus_ in thy most mervailous face; +The _solus_ in thy teeth, and in thy throat, +And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, +And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! +I do retort the _solus_ in thy bowels; +For I can take, and Pistol’s cock is up, +And flashing fire will follow. + +NYM. +I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you +indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you +with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms. If you would walk off, I would +prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may; and that’s the +humour of it. + +PISTOL. +O braggart vile and damned furious wight! +The grave doth gape, and doting death is near, +Therefore exhale. + +BARDOLPH. +Hear me, hear me what I say. He that strikes the first stroke I’ll run +him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. + + [_Draws._] + +PISTOL. +An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. +Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give. +Thy spirits are most tall. + +NYM. +I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms: that is the +humour of it. + +PISTOL. +“Couple a gorge!” +That is the word. I thee defy again. +O hound of Crete, think’st thou my spouse to get? +No! to the spital go, +And from the powdering tub of infamy +Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid’s kind, +Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse. +I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly +For the only she; and _pauca_, there’s enough. +Go to. + + Enter the Boy. + +BOY. +Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and you, hostess. He is +very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his +sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he’s very ill. + +BARDOLPH. +Away, you rogue! + +HOSTESS. +By my troth, he’ll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. +The King has kill’d his heart. +Good husband, come home presently. + + [_Exeunt Hostess and Boy._] + +BARDOLPH. +Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together; why the +devil should we keep knives to cut one another’s throats? + +PISTOL. +Let floods o’erswell, and fiends for food howl on! + +NYM. +You’ll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? + +PISTOL. +Base is the slave that pays. + +NYM. +That now I will have: that’s the humour of it. + +PISTOL. +As manhood shall compound. Push home. + + [_They draw._] + +BARDOLPH. +By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I’ll kill him; by this +sword, I will. + +PISTOL. +Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. + +BARDOLPH. +Corporal Nym, and thou wilt be friends, be friends; an thou wilt not, +why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. + +NYM. +I shall have my eight shillings I won from you at betting? + +PISTOL. +A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; +And liquor likewise will I give to thee, +And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood. +I’ll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me. +Is not this just? For I shall sutler be +Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. +Give me thy hand. + +NYM. +I shall have my noble? + +PISTOL. +In cash most justly paid. + +NYM. +Well, then, that’s the humour of’t. + + Enter Hostess. + +HOSTESS. +As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John. +Ah, poor heart! he is so shak’d of a burning quotidian tertian, +that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. + +NYM. +The King hath run bad humours on the knight; that’s the even of it. + +PISTOL. +Nym, thou hast spoke the right. +His heart is fracted and corroborate. + +NYM. +The King is a good king; but it must be as it may; he passes some +humours and careers. + +PISTOL. +Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber. + + Enter Exeter, Bedford and Westmorland. + +BEDFORD. +’Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors. + +EXETER. +They shall be apprehended by and by. + +WESTMORLAND. +How smooth and even they do bear themselves! +As if allegiance in their bosoms sat +Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. + +BEDFORD. +The King hath note of all that they intend, +By interception which they dream not of. + +EXETER. +Nay, but the man that was his bed-fellow, +Whom he hath dull’d and cloy’d with gracious favours, +That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell +His sovereign’s life to death and treachery. + + Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge and Grey. + +KING HENRY. +Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. +My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham, +And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts. +Think you not that the powers we bear with us +Will cut their passage through the force of France, +Doing the execution and the act +For which we have in head assembled them? + +SCROOP. +No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. + +KING HENRY. +I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded +We carry not a heart with us from hence +That grows not in a fair consent with ours, +Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish +Success and conquest to attend on us. + +CAMBRIDGE. +Never was monarch better fear’d and lov’d +Than is your Majesty. There’s not, I think, a subject +That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness +Under the sweet shade of your government. + +GREY. +True; those that were your father’s enemies +Have steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you +With hearts create of duty and of zeal. + +KING HENRY. +We therefore have great cause of thankfulness, +And shall forget the office of our hand +Sooner than quittance of desert and merit +According to the weight and worthiness. + +SCROOP. +So service shall with steeled sinews toil, +And labour shall refresh itself with hope, +To do your Grace incessant services. + +KING HENRY. +We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, +Enlarge the man committed yesterday, +That rail’d against our person. We consider +It was excess of wine that set him on, +And on his more advice we pardon him. + +SCROOP. +That’s mercy, but too much security. +Let him be punish’d, sovereign, lest example +Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. + +KING HENRY. +O, let us yet be merciful. + +CAMBRIDGE. +So may your Highness, and yet punish too. + +GREY. +Sir, +You show great mercy if you give him life +After the taste of much correction. + +KING HENRY. +Alas, your too much love and care of me +Are heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch! +If little faults, proceeding on distemper, +Shall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eye +When capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and digested, +Appear before us? We’ll yet enlarge that man, +Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care +And tender preservation of our person, +Would have him punish’d. And now to our French causes. +Who are the late commissioners? + +CAMBRIDGE. +I one, my lord. +Your Highness bade me ask for it today. + +SCROOP. +So did you me, my liege. + +GREY. +And I, my royal sovereign. + +KING HENRY. +Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; +There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight, +Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours. +Read them, and know I know your worthiness. +My Lord of Westmorland, and uncle Exeter, +We will aboard tonight.—Why, how now, gentlemen! +What see you in those papers that you lose +So much complexion?—Look ye, how they change! +Their cheeks are paper.—Why, what read you there, +That have so cowarded and chas’d your blood +Out of appearance? + +CAMBRIDGE. +I do confess my fault, +And do submit me to your Highness’ mercy. + +GREY, SCROOP. +To which we all appeal. + +KING HENRY. +The mercy that was quick in us but late, +By your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d. +You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy, +For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, +As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. +See you, my princes and my noble peers, +These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here, +You know how apt our love was to accord +To furnish him with an appertinents +Belonging to his honour; and this man +Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’d +And sworn unto the practices of France +To kill us here in Hampton; to the which +This knight, no less for bounty bound to us +Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O +What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel, +Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! +Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, +That knew’st the very bottom of my soul, +That almost mightst have coin’d me into gold, +Wouldst thou have practis’d on me for thy use,— +May it be possible that foreign hire +Could out of thee extract one spark of evil +That might annoy my finger? ’Tis so strange, +That, though the truth of it stands off as gross +As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. +Treason and murder ever kept together, +As two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose, +Working so grossly in a natural cause +That admiration did not whoop at them; +But thou, ’gainst all proportion, didst bring in +Wonder to wait on treason and on murder; +And whatsoever cunning fiend it was +That wrought upon thee so preposterously +Hath got the voice in hell for excellence; +And other devils that suggest by treasons +Do botch and bungle up damnation +With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch’d +From glist’ring semblances of piety. +But he that temper’d thee bade thee stand up, +Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, +Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. +If that same demon that hath gull’d thee thus +Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, +He might return to vasty Tartar back, +And tell the legions, “I can never win +A soul so easy as that Englishman’s.” +O, how hast thou with jealousy infected +The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? +Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned? +Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family? +Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious? +Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet, +Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, +Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, +Garnish’d and deck’d in modest complement, +Not working with the eye without the ear, +And but in purged judgement trusting neither? +Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem. +And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot +To mark the full-fraught man and best indued +With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; +For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like +Another fall of man. Their faults are open. +Arrest them to the answer of the law; +And God acquit them of their practices! + +EXETER. +I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of +Cambridge. +I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of +Masham. +I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of +Northumberland. + +SCROOP. +Our purposes God justly hath discover’d, +And I repent my fault more than my death, +Which I beseech your Highness to forgive, +Although my body pay the price of it. + +CAMBRIDGE. +For me, the gold of France did not seduce, +Although I did admit it as a motive +The sooner to effect what I intended. +But God be thanked for prevention, +Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, +Beseeching God and you to pardon me. + +GREY. +Never did faithful subject more rejoice +At the discovery of most dangerous treason +Than I do at this hour joy o’er myself, +Prevented from a damned enterprise. +My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. + +KING HENRY. +God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. +You have conspir’d against our royal person, +Join’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffers +Received the golden earnest of our death; +Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, +His princes and his peers to servitude, +His subjects to oppression and contempt, +And his whole kingdom into desolation. +Touching our person seek we no revenge; +But we our kingdom’s safety must so tender, +Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws +We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, +Poor miserable wretches, to your death, +The taste whereof God of his mercy give +You patience to endure, and true repentance +Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence. + + [_Exeunt Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, guarded._] + +Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof +Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. +We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, +Since God so graciously hath brought to light +This dangerous treason lurking in our way +To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now +But every rub is smoothed on our way. +Then forth, dear countrymen! Let us deliver +Our puissance into the hand of God, +Putting it straight in expedition. +Cheerly to sea! The signs of war advance! +No king of England, if not king of France! + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. London. Before a tavern. + + Enter Pistol, Nym, Bardolph, Boy and Hostess. + +HOSTESS. +Prithee, honey, sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. + +PISTOL. +No; for my manly heart doth yearn. +Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins; +Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead, +And we must yearn therefore. + +BARDOLPH. +Would I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell! + +HOSTESS. +Nay, sure, he’s not in hell. He’s in Arthur’s bosom, if ever man went +to Arthur’s bosom. ’A made a finer end and went away an it had been any +christom child. ’A parted even just between twelve and one, even at the +turning o’ the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and +play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends, I knew there was +but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ’a babbled of +green fields. “How now, Sir John!” quoth I; “what, man! be o’ good +cheer.” So ’a cried out, “God, God, God!” three or four times. Now I, +to comfort him, bid him ’a should not think of God; I hop’d there was +no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So ’a bade me +lay more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the bed and felt them, +and they were as cold as any stone. Then I felt to his knees, and so +upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. + +NYM. +They say he cried out of sack. + +HOSTESS. +Ay, that ’a did. + +BARDOLPH. +And of women. + +HOSTESS. +Nay, that ’a did not. + +BOY. +Yes, that ’a did; and said they were devils incarnate. + +HOSTESS. +’A could never abide carnation; ’twas a colour he never liked. + +BOY. +’A said once, the devil would have him about women. + +HOSTESS. +’A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, +and talk’d of the whore of Babylon. + +BOY. +Do you not remember, ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a +said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire? + +BARDOLPH. +Well, the fuel is gone that maintain’d that fire. That’s all the riches +I got in his service. + +NYM. +Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton. + +PISTOL. +Come, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips. +Look to my chattels and my movables. +Let senses rule; the word is “Pitch and Pay.” +Trust none; +For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes +And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck; +Therefore, _Caveto_ be thy counsellor. +Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, +Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys, +To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! + +BOY. +And that’s but unwholesome food, they say. + +PISTOL. +Touch her soft mouth, and march. + +BARDOLPH. +Farewell, hostess. + + [_Kissing her._] + +NYM. +I cannot kiss; that is the humour of it; but, adieu. + +PISTOL. +Let housewifery appear. Keep close, I thee command. + +HOSTESS. +Farewell; adieu. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. France. The King’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dauphin, the Dukes of Berry and + Brittany, the Constable and others. + +FRENCH KING. +Thus comes the English with full power upon us, +And more than carefully it us concerns +To answer royally in our defences. +Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Brittany, +Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, +And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, +To line and new repair our towns of war +With men of courage and with means defendant; +For England his approaches makes as fierce +As waters to the sucking of a gulf. +It fits us then to be as provident +As fears may teach us out of late examples +Left by the fatal and neglected English +Upon our fields. + +DAUPHIN. +My most redoubted father, +It is most meet we arm us ’gainst the foe; +For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, +Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, +But that defences, musters, preparations, +Should be maintain’d, assembled, and collected, +As were a war in expectation. +Therefore, I say, ’tis meet we all go forth +To view the sick and feeble parts of France. +And let us do it with no show of fear; +No, with no more than if we heard that England +Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance; +For, my good liege, she is so idly king’d, +Her sceptre so fantastically borne +By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, +That fear attends her not. + +CONSTABLE. +O peace, Prince Dauphin! +You are too much mistaken in this king. +Question your Grace the late ambassadors +With what great state he heard their embassy, +How well supplied with noble counsellors, +How modest in exception, and withal +How terrible in constant resolution, +And you shall find his vanities forespent +Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, +Covering discretion with a coat of folly; +As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots +That shall first spring and be most delicate. + +DAUPHIN. +Well, ’tis not so, my Lord High Constable; +But though we think it so, it is no matter. +In cases of defence ’tis best to weigh +The enemy more mighty than he seems, +So the proportions of defence are fill’d; +Which, of a weak and niggardly projection, +Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting +A little cloth. + +FRENCH KING. +Think we King Harry strong; +And, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. +The kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us; +And he is bred out of that bloody strain +That haunted us in our familiar paths. +Witness our too much memorable shame +When Cressy battle fatally was struck, +And all our princes captiv’d by the hand +Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; +Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing, +Up in the air, crown’d with the golden sun, +Saw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him, +Mangle the work of nature and deface +The patterns that by God and by French fathers +Had twenty years been made. This is a stem +Of that victorious stock; and let us fear +The native mightiness and fate of him. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Ambassadors from Harry King of England +Do crave admittance to your Majesty. + +FRENCH KING. +We’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. + + [_Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords._] + +You see this chase is hotly follow’d, friends. + +DAUPHIN. +Turn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs +Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten +Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, +Take up the English short, and let them know +Of what a monarchy you are the head. +Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin +As self-neglecting. + + Enter Exeter. + +FRENCH KING. +From our brother of England? + +EXETER. +From him; and thus he greets your Majesty: +He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, +That you divest yourself, and lay apart +The borrowed glories that by gift of heaven, +By law of nature and of nations, ’longs +To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown +And all wide-stretched honours that pertain +By custom and the ordinance of times +Unto the crown of France. That you may know +’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim +Pick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days, +Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d, +He sends you this most memorable line, +In every branch truly demonstrative; +Willing you overlook this pedigree; +And when you find him evenly deriv’d +From his most fam’d of famous ancestors, +Edward the Third, he bids you then resign +Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held +From him, the native and true challenger. + +FRENCH KING. +Or else what follows? + +EXETER. +Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown +Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it. +Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, +In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, +That, if requiring fail, he will compel; +And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, +Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy +On the poor souls for whom this hungry war +Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head +Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries, +The dead men’s blood, the pining maidens’ groans, +For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, +That shall be swallowed in this controversy. +This is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message; +Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, +To whom expressly I bring greeting too. + +FRENCH KING. +For us, we will consider of this further. +Tomorrow shall you bear our full intent +Back to our brother of England. + +DAUPHIN. +For the Dauphin, +I stand here for him. What to him from England? + +EXETER. +Scorn and defiance. Slight regard, contempt, +And anything that may not misbecome +The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. +Thus says my king: an if your father’s Highness +Do not, in grant of all demands at large, +Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty, +He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it +That caves and womby vaultages of France +Shall chide your trespass and return your mock +In second accent of his ordinance. + +DAUPHIN. +Say, if my father render fair return, +It is against my will; for I desire +Nothing but odds with England. To that end, +As matching to his youth and vanity, +I did present him with the Paris balls. + +EXETER. +He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, +Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe; +And, be assur’d, you’ll find a difference, +As we his subjects have in wonder found, +Between the promise of his greener days +And these he masters now. Now he weighs time +Even to the utmost grain. That you shall read +In your own losses, if he stay in France. + +FRENCH KING. +Tomorrow shall you know our mind at full. + + [_Flourish._] + +EXETER. +Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king +Come here himself to question our delay; +For he is footed in this land already. + +FRENCH KING. +You shall be soon dispatch’d with fair conditions. +A night is but small breath and little pause +To answer matters of this consequence. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + + Flourish. Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies, +In motion of no less celerity +Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen +The well-appointed king at Hampton pier +Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet +With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. +Play with your fancies; and in them behold +Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; +Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give +To sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails, +Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, +Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea, +Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think +You stand upon the rivage and behold +A city on the inconstant billows dancing; +For so appears this fleet majestical, +Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! +Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, +And leave your England, as dead midnight still, +Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, +Either past or not arriv’d to pith and puissance. +For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d +With one appearing hair, that will not follow +These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? +Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; +Behold the ordnance on their carriages, +With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. +Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back, +Tells Harry that the King doth offer him +Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry, +Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. +The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner +With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, + + [_Alarum, and chambers go off._] + +And down goes all before them. Still be kind, +And eke out our performance with your mind. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur. + + Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester and Soldiers, + with scaling-ladders. + +KING HENRY. +Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, +Or close the wall up with our English dead. +In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man +As modest stillness and humility; +But when the blast of war blows in our ears, +Then imitate the action of the tiger; +Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, +Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage; +Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; +Let it pry through the portage of the head +Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it +As fearfully as does a galled rock +O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, +Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean. +Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, +Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit +To his full height. On, on, you noblest English, +Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! +Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, +Have in these parts from morn till even fought, +And sheath’d their swords for lack of argument. +Dishonour not your mothers; now attest +That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you. +Be copy now to men of grosser blood, +And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, +Whose limbs were made in England, show us here +The mettle of your pasture; let us swear +That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not; +For there is none of you so mean and base, +That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. +I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, +Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot! +Follow your spirit, and upon this charge +Cry, “God for Harry! England and Saint George!” + + [_Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol and Boy. + +BARDOLPH. +On, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach! + +NYM. +Pray thee, corporal, stay. The knocks are too hot; and, for mine own +part, I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot; that is +the very plain-song of it. + +PISTOL. +The plain-song is most just, for humours do abound. +Knocks go and come; God’s vassals drop and die; + And sword and shield, + In bloody field, + Doth win immortal fame. + +BOY. +Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a +pot of ale and safety. + +PISTOL. +And I. + If wishes would prevail with me, + My purpose should not fail with me, + But thither would I hie. + +BOY. + As duly, + But not as truly, + As bird doth sing on bough. + + Enter Fluellen. + +FLUELLEN. +Up to the breach, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions! + + [_Driving them forward._] + +PISTOL. +Be merciful, great Duke, to men of mould. +Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, +Abate thy rage, great Duke! +Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! + +NYM. +These be good humours! Your honour wins bad humours. + + [_Exeunt all but Boy._] + +BOY. +As young as I am, I have observ’d these three swashers. I am boy to +them all three; but all they three, though they would serve me, could +not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. +For Bardolph, he is white-liver’d and red-fac’d; by the means whereof +’a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue +and a quiet sword; by the means whereof ’a breaks words, and keeps +whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the +best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest ’a should be +thought a coward. But his few bad words are match’d with as few good +deeds; for ’a never broke any man’s head but his own, and that was +against a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it +purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold +it for three half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in +filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel. I knew by that piece +of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar +with men’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers; which makes +much against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket to put +into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, +and seek some better service. Their villainy goes against my weak +stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Gower and Fluellen. + +GOWER. +Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines. +The Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. + +FLUELLEN. +To the mines! Tell you the Duke, it is not so good to come to the +mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of +the war. The concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, the +athversary, you may discuss unto the Duke, look you, is digt himself +four yard under the countermines. By Cheshu, I think ’a will plow up +all, if there is not better directions. + +GOWER. +The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is +altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i’ faith. + +FLUELLEN. +It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? + +GOWER. +I think it be. + +FLUELLEN. +By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world. I will verify as much in his +beard. He has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, +look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. + + Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy. + +GOWER. +Here ’a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. + +FLUELLEN. +Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain; and +of great expedition and knowledge in the anchient wars, upon my +particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his +argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines +of the pristine wars of the Romans. + +JAMY. +I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. + +FLUELLEN. +God-den to your worship, good Captain James. + +GOWER. +How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the mines? +Have the pioneers given o’er? + +MACMORRIS. +By Chrish, la! ’tish ill done! The work ish give over, the trompet +sound the retreat. By my hand I swear, and my father’s soul, the work +ish ill done; it ish give over. I would have blowed up the town, so +Chrish save me, la! in an hour. O, ’tish ill done, ’tish ill done; by +my hand, ’tish ill done! + +FLUELLEN. +Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a +few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the +disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look +you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and +partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the +direction of the military discipline; that is the point. + +JAMY. +It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you +with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. + +MACMORRIS. +It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the +weather, and the wars, and the King, and the Dukes. It is no time to +discourse. The town is beseech’d, and the trumpet call us to the +breach, and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing. ’Tis shame for us all. +So God sa’ me, ’tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and +there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing +done, so Chrish sa’ me, la! + +JAMY. +By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, I’ll +de gud service, or I’ll lig i’ the grund for it; ay, or go to death; +and I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is +the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question +’tween you tway. + +FLUELLEN. +Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is +not many of your nation— + +MACMORRIS. +Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a +knave, and a rascal? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? + +FLUELLEN. +Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain +Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that +affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you, being as +good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the +derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. + +MACMORRIS. +I do not know you so good a man as myself. So Chrish save me, +I will cut off your head. + +GOWER. +Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. + +JAMY. +Ah! that’s a foul fault. + + [_A parley sounded._] + +GOWER. +The town sounds a parley. + +FLUELLEN. +Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be +required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the +disciplines of war; and there is an end. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Before the gates. + + The Governor and some citizens on the walls; the English forces below. + Enter King Henry and his train. + +KING HENRY. +How yet resolves the governor of the town? +This is the latest parle we will admit; +Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves, +Or like to men proud of destruction +Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier, +A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, +If I begin the battery once again, +I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur +Till in her ashes she lie buried. +The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, +And the flesh’d soldier, rough and hard of heart, +In liberty of bloody hand shall range +With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass +Your fresh fair virgins and your flow’ring infants. +What is it then to me, if impious War, +Array’d in flames like to the prince of fiends, +Do with his smirch’d complexion all fell feats +Enlink’d to waste and desolation? +What is’t to me, when you yourselves are cause, +If your pure maidens fall into the hand +Of hot and forcing violation? +What rein can hold licentious wickedness +When down the hill he holds his fierce career? +We may as bootless spend our vain command +Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil +As send precepts to the leviathan +To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, +Take pity of your town and of your people, +Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command, +Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace +O’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds +Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy. +If not, why, in a moment look to see +The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand +Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; +Your fathers taken by the silver beards, +And their most reverend heads dash’d to the walls; +Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, +Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus’d +Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry +At Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen. +What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid, +Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy’d? + +GOVERNOR. +Our expectation hath this day an end. +The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated, +Returns us that his powers are yet not ready +To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great King, +We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. +Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; +For we no longer are defensible. + +KING HENRY. +Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, +Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, +And fortify it strongly ’gainst the French. +Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, +The winter coming on, and sickness growing +Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. +Tonight in Harfleur will we be your guest; +Tomorrow for the march are we addrest. + + Flourish. The King and his train enter the town. + +SCENE IV. The French King’s palace. + + Enter Katharine and Alice, an old Gentlewoman. + +KATHARINE. +_Alice, tu as été en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage._ + +ALICE. +_Un peu, madame._ + +KATHARINE. +_Je te prie, m’enseignez; il faut que j’apprenne à parler. +Comment appelez-vous la main en anglais?_ + +ALICE. +_La main? Elle est appelée_ de hand. + +KATHARINE. +De hand. _Et les doigts?_ + +ALICE. +_Les doigts? Ma foi, j’oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les +doigts? Je pense qu’ils sont appelés_ de fingres; _oui_, de fingres. + +KATHARINE. +_La main_, de hand; _les doigts_, de fingres. _Je pense que je suis le +bon écolier; j’ai gagné deux mots d’anglais vitement. Comment +appelez-vous les ongles?_ + +ALICE. +_Les ongles? Nous les appelons_ de nails. + +KATHARINE. +De nails. _Écoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien:_ de hand, de fingres, +_et_ de nails. + +ALICE. +_C’est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon anglais._ + +KATHARINE. +_Dites-moi l’anglais pour le bras._ + +ALICE. +De arm, _madame._ + +KATHARINE. +_Et le coude?_ + +ALICE. +D’elbow. + +KATHARINE. +D’elbow. _Je m’en fais la répétition de tous les mots que vous m’avez +appris dès à présent._ + +ALICE. +_Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense._ + +KATHARINE. +_Excusez-moi, Alice. Écoutez:_ d’hand, de fingres, de nails, d’arm, de +bilbow. + +ALICE. +D’elbow, _madame._ + +KATHARINE. +_O Seigneur Dieu, je m’en oublie!_ D’elbow. +_Comment appelez-vous le col?_ + +ALICE. +De nick, _madame._ + +KATHARINE. +De nick. _Et le menton?_ + +ALICE. +De chin. + +KATHARINE. +De sin. _Le col_, de nick; _le menton_, de sin. + +ALICE. +_Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en vérité, vous prononcez les mots aussi +droit que les natifs d’Angleterre._ + +KATHARINE. +_Je ne doute point d’apprendre, par la grâce de Dieu, et en peu de +temps._ + +ALICE. +_N’avez-vous pas déjà oublié ce que je vous ai enseigné?_ + +KATHARINE. +_Non, je réciterai à vous promptement:_ d’hand, de fingres, de mails,— + +ALICE. +De nails, _madame._ + +KATHARINE. +De nails, de arm, de ilbow. + +ALICE. +_Sauf votre honneur_, de elbow. + +KATHARINE. +_Ainsi dis-je_, d’elbow, de nick, _et_ de sin. _Comment appelez-vous le +pied et la robe?_ + +ALICE. +De foot, _madame; et_ de coun. + +KATHARINE. +De foot _et_ de coun! _O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont les mots de son +mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames +d’honneur d’user. Je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les +seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh!_ le foot _et_ le coun! +_Néanmoins, je réciterai une autre fois ma leçon ensemble:_ d’hand, de +fingres, de nails, d’arm, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun. + +ALICE. +_Excellent, madame!_ + +KATHARINE. +_C’est assez pour une fois. Allons-nous à dîner._ + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. The same. + + Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, the Duke of Bourbon, the + Constable of France and others. + +FRENCH KING. +’Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme. + +CONSTABLE. +And if he be not fought withal, my lord, +Let us not live in France; let us quit all +And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. + +DAUPHIN. +_O Dieu vivant_! shall a few sprays of us, +The emptying of our fathers’ luxury, +Our scions put in wild and savage stock, +Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, +And overlook their grafters? + +BOURBON. +Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! +_Mort de ma vie_, if they march along +Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, +To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm +In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. + +CONSTABLE. +_Dieu de batailles_, where have they this mettle? +Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull, +On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, +Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, +A drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley-broth, +Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? +And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, +Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, +Let us not hang like roping icicles +Upon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty people +Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields! +Poor we may call them in their native lords. + +DAUPHIN. +By faith and honour, +Our madams mock at us, and plainly say +Our mettle is bred out, and they will give +Their bodies to the lust of English youth +To new-store France with bastard warriors. + +BOURBON. +They bid us to the English dancing-schools, +And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos; +Saying our grace is only in our heels, +And that we are most lofty runaways. + +FRENCH KING. +Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence. +Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. +Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged +More sharper than your swords, hie to the field! +Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; +You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, +Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; +Jacques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, +Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconbridge, +Foix, Lestrale, Boucicault, and Charolois; +High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, +For your great seats now quit you of great shames. +Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land +With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur. +Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow +Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat +The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon. +Go down upon him, you have power enough, +And in a captive chariot into Rouen +Bring him our prisoner. + +CONSTABLE. +This becomes the great. +Sorry am I his numbers are so few, +His soldiers sick and famish’d in their march; +For I am sure, when he shall see our army, +He’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear +And for achievement offer us his ransom. + +FRENCH KING. +Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy, +And let him say to England that we send +To know what willing ransom he will give. +Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. + +DAUPHIN. +Not so, I do beseech your Majesty. + +FRENCH KING. +Be patient, for you shall remain with us. +Now forth, Lord Constable and princes all, +And quickly bring us word of England’s fall. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. The English camp in Picardy. + + Enter Gower and Fluellen, meeting. + +GOWER. +How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge? + +FLUELLEN. +I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the bridge. + +GOWER. +Is the Duke of Exeter safe? + +FLUELLEN. +The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I +love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, +and my living, and my uttermost power. He is not—God be praised and +blessed!—any hurt in the world; but keeps the bridge most valiantly, +with excellent discipline. There is an anchient lieutenant there at the +pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark +Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world, but I did see +him do as gallant service. + +GOWER. +What do you call him? + +FLUELLEN. +He is call’d Anchient Pistol. + +GOWER. +I know him not. + + Enter Pistol. + +FLUELLEN. +Here is the man. + +PISTOL. +Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours. +The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. + +FLUELLEN. +Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. + +PISTOL. +Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, +And of buxom valour, hath by cruel fate +And giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel, +That goddess blind, +That stands upon the rolling restless stone— + +FLUELLEN. +By your patience, Anchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a +muffler afore his eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and +she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral +of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and +variation; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, +which rolls, and rolls, and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most +excellent description of it. Fortune is an excellent moral. + +PISTOL. +Fortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him; +For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must ’a be,— +A damned death! +Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free, +And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate. +But Exeter hath given the doom of death +For pax of little price. +Therefore, go speak; the Duke will hear thy voice; +And let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut +With edge of penny cord and vile reproach. +Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. + +FLUELLEN. +Anchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. + +PISTOL. +Why then, rejoice therefore. + +FLUELLEN. +Certainly, anchient, it is not a thing to rejoice at; for if, look you, +he were my brother, I would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure, +and put him to execution; for discipline ought to be used. + +PISTOL. +Die and be damn’d! and _fico_ for thy friendship! + +FLUELLEN. +It is well. + +PISTOL. +The fig of Spain. + + [_Exit._] + +FLUELLEN. +Very good. + +GOWER. +Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal. I remember him now; a bawd, +a cutpurse. + +FLUELLEN. +I’ll assure you, ’a uttered as prave words at the pridge as you shall +see in a summer’s day. But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, +that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. + +GOWER. +Why, ’t is a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then goes to the wars, +to grace himself at his return into London under the form of a soldier. +And such fellows are perfect in the great commanders’ names; and they +will learn you by rote where services were done; at such and such a +sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who +was shot, who disgrac’d, what terms the enemy stood on; and this they +con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned +oaths: and what a beard of the general’s cut and a horrid suit of the +camp will do among foaming bottles and ale-wash’d wits, is wonderful to +be thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or +else you may be marvellously mistook. + +FLUELLEN. +I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is not the man that he +would gladly make show to the world he is. If I find a hole in his +coat, I will tell him my mind. [_Drum heard._] Hark you, the King is +coming, and I must speak with him from the pridge. + + Drum and colours. Enter King Henry, Gloucester and his poor soldiers. + +God bless your Majesty! + +KING HENRY. +How now, Fluellen! cam’st thou from the bridge? + +FLUELLEN. +Ay, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly +maintain’d the pridge. The French is gone off, look you; and there is +gallant and most prave passages. Marry, th’ athversary was have +possession of the pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of +Exeter is master of the pridge. I can tell your Majesty, the Duke is a +prave man. + +KING HENRY. +What men have you lost, Fluellen? + +FLUELLEN. +The perdition of the athversary hath been very great, reasonable great. +Marry, for my part, I think the Duke hath lost never a man, but one +that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your +Majesty know the man. His face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, +and flames o’ fire; and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a +coal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red; but his nose is +executed, and his fire’s out. + +KING HENRY. +We would have all such offenders so cut off; and we give express +charge, that in our marches through the country, there be nothing +compell’d from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the +French upbraided or abused in disdainful language; for when lenity and +cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. + + Tucket. Enter Montjoy. + +MONTJOY. +You know me by my habit. + +KING HENRY. +Well then I know thee. What shall I know of thee? + +MONTJOY. +My master’s mind. + +KING HENRY. +Unfold it. + +MONTJOY. +Thus says my King: Say thou to Harry of England: Though we seem’d dead, +we did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him +we could have rebuk’d him at Harfleur, but that we thought not good to +bruise an injury till it were full ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and +our voice is imperial. England shall repent his folly, see his +weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his +ransom; which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we +have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which in weight to re-answer, +his pettishness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too +poor; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too +faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our +feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance; and +tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose +condemnation is pronounc’d. So far my King and master; so much my +office. + +KING HENRY. +What is thy name? I know thy quality. + +MONTJOY. +Montjoy. + +KING HENRY. +Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, +And tell thy King I do not seek him now, +But could be willing to march on to Calais +Without impeachment; for, to say the sooth, +Though ’tis no wisdom to confess so much +Unto an enemy of craft and vantage, +My people are with sickness much enfeebled, +My numbers lessen’d, and those few I have +Almost no better than so many French; +Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, +I thought upon one pair of English legs +Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God, +That I do brag thus! This your air of France +Hath blown that vice in me. I must repent. +Go therefore, tell thy master here I am; +My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk, +My army but a weak and sickly guard; +Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, +Though France himself and such another neighbour +Stand in our way. There’s for thy labour, Montjoy. +Go, bid thy master well advise himself. +If we may pass, we will; if we be hind’red, +We shall your tawny ground with your red blood +Discolour; and so, Montjoy, fare you well. +The sum of all our answer is but this: +We would not seek a battle, as we are; +Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it. +So tell your master. + +MONTJOY. +I shall deliver so. Thanks to your Highness. + + [_Exit._] + +GLOUCESTER. +I hope they will not come upon us now. + +KING HENRY. +We are in God’s hands, brother, not in theirs. +March to the bridge; it now draws toward night. +Beyond the river we’ll encamp ourselves, +And on tomorrow bid them march away. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. The French camp, near Agincourt. + + Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, Orleans, Dauphin + with others. + +CONSTABLE. +Tut! I have the best armour of the world. +Would it were day! + +ORLEANS. +You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due. + +CONSTABLE. +It is the best horse of Europe. + +ORLEANS. +Will it never be morning? + +DAUPHIN. +My Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Constable, you talk of horse and +armour? + +ORLEANS. +You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world. + +DAUPHIN. +What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that +treads but on four pasterns. Ch’ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his +entrails were hairs; _le cheval volant_, the Pegasus, _qui a les +narines de feu!_ When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk. He trots the +air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is +more musical than the pipe of Hermes. + +ORLEANS. +He’s of the colour of the nutmeg. + +DAUPHIN. +And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus. He is pure +air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in +him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him. He is +indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts. + +CONSTABLE. +Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse. + +DAUPHIN. +It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a +monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. + +ORLEANS. +No more, cousin. + +DAUPHIN. +Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to +the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey. It is a +theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and +my horse is argument for them all. ’Tis a subject for a sovereign to +reason on, and for a sovereign’s sovereign to ride on; and for the +world, familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their particular +functions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and +began thus: “Wonder of nature,”— + +ORLEANS. +I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress. + +DAUPHIN. +Then did they imitate that which I compos’d to my courser, for my horse +is my mistress. + +ORLEANS. +Your mistress bears well. + +DAUPHIN. +Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and +particular mistress. + +CONSTABLE. +Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back. + +DAUPHIN. +So perhaps did yours. + +CONSTABLE. +Mine was not bridled. + +DAUPHIN. +O then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kern of +Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait strossers. + +CONSTABLE. +You have good judgment in horsemanship. + +DAUPHIN. +Be warn’d by me, then; they that ride so and ride not warily, fall into +foul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my mistress. + +CONSTABLE. +I had as lief have my mistress a jade. + +DAUPHIN. +I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair. + +CONSTABLE. +I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress. + +DAUPHIN. +“_Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, et la truie lavée au +bourbier_.” Thou mak’st use of anything. + +CONSTABLE. +Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any such proverb so +little kin to the purpose. + +RAMBURES. +My Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent tonight, are +those stars or suns upon it? + +CONSTABLE. +Stars, my lord. + +DAUPHIN. +Some of them will fall tomorrow, I hope. + +CONSTABLE. +And yet my sky shall not want. + +DAUPHIN. +That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honour +some were away. + +CONSTABLE. +Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were +some of your brags dismounted. + +DAUPHIN. +Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I +will trot tomorrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English +faces. + +CONSTABLE. +I will not say so, for fear I should be fac’d out of my way. But I +would it were morning; for I would fain be about the ears of the +English. + +RAMBURES. +Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners? + +CONSTABLE. +You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them. + +DAUPHIN. +’Tis midnight; I’ll go arm myself. + + [_Exit._] + +ORLEANS. +The Dauphin longs for morning. + +RAMBURES. +He longs to eat the English. + +CONSTABLE. +I think he will eat all he kills. + +ORLEANS. +By the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant prince. + +CONSTABLE. +Swear by her foot that she may tread out the oath. + +ORLEANS. +He is simply the most active gentleman of France. + +CONSTABLE. +Doing is activity; and he will still be doing. + +ORLEANS. +He never did harm, that I heard of. + +CONSTABLE. +Nor will do none tomorrow. He will keep that good name still. + +ORLEANS. +I know him to be valiant. + +CONSTABLE. +I was told that by one that knows him better than you. + +ORLEANS. +What’s he? + +CONSTABLE. +Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he car’d not who knew it. + +ORLEANS. +He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him. + +CONSTABLE. +By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but his lackey. ’Tis +a hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate. + +ORLEANS. +“Ill will never said well.” + +CONSTABLE. +I will cap that proverb with “There is flattery in friendship.” + +ORLEANS. +And I will take up that with “Give the devil his due.” + +CONSTABLE. +Well plac’d. There stands your friend for the devil; have at the very +eye of that proverb with “A pox of the devil.” + +ORLEANS. +You are the better at proverbs, by how much “A fool’s bolt is soon +shot.” + +CONSTABLE. +You have shot over. + +ORLEANS. +’Tis not the first time you were overshot. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +My Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of +your tents. + +CONSTABLE. +Who hath measur’d the ground? + +MESSENGER. +The Lord Grandpré. + +CONSTABLE. +A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day! Alas, poor +Harry of England, he longs not for the dawning as we do. + +ORLEANS. +What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of England, to mope +with his fat-brain’d followers so far out of his knowledge! + +CONSTABLE. +If the English had any apprehension, they would run away. + +ORLEANS. +That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they +could never wear such heavy head-pieces. + +RAMBURES. +That island of England breeds very valiant creatures. Their mastiffs +are of unmatchable courage. + +ORLEANS. +Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear and +have their heads crush’d like rotten apples! You may as well say, +that’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. + +CONSTABLE. +Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs in robustious +and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then, +give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like +wolves and fight like devils. + +ORLEANS. +Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. + +CONSTABLE. +Then shall we find tomorrow they have only stomachs to eat and none to +fight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it? + +ORLEANS. +It is now two o’clock; but, let me see, by ten +We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + + Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Now entertain conjecture of a time +When creeping murmur and the poring dark +Fills the wide vessel of the universe. +From camp to camp through the foul womb of night +The hum of either army stilly sounds, +That the fix’d sentinels almost receive +The secret whispers of each other’s watch; +Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames +Each battle sees the other’s umber’d face; +Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs +Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents +The armourers, accomplishing the knights, +With busy hammers closing rivets up, +Give dreadful note of preparation. +The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, +And the third hour of drowsy morning name. +Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, +The confident and over-lusty French +Do the low-rated English play at dice; +And chide the cripple tardy-gaited Night +Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp +So tediously away. The poor condemned English, +Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires +Sit patiently and inly ruminate +The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad, +Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, +Presented them unto the gazing moon +So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold +The royal captain of this ruin’d band +Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, +Let him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!” +For forth he goes and visits all his host, +Bids them good morrow with a modest smile, +And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. +Upon his royal face there is no note +How dread an army hath enrounded him; +Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour +Unto the weary and all-watched night, +But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint +With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; +That every wretch, pining and pale before, +Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. +A largess universal like the sun +His liberal eye doth give to everyone, +Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all +Behold, as may unworthiness define, +A little touch of Harry in the night. +And so our scene must to the battle fly, +Where—O for pity!—we shall much disgrace +With four or five most vile and ragged foils, +Right ill-dispos’d in brawl ridiculous, +The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, +Minding true things by what their mock’ries be. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE I. The English camp at Agincourt. + + Enter King Henry, Bedford and Gloucester. + +KING HENRY. +Gloucester, ’tis true that we are in great danger; +The greater therefore should our courage be. +Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty! +There is some soul of goodness in things evil, +Would men observingly distil it out; +For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, +Which is both healthful and good husbandry. +Besides, they are our outward consciences, +And preachers to us all, admonishing +That we should dress us fairly for our end. +Thus may we gather honey from the weed, +And make a moral of the devil himself. + + Enter Erpingham. + +Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: +A good soft pillow for that good white head +Were better than a churlish turf of France. + +ERPINGHAM. +Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better, +Since I may say, “Now lie I like a king.” + +KING HENRY. +’Tis good for men to love their present pains +Upon example; so the spirit is eased; +And when the mind is quick’ned, out of doubt, +The organs, though defunct and dead before, +Break up their drowsy grave and newly move, +With casted slough and fresh legerity. +Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both, +Commend me to the princes in our camp; +Do my good morrow to them, and anon +Desire them all to my pavilion. + +GLOUCESTER. +We shall, my liege. + +ERPINGHAM. +Shall I attend your Grace? + +KING HENRY. +No, my good knight; +Go with my brothers to my lords of England. +I and my bosom must debate a while, +And then I would no other company. + +ERPINGHAM. +The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! + + [_Exeunt all but King._] + +KING HENRY. +God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak’st cheerfully. + + Enter Pistol. + +PISTOL. +_Qui vous là?_ + +KING HENRY. +A friend. + +PISTOL. +Discuss unto me; art thou officer? +Or art thou base, common, and popular? + +KING HENRY. +I am a gentleman of a company. + +PISTOL. +Trail’st thou the puissant pike? + +KING HENRY. +Even so. What are you? + +PISTOL. +As good a gentleman as the Emperor. + +KING HENRY. +Then you are a better than the King. + +PISTOL. +The King’s a bawcock, and a heart of gold, +A lad of life, an imp of fame; +Of parents good, of fist most valiant. +I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string +I love the lovely bully. What is thy name? + +KING HENRY. +Harry le Roy. + +PISTOL. +Le Roy! a Cornish name. Art thou of Cornish crew? + +KING HENRY. +No, I am a Welshman. + +PISTOL. +Know’st thou Fluellen? + +KING HENRY. +Yes. + +PISTOL. +Tell him I’ll knock his leek about his pate +Upon Saint Davy’s day. + +KING HENRY. +Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that +about yours. + +PISTOL. +Art thou his friend? + +KING HENRY. +And his kinsman too. + +PISTOL. +The _fico_ for thee, then! + +KING HENRY. +I thank you. God be with you! + +PISTOL. +My name is Pistol call’d. + + [_Exit._] + +KING HENRY. +It sorts well with your fierceness. + + Enter Fluellen and Gower. + +GOWER. +Captain Fluellen! + +FLUELLEN. +So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest +admiration in the universal world, when the true and anchient +prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept. If you would take the +pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I +warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle nor pibble pabble in +Pompey’s camp. I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the +wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, +and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. + +GOWER. +Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night. + +FLUELLEN. +If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, +think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass and a fool and a +prating coxcomb? In your own conscience, now? + +GOWER. +I will speak lower. + +FLUELLEN. +I pray you and beseech you that you will. + + [_Exeunt Gower and Fluellen._] + +KING HENRY. +Though it appear a little out of fashion, +There is much care and valour in this Welshman. + + Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court and Michael + Williams. + +COURT. +Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder? + +BATES. +I think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the approach of +day. + +WILLIAMS. +We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see +the end of it. Who goes there? + +KING HENRY. +A friend. + +WILLIAMS. +Under what captain serve you? + +KING HENRY. +Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. + +WILLIAMS. +A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray you, what thinks +he of our estate? + +KING HENRY. +Even as men wreck’d upon a sand, that look to be wash’d off the next +tide. + +BATES. +He hath not told his thought to the King? + +KING HENRY. +No; nor it is not meet he should. For though I speak it to you, I think +the King is but a man as I am. The violet smells to him as it doth to +me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but +human conditions. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears +but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, +when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees +reason of fears as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same +relish as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any +appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. + +BATES. +He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as cold a +night as ’tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I +would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here. + +KING HENRY. +By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I think he would +not wish himself anywhere but where he is. + +BATES. +Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, +and a many poor men’s lives saved. + +KING HENRY. +I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone, howsoever +you speak this to feel other men’s minds. Methinks I could not die +anywhere so contented as in the King’s company, his cause being just +and his quarrel honourable. + +WILLIAMS. +That’s more than we know. + +BATES. +Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know +we are the King’s subjects. If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the +King wipes the crime of it out of us. + +WILLIAMS. +But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a heavy reckoning +to make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopp’d off in a +battle, shall join together at the latter day and cry all, “We died at +such a place”; some swearing, some crying for a surgeon, some upon +their wives left poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe, some +upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well that +die in a battle; for how can they charitably dispose of anything, when +blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be +a black matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were +against all proportion of subjection. + +KING HENRY. +So, if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise do sinfully +miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, +should be imposed upon his father that sent him; or if a servant, under +his master’s command transporting a sum of money, be assailed by +robbers and die in many irreconcil’d iniquities, you may call the +business of the master the author of the servant’s damnation. But this +is not so. The King is not bound to answer the particular endings of +his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for +they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. +Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come +to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted +soldiers. Some peradventure have on them the guilt of premeditated and +contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of +perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored +the gentle bosom of Peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men +have defeated the law and outrun native punishment, though they can +outstrip men, they have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadle, +war is his vengeance; so that here men are punish’d for before-breach +of the King’s laws in now the King’s quarrel. Where they feared the +death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they +perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of +their damnation than he was before guilty of those impieties for the +which they are now visited. Every subject’s duty is the King’s; but +every subject’s soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the +wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his +conscience; and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the +time was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him +that escapes, it were not sin to think that, making God so free an +offer, He let him outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach +others how they should prepare. + +WILLIAMS. +’Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the +King is not to answer for it. + +BATES. +I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight +lustily for him. + +KING HENRY. +I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom’d. + +WILLIAMS. +Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are +cut, he may be ransom’d, and we ne’er the wiser. + +KING HENRY. +If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. + +WILLIAMS. +You pay him then. That’s a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a +poor and a private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as +well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a +peacock’s feather. You’ll never trust his word after! Come, ’tis a +foolish saying. + +KING HENRY. +Your reproof is something too round. I should be angry with you, if the +time were convenient. + +WILLIAMS. +Let it be a quarrel between us if you live. + +KING HENRY. +I embrace it. + +WILLIAMS. +How shall I know thee again? + +KING HENRY. +Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet; then, if +ever thou dar’st acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. + +WILLIAMS. +Here’s my glove; give me another of thine. + +KING HENRY. +There. + +WILLIAMS. +This will I also wear in my cap. If ever thou come to me and say, after +tomorrow, “This is my glove,” by this hand I will take thee a box on +the ear. + +KING HENRY. +If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. + +WILLIAMS. +Thou dar’st as well be hang’d. + +KING HENRY. +Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King’s company. + +WILLIAMS. +Keep thy word; fare thee well. + +BATES. +Be friends, you English fools, be friends. We have French quarrels +enough, if you could tell how to reckon. + +KING HENRY. +Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one they will beat +us, for they bear them on their shoulders; but it is no English treason +to cut French crowns, and tomorrow the King himself will be a clipper. + + [_Exeunt soldiers._] + + Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls, +Our debts, our careful wives, +Our children, and our sins lay on the King! +We must bear all. O hard condition, +Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath +Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel +But his own wringing! What infinite heart’s ease +Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy! +And what have kings, that privates have not too, +Save ceremony, save general ceremony? +And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? +What kind of god art thou, that suffer’st more +Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? +What are thy rents? What are thy comings in? +O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! +What is thy soul of adoration? +Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, +Creating awe and fear in other men? +Wherein thou art less happy being fear’d +Than they in fearing. +What drink’st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, +But poison’d flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, +And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure! +Think’st thou the fiery fever will go out +With titles blown from adulation? +Will it give place to flexure and low bending? +Canst thou, when thou command’st the beggar’s knee, +Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, +That play’st so subtly with a king’s repose; +I am a king that find thee, and I know +’Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, +The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, +The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, +The farced title running ’fore the King, +The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp +That beats upon the high shore of this world, +No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony,— +Not all these, laid in bed majestical, +Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, +Who with a body fill’d and vacant mind +Gets him to rest, cramm’d with distressful bread, +Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, +But, like a lackey, from the rise to set +Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night +Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, +Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, +And follows so the ever-running year, +With profitable labour, to his grave: +And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, +Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, +Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. +The slave, a member of the country’s peace, +Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots +What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace, +Whose hours the peasant best advantages. + + Enter Erpingham. + +ERPINGHAM. +My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, +Seek through your camp to find you. + +KING HENRY. +Good old knight, +Collect them all together at my tent. +I’ll be before thee. + +ERPINGHAM. +I shall do’t, my lord. + + [_Exit._] + +KING HENRY. +O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts. +Possess them not with fear. Take from them now +The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers +Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord, +O, not today, think not upon the fault +My father made in compassing the crown! +I Richard’s body have interred new, +And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears +Than from it issued forced drops of blood. +Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, +Who twice a day their wither’d hands hold up +Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built +Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests +Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do; +Though all that I can do is nothing worth, +Since that my penitence comes after all, +Imploring pardon. + + Enter Gloucester. + +GLOUCESTER. +My liege! + +KING HENRY. +My brother Gloucester’s voice? Ay; +I know thy errand, I will go with thee. +The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The French camp. + + Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others. + +ORLEANS. +The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords! + +DAUPHIN. +_Monte à cheval!_ My horse, _varlet! laquais_, ha! + +ORLEANS. +O brave spirit! + +DAUPHIN. +_Via, les eaux et terre!_ + +ORLEANS. +_Rien puis? L’air et feu?_ + +DAUPHIN. +_Cieux_, cousin Orleans. + + Enter Constable. + +Now, my Lord Constable! + +CONSTABLE. +Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! + +DAUPHIN. +Mount them, and make incision in their hides, +That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, +And dout them with superfluous courage, ha! + +RAMBURES. +What, will you have them weep our horses’ blood? +How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +The English are embattl’d, you French peers. + +CONSTABLE. +To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! +Do but behold yon poor and starved band, +And your fair show shall suck away their souls, +Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. +There is not work enough for all our hands; +Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins +To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, +That our French gallants shall today draw out, +And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, +The vapour of our valour will o’erturn them. +’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords, +That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, +Who in unnecessary action swarm +About our squares of battle, were enough +To purge this field of such a hilding foe, +Though we upon this mountain’s basis by +Took stand for idle speculation, +But that our honours must not. What’s to say? +A very little little let us do, +And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound +The tucket sonance and the note to mount; +For our approach shall so much dare the field +That England shall crouch down in fear and yield. + + Enter Grandpré. + +GRANDPRÉ. +Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? +Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, +Ill-favouredly become the morning field. +Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, +And our air shakes them passing scornfully. +Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host, +And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps; +The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks +With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades +Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips, +The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, +And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit +Lies foul with chew’d grass, still, and motionless; +And their executors, the knavish crows, +Fly o’er them, all impatient for their hour. +Description cannot suit itself in words +To demonstrate the life of such a battle, +In life so lifeless as it shows itself. + +CONSTABLE. +They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. + +DAUPHIN. +Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits +And give their fasting horses provender, +And after fight with them? + +CONSTABLE. +I stay but for my guard; on to the field! +I will the banner from a trumpet take, +And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! +The sun is high, and we outwear the day. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The English camp. + + Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host: + Salisbury and Westmorland. + +GLOUCESTER. +Where is the King? + +BEDFORD. +The King himself is rode to view their battle. + +WESTMORLAND. +Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand. + +EXETER. +There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh. + +SALISBURY. +God’s arm strike with us! ’tis a fearful odds. +God be wi’ you, princes all; I’ll to my charge. +If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, +Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, +My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, +And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu! + +BEDFORD. +Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee! + +EXETER. +Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today! +And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, +For thou art fram’d of the firm truth of valour. + + [_Exit Salisbury._] + +BEDFORD. +He is as full of valour as of kindness, +Princely in both. + + Enter the King. + +WESTMORLAND. +O that we now had here +But one ten thousand of those men in England +That do no work today! + +KING. +What’s he that wishes so? +My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin. +If we are mark’d to die, we are enough +To do our country loss; and if to live, +The fewer men, the greater share of honour. +God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. +By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, +Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; +It yearns me not if men my garments wear; +Such outward things dwell not in my desires; +But if it be a sin to covet honour, +I am the most offending soul alive. +No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. +God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour +As one man more, methinks, would share from me +For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! +Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host, +That he which hath no stomach to this fight, +Let him depart. His passport shall be made, +And crowns for convoy put into his purse. +We would not die in that man’s company +That fears his fellowship to die with us. +This day is call’d the feast of Crispian. +He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, +Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, +And rouse him at the name of Crispian. +He that shall live this day, and see old age, +Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, +And say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.” +Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, +And say, “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.” +Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, +But he’ll remember with advantages +What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, +Familiar in his mouth as household words, +Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter, +Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, +Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. +This story shall the good man teach his son; +And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, +From this day to the ending of the world, +But we in it shall be remembered, +We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. +For he today that sheds his blood with me +Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, +This day shall gentle his condition; +And gentlemen in England now abed +Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, +And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks +That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day. + + Enter Salisbury. + +SALISBURY. +My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed. +The French are bravely in their battles set, +And will with all expedience charge on us. + +KING HENRY. +All things are ready, if our minds be so. + +WESTMORLAND. +Perish the man whose mind is backward now! + +KING HENRY. +Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz? + +WESTMORLAND. +God’s will! my liege, would you and I alone, +Without more help, could fight this royal battle! + +KING HENRY. +Why, now thou hast unwish’d five thousand men, +Which likes me better than to wish us one. +You know your places. God be with you all! + + Tucket. Enter Montjoy. + +MONTJOY. +Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, +If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, +Before thy most assured overthrow; +For certainly thou art so near the gulf, +Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, +The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind +Thy followers of repentance; that their souls +May make a peaceful and a sweet retire +From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies +Must lie and fester. + +KING HENRY. +Who hath sent thee now? + +MONTJOY. +The Constable of France. + +KING HENRY. +I pray thee, bear my former answer back: +Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones. +Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? +The man that once did sell the lion’s skin +While the beast liv’d, was kill’d with hunting him. +A many of our bodies shall no doubt +Find native graves, upon the which, I trust, +Shall witness live in brass of this day’s work; +And those that leave their valiant bones in France, +Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, +They shall be fam’d; for there the sun shall greet them, +And draw their honours reeking up to heaven; +Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, +The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. +Mark then abounding valour in our English, +That being dead, like to the bullet’s grazing, +Break out into a second course of mischief, +Killing in relapse of mortality. +Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable +We are but warriors for the working-day. +Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch’d +With rainy marching in the painful field; +There’s not a piece of feather in our host— +Good argument, I hope, we will not fly— +And time hath worn us into slovenry; +But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; +And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night +They’ll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck +The gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads +And turn them out of service. If they do this— +As, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then +Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour. +Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald. +They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints; +Which if they have as I will leave ’em them, +Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. + +MONTJOY. +I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well; +Thou never shalt hear herald any more. + + [_Exit._] + +KING HENRY. +I fear thou’lt once more come again for ransom. + + Enter York. + +YORK. +My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg +The leading of the vaward. + +KING HENRY. +Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away; +And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The field of battle. + + Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier and Boy. + +PISTOL. +Yield, cur! + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité._ + +PISTOL. +_Qualité? Caleno custore me!_ +Art thou a gentleman? +What is thy name? Discuss. + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_O Seigneur Dieu!_ + +PISTOL. +O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman. +Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark: +O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, +Except, O signieur, thou do give to me +Egregious ransom. + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_O, prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitié de moi!_ + +PISTOL. +Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys, +Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat +In drops of crimson blood. + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?_ + +PISTOL. +Brass, cur! +Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, +Offer’st me brass? + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_O pardonnez-moi!_ + +PISTOL. +Say’st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys? +Come hither, boy; ask me this slave in French +What is his name. + +BOY. +_Écoutez. Comment êtes-vous appelé?_ + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_Monsieur le Fer._ + +BOY. +He says his name is Master Fer. + +PISTOL. +Master Fer! I’ll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him. +Discuss the same in French unto him. + +BOY. +I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk. + +PISTOL. +Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat. + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_Que dit-il, monsieur?_ + +BOY. +_Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prêt, car ce soldat +ici est disposé tout à cette heure de couper votre gorge._ + +PISTOL. +Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, +Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; +Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_O, je vous supplie, pour l’amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis le +gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux +cents écus._ + +PISTOL. +What are his words? + +BOY. +He prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a good house; and +for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns. + +PISTOL. +Tell him my fury shall abate, and I +The crowns will take. + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_Petit monsieur, que dit-il?_ + +BOY. +_Encore qu’il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier; +néanmoins, pour les écus que vous lui avez promis, il est content à +vous donner la liberté, le franchisement._ + +FRENCH SOLDIER. +_Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciements; et je m’estime +heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le +plus brave, vaillant, et très distingué seigneur d’Angleterre._ + +PISTOL. +Expound unto me, boy. + +BOY. +He gives you upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself +happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most +brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy _seigneur_ of England. + +PISTOL. +As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. +Follow me! + +BOY. +_Suivez-vous le grand capitaine._ + + [_Exeunt Pistol and French Soldier._] + +I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the +saying is true, “The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.” Bardolph +and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i’ the old +play, that everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they +are both hang’d; and so would this be, if he durst steal anything +adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys with the luggage of our +camp. The French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for +there is none to guard it but boys. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the field. + + Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures. + +CONSTABLE. +_O diable!_ + +ORLEANS. +_O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!_ + +DAUPHIN. +_Mort de ma vie!_ all is confounded, all! +Reproach and everlasting shame +Sits mocking in our plumes. + + [_A short alarum._] + +_O méchante Fortune!_ Do not run away. + +CONSTABLE. +Why, all our ranks are broke. + +DAUPHIN. +O perdurable shame! Let’s stab ourselves, +Be these the wretches that we play’d at dice for? + +ORLEANS. +Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? + +BOURBON. +Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! +Let’s die in honour! Once more back again! +And he that will not follow Bourbon now, +Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, +Like a base pandar, hold the chamber door +Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, +His fairest daughter is contaminated. + +CONSTABLE. +Disorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us now! +Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. + +ORLEANS. +We are enough yet living in the field +To smother up the English in our throngs, +If any order might be thought upon. + +BOURBON. +The devil take order now! I’ll to the throng. +Let life be short, else shame will be too long. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Another part of the field. + + Alarum. Enter King Henry and his train, with prisoners. + +KING HENRY. +Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen. +But all’s not done; yet keep the French the field. + +EXETER. +The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty. + +KING HENRY. +Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour +I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting. +From helmet to the spur all blood he was. + +EXETER. +In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, +Larding the plain; and by his bloody side, +Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds, +The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. +Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over, +Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped, +And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes +That bloodily did yawn upon his face. +He cries aloud, “Tarry, my cousin Suffolk! +My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; +Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, +As in this glorious and well-foughten field +We kept together in our chivalry.” +Upon these words I came and cheer’d him up. +He smil’d me in the face, raught me his hand, +And, with a feeble gripe, says, “Dear my lord, +Commend my service to my sovereign.” +So did he turn and over Suffolk’s neck +He threw his wounded arm and kiss’d his lips; +And so espous’d to death, with blood he seal’d +A testament of noble-ending love. +The pretty and sweet manner of it forc’d +Those waters from me which I would have stopp’d; +But I had not so much of man in me, +And all my mother came into mine eyes +And gave me up to tears. + +KING HENRY. +I blame you not; +For, hearing this, I must perforce compound +With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. + + [_Alarum._] + +But hark! what new alarum is this same? +The French have reinforc’d their scatter’d men. +Then every soldier kill his prisoners; +Give the word through. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Another part of the field. + + Enter Fluellen and Gower. + +FLUELLEN. +Kill the poys and the luggage! ’Tis expressly against the law of arms. +’Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offer’t; in +your conscience, now, is it not? + +GOWER. +’Tis certain there’s not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals +that ran from the battle ha’ done this slaughter. Besides, they have +burned and carried away all that was in the King’s tent; wherefore the +King, most worthily, hath caus’d every soldier to cut his prisoner’s +throat. O, ’tis a gallant king! + +FLUELLEN. +Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town’s +name where Alexander the Pig was born? + +GOWER. +Alexander the Great. + +FLUELLEN. +Why, I pray you, is not pig great? The pig, or the great, or the +mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save +the phrase is a little variations. + +GOWER. +I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called +Philip of Macedon, as I take it. + +FLUELLEN. +I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you, Captain, +if you look in the maps of the ’orld, I warrant you sall find, in the +comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look +you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also +moreover a river at Monmouth; it is call’d Wye at Monmouth; but it is +out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but ’tis all one, +’tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in +both. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is +come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. +Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and +his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and +his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, +did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend, +Cleitus. + +GOWER. +Our King is not like him in that. He never kill’d any of his friends. + +FLUELLEN. +It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, +ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons +of it. As Alexander kill’d his friend Cleitus, being in his ales and +his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good +judgements, turn’d away the fat knight with the great belly doublet. He +was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot +his name. + +GOWER. +Sir John Falstaff. + +FLUELLEN. +That is he. I’ll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth. + +GOWER. +Here comes his Majesty. + + Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter with + prisoners. Flourish. + +KING HENRY. +I was not angry since I came to France +Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; +Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill. +If they will fight with us, bid them come down, +Or void the field; they do offend our sight. +If they’ll do neither, we will come to them, +And make them skirr away, as swift as stones +Enforced from the old Assyrian slings. +Besides, we’ll cut the throats of those we have, +And not a man of them that we shall take +Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. + + Enter Montjoy. + +EXETER. +Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. + +GLOUCESTER. +His eyes are humbler than they us’d to be. + +KING HENRY. +How now! what means this, herald? Know’st thou not +That I have fin’d these bones of mine for ransom? +Com’st thou again for ransom? + +MONTJOY. +No, great King; +I come to thee for charitable license, +That we may wander o’er this bloody field +To book our dead, and then to bury them; +To sort our nobles from our common men. +For many of our princes—woe the while!— +Lie drown’d and soak’d in mercenary blood; +So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs +In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds +Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage +Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, +Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King, +To view the field in safety, and dispose +Of their dead bodies! + +KING HENRY. +I tell thee truly, herald, +I know not if the day be ours or no; +For yet a many of your horsemen peer +And gallop o’er the field. + +MONTJOY. +The day is yours. + +KING HENRY. +Praised be God, and not our strength, for it! +What is this castle call’d that stands hard by? + +MONTJOY. +They call it Agincourt. + +KING HENRY. +Then call we this the field of Agincourt, +Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. + +FLUELLEN. +Your grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your Majesty, and your +great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the +chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. + +KING HENRY. +They did, Fluellen. + +FLUELLEN. +Your Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is rememb’red of it, the +Welshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks +in their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an +honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no +scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day. + +KING HENRY. +I wear it for a memorable honour; +For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. + +FLUELLEN. +All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty’s Welsh plood out of your +pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it +pleases His grace, and His majesty too! + +KING HENRY. +Thanks, good my countryman. + +FLUELLEN. +By Jeshu, I am your Majesty’s countryman, I care not who know it. I +will confess it to all the ’orld. I need not be asham’d of your +Majesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man. + +KING HENRY. +God keep me so! + + Enter Williams. + +Our heralds go with him; +Bring me just notice of the numbers dead +On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. + + [_Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy._] + +EXETER. +Soldier, you must come to the King. + +KING HENRY. +Soldier, why wear’st thou that glove in thy cap? + +WILLIAMS. +An’t please your Majesty, ’tis the gage of one that I should fight +withal, if he be alive. + +KING HENRY. +An Englishman? + +WILLIAMS. +An’t please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger’d with me last night; +who, if alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to +take him a box o’ the ear; or if I can see my glove in his cap, which +he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I will strike it +out soundly. + +KING HENRY. +What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this soldier keep his oath? + +FLUELLEN. +He is a craven and a villain else, an’t please your Majesty, in my +conscience. + +KING HENRY. +It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer +of his degree. + +FLUELLEN. +Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as Lucifier and +Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, that he keep his +vow and his oath. If he be perjur’d, see you now, his reputation is as +arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon +God’s ground and His earth, in my conscience, la! + +KING HENRY. +Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet’st the fellow. + +WILLIAMS. +So I will, my liege, as I live. + +KING HENRY. +Who serv’st thou under? + +WILLIAMS. +Under Captain Gower, my liege. + +FLUELLEN. +Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and literatured in the +wars. + +KING HENRY. +Call him hither to me, soldier. + +WILLIAMS. +I will, my liege. + + [_Exit._] + +KING HENRY. +Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and stick it in thy cap. +When Alençon and myself were down together, I pluck’d this glove from +his helm. If any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon, and an +enemy to our person. If thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou +dost me love. + +FLUELLEN. +Your Grace does me as great honours as can be desir’d in the hearts of +his subjects. I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that +shall find himself aggrief’d at this glove; that is all. But I would +fain see it once, an please God of His grace that I might see. + +KING HENRY. +Know’st thou Gower? + +FLUELLEN. +He is my dear friend, an please you. + +KING HENRY. +Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent. + +FLUELLEN. +I will fetch him. + + [_Exit._] + +KING HENRY. +My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester, +Follow Fluellen closely at the heels. +The glove which I have given him for a favour +May haply purchase him a box o’ the ear. +It is the soldier’s; I by bargain should +Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick. +If that the soldier strike him, as I judge +By his blunt bearing he will keep his word, +Some sudden mischief may arise of it; +For I do know Fluellen valiant +And, touch’d with choler, hot as gunpowder, +And quickly will return an injury. +Follow, and see there be no harm between them. +Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. Before King Henry’s pavilion. + + Enter Gower and Williams. + +WILLIAMS. +I warrant it is to knight you, Captain. + + Enter Fluellen. + +FLUELLEN. +God’s will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to +the King. There is more good toward you peradventure than is in your +knowledge to dream of. + +WILLIAMS. +Sir, know you this glove? + +FLUELLEN. +Know the glove! I know the glove is a glove. + +WILLIAMS. +I know this; and thus I challenge it. + + [_Strikes him._] + +FLUELLEN. +’Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in +France, or in England! + +GOWER. +How now, sir! you villain! + +WILLIAMS. +Do you think I’ll be forsworn? + +FLUELLEN. +Stand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his payment into plows, +I warrant you. + +WILLIAMS. +I am no traitor. + +FLUELLEN. +That’s a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty’s name, +apprehend him; he’s a friend of the Duke Alençon’s. + + Enter Warwick and Gloucester. + +WARWICK. +How now, how now! what’s the matter? + +FLUELLEN. +My lord of Warwick, here is—praised be God for it!—a most contagious +treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer’s day. +Here is his Majesty. + + Enter King Henry and Exeter. + +KING HENRY. +How now! what’s the matter? + +FLUELLEN. +My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, has +struck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of +Alençon. + +WILLIAMS. +My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I +gave it to in change promis’d to wear it in his cap. I promis’d to +strike him, if he did. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I +have been as good as my word. + +FLUELLEN. +Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty’s manhood, what an arrant, +rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your Majesty is pear me +testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of +Alençon that your Majesty is give me; in your conscience, now? + +KING HENRY. +Give me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it. +’Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike; +And thou hast given me most bitter terms. + +FLUELLEN. +An it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any +martial law in the world. + +KING HENRY. +How canst thou make me satisfaction? + +WILLIAMS. +All offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine +that might offend your Majesty. + +KING HENRY. +It was ourself thou didst abuse. + +WILLIAMS. +Your Majesty came not like yourself. You appear’d to me but as a common +man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your +Highness suffer’d under that shape, I beseech you take it for your own +fault and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no +offence; therefore, I beseech your Highness, pardon me. + +KING HENRY. +Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, +And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; +And wear it for an honour in thy cap +Till I do challenge it. Give him his crowns; +And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. + +FLUELLEN. +By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his belly. +Hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve God, and +keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, +and, I warrant you, it is the better for you. + +WILLIAMS. +I will none of your money. + +FLUELLEN. +It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your +shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so +good. ’Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. + + Enter an English Herald. + +KING HENRY. +Now, herald, are the dead numb’red? + +HERALD. +Here is the number of the slaught’red French. + +KING HENRY. +What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle? + +EXETER. +Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King; +John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Boucicault: +Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, +Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. + +KING HENRY. +This note doth tell me of ten thousand French +That in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number, +And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead +One hundred twenty-six; added to these, +Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, +Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, +Five hundred were but yesterday dubb’d knights; +So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, +There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; +The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, +And gentlemen of blood and quality. +The names of those their nobles that lie dead: +Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; +Jacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France; +The master of the Crossbows, Lord Rambures; +Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin, +John, Duke of Alençon, Anthony, Duke of Brabant, +The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, +And Edward, Duke of Bar; of lusty earls, +Grandpré and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix, +Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. +Here was a royal fellowship of death! +Where is the number of our English dead? + + [_Herald gives him another paper._] + +Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, +Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire; +None else of name; and of all other men +But five and twenty.—O God, thy arm was here; +And not to us, but to thy arm alone, +Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem, +But in plain shock and even play of battle, +Was ever known so great and little loss +On one part and on the other? Take it, God, +For it is none but thine! + +EXETER. +’Tis wonderful! + +KING HENRY. +Come, go we in procession to the village; +And be it death proclaimed through our host +To boast of this or take that praise from God +Which is His only. + +FLUELLEN. +Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how many is kill’d? + +KING HENRY. +Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment, +That God fought for us. + +FLUELLEN. +Yes, my conscience, He did us great good. + +KING HENRY. +Do we all holy rites. +Let there be sung _Non nobis_ and _Te Deum_, +The dead with charity enclos’d in clay, +And then to Calais; and to England then, +Where ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + + Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, +That I may prompt them; and of such as have, +I humbly pray them to admit the excuse +Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, +Which cannot in their huge and proper life +Be here presented. Now we bear the King +Toward Calais; grant him there; there seen, +Heave him away upon your winged thoughts +Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach +Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys, +Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea, +Which like a mighty whiffler ’fore the King +Seems to prepare his way. So let him land, +And solemnly see him set on to London. +So swift a pace hath thought that even now +You may imagine him upon Blackheath, +Where that his lords desire him to have borne +His bruised helmet and his bended sword +Before him through the city. He forbids it, +Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; +Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent +Quite from himself to God. But now behold, +In the quick forge and working-house of thought, +How London doth pour out her citizens! +The mayor and all his brethren in best sort, +Like to the senators of th’ antique Rome, +With the plebeians swarming at their heels, +Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in; +As, by a lower but loving likelihood, +Were now the general of our gracious empress, +As in good time he may, from Ireland coming, +Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, +How many would the peaceful city quit, +To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause, +Did they this Harry. Now in London place him; +As yet the lamentation of the French +Invites the King of England’s stay at home, +The Emperor’s coming in behalf of France, +To order peace between them;—and omit +All the occurrences, whatever chanc’d, +Till Harry’s back-return again to France. +There must we bring him; and myself have play’d +The interim, by rememb’ring you ’tis past. +Then brook abridgement, and your eyes advance +After your thoughts, straight back again to France. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE I. France. The English camp. + + Enter Fluellen and Gower. + +GOWER. +Nay, that’s right; but why wear you your leek today? +Saint Davy’s day is past. + +FLUELLEN. +There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things. I will +tell you ass my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, +lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself and all the world +know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is +come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me +eat my leek. It was in a place where I could not breed no contention +with him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him +once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. + + Enter Pistol. + +GOWER. +Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. + +FLUELLEN. +’Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. God pless you, +Anchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you! + +PISTOL. +Ha! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Trojan, +To have me fold up Parca’s fatal web? +Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. + +FLUELLEN. +I peseech you heartily, scurfy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my +requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek. Because, look +you, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and +your digestions does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it. + +PISTOL. +Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. + +FLUELLEN. +There is one goat for you. [_Strikes him._] Will you be so good, scald +knave, as eat it? + +PISTOL. +Base Trojan, thou shalt die. + +FLUELLEN. +You say very true, scald knave, when God’s will is. I will desire you +to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals. Come, there is sauce +for it. [_Strikes him._] You call’d me yesterday mountain-squire; but I +will make you today a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you +can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. + +GOWER. +Enough, captain; you have astonish’d him. + +FLUELLEN. +I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his +pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and +your ploody coxcomb. + +PISTOL. +Must I bite? + +FLUELLEN. +Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and +ambiguities. + +PISTOL. +By this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I eat and eat, I swear— + +FLUELLEN. +Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? There is +not enough leek to swear by. + +PISTOL. +Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat. + +FLUELLEN. +Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none +away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When you take occasions +to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at ’em; that is all. + +PISTOL. +Good. + +FLUELLEN. +Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. + +PISTOL. +Me a groat! + +FLUELLEN. +Yes, verily and in truth you shall take it; or I have another leek in +my pocket, which you shall eat. + +PISTOL. +I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. + +FLUELLEN. +If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels. You shall be a +woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi’ you, and keep +you, and heal your pate. + + [_Exit._] + +PISTOL. +All hell shall stir for this. + +GOWER. +Go, go; you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an +ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a +memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your +deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this +gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak +English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English +cudgel. You find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction +teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well. + + [_Exit._] + +PISTOL. +Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now? +News have I, that my Doll is dead i’ the spital +Of malady of France; +And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. +Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs +Honour is cudgell’d. Well, bawd I’ll turn, +And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. +To England will I steal, and there I’ll steal; +And patches will I get unto these cudgell’d scars, +And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. France. A royal palace. + + Enter at one door, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, Gloucester, + Westmorland, Clarence, Huntingdon and other Lords. At another, Queen + Isabel, the French King, the Princess Katharine, Alice, and other + Ladies; the Duke of Burgundy and other French. + +KING HENRY. +Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met! +Unto our brother France, and to our sister, +Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes +To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine; +And, as a branch and member of this royalty, +By whom this great assembly is contriv’d, +We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy; +And, princes French, and peers, health to you all! + +FRENCH KING. +Right joyous are we to behold your face, +Most worthy brother England; fairly met! +So are you, princes English, every one. + +QUEEN ISABEL. +So happy be the issue, brother England, +Of this good day and of this gracious meeting +As we are now glad to behold your eyes; +Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them +Against the French that met them in their bent +The fatal balls of murdering basilisks. +The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, +Have lost their quality; and that this day +Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. + +KING HENRY. +To cry amen to that, thus we appear. + +QUEEN ISABEL. +You English princes all, I do salute you. + +BURGUNDY. +My duty to you both, on equal love, +Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour’d, +With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, +To bring your most imperial Majesties +Unto this bar and royal interview, +Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. +Since then my office hath so far prevail’d +That, face to face and royal eye to eye, +You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me +If I demand, before this royal view, +What rub or what impediment there is, +Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace, +Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, +Should not in this best garden of the world, +Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? +Alas, she hath from France too long been chas’d, +And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, +Corrupting in it own fertility. +Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, +Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach’d, +Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, +Put forth disorder’d twigs; her fallow leas +The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, +Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts +That should deracinate such savagery; +The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth +The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, +Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, +Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems +But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, +Losing both beauty and utility; +And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, +Defective in their natures, grow to wildness. +Even so our houses and ourselves and children +Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, +The sciences that should become our country; +But grow like savages,—as soldiers will +That nothing do but meditate on blood,— +To swearing and stern looks, diffus’d attire, +And everything that seems unnatural. +Which to reduce into our former favour +You are assembled; and my speech entreats +That I may know the let, why gentle Peace +Should not expel these inconveniences +And bless us with her former qualities. + +KING HENRY. +If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, +Whose want gives growth to the imperfections +Which you have cited, you must buy that peace +With full accord to all our just demands; +Whose tenours and particular effects +You have enschedul’d briefly in your hands. + +BURGUNDY. +The King hath heard them; to the which as yet +There is no answer made. + +KING HENRY. +Well, then, the peace, +Which you before so urg’d, lies in his answer. + +FRENCH KING. +I have but with a cursorary eye +O’erglanc’d the articles. Pleaseth your Grace +To appoint some of your council presently +To sit with us once more, with better heed +To re-survey them, we will suddenly +Pass our accept and peremptory answer. + +KING HENRY. +Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter, +And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester, +Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King; +And take with you free power to ratify, +Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best +Shall see advantageable for our dignity, +Anything in or out of our demands, +And we’ll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister, +Go with the princes, or stay here with us? + +QUEEN ISABEL. +Our gracious brother, I will go with them. +Haply a woman’s voice may do some good, +When articles too nicely urg’d be stood on. + +KING HENRY. +Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us: +She is our capital demand, compris’d +Within the fore-rank of our articles. + +QUEEN ISABEL. +She hath good leave. + + [_Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine and Alice._] + +KING HENRY. +Fair Katharine, and most fair, +Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms +Such as will enter at a lady’s ear +And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? + +KATHARINE. +Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England. + +KING HENRY. +O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I +will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. +Do you like me, Kate? + +KATHARINE. +_Pardonnez-moi_, I cannot tell wat is “like me.” + +KING HENRY. +An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel. + +KATHARINE. +_Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable à les anges?_ + +ALICE. +_Oui, vraiment, sauf votre Grâce, ainsi dit-il._ + +KING HENRY. +I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it. + +KATHARINE. +_O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies._ + +KING HENRY. +What says she, fair one? That the tongues of men are full of deceits? + +ALICE. +_Oui_, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de +Princess. + +KING HENRY. +The Princess is the better Englishwoman. I’ faith, Kate, my wooing is +fit for thy understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no better +English; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king +that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no +ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, “I love you”; then if +you urge me farther than to say, “Do you in faith?” I wear out my suit. +Give me your answer; i’ faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How +say you, lady? + +KATHARINE. +_Sauf votre honneur_, me understand well. + +KING HENRY. +Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, +why you undid me; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and +for the other I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure +in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my +saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be +it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for +my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a +butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, +I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning +in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urg’d, +nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, +Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass +for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak +to thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, +to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the +Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou liv’st, dear Kate, take a +fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee +right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these +fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ +favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is +but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight +back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl’d pate will grow +bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good +heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the +moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course +truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a +soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say’st thou then to my +love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. + +KATHARINE. +Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France? + +KING HENRY. +No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but, +in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France +so well that I will not part with a village of it, I will have it all +mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is +France and you are mine. + +KATHARINE. +I cannot tell wat is dat. + +KING HENRY. +No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my +tongue like a new-married wife about her husband’s neck, hardly to be +shook off. _Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand vous avez le +possession de moi_,—let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my +speed!—_donc votre est France, et vous êtes mienne._ It is as easy for +me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French. I +shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. + +KATHARINE. +_Sauf votre honneur, le français que vous parlez, il est meilleur que +l’anglais lequel je parle._ + +KING HENRY. +No, faith, is’t not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine, +most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, +dost thou understand thus much English: canst thou love me? + +KATHARINE. +I cannot tell. + +KING HENRY. +Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I’ll ask them. Come, I know thou +lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you’ll +question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her +dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good +Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love +thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith +within me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must +therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I, +between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half +English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the +beard? Shall we not? What say’st thou, my fair flower-de-luce? + +KATHARINE. +I do not know dat. + +KING HENRY. +No; ’tis hereafter to know, but now to promise. Do but now promise, +Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my +English moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, +_la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon très cher et divin déesse?_ + +KATHARINE. +Your Majestee ’ave _fausse_ French enough to deceive de most _sage +demoiselle_ dat is _en France_. + +KING HENRY. +Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love +thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my +blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and +untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father’s ambition! He +was thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with +a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo +ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better +I shall appear. My comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of +beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast +me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and +better; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? +Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the +looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say, Harry of England, I +am thine; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I +will tell thee aloud, England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is +thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before +his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the +best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy +voice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all, +Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me? + +KATHARINE. +Dat is as it shall please _le roi mon père_. + +KING HENRY. +Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate. + +KATHARINE. +Den it sall also content me. + +KING HENRY. +Upon that I kiss your hand, and call you my queen. + +KATHARINE. +_Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne veux point que +vous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main d’une—Notre +Seigneur!—indigne serviteur. Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon +très-puissant seigneur._ + +KING HENRY. +Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. + +KATHARINE. +_Les dames et demoiselles pour être baisées devant leurs noces, il +n’est pas la coutume de France._ + +KING HENRY. +Madame my interpreter, what says she? + +ALICE. +Dat it is not be de fashion _pour les_ ladies of France,—I cannot tell +wat is _baiser en_ Anglish. + +KING HENRY. +To kiss. + +ALICE. +Your Majestee _entend_ bettre _que moi_. + +KING HENRY. +It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are +married, would she say? + +ALICE. +_Oui, vraiment._ + +KING HENRY. +O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot +be confined within the weak list of a country’s fashion. We are the +makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops +the mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the +nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently +and yielding. [_Kissing her._] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate; +there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of +the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England +than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. + + Enter the French Power and the English Lords. + +BURGUNDY. +God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English? + +KING HENRY. +I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and +that is good English. + +BURGUNDY. +Is she not apt? + +KING HENRY. +Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that, +having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot +so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his +true likeness. + +BURGUNDY. +Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you +would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up Love in her +in his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you blame her +then, being a maid yet ros’d over with the virgin crimson of modesty, +if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing +self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. + +KING HENRY. +Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces. + +BURGUNDY. +They are then excus’d, my lord, when they see not what they do. + +KING HENRY. +Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking. + +BURGUNDY. +I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know +my meaning; for maids, well summer’d and warm kept, are like flies at +Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then they +will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on. + +KING HENRY. +This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and so I shall catch +the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too. + +BURGUNDY. +As love is, my lord, before it loves. + +KING HENRY. +It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who +cannot see many a fair French city for one fair French maid that stands +in my way. + +FRENCH KING. +Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turn’d into a +maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls that no war hath +entered. + +KING HENRY. +Shall Kate be my wife? + +FRENCH KING. +So please you. + +KING HENRY. +I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait on her; so the +maid that stood in the way for my wish shall show me the way to my +will. + +FRENCH KING. +We have consented to all terms of reason. + +KING HENRY. +Is’t so, my lords of England? + +WESTMORLAND. +The king hath granted every article; +His daughter first, and then in sequel all, +According to their firm proposed natures. + +EXETER. +Only he hath not yet subscribed this: where your Majesty demands, that +the King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant, +shall name your Highness in this form and with this addition, in +French, _Notre très-cher fils Henri, Roi d’Angleterre, Héritier de +France_; and thus in Latin, _Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, +rex Angliae et haeres Franciae._ + +FRENCH KING. +Nor this I have not, brother, so denied +But our request shall make me let it pass. + +KING HENRY. +I pray you then, in love and dear alliance, +Let that one article rank with the rest; +And thereupon give me your daughter. + +FRENCH KING. +Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up +Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms +Of France and England, whose very shores look pale +With envy of each other’s happiness, +May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction +Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord +In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance +His bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France. + +LORDS. +Amen! + +KING HENRY. +Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all, +That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. + + [_Flourish._] + +QUEEN ISABEL. +God, the best maker of all marriages, +Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! +As man and wife, being two, are one in love, +So be there ’twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, +That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, +Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, +Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, +To make divorce of their incorporate league; +That English may as French, French Englishmen, +Receive each other. God speak this Amen! + +ALL. +Amen! + +KING HENRY. +Prepare we for our marriage; on which day, +My Lord of Burgundy, we’ll take your oath, +And all the peers’, for surety of our leagues, +Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; +And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be! + + [_Sennet. Exeunt._] + +EPILOGUE. + + Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, +Our bending author hath pursu’d the story, +In little room confining mighty men, +Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. +Small time, but in that small most greatly lived +This star of England. Fortune made his sword, +By which the world’s best garden he achieved, +And of it left his son imperial lord. +Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown’d King +Of France and England, did this king succeed; +Whose state so many had the managing, +That they lost France and made his England bleed: +Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, +In your fair minds let this acceptance take. + + [_Exit._] + + + + + +THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH + +Dramatis Personae + + KING HENRY THE SIXTH + DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector + DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France + THOMAS BEAUFORT, DUKE OF EXETER, great-uncle to the king + HENRY BEAUFORT, great-uncle to the King, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, + and afterwards CARDINAL + JOHN BEAUFORT, EARL OF SOMERSET, afterwards Duke + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, + afterwards DUKE OF YORK + EARL OF WARWICK + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL OF SUFFOLK + LORD TALBOT, afterwards EARL OF SHREWSBURY + JOHN TALBOT, his son + EDMUND MORTIMER, EARL OF MARCH + SIR JOHN FASTOLFE + SIR WILLIAM LUCY + SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE + SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE + MAYOR of LONDON + WOODVILLE, Lieutenant of the Tower + VERNON, of the White Rose or York faction + BASSET, of the Red Rose or Lancaster faction + A LAWYER + GAOLERS, to Mortimer + CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France + REIGNIER, DUKE OF ANJOU, and titular King of Naples + DUKE OF BURGUNDY + DUKE OF ALENCON + BASTARD OF ORLEANS + GOVERNOR OF PARIS + MASTER-GUNNER OF ORLEANS, and his SON + GENERAL OF THE FRENCH FORCES in Bordeaux + A FRENCH SERGEANT + A PORTER + AN OLD SHEPHERD, father to Joan la Pucelle + MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to + King Henry + COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE + JOAN LA PUCELLE, Commonly called JOAN OF ARC + + Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, + Messengers, English and French Attendants. Fiends appearing + to La Pucelle + +SCENE: England and France + +The First Part of King Henry the Sixth + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +Westminster Abbey + +Dead March. Enter the funeral of KING HENRY THE FIFTH, attended on by +the DUKE OF BEDFORD, Regent of France, the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, +Protector, the DUKE OF EXETER, the EARL OF WARWICK, the BISHOP OF +WINCHESTER + + BEDFORD. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to + night! Comets, importing change of times and states, + Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky + And with them scourge the bad revolting stars + That have consented unto Henry's death! + King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! + England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. + GLOUCESTER. England ne'er had a king until his time. + Virtue he had, deserving to command; + His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams; + His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; + His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, + More dazzled and drove back his enemies + Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. + What should I say? His deeds exceed all speech: + He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. + EXETER. We mourn in black; why mourn we not in blood? + Henry is dead and never shall revive. + Upon a wooden coffin we attend; + And death's dishonourable victory + We with our stately presence glorify, + Like captives bound to a triumphant car. + What! shall we curse the planets of mishap + That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? + Or shall we think the subtle-witted French + Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, + By magic verses have contriv'd his end? + WINCHESTER. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings; + Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day + So dreadful will not be as was his sight. + The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought; + The Church's prayers made him so prosperous. + GLOUCESTER. The Church! Where is it? Had not churchmen + pray'd, + His thread of life had not so soon decay'd. + None do you like but an effeminate prince, + Whom like a school-boy you may overawe. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art + Protector + And lookest to command the Prince and realm. + Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe + More than God or religious churchmen may. + GLOUCESTER. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh; + And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, + Except it be to pray against thy foes. + BEDFORD. Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace; + Let's to the altar. Heralds, wait on us. + Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms, + Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. + Posterity, await for wretched years, + When at their mothers' moist'ned eyes babes shall suck, + Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, + And none but women left to wail the dead. + HENRY the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate: + Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, + Combat with adverse planets in the heavens. + A far more glorious star thy soul will make + Than Julius Caesar or bright + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My honourable lords, health to you all! + Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, + Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: + Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, + Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. + BEDFORD. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse? + Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns + Will make him burst his lead and rise from death. + GLOUCESTER. Is Paris lost? Is Rouen yielded up? + If Henry were recall'd to life again, + These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. + EXETER. How were they lost? What treachery was us'd? + MESSENGER. No treachery, but want of men and money. + Amongst the soldiers this is muttered + That here you maintain several factions; + And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought, + You are disputing of your generals: + One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost; + Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; + A third thinks, without expense at all, + By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. + Awake, awake, English nobility! + Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot. + Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; + Of England's coat one half is cut away. + EXETER. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, + These tidings would call forth their flowing tides. + BEDFORD. Me they concern; Regent I am of France. + Give me my steeled coat; I'll fight for France. + Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! + Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes, + To weep their intermissive miseries. + + Enter a second MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. Lords, view these letters full of bad + mischance. + France is revolted from the English quite, + Except some petty towns of no import. + The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; + The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; + Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part; + The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. + EXETER. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! + O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? + GLOUCESTER. We will not fly but to our enemies' throats. + Bedford, if thou be slack I'll fight it out. + BEDFORD. Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness? + An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, + Wherewith already France is overrun. + + Enter a third MESSENGER + + THIRD MESSENGER. My gracious lords, to add to your + laments, + Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse, + I must inform you of a dismal fight + Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. + WINCHESTER. What! Wherein Talbot overcame? Is't so? + THIRD MESSENGER. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was + o'erthrown. + The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. + The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, + Retiring from the siege of Orleans, + Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, + By three and twenty thousand of the French + Was round encompassed and set upon. + No leisure had he to enrank his men; + He wanted pikes to set before his archers; + Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges + They pitched in the ground confusedly + To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. + More than three hours the fight continued; + Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, + Enacted wonders with his sword and lance: + Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; + Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he slew + The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms; + All the whole army stood agaz'd on him. + His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, + 'A Talbot! a Talbot!' cried out amain, + And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. + Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up + If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward. + He, being in the vaward plac'd behind + With purpose to relieve and follow them- + Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke; + Hence grew the general wreck and massacre. + Enclosed were they with their enemies. + A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, + Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; + Whom all France, with their chief assembled strength, + Durst not presume to look once in the face. + BEDFORD. Is Talbot slain? Then I will slay myself, + For living idly here in pomp and ease, + Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, + Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. + THIRD MESSENGER. O no, he lives, but is took prisoner, + And Lord Scales with him, and Lord Hungerford; + Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. + BEDFORD. His ransom there is none but I shall pay. + I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne; + His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; + Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. + Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; + Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make + To keep our great Saint George's feast withal. + Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, + Whose bloody deeds shall make an Europe quake. + THIRD MESSENGER. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd; + The English army is grown weak and faint; + The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply + And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, + Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. + EXETER. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn, + Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, + Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. + BEDFORD. I do remember it, and here take my leave + To go about my preparation. Exit + GLOUCESTER. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can + To view th' artillery and munition; + And then I will proclaim young Henry king. Exit + EXETER. To Eltham will I, where the young King is, + Being ordain'd his special governor; + And for his safety there I'll best devise. Exit + WINCHESTER. [Aside] Each hath his place and function to + attend: + I am left out; for me nothing remains. + But long I will not be Jack out of office. + The King from Eltham I intend to steal, + And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. Exeunt + + SCENE 2. + + France. Before Orleans + + Sound a flourish. Enter CHARLES THE DAUPHIN, ALENCON, + and REIGNIER, marching with drum and soldiers + + CHARLES. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens + So in the earth, to this day is not known. + Late did he shine upon the English side; + Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. + What towns of any moment but we have? + At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; + Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, + Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. + ALENCON. They want their porridge and their fat bull + beeves. + Either they must be dieted like mules + And have their provender tied to their mouths, + Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. + REIGNIER. Let's raise the siege. Why live we idly here? + Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear; + Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury, + And he may well in fretting spend his gall + Nor men nor money hath he to make war. + CHARLES. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them. + Now for the honour of the forlorn French! + Him I forgive my death that killeth me, + When he sees me go back one foot or flee. Exeunt + + Here alarum. They are beaten hack by the English, with + great loss. Re-enter CHARLES, ALENCON, and REIGNIER + + CHARLES. Who ever saw the like? What men have I! + Dogs! cowards! dastards! I would ne'er have fled + But that they left me midst my enemies. + REIGNIER. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; + He fighteth as one weary of his life. + The other lords, like lions wanting food, + Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. + ALENCON. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records + England all Olivers and Rowlands bred + During the time Edward the Third did reign. + More truly now may this be verified; + For none but Samsons and Goliases + It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! + Lean raw-bon'd rascals! Who would e'er suppose + They had such courage and audacity? + CHARLES. Let's leave this town; for they are hare-brain'd + slaves, + And hunger will enforce them to be more eager. + Of old I know them; rather with their teeth + The walls they'll tear down than forsake the siege. + REIGNIER. I think by some odd gimmers or device + Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on; + Else ne'er could they hold out so as they do. + By my consent, we'll even let them alone. + ALENCON. Be it so. + + Enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS + + BASTARD. Where's the Prince Dauphin? I have news for him. + CHARLES. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. + BASTARD. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd. + Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? + Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand. + A holy maid hither with me I bring, + Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, + Ordained is to raise this tedious siege + And drive the English forth the bounds of France. + The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, + Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: + What's past and what's to come she can descry. + Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, + For they are certain and unfallible. + CHARLES. Go, call her in. [Exit BASTARD] + But first, to try her skill, + Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place; + Question her proudly; let thy looks be stern; + By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. + + Re-enter the BASTARD OF ORLEANS with + JOAN LA PUCELLE + + REIGNIER. Fair maid, is 't thou wilt do these wondrous feats? + PUCELLE. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile me? + Where is the Dauphin? Come, come from behind; + I know thee well, though never seen before. + Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me. + In private will I talk with thee apart. + Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. + REIGNIER. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. + PUCELLE. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, + My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. + Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleas'd + To shine on my contemptible estate. + Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs + And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, + God's Mother deigned to appear to me, + And in a vision full of majesty + Will'd me to leave my base vocation + And free my country from calamity + Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success. + In complete glory she reveal'd herself; + And whereas I was black and swart before, + With those clear rays which she infus'd on me + That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see. + Ask me what question thou canst possible, + And I will answer unpremeditated. + My courage try by combat if thou dar'st, + And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. + Resolve on this: thou shalt be fortunate + If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. + CHARLES. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms. + Only this proof I'll of thy valour make + In single combat thou shalt buckle with me; + And if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; + Otherwise I renounce all confidence. + PUCELLE. I am prepar'd; here is my keen-edg'd sword, + Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side, + The which at Touraine, in Saint Katherine's churchyard, + Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. + CHARLES. Then come, o' God's name; I fear no woman. + PUCELLE. And while I live I'll ne'er fly from a man. + [Here they fight and JOAN LA PUCELLE overcomes] + CHARLES. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, + And fightest with the sword of Deborah. + PUCELLE. Christ's Mother helps me, else I were too weak. + CHARLES. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me. + Impatiently I burn with thy desire; + My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. + Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, + Let me thy servant and not sovereign be. + 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. + PUCELLE. I must not yield to any rites of love, + For my profession's sacred from above. + When I have chased all thy foes from hence, + Then will I think upon a recompense. + CHARLES. Meantime look gracious on thy prostrate thrall. + REIGNIER. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. + ALENCON. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; + Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. + REIGNIER. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? + ALENCON. He may mean more than we poor men do know; + These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. + REIGNIER. My lord, where are you? What devise you on? + Shall we give o'er Orleans, or no? + PUCELLE. Why, no, I say; distrustful recreants! + Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. + CHARLES. What she says I'll confirm; we'll fight it out. + PUCELLE. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. + This night the siege assuredly I'll raise. + Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, + Since I have entered into these wars. + Glory is like a circle in the water, + Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself + Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. + With Henry's death the English circle ends; + Dispersed are the glories it included. + Now am I like that proud insulting ship + Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. + CHARLES. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? + Thou with an eagle art inspired then. + Helen, the mother of great Constantine, + Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters were like thee. + Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, + How may I reverently worship thee enough? + ALENCON. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. + REIGNIER. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; + Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. + CHARLES. Presently we'll try. Come, let's away about it. + No prophet will I trust if she prove false. Exeunt + + SCENE 3. + + London. Before the Tower gates + + Enter the DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, with his serving-men + in blue coats + + GLOUCESTER. I am come to survey the Tower this day; + Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. + Where be these warders that they wait not here? + Open the gates; 'tis Gloucester that calls. + FIRST WARDER. [Within] Who's there that knocks so + imperiously? + FIRST SERVING-MAN. It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. + SECOND WARDER. [Within] Whoe'er he be, you may not be + let in. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Villains, answer you so the Lord + Protector? + FIRST WARDER. [Within] The Lord protect him! so we + answer him. + We do no otherwise than we are will'd. + GLOUCESTER. Who willed you, or whose will stands but + mine? + There's none Protector of the realm but I. + Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize. + Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? + [GLOUCESTER'S men rush at the Tower gates, and + WOODVILLE the Lieutenant speaks within] + WOODVILLE. [Within] What noise is this? What traitors + have we here? + GLOUCESTER. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I hear? + Open the gates; here's Gloucester that would enter. + WOODVILLE. [Within] Have patience, noble Duke, I may + not open; + The Cardinal of Winchester forbids. + From him I have express commandment + That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. + GLOUCESTER. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him fore me? + Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate + Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook! + Thou art no friend to God or to the King. + Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. + SERVING-MEN. Open the gates unto the Lord Protector, + Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. + + Enter to the PROTECTOR at the Tower gates WINCHESTER + and his men in tawny coats + + WINCHESTER. How now, ambitious Humphry! What means + this? + GLOUCESTER. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be + shut out? + WINCHESTER. I do, thou most usurping proditor, + And not Protector of the King or realm. + GLOUCESTER. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, + Thou that contrived'st to murder our dead lord; + Thou that giv'st whores indulgences to sin. + I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, + If thou proceed in this thy insolence. + WINCHESTER. Nay, stand thou back; I will not budge a foot. + This be Damascus; be thou cursed Cain, + To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. + GLOUCESTER. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back. + Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth + I'll use to carry thee out of this place. + WINCHESTER. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face. + GLOUCESTER. What! am I dar'd and bearded to my face? + Draw, men, for all this privileged place + Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard; + I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly; + Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; + In spite of Pope or dignities of church, + Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this before the + Pope. + GLOUCESTER. Winchester goose! I cry 'A rope, a rope!' + Now beat them hence; why do you let them stay? + Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. + Out, tawny-coats! Out, scarlet hypocrite! + + Here GLOUCESTER'S men beat out the CARDINAL'S + men; and enter in the hurly burly the MAYOR OF + LONDON and his OFFICERS + + MAYOR. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magistrates, + Thus contumeliously should break the peace! + GLOUCESTER. Peace, Mayor! thou know'st little of my wrongs: + Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor King, + Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. + WINCHESTER. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens; + One that still motions war and never peace, + O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; + That seeks to overthrow religion, + Because he is Protector of the realm, + And would have armour here out of the Tower, + To crown himself King and suppress the Prince. + GLOUCESTER. I Will not answer thee with words, but blows. + [Here they skirmish again] + MAYOR. Nought rests for me in this tumultuous strife + But to make open proclamation. + Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst, + Cry. + OFFICER. [Cries] All manner of men assembled here in arms + this day against God's peace and the King's, we charge + and command you, in his Highness' name, to repair to + your several dwelling-places; and not to wear, handle, or + use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon + pain of death. + GLOUCESTER. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law; + But we shall meet and break our minds at large. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, we'll meet to thy cost, be sure; + Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. + MAYOR. I'll call for clubs if you will not away. + This Cardinal's more haughty than the devil. + GLOUCESTER. Mayor, farewell; thou dost but what thou + mayst. + WINCHESTER. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy head, + For I intend to have it ere long. + Exeunt, severally, GLOUCESTER and WINCHESTER + with their servants + MAYOR. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart. + Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear! + I myself fight not once in forty year. Exeunt + + SCENE 4. + + France. Before Orleans + + Enter, on the walls, the MASTER-GUNNER + OF ORLEANS and his BOY + + MASTER-GUNNER. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is + besieg'd, + And how the English have the suburbs won. + BOY. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, + Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. + MASTER-GUNNER. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd + by me. + Chief master-gunner am I of this town; + Something I must do to procure me grace. + The Prince's espials have informed me + How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, + Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars + In yonder tower, to overpeer the city, + And thence discover how with most advantage + They may vex us with shot or with assault. + To intercept this inconvenience, + A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd; + And even these three days have I watch'd + If I could see them. Now do thou watch, + For I can stay no longer. + If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; + And thou shalt find me at the Governor's. Exit + BOY. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; + I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Exit + + Enter SALISBURY and TALBOT on the turrets, with + SIR WILLIAM GLANSDALE, SIR THOMAS GARGRAVE, + and others + + SALISBURY. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd! + How wert thou handled being prisoner? + Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd? + Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. + TALBOT. The Earl of Bedford had a prisoner + Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; + For him was I exchang'd and ransomed. + But with a baser man of arms by far + Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me; + Which I disdaining scorn'd, and craved death + Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. + In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. + But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart + Whom with my bare fists I would execute, + If I now had him brought into my power. + SALISBURY. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert entertain'd. + TALBOT. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts, + In open market-place produc'd they me + To be a public spectacle to all; + Here, said they, is the terror of the French, + The scarecrow that affrights our children so. + Then broke I from the officers that led me, + And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground + To hurl at the beholders of my shame; + My grisly countenance made others fly; + None durst come near for fear of sudden death. + In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; + So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread + That they suppos'd I could rend bars of steel + And spurn in pieces posts of adamant; + Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had + That walk'd about me every minute-while; + And if I did but stir out of my bed, + Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. + + Enter the BOY with a linstock + + SALISBURY. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd; + But we will be reveng'd sufficiently. + Now it is supper-time in Orleans: + Here, through this grate, I count each one + And view the Frenchmen how they fortify. + Let us look in; the sight will much delight thee. + Sir Thomas Gargrave and Sir William Glansdale, + Let me have your express opinions + Where is best place to make our batt'ry next. + GARGRAVE. I think at the North Gate; for there stand lords. + GLANSDALE. And I here, at the bulwark of the bridge. + TALBOT. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, + Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. + [Here they shoot and SALISBURY and GARGRAVE + fall down] + SALISBURY. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! + GARGRAVE. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! + TALBOT. What chance is this that suddenly hath cross'd us? + Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak. + How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? + One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off! + Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand + That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy! + In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; + Henry the Fifth he first train'd to the wars; + Whilst any trump did sound or drum struck up, + His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. + Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? Though thy speech doth fail, + One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace; + The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. + Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive + If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands! + Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. + Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? + Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. + Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort, + Thou shalt not die whiles + He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, + As who should say 'When I am dead and gone, + Remember to avenge me on the French.' + Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, + Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn. + Wretched shall France be only in my name. + [Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens] + What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? + Whence cometh this alarum and the noise? + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd + head + The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, + A holy prophetess new risen up, + Is come with a great power to raise the siege. + [Here SALISBURY lifteth himself up and groans] + TALBOT. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury doth groan. + It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd. + Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you. + Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, + Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels + And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. + Convey me Salisbury into his tent, + And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. + Alarum. Exeunt + + SCENE 5. + + Before Orleans + + Here an alarum again, and TALBOT pursueth the + DAUPHIN and driveth him. Then enter JOAN LA PUCELLE + driving Englishmen before her. Then enter TALBOT + + TALBOT. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? + Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; + A woman clad in armour chaseth them. + + Enter LA PUCELLE + + Here, here she comes. I'll have a bout with thee. + Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee; + Blood will I draw on thee-thou art a witch + And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. + PUCELLE. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. + [Here they fight] + TALBOT. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? + My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage. + And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, + But I will chastise this high minded strumpet. + [They fight again] + PUCELLE. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come. + I must go victual Orleans forthwith. + [A short alarum; then enter the town with soldiers] + O'ertake me if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. + Go, go, cheer up thy hungry starved men; + Help Salisbury to make his testament. + This day is ours, as many more shall be. Exit + TALBOT. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; + I know not where I am nor what I do. + A witch by fear, not force, like Hannibal, + Drives back our troops and conquers as she lists. + So bees with smoke and doves with noisome stench + Are from their hives and houses driven away. + They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs; + Now like to whelps we crying run away. + [A short alarum] + Hark, countrymen! Either renew the fight + Or tear the lions out of England's coat; + Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: + Sheep run not half so treacherous from the wolf, + Or horse or oxen from the leopard, + As you fly from your oft subdued slaves. + [Alarum. Here another skirmish] + It will not be-retire into your trenches. + You all consented unto Salisbury's death, + For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. + Pucelle is ent'red into Orleans + In spite of us or aught that we could do. + O, would I were to die with Salisbury! + The shame hereof will make me hide my head. + Exit TALBOT. Alarum; retreat + + SCENE 6. + + ORLEANS + + Flourish. Enter on the walls, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, + REIGNIER, ALENCON, and soldiers + + PUCELLE. Advance our waving colours on the walls; + Rescu'd is Orleans from the English. + Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. + CHARLES. Divinest creature, Astraea's daughter, + How shall I honour thee for this success? + Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, + That one day bloom'd and fruitful were the next. + France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess. + Recover'd is the town of Orleans. + More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. + REIGNIER. Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the + town? + Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires + And feast and banquet in the open streets + To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. + ALENCON. All France will be replete with mirth and joy + When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. + CHARLES. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; + For which I will divide my crown with her; + And all the priests and friars in my realm + Shall in procession sing her endless praise. + A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear + Than Rhodope's of Memphis ever was. + In memory of her, when she is dead, + Her ashes, in an urn more precious + Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, + Transported shall be at high festivals + Before the kings and queens of France. + No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, + But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. + Come in, and let us banquet royally + After this golden day of victory. Flourish. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +Before Orleans + +Enter a FRENCH SERGEANT and two SENTINELS + + SERGEANT. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant. + If any noise or soldier you perceive + Near to the walls, by some apparent sign + Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. + FIRST SENTINEL. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit SERGEANT] + Thus are poor servitors, + When others sleep upon their quiet beds, + Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. + + Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, and forces, + with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead + march + + TALBOT. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, + By whose approach the regions of Artois, + Wallon, and Picardy, are friends to us, + This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, + Having all day carous'd and banqueted; + Embrace we then this opportunity, + As fitting best to quittance their deceit, + Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery. + BEDFORD. Coward of France, how much he wrongs his fame, + Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, + To join with witches and the help of hell! + BURGUNDY. Traitors have never other company. + But what's that Pucelle whom they term so pure? + TALBOT. A maid, they say. + BEDFORD. A maid! and be so martial! + BURGUNDY. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long, + If underneath the standard of the French + She carry armour as she hath begun. + TALBOT. Well, let them practise and converse with spirits: + God is our fortress, in whose conquering name + Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. + BEDFORD. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. + TALBOT. Not all together; better far, I guess, + That we do make our entrance several ways; + That if it chance the one of us do fail + The other yet may rise against their force. + BEDFORD. Agreed; I'll to yond corner. + BURGUNDY. And I to this. + TALBOT. And here will Talbot mount or make his grave. + Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right + Of English Henry, shall this night appear + How much in duty I am bound to both. + [The English scale the walls and cry 'Saint George! + a Talbot!'] + SENTINEL. Arm! arm! The enemy doth make assault. + + The French leap o'er the walls in their shirts. + Enter, several ways, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, + half ready and half unready + + ALENCON. How now, my lords? What, all unready so? + BASTARD. Unready! Ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. + REIGNIER. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, + Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. + ALENCON. Of all exploits since first I follow'd arms + Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise + More venturous or desperate than this. + BASTARD. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. + REIGNIER. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him + ALENCON. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped. + + Enter CHARLES and LA PUCELLE + + BASTARD. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. + CHARLES. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? + Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, + Make us partakers of a little gain + That now our loss might be ten times so much? + PUCELLE. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? + At all times will you have my power alike? + Sleeping or waking, must I still prevail + Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? + Improvident soldiers! Had your watch been good + This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. + CHARLES. Duke of Alencon, this was your default + That, being captain of the watch to-night, + Did look no better to that weighty charge. + ALENCON. Had all your quarters been as safely kept + As that whereof I had the government, + We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd. + BASTARD. Mine was secure. + REIGNIER. And so was mine, my lord. + CHARLES. And, for myself, most part of all this night, + Within her quarter and mine own precinct + I was employ'd in passing to and fro + About relieving of the sentinels. + Then how or which way should they first break in? + PUCELLE. Question, my lords, no further of the case, + How or which way; 'tis sure they found some place + But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. + And now there rests no other shift but this + To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, + And lay new platforms to endamage them. + + Alarum. Enter an ENGLISH SOLDIER, crying + 'A Talbot! A Talbot!' They fly, leaving their + clothes behind + + SOLDIER. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. + The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; + For I have loaden me with many spoils, + Using no other weapon but his name. Exit + + SCENE 2. + + ORLEANS. Within the town + + Enter TALBOT, BEDFORD, BURGUNDY, a CAPTAIN, + and others + + BEDFORD. The day begins to break, and night is fled + Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. + Here sound retreat and cease our hot pursuit. + [Retreat sounded] + TALBOT. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury + And here advance it in the market-place, + The middle centre of this cursed town. + Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; + For every drop of blood was drawn from him + There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. + And that hereafter ages may behold + What ruin happened in revenge of him, + Within their chiefest temple I'll erect + A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd; + Upon the which, that every one may read, + Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans, + The treacherous manner of his mournful death, + And what a terror he had been to France. + But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, + I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace, + His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, + Nor any of his false confederates. + BEDFORD. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the fight began, + Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, + They did amongst the troops of armed men + Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. + BURGUNDY. Myself, as far as I could well discern + For smoke and dusky vapours of the night, + Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin and his trull, + When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, + Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves + That could not live asunder day or night. + After that things are set in order here, + We'll follow them with all the power we have. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. All hail, my lords! Which of this princely train + Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts + So much applauded through the realm of France? + TALBOT. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him? + MESSENGER. The virtuous lady, Countess of Auvergne, + With modesty admiring thy renown, + By me entreats, great lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe + To visit her poor castle where she lies, + That she may boast she hath beheld the man + Whose glory fills the world with loud report. + BURGUNDY. Is it even so? Nay, then I see our wars + Will turn into a peaceful comic sport, + When ladies crave to be encount'red with. + You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. + TALBOT. Ne'er trust me then; for when a world of men + Could not prevail with all their oratory, + Yet hath a woman's kindness overrul'd; + And therefore tell her I return great thanks + And in submission will attend on her. + Will not your honours bear me company? + BEDFORD. No, truly; 'tis more than manners will; + And I have heard it said unbidden guests + Are often welcomest when they are gone. + TALBOT. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, + I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. + Come hither, Captain. [Whispers] You perceive my mind? + CAPTAIN. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. Exeunt + + SCENE 3. + + AUVERGNE. The Castle + + Enter the COUNTESS and her PORTER + + COUNTESS. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; + And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. + PORTER. Madam, I will. + COUNTESS. The plot is laid; if all things fall out right, + I shall as famous be by this exploit. + As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus' death. + Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, + And his achievements of no less account. + Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears + To give their censure of these rare reports. + + Enter MESSENGER and TALBOT. + + MESSENGER. Madam, according as your ladyship desir'd, + By message crav'd, so is Lord Talbot come. + COUNTESS. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? + MESSENGER. Madam, it is. + COUNTESS. Is this the scourge of France? + Is this Talbot, so much fear'd abroad + That with his name the mothers still their babes? + I see report is fabulous and false. + I thought I should have seen some Hercules, + A second Hector, for his grim aspect + And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. + Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! + It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp + Should strike such terror to his enemies. + TALBOT. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you; + But since your ladyship is not at leisure, + I'll sort some other time to visit you. [Going] + COUNTESS. What means he now? Go ask him whither he + goes. + MESSENGER. Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves + To know the cause of your abrupt departure. + TALBOT. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, + I go to certify her Talbot's here. + + Re-enter PORTER With keys + + COUNTESS. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. + TALBOT. Prisoner! To whom? + COUNTESS. To me, blood-thirsty lord + And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. + Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, + For in my gallery thy picture hangs; + But now the substance shall endure the like + And I will chain these legs and arms of thine + That hast by tyranny these many years + Wasted our country, slain our citizens, + And sent our sons and husbands captivate. + TALBOT. Ha, ha, ha! + COUNTESS. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to + moan. + TALBOT. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond + To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow + Whereon to practise your severity. + COUNTESS. Why, art not thou the man? + TALBOT. I am indeed. + COUNTESS. Then have I substance too. + TALBOT. No, no, I am but shadow of myself. + You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; + For what you see is but the smallest part + And least proportion of humanity. + I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, + It is of such a spacious lofty pitch + Your roof were not sufficient to contain 't. + COUNTESS. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; + He will be here, and yet he is not here. + How can these contrarieties agree? + TALBOT. That will I show you presently. + + Winds his horn; drums strike up; + a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers + + How say you, madam? Are you now persuaded + That Talbot is but shadow of himself? + These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, + With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, + Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, + And in a moment makes them desolate. + COUNTESS. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse. + I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, + And more than may be gathered by thy shape. + Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath, + For I am sorry that with reverence + I did not entertain thee as thou art. + TALBOT. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster + The mind of Talbot as you did mistake + The outward composition of his body. + What you have done hath not offended me. + Nor other satisfaction do I crave + But only, with your patience, that we may + Taste of your wine and see what cates you have, + For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. + COUNTESS. With all my heart, and think me honoured + To feast so great a warrior in my house. Exeunt + + SCENE 4. + + London. The Temple garden + + Enter the EARLS OF SOMERSET, SUFFOLK, and WARWICK; + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, VERNON, and another LAWYER + + PLANTAGENET. Great lords and gentlemen, what means this + silence? + Dare no man answer in a case of truth? + SUFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud; + The garden here is more convenient. + PLANTAGENET. Then say at once if I maintain'd the truth; + Or else was wrangling Somerset in th' error? + SUFFOLK. Faith, I have been a truant in the law + And never yet could frame my will to it; + And therefore frame the law unto my will. + SOMERSET. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us. + WARWICK. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; + Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; + Between two blades, which bears the better temper; + Between two horses, which doth bear him best; + Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye + I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgment; + But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, + Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. + PLANTAGENET. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: + The truth appears so naked on my side + That any purblind eye may find it out. + SOMERSET. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, + So clear, so shining, and so evident, + That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. + PLANTAGENET. Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak, + In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts. + Let him that is a true-born gentleman + And stands upon the honour of his birth, + If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, + From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. + SOMERSET. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, + But dare maintain the party of the truth, + Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. + WARWICK. I love no colours; and, without all colour + Of base insinuating flattery, + I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. + SUFFOLK. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset, + And say withal I think he held the right. + VERNON. Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more + Till you conclude that he upon whose side + The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree + Shall yield the other in the right opinion. + SOMERSET. Good Master Vernon, it is well objected; + If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. + PLANTAGENET. And I. + VERNON. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, + I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, + Giving my verdict on the white rose side. + SOMERSET. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, + Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, + And fall on my side so, against your will. + VERNON. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, + Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt + And keep me on the side where still I am. + SOMERSET. Well, well, come on; who else? + LAWYER. [To Somerset] Unless my study and my books be + false, + The argument you held was wrong in you; + In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. + PLANTAGENET. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? + SOMERSET. Here in my scabbard, meditating that + Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. + PLANTAGENET. Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our + roses; + For pale they look with fear, as witnessing + The truth on our side. + SOMERSET. No, Plantagenet, + 'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks + Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, + And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. + PLANTAGENET. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? + SOMERSET. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? + PLANTAGENET. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; + Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. + SOMERSET. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, + That shall maintain what I have said is true, + Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. + PLANTAGENET. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, + I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. + SUFFOLK. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. + PLANTAGENET. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and + thee. + SUFFOLK. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. + SOMERSET. Away, away, good William de la Pole! + We grace the yeoman by conversing with him. + WARWICK. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset; + His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, + Third son to the third Edward, King of England. + Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? + PLANTAGENET. He bears him on the place's privilege, + Or durst not for his craven heart say thus. + SOMERSET. By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words + On any plot of ground in Christendom. + Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge, + For treason executed in our late king's days? + And by his treason stand'st not thou attainted, + Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? + His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; + And till thou be restor'd thou art a yeoman. + PLANTAGENET. My father was attached, not attainted; + Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; + And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, + Were growing time once ripened to my will. + For your partaker Pole, and you yourself, + I'll note you in my book of memory + To scourge you for this apprehension. + Look to it well, and say you are well warn'd. + SOMERSET. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still; + And know us by these colours for thy foes + For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. + PLANTAGENET. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, + As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, + Will I for ever, and my faction, wear, + Until it wither with me to my grave, + Or flourish to the height of my degree. + SUFFOLK. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition! + And so farewell until I meet thee next. Exit + SOMERSET. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious + Richard. Exit + PLANTAGENET. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure + it! + WARWICK. This blot that they object against your house + Shall be wip'd out in the next Parliament, + Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester; + And if thou be not then created York, + I will not live to be accounted Warwick. + Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, + Against proud Somerset and William Pole, + Will I upon thy party wear this rose; + And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day, + Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, + Shall send between the Red Rose and the White + A thousand souls to death and deadly night. + PLANTAGENET. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you + That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. + VERNON. In your behalf still will I wear the same. + LAWYER. And so will I. + PLANTAGENET. Thanks, gentle sir. + Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say + This quarrel will drink blood another day. Exeunt + + SCENE 5. + + The Tower of London + + Enter MORTIMER, brought in a chair, and GAOLERS + + MORTIMER. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, + Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. + Even like a man new haled from the rack, + So fare my limbs with long imprisonment; + And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, + Nestor-like aged in an age of care, + Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. + These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, + Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; + Weak shoulders, overborne with burdening grief, + And pithless arms, like to a withered vine + That droops his sapless branches to the ground. + Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, + Unable to support this lump of clay, + Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, + As witting I no other comfort have. + But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? + FIRST KEEPER. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. + We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber; + And answer was return'd that he will come. + MORTIMER. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. + Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. + Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, + Before whose glory I was great in arms, + This loathsome sequestration have I had; + And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, + Depriv'd of honour and inheritance. + But now the arbitrator of despairs, + Just Death, kind umpire of men's miseries, + With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. + I would his troubles likewise were expir'd, + That so he might recover what was lost. + + Enter RICHARD PLANTAGENET + + FIRST KEEPER. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. + MORTIMER. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? + PLANTAGENET. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, + Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. + MORTIMER. Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck + And in his bosom spend my latter gasp. + O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, + That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. + And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, + Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd? + PLANTAGENET. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm; + And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. + This day, in argument upon a case, + Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me; + Among which terms he us'd his lavish tongue + And did upbraid me with my father's death; + Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, + Else with the like I had requited him. + Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, + In honour of a true Plantagenet, + And for alliance sake, declare the cause + My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head. + MORTIMER. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me + And hath detain'd me all my flow'ring youth + Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, + Was cursed instrument of his decease. + PLANTAGENET. Discover more at large what cause that was, + For I am ignorant and cannot guess. + MORTIMER. I will, if that my fading breath permit + And death approach not ere my tale be done. + Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, + Depos'd his nephew Richard, Edward's son, + The first-begotten and the lawful heir + Of Edward king, the third of that descent; + During whose reign the Percies of the north, + Finding his usurpation most unjust, + Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne. + The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this + Was, for that-young Richard thus remov'd, + Leaving no heir begotten of his body- + I was the next by birth and parentage; + For by my mother I derived am + From Lionel Duke of Clarence, third son + To King Edward the Third; whereas he + From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, + Being but fourth of that heroic line. + But mark: as in this haughty great attempt + They laboured to plant the rightful heir, + I lost my liberty, and they their lives. + Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, + Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, + Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd + From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, + Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, + Again, in pity of my hard distress, + Levied an army, weening to redeem + And have install'd me in the diadem; + But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, + And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, + In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. + PLANTAGENET. Of Which, my lord, your honour is the last. + MORTIMER. True; and thou seest that I no issue have, + And that my fainting words do warrant death. + Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather; + But yet be wary in thy studious care. + PLANTAGENET. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me. + But yet methinks my father's execution + Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. + MORTIMER. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; + Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster + And like a mountain not to be remov'd. + But now thy uncle is removing hence, + As princes do their courts when they are cloy'd + With long continuance in a settled place. + PLANTAGENET. O uncle, would some part of my young years + Might but redeem the passage of your age! + MORTIMER. Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer + doth + Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. + Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; + Only give order for my funeral. + And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes, + And prosperous be thy life in peace and war! [Dies] + PLANTAGENET. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! + In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, + And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. + Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; + And what I do imagine, let that rest. + Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself + Will see his burial better than his life. + Exeunt GAOLERS, hearing out the body of MORTIMER + Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, + Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort; + And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, + Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, + I doubt not but with honour to redress; + And therefore haste I to the Parliament, + Either to be restored to my blood, + Or make my ill th' advantage of my good. Exit + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +London. The Parliament House + +Flourish. Enter the KING, EXETER, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and +SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. +GLOUCESTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears +it + + WINCHESTER. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, + With written pamphlets studiously devis'd? + Humphrey of Gloucester, if thou canst accuse + Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, + Do it without invention, suddenly; + I with sudden and extemporal speech + Purpose to answer what thou canst object. + GLOUCESTER. Presumptuous priest, this place commands my + patience, + Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me. + Think not, although in writing I preferr'd + The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, + That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able + Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen. + No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, + Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, + As very infants prattle of thy pride. + Thou art a most pernicious usurer; + Froward by nature, enemy to peace; + Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems + A man of thy profession and degree; + And for thy treachery, what's more manifest + In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, + As well at London Bridge as at the Tower? + Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, + The King, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt + From envious malice of thy swelling heart. + WINCHESTER. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe + To give me hearing what I shall reply. + If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, + As he will have me, how am I so poor? + Or how haps it I seek not to advance + Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? + And for dissension, who preferreth peace + More than I do, except I be provok'd? + No, my good lords, it is not that offends; + It is not that that incens'd hath incens'd the Duke: + It is because no one should sway but he; + No one but he should be about the King; + And that engenders thunder in his breast + And makes him roar these accusations forth. + But he shall know I am as good + GLOUCESTER. As good! + Thou bastard of my grandfather! + WINCHESTER. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, + But one imperious in another's throne? + GLOUCESTER. Am I not Protector, saucy priest? + WINCHESTER. And am not I a prelate of the church? + GLOUCESTER. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, + And useth it to patronage his theft. + WINCHESTER. Unreverent Gloucester! + GLOUCESTER. Thou art reverend + Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. + WINCHESTER. Rome shall remedy this. + WARWICK. Roam thither then. + SOMERSET. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. + WARWICK. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. + SOMERSET. Methinks my lord should be religious, + And know the office that belongs to such. + WARWICK. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; + It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. + SOMERSET. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. + WARWICK. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? + Is not his Grace Protector to the King? + PLANTAGENET. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold his + tongue, + Lest it be said 'Speak, sirrah, when you should; + Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?' + Else would I have a fling at Winchester. + KING HENRY. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, + The special watchmen of our English weal, + I would prevail, if prayers might prevail + To join your hearts in love and amity. + O, what a scandal is it to our crown + That two such noble peers as ye should jar! + Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell + Civil dissension is a viperous worm + That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. + [A noise within: 'Down with the tawny coats!'] + What tumult's this? + WARWICK. An uproar, I dare warrant, + Begun through malice of the Bishop's men. + [A noise again: 'Stones! Stones!'] + + Enter the MAYOR OF LONDON, attended + + MAYOR. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry, + Pity the city of London, pity us! + The Bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, + Forbidden late to carry any weapon, + Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones + And, banding themselves in contrary parts, + Do pelt so fast at one another's pate + That many have their giddy brains knock'd out. + Our windows are broke down in every street, + And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. + + Enter in skirmish, the retainers of GLOUCESTER and + WINCHESTER, with bloody pates + + KING HENRY. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, + To hold your slaught'ring hands and keep the peace. + Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll + fall to it with our teeth. + SECOND SERVING-MAN. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. + [Skirmish again] + GLOUCESTER. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, + And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. + THIRD SERVING-MAN. My lord, we know your Grace to be a + man + Just and upright, and for your royal birth + Inferior to none but to his Majesty; + And ere that we will suffer such a prince, + So kind a father of the commonweal, + To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, + We and our wives and children all will fight + And have our bodies slaught'red by thy foes. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Ay, and the very parings of our nails + Shall pitch a field when we are dead. [Begin again] + GLOUCESTER. Stay, stay, I say! + And if you love me, as you say you do, + Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. + KING HENRY. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! + Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold + My sighs and tears and will not once relent? + Who should be pitiful, if you be not? + Or who should study to prefer a peace, + If holy churchmen take delight in broils? + WARWICK. Yield, my Lord Protector; yield, Winchester; + Except you mean with obstinate repulse + To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. + You see what mischief, and what murder too, + Hath been enacted through your enmity; + Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. + WINCHESTER. He shall submit, or I will never yield. + GLOUCESTER. Compassion on the King commands me stoop, + Or I would see his heart out ere the priest + Should ever get that privilege of me. + WARWICK. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the Duke + Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, + As by his smoothed brows it doth appear; + Why look you still so stem and tragical? + GLOUCESTER. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. + KING HENRY. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach + That malice was a great and grievous sin; + And will not you maintain the thing you teach, + But prove a chief offender in the same? + WARWICK. Sweet King! The Bishop hath a kindly gird. + For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent; + What, shall a child instruct you what to do? + WINCHESTER. Well, Duke of Gloucester, I will yield to thee; + Love for thy love and hand for hand I give. + GLOUCESTER [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow + heart. + See here, my friends and loving countrymen: + This token serveth for a flag of truce + Betwixt ourselves and all our followers. + So help me God, as I dissemble not! + WINCHESTER [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it not! + KING HENRY. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloucester, + How joyful am I made by this contract! + Away, my masters! trouble us no more; + But join in friendship, as your lords have done. + FIRST SERVING-MAN. Content: I'll to the surgeon's. + SECOND SERVING-MAN. And so will I. + THIRD SERVING-MAN. And I will see what physic the tavern + affords. Exeunt servants, MAYOR, &C. + WARWICK. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; + Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet + We do exhibit to your Majesty. + GLOUCESTER. Well urg'd, my Lord of Warwick; for, sweet + prince, + An if your Grace mark every circumstance, + You have great reason to do Richard right; + Especially for those occasions + At Eltham Place I told your Majesty. + KING HENRY. And those occasions, uncle, were of force; + Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is + That Richard be restored to his blood. + WARWICK. Let Richard be restored to his blood; + So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. + WINCHESTER. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. + KING HENRY. If Richard will be true, not that alone + But all the whole inheritance I give + That doth belong unto the house of York, + From whence you spring by lineal descent. + PLANTAGENET. Thy humble servant vows obedience + And humble service till the point of death. + KING HENRY. Stoop then and set your knee against my foot; + And in reguerdon of that duty done + I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. + Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, + And rise created princely Duke of York. + PLANTAGENET. And so thrive Richard as thy foes may fall! + And as my duty springs, so perish they + That grudge one thought against your Majesty! + ALL. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York! + SOMERSET. [Aside] Perish, base Prince, ignoble Duke of + York! + GLOUCESTER. Now will it best avail your Majesty + To cross the seas and to be crown'd in France: + The presence of a king engenders love + Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, + As it disanimates his enemies. + KING HENRY. When Gloucester says the word, King Henry + goes; + For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. + GLOUCESTER. Your ships already are in readiness. + Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but EXETER + EXETER. Ay, we may march in England or in France, + Not seeing what is likely to ensue. + This late dissension grown betwixt the peers + Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love + And will at last break out into a flame; + As fest'red members rot but by degree + Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, + So will this base and envious discord breed. + And now I fear that fatal prophecy. + Which in the time of Henry nam'd the Fifth + Was in the mouth of every sucking babe: + That Henry born at Monmouth should win all, + And Henry born at Windsor should lose all. + Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish + His days may finish ere that hapless time. Exit + + SCENE 2. + + France. Before Rouen + + Enter LA PUCELLE disguis'd, with four soldiers dressed + like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs + + PUCELLE. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, + Through which our policy must make a breach. + Take heed, be wary how you place your words; + Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men + That come to gather money for their corn. + If we have entrance, as I hope we shall, + And that we find the slothful watch but weak, + I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, + That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. + FIRST SOLDIER. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, + And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; + Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks] + WATCH. [Within] Qui est la? + PUCELLE. Paysans, pauvres gens de France + Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn. + WATCH. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung. + PUCELLE. Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the + ground. + + [LA PUCELLE, &c., enter the town] + + Enter CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, REIGNIER, and forces + + CHARLES. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem! + And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. + BASTARD. Here ent'red Pucelle and her practisants; + Now she is there, how will she specify + Here is the best and safest passage in? + ALENCON. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; + Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is + No way to that, for weakness, which she ent'red. + + Enter LA PUCELLE, on the top, thrusting out + a torch burning + + PUCELLE. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch + That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, + But burning fatal to the Talbotites. Exit + BASTARD. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our friend; + The burning torch in yonder turret stands. + CHARLES. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, + A prophet to the fall of all our foes! + ALENCON. Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends; + Enter, and cry 'The Dauphin!' presently, + And then do execution on the watch. Alarum. Exeunt + + An alarum. Enter TALBOT in an excursion + + TALBOT. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, + If Talbot but survive thy treachery. + PUCELLE, that witch, that damned sorceress, + Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, + That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. Exit + + An alarum; excursions. BEDFORD brought in sick in + a chair. Enter TALBOT and BURGUNDY without; + within, LA PUCELLE, CHARLES, BASTARD, ALENCON, + and REIGNIER, on the walls + + PUCELLE. Good morrow, gallants! Want ye corn for bread? + I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast + Before he'll buy again at such a rate. + 'Twas full of darnel-do you like the taste? + BURGUNDY. Scoff on, vile fiend and shameless courtezan. + I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own, + And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. + CHARLES. Your Grace may starve, perhaps, before that time. + BEDFORD. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! + PUCELLE. What you do, good grey beard? Break a + lance, + And run a tilt at death within a chair? + TALBOT. Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, + Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours, + Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age + And twit with cowardice a man half dead? + Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, + Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. + PUCELLE. Are ye so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; + If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. + [The English party whisper together in council] + God speed the parliament! Who shall be the Speaker? + TALBOT. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field? + PUCELLE. Belike your lordship takes us then for fools, + To try if that our own be ours or no. + TALBOT. I speak not to that railing Hecate, + But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest. + Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? + ALENCON. Signior, no. + TALBOT. Signior, hang! Base muleteers of France! + Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, + And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. + PUCELLE. Away, captains! Let's get us from the walls; + For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. + God b'uy, my lord; we came but to tell you + That we are here. Exeunt from the walls + TALBOT. And there will we be too, ere it be long, + Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame! + Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, + Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd in France, + Either to get the town again or die; + And I, as sure as English Henry lives + And as his father here was conqueror, + As sure as in this late betrayed town + Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried + So sure I swear to get the town or die. + BURGUNDY. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. + TALBOT. But ere we go, regard this dying prince, + The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord, + We will bestow you in some better place, + Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. + BEDFORD. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me; + Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, + And will be partner of your weal or woe. + BURGUNDY. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you. + BEDFORD. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read + That stout Pendragon in his litter sick + Came to the field, and vanquished his foes. + Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts, + Because I ever found them as myself. + TALBOT. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast! + Then be it so. Heavens keep old Bedford safe! + And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, + But gather we our forces out of hand + And set upon our boasting enemy. + Exeunt against the town all but BEDFORD and attendants + + An alarum; excursions. Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE, + and a CAPTAIN + + CAPTAIN. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in such haste? + FASTOLFE. Whither away? To save myself by flight: + We are like to have the overthrow again. + CAPTAIN. What! Will you and leave Lord Talbot? + FASTOLFE. Ay, + All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. Exit + CAPTAIN. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! + Exit into the town + + Retreat; excursions. LA PUCELLE, ALENCON, + and CHARLES fly + + BEDFORD. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please, + For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. + What is the trust or strength of foolish man? + They that of late were daring with their scoffs + Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. + [BEDFORD dies and is carried in by two in his chair] + + An alarum. Re-enter TALBOT, BURGUNDY, and the rest + + TALBOT. Lost and recovered in a day again! + This is a double honour, Burgundy. + Yet heavens have glory for this victory! + BURGUNDY. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy + Enshrines thee in his heart, and there erects + Thy noble deeds as valour's monuments. + TALBOT. Thanks, gentle Duke. But where is Pucelle now? + I think her old familiar is asleep. + Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his gleeks? + What, all amort? Rouen hangs her head for grief + That such a valiant company are fled. + Now will we take some order in the town, + Placing therein some expert officers; + And then depart to Paris to the King, + For there young Henry with his nobles lie. + BURGUNDY. What Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. + TALBOT. But yet, before we go, let's not forget + The noble Duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, + But see his exequies fulfill'd in Rouen. + A braver soldier never couched lance, + A gentler heart did never sway in court; + But kings and mightiest potentates must die, + For that's the end of human misery. Exeunt + + SCENE 3. + + The plains near Rouen + + Enter CHARLES, the BASTARD, ALENCON, LA PUCELLE, + and forces + + PUCELLE. Dismay not, Princes, at this accident, + Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered. + Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, + For things that are not to be remedied. + Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while + And like a peacock sweep along his tail; + We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, + If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd. + CHARLES. We have guided by thee hitherto, + And of thy cunning had no diffidence; + One sudden foil shall never breed distrust + BASTARD. Search out thy wit for secret policies, + And we will make thee famous through the world. + ALENCON. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, + And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint. + Employ thee, then, sweet virgin, for our good. + PUCELLE. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: + By fair persuasions, mix'd with sug'red words, + We will entice the Duke of Burgundy + To leave the Talbot and to follow us. + CHARLES. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, + France were no place for Henry's warriors; + Nor should that nation boast it so with us, + But be extirped from our provinces. + ALENCON. For ever should they be expuls'd from France, + And not have tide of an earldom here. + PUCELLE. Your honours shall perceive how I will work + To bring this matter to the wished end. + [Drum sounds afar off] + Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive + Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. + + Here sound an English march. Enter, and pass over + at a distance, TALBOT and his forces + + There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, + And all the troops of English after him. + + French march. Enter the DUKE OF BURGUNDY and + his forces + + Now in the rearward comes the Duke and his. + Fortune in favour makes him lag behind. + Summon a parley; we will talk with him. + [Trumpets sound a parley] + CHARLES. A parley with the Duke of Burgundy! + BURGUNDY. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? + PUCELLE. The princely Charles of France, thy countryman. + BURGUNDY. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am marching + hence. + CHARLES. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with thy words. + PUCELLE. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France! + Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. + BURGUNDY. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. + PUCELLE. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, + And see the cities and the towns defac'd + By wasting ruin of the cruel foe; + As looks the mother on her lowly babe + When death doth close his tender dying eyes, + See, see the pining malady of France; + Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, + Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast. + O, turn thy edged sword another way; + Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help! + One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom + Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore. + Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, + And wash away thy country's stained spots. + BURGUNDY. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words, + Or nature makes me suddenly relent. + PUCELLE. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, + Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. + Who join'st thou with but with a lordly nation + That will not trust thee but for profit's sake? + When Talbot hath set footing once in France, + And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, + Who then but English Henry will be lord, + And thou be thrust out like a fugitive? + Call we to mind-and mark but this for proof: + Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe? + And was he not in England prisoner? + But when they heard he was thine enemy + They set him free without his ransom paid, + In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. + See then, thou fight'st against thy countrymen, + And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen. + Come, come, return; return, thou wandering lord; + Charles and the rest will take thee in their arms. + BURGUNDY. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers + Have batt'red me like roaring cannon-shot + And made me almost yield upon my knees. + Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen + And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace. + My forces and my power of men are yours; + So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee. + PUCELLE. Done like a Frenchman- [Aside] turn and turn + again. + CHARLES. Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us + fresh. + BASTARD. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. + ALENCON. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this, + And doth deserve a coronet of gold. + CHARLES. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers, + And seek how we may prejudice the foe. Exeunt + + SCENE 4. + + Paris. The palace + + Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, + SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, WARWICK, EXETER, + VERNON, BASSET, and others. To them, with + his soldiers, TALBOT + + TALBOT. My gracious Prince, and honourable peers, + Hearing of your arrival in this realm, + I have awhile given truce unto my wars + To do my duty to my sovereign; + In sign whereof, this arm that hath reclaim'd + To your obedience fifty fortresses, + Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, + Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, + Lets fall his sword before your Highness' feet, + And with submissive loyalty of heart + Ascribes the glory of his conquest got + First to my God and next unto your Grace. [Kneels] + KING HENRY. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Gloucester, + That hath so long been resident in France? + GLOUCESTER. Yes, if it please your Majesty, my liege. + KING HENRY. Welcome, brave captain and victorious lord! + When I was young, as yet I am not old, + I do remember how my father said + A stouter champion never handled sword. + Long since we were resolved of your truth, + Your faithful service, and your toil in war; + Yet never have you tasted our reward, + Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, + Because till now we never saw your face. + Therefore stand up; and for these good deserts + We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury; + And in our coronation take your place. + Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but VERNON and BASSET + VERNON. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, + Disgracing of these colours that I wear + In honour of my noble Lord of York + Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st? + BASSET. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage + The envious barking of your saucy tongue + Against my lord the Duke of Somerset. + VERNON. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. + BASSET. Why, what is he? As good a man as York! + VERNON. Hark ye: not so. In witness, take ye that. + [Strikes him] + BASSET. Villain, thou knowest the law of arms is such + That whoso draws a sword 'tis present death, + Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. + But I'll unto his Majesty and crave + I may have liberty to venge this wrong; + When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost. + VERNON. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you; + And, after, meet you sooner than you would. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +Park. The palace + +Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, WINCHESTER, YORK, SUFFOLK, SOMERSET, +WARWICK, +TALBOT, EXETER, the GOVERNOR OF PARIS, and others + + GLOUCESTER. Lord Bishop, set the crown upon his head. + WINCHESTER. God save King Henry, of that name the Sixth! + GLOUCESTER. Now, Governor of Paris, take your oath + [GOVERNOR kneels] + That you elect no other king but him, + Esteem none friends but such as are his friends, + And none your foes but such as shall pretend + Malicious practices against his state. + This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! + Exeunt GOVERNOR and his train + + Enter SIR JOHN FASTOLFE + + FASTOLFE. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, + To haste unto your coronation, + A letter was deliver'd to my hands, + Writ to your Grace from th' Duke of Burgundy. + TALBOT. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and thee! + I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next + To tear the Garter from thy craven's leg, [Plucking it off] + Which I have done, because unworthily + Thou wast installed in that high degree. + Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: + This dastard, at the battle of Patay, + When but in all I was six thousand strong, + And that the French were almost ten to one, + Before we met or that a stroke was given, + Like to a trusty squire did run away; + In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; + Myself and divers gentlemen beside + Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners. + Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss, + Or whether that such cowards ought to wear + This ornament of knighthood-yea or no. + GLOUCESTER. To say the truth, this fact was infamous + And ill beseeming any common man, + Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. + TALBOT. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, + Knights of the Garter were of noble birth, + Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty courage, + Such as were grown to credit by the wars; + Not fearing death nor shrinking for distress, + But always resolute in most extremes. + He then that is not furnish'd in this sort + Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, + Profaning this most honourable order, + And should, if I were worthy to be judge, + Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain + That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. + KING HENRY. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear'st thy + doom. + Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight; + Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death. + Exit FASTOLFE + And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter + Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy. + GLOUCESTER. [Viewing the superscription] What means his + Grace, that he hath chang'd his style? + No more but plain and bluntly 'To the King!' + Hath he forgot he is his sovereign? + Or doth this churlish superscription + Pretend some alteration in good-will? + What's here? [Reads] 'I have, upon especial cause, + Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck, + Together with the pitiful complaints + Of such as your oppression feeds upon, + Forsaken your pernicious faction, + And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of France.' + O monstrous treachery! Can this be so + That in alliance, amity, and oaths, + There should be found such false dissembling guile? + KING HENRY. What! Doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? + GLOUCESTER. He doth, my lord, and is become your foe. + KING HENRY. Is that the worst this letter doth contain? + GLOUCESTER. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. + KING HENRY. Why then Lord Talbot there shall talk with + him + And give him chastisement for this abuse. + How say you, my lord, are you not content? + TALBOT. Content, my liege! Yes; but that I am prevented, + I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. + KING HENRY. Then gather strength and march unto him + straight; + Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason. + And what offence it is to flout his friends. + TALBOT. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still + You may behold confusion of your foes. Exit + + Enter VERNON and BASSET + + VERNON. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign. + BASSET. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too. + YORK. This is my servant: hear him, noble Prince. + SOMERSET. And this is mine: sweet Henry, favour him. + KING HENRY. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to speak. + Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus exclaim, + And wherefore crave you combat, or with whom? + VERNON. With him, my lord; for he hath done me wrong. + BASSET. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong. + KING HENRY. What is that wrong whereof you both + complain? First let me know, and then I'll answer you. + BASSET. Crossing the sea from England into France, + This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, + Upbraided me about the rose I wear, + Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves + Did represent my master's blushing cheeks + When stubbornly he did repugn the truth + About a certain question in the law + Argu'd betwixt the Duke of York and him; + With other vile and ignominious terms + In confutation of which rude reproach + And in defence of my lord's worthiness, + I crave the benefit of law of arms. + VERNON. And that is my petition, noble lord; + For though he seem with forged quaint conceit + To set a gloss upon his bold intent, + Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him, + And he first took exceptions at this badge, + Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower + Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. + YORK. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? + SOMERSET. Your private grudge, my Lord of York, will out, + Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. + KING HENRY. Good Lord, what madness rules in brainsick + men, When for so slight and frivolous a cause + Such factious emulations shall arise! + Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, + Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. + YORK. Let this dissension first be tried by fight, + And then your Highness shall command a peace. + SOMERSET. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; + Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. + YORK. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. + VERNON. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. + BASSET. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. + GLOUCESTER. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife; + And perish ye, with your audacious prate! + Presumptuous vassals, are you not asham'd + With this immodest clamorous outrage + To trouble and disturb the King and us? + And you, my lords- methinks you do not well + To bear with their perverse objections, + Much less to take occasion from their mouths + To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves. + Let me persuade you take a better course. + EXETER. It grieves his Highness. Good my lords, be friends. + KING HENRY. Come hither, you that would be combatants: + Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favour, + Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. + And you, my lords, remember where we are: + In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation; + If they perceive dissension in our looks + And that within ourselves we disagree, + How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd + To wilful disobedience, and rebel! + Beside, what infamy will there arise + When foreign princes shall be certified + That for a toy, a thing of no regard, + King Henry's peers and chief nobility + Destroy'd themselves and lost the realm of France! + O, think upon the conquest of my father, + My tender years; and let us not forgo + That for a trifle that was bought with blood! + Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. + I see no reason, if I wear this rose, + [Putting on a red rose] + That any one should therefore be suspicious + I more incline to Somerset than York: + Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both. + As well they may upbraid me with my crown, + Because, forsooth, the King of Scots is crown'd. + But your discretions better can persuade + Than I am able to instruct or teach; + And, therefore, as we hither came in peace, + So let us still continue peace and love. + Cousin of York, we institute your Grace + To be our Regent in these parts of France. + And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite + Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; + And like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, + Go cheerfully together and digest + Your angry choler on your enemies. + Ourself, my Lord Protector, and the rest, + After some respite will return to Calais; + From thence to England, where I hope ere long + To be presented by your victories + With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout. + Flourish. Exeunt all but YORK, WARWICK, + EXETER, VERNON + WARWICK. My Lord of York, I promise you, the King + Prettily, methought, did play the orator. + YORK. And so he did; but yet I like it not, + In that he wears the badge of Somerset. + WARWICK. Tush, that was but his fancy; blame him not; + I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. + YORK. An if I wist he did-but let it rest; + Other affairs must now be managed. + Exeunt all but EXETER + EXETER. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice; + For had the passions of thy heart burst out, + I fear we should have seen decipher'd there + More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, + Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. + But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees + This jarring discord of nobility, + This shouldering of each other in the court, + This factious bandying of their favourites, + But that it doth presage some ill event. + 'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands; + But more when envy breeds unkind division: + There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. Exit + + SCENE 2. + + France. Before Bordeaux + + Enter TALBOT, with trump and drum + + TALBOT. Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter; + Summon their general unto the wall. + + Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, aloft, the + GENERAL OF THE FRENCH, and others + + English John Talbot, Captains, calls you forth, + Servant in arms to Harry King of England; + And thus he would open your city gates, + Be humble to us, call my sovereignvours + And do him homage as obedient subjects, + And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power; + But if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, + You tempt the fury of my three attendants, + Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire; + Who in a moment even with the earth + Shall lay your stately and air braving towers, + If you forsake the offer of their love. + GENERAL OF THE FRENCH. Thou ominous and fearful owl of + death, + Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge! + The period of thy tyranny approacheth. + On us thou canst not enter but by death; + For, I protest, we are well fortified, + And strong enough to issue out and fight. + If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, + Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee. + On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd + To wall thee from the liberty of flight, + And no way canst thou turn thee for redress + But death doth front thee with apparent spoil + And pale destruction meets thee in the face. + Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament + To rive their dangerous artillery + Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. + Lo, there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, + Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit! + This is the latest glory of thy praise + That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; + For ere the glass that now begins to run + Finish the process of his sandy hour, + These eyes that see thee now well coloured + Shall see thee withered, bloody, pale, and dead. + [Drum afar off] + Hark! hark! The Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, + Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; + And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. Exit + TALBOT. He fables not; I hear the enemy. + Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. + O, negligent and heedless discipline! + How are we park'd and bounded in a pale + A little herd of England's timorous deer, + Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! + If we be English deer, be then in blood; + Not rascal-like to fall down with a pinch, + But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, + Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel + And make the cowards stand aloof at bay. + Sell every man his life as dear as mine, + And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. + God and Saint George, Talbot and England's right, + Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! Exeunt + + SCENE 3. + + Plains in Gascony + + Enter YORK, with trumpet and many soldiers. A + MESSENGER meets him + + YORK. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again + That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? + MESSENGER. They are return'd, my lord, and give it out + That he is march'd to Bordeaux with his power + To fight with Talbot; as he march'd along, + By your espials were discovered + Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led, + Which join'd with him and made their march for + Bordeaux. + YORK. A plague upon that villain Somerset + That thus delays my promised supply + Of horsemen that were levied for this siege! + Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, + And I am louted by a traitor villain + And cannot help the noble chevalier. + God comfort him in this necessity! + If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. + + Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY + + LUCY. Thou princely leader of our English strength, + Never so needful on the earth of France, + Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, + Who now is girdled with a waist of iron + And hemm'd about with grim destruction. + To Bordeaux, warlike Duke! to Bordeaux, York! + Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. + YORK. O God, that Somerset, who in proud heart + Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place! + So should we save a valiant gentleman + By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. + Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep + That thus we die while remiss traitors sleep. + LUCY. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord! + YORK. He dies; we lose; I break my warlike word. + We mourn: France smiles. We lose: they daily get- + All long of this vile traitor Somerset. + LUCY. Then God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul, + And on his son, young John, who two hours since + I met in travel toward his warlike father. + This seven years did not Talbot see his son; + And now they meet where both their lives are done. + YORK. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot have + To bid his young son welcome to his grave? + Away! vexation almost stops my breath, + That sund'red friends greet in the hour of death. + Lucy, farewell; no more my fortune can + But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. + Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away + Long all of Somerset and his delay. Exit with forces + LUCY. Thus, while the vulture of sedition + Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, + Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss + The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror, + That ever-living man of memory, + Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross, + Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. Exit + + SCENE 4. + + Other plains of Gascony + + Enter SOMERSET, With his forces; an OFFICER of + TALBOT'S with him + + SOMERSET. It is too late; I cannot send them now. + This expedition was by York and Talbot + Too rashly plotted; all our general force + Might with a sally of the very town + Be buckled with. The over daring Talbot + Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour + By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure. + York set him on to fight and die in shame. + That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. + OFFICER. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with me + Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. + + Enter SIR WILLIAM LUCY + + SOMERSET. How now, Sir William! Whither were you sent? + LUCY. Whither, my lord! From bought and sold Lord + Talbot, + Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, + Cries out for noble York and Somerset + To beat assailing death from his weak legions; + And whiles the honourable captain there + Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs + And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue, + You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, + Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. + Let not your private discord keep away + The levied succours that should lend him aid, + While he, renowned noble gentleman, + Yield up his life unto a world of odds. + Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, + Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, + And Talbot perisheth by your default. + SOMERSET. York set him on; York should have sent him aid. + LUCY. And York as fast upon your Grace exclaims, + Swearing that you withhold his levied host, + Collected for this expedition. + SOMERSET. York lies; he might have sent and had the horse. + I owe him little duty and less love, + And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. + LUCY. The fraud of England, not the force of France, + Hath now entrapp'd the noble minded Talbot. + Never to England shall he bear his life, + But dies betray'd to fortune by your strife. + SOMERSET. Come, go; I will dispatch the horsemen straight; + Within six hours they will be at his aid. + LUCY. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain, + For fly he could not if he would have fled; + And fly would Talbot never, though he might. + SOMERSET. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then, adieu! + LUCY. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. Exeunt + + SCENE 5. + + The English camp near Bordeaux + + Enter TALBOT and JOHN his son + + TALBOT. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee + To tutor thee in stratagems of war, + That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd + When sapless age and weak unable limbs + Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. + But, O malignant and ill-boding stars! + Now thou art come unto a feast of death, + A terrible and unavoided danger; + Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse, + And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape + By sudden flight. Come, dally not, be gone. + JOHN. Is my name Talbot, and am I your son? + And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, + Dishonour not her honourable name, + To make a bastard and a slave of me! + The world will say he is not Talbot's blood + That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. + TALBOT. Fly to revenge my death, if I be slain. + JOHN. He that flies so will ne'er return again. + TALBOT. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. + JOHN. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly. + Your loss is great, so your regard should be; + My worth unknown, no loss is known in me; + Upon my death the French can little boast; + In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. + Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; + But mine it will, that no exploit have done; + You fled for vantage, every one will swear; + But if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. + There is no hope that ever I will stay + If the first hour I shrink and run away. + Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, + Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. + TALBOT. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? + JOHN. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb. + TALBOT. Upon my blessing I command thee go. + JOHN. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. + TALBOT. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. + JOHN. No part of him but will be shame in me. + TALBOT. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. + JOHN. Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it? + TALBOT. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that stain. + JOHN. You cannot witness for me, being slain. + If death be so apparent, then both fly. + TALBOT. And leave my followers here to fight and die? + My age was never tainted with such shame. + JOHN. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? + No more can I be severed from your side + Than can yourself yourself yourself in twain divide. + Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; + For live I will not if my father die. + TALBOT. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, + Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. + Come, side by side together live and die; + And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. Exeunt + + SCENE 6. + + A field of battle + + Alarum: excursions wherein JOHN TALBOT is hemm'd + about, and TALBOT rescues him + + TALBOT. Saint George and victory! Fight, soldiers, fight. + The Regent hath with Talbot broke his word + And left us to the rage of France his sword. + Where is John Talbot? Pause and take thy breath; + I gave thee life and rescu'd thee from death. + JOHN. O, twice my father, twice am I thy son! + The life thou gav'st me first was lost and done + Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, + To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. + TALBOT. When from the Dauphin's crest thy sword struck + fire, + It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire + Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, + Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage, + Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, + And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. + The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood + From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood + Of thy first fight, I soon encountered + And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed + Some of his bastard blood; and in disgrace + Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base, + And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, + Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of mine + Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy.' + Here purposing the Bastard to destroy, + Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care; + Art thou not weary, John? How dost thou fare? + Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, + Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? + Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead: + The help of one stands me in little stead. + O, too much folly is it, well I wot, + To hazard all our lives in one small boat! + If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, + To-morrow I shall die with mickle age. + By me they nothing gain an if I stay: + 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day. + In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, + My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame. + All these and more we hazard by thy stay; + All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly away. + JOHN. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart; + These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart. + On that advantage, bought with such a shame, + To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, + Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, + The coward horse that bears me fall and die! + And like me to the peasant boys of France, + To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance! + Surely, by all the glory you have won, + An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son; + Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; + If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. + TALBOT. Then follow thou thy desp'rate sire of Crete, + Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet. + If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side; + And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. Exeunt + + SCENE 7. + + Another part of the field + + Alarum; excursions. Enter old TALBOT led by a SERVANT + + TALBOT. Where is my other life? Mine own is gone. + O, where's young Talbot? Where is valiant John? + Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, + Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee. + When he perceiv'd me shrink and on my knee, + His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, + And like a hungry lion did commence + Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; + But when my angry guardant stood alone, + Tend'ring my ruin and assail'd of none, + Dizzy-ey'd fury and great rage of heart + Suddenly made him from my side to start + Into the clust'ring battle of the French; + And in that sea of blood my boy did drench + His overmounting spirit; and there died, + My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. + + Enter soldiers, bearing the body of JOHN TALBOT + + SERVANT. O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne! + TALBOT. Thou antic Death, which laugh'st us here to scorn, + Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, + Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, + Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, + In thy despite shall scape mortality. + O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured Death, + Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath! + Brave Death by speaking, whether he will or no; + Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. + Poor boy! he smiles, methinks, as who should say, + Had Death been French, then Death had died to-day. + Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms. + My spirit can no longer bear these harms. + Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, + Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies] + + Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BURGUNDY, BASTARD, + LA PUCELLE, and forces + + CHARLES. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, + We should have found a bloody day of this. + BASTARD. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging wood, + Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood! + PUCELLE. Once I encount'red him, and thus I said: + 'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid.' + But with a proud majestical high scorn + He answer'd thus: 'Young Talbot was not born + To be the pillage of a giglot wench.' + So, rushing in the bowels of the French, + He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. + BURGUNDY. Doubtless he would have made a noble knight. + See where he lies inhearsed in the arms + Of the most bloody nurser of his harms! + BASTARD. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder, + Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. + CHARLES. O, no; forbear! For that which we have fled + During the life, let us not wrong it dead. + + Enter SIR WILLIAM Lucy, attended; a FRENCH + HERALD preceding + + LUCY. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent, + To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. + CHARLES. On what submissive message art thou sent? + LUCY. Submission, Dauphin! 'Tis a mere French word: + We English warriors wot not what it means. + I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, + And to survey the bodies of the dead. + CHARLES. For prisoners ask'st thou? Hell our prison is. + But tell me whom thou seek'st. + LUCY. But where's the great Alcides of the field, + Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, + Created for his rare success in arms + Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence, + Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, + Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton, + Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield, + The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge, + Knight of the noble order of Saint George, + Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece, + Great Marshal to Henry the Sixth + Of all his wars within the realm of France? + PUCELLE. Here's a silly-stately style indeed! + The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, + Writes not so tedious a style as this. + Him that thou magnifi'st with all these tides, + Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. + LUCY. Is Talbot slain-the Frenchmen's only scourge, + Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? + O, were mine eye-bans into bullets turn'd, + That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! + O that I could but can these dead to life! + It were enough to fright the realm of France. + Were but his picture left amongst you here, + It would amaze the proudest of you all. + Give me their bodies, that I may bear them hence + And give them burial as beseems their worth. + PUCELLE. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, + He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. + For God's sake, let him have them; to keep them here, + They would but stink, and putrefy the air. + CHARLES. Go, take their bodies hence. + LUCY. I'll bear them hence; but from their ashes shall be + rear'd + A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. + CHARLES. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou + wilt. + And now to Paris in this conquering vein! + All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +London. The palace + +Sennet. Enter the KING, GLOUCESTER, and EXETER + + KING HENRY. Have you perus'd the letters from the Pope, + The Emperor, and the Earl of Armagnac? + GLOUCESTER. I have, my lord; and their intent is this: + They humbly sue unto your Excellence + To have a godly peace concluded of + Between the realms of England and of France. + KING HENRY. How doth your Grace affect their motion? + GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, and as the only means + To stop effusion of our Christian blood + And stablish quietness on every side. + KING HENRY. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought + It was both impious and unnatural + That such immanity and bloody strife + Should reign among professors of one faith. + GLOUCESTER. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect + And surer bind this knot of amity, + The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, + A man of great authority in France, + Proffers his only daughter to your Grace + In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. + KING HENRY. Marriage, uncle! Alas, my years are young + And fitter is my study and my books + Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. + Yet call th' ambassadors, and, as you please, + So let them have their answers every one. + I shall be well content with any choice + Tends to God's glory and my country's weal. + + Enter in Cardinal's habit + BEAUFORT, the PAPAL LEGATE, and two AMBASSADORS + + EXETER. What! Is my Lord of Winchester install'd + And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? + Then I perceive that will be verified + Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy: + 'If once he come to be a cardinal, + He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.' + KING HENRY. My Lords Ambassadors, your several suits + Have been consider'd and debated on. + Your purpose is both good and reasonable, + And therefore are we certainly resolv'd + To draw conditions of a friendly peace, + Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean + Shall be transported presently to France. + GLOUCESTER. And for the proffer of my lord your master, + I have inform'd his Highness so at large, + As, liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, + Her beauty, and the value of her dower, + He doth intend she shall be England's Queen. + KING HENRY. [To AMBASSADOR] In argument and proof of + which contract, + Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. + And so, my Lord Protector, see them guarded + And safely brought to Dover; where inshipp'd, + Commit them to the fortune of the sea. + + Exeunt all but WINCHESTER and the LEGATE + WINCHESTER. Stay, my Lord Legate; you shall first receive + The sum of money which I promised + Should be delivered to his Holiness + For clothing me in these grave ornaments. + LEGATE. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. + WINCHESTER. [Aside] Now Winchester will not submit, I + trow, + Or be inferior to the proudest peer. + Humphrey of Gloucester, thou shalt well perceive + That neither in birth or for authority + The Bishop will be overborne by thee. + I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, + Or sack this country with a mutiny. Exeunt + + SCENE 2. + + France. Plains in Anjou + + Enter CHARLES, BURGUNDY, ALENCON, BASTARD, + REIGNIER, LA PUCELLE, and forces + + CHARLES. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping + spirits: + 'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt + And turn again unto the warlike French. + ALENCON. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, + And keep not back your powers in dalliance. + PUCELLE. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; + Else ruin combat with their palaces! + + Enter a SCOUT + + SCOUT. Success unto our valiant general, + And happiness to his accomplices! + CHARLES. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee speak. + SCOUT. The English army, that divided was + Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one, + And means to give you battle presently. + CHARLES. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; + But we will presently provide for them. + BURGUNDY. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there. + Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. + PUCELLE. Of all base passions fear is most accurs'd. + Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine, + Let Henry fret and all the world repine. + CHARLES. Then on, my lords; and France be fortunate! + Exeunt + + SCENE 3. + + Before Angiers + + Alarum, excursions. Enter LA PUCELLE + + PUCELLE. The Regent conquers and the Frenchmen fly. + Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; + And ye choice spirits that admonish me + And give me signs of future accidents; [Thunder] + You speedy helpers that are substitutes + Under the lordly monarch of the north, + Appear and aid me in this enterprise! + + Enter FIENDS + + This speedy and quick appearance argues proof + Of your accustom'd diligence to me. + Now, ye familiar spirits that are cull'd + Out of the powerful regions under earth, + Help me this once, that France may get the field. + [They walk and speak not] + O, hold me not with silence over-long! + Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, + I'll lop a member off and give it you + In earnest of a further benefit, + So you do condescend to help me now. + [They hang their heads] + No hope to have redress? My body shall + Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. + [They shake their heads] + Cannot my body nor blood sacrifice + Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? + Then take my soul-my body, soul, and all, + Before that England give the French the foil. + [They depart] + See! they forsake me. Now the time is come + That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest + And let her head fall into England's lap. + My ancient incantations are too weak, + And hell too strong for me to buckle with. + Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. Exit + + Excursions. Enter French and English, fighting. + LA PUCELLE and YORK fight hand to hand; LA PUCELLE + is taken. The French fly + + YORK. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast. + Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, + And try if they can gain your liberty. + A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace! + See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows + As if, with Circe, she would change my shape! + PUCELLE. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be. + YORK. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man: + No shape but his can please your dainty eye. + PUCELLE. A plaguing mischief fight on Charles and thee! + And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd + By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds! + YORK. Fell banning hag; enchantress, hold thy tongue. + PUCELLE. I prithee give me leave to curse awhile. + YORK. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. + Exeunt + + Alarum. Enter SUFFOLK, with MARGARET in his hand + + SUFFOLK. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. + [Gazes on her] + O fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly! + For I will touch thee but with reverent hands; + I kiss these fingers for eternal peace, + And lay them gently on thy tender side. + Who art thou? Say, that I may honour thee. + MARGARET. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, + The King of Naples-whosoe'er thou art. + SUFFOLK. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. + Be not offended, nature's miracle, + Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me. + So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, + Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. + Yet, if this servile usage once offend, + Go and be free again as Suffolk's friend. [She is going] + O, stay! [Aside] I have no power to let her pass; + My hand would free her, but my heart says no. + As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, + Twinkling another counterfeited beam, + So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. + Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak. + I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind. + Fie, de la Pole! disable not thyself; + Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner? + Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? + Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such + Confounds the tongue and makes the senses rough. + MARGARET. Say, Earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so, + What ransom must I pay before I pass? + For I perceive I am thy prisoner. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] How canst thou tell she will deny thy + suit, + Before thou make a trial of her love? + MARGARET. Why speak'st thou not? What ransom must I + pay? + SUFFOLK. [Aside] She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd; + She is a woman, therefore to be won. + MARGARET. Wilt thou accept of ransom-yea or no? + SUFFOLK. [Aside] Fond man, remember that thou hast a + wife; + Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? + MARGARET. I were best leave him, for he will not hear. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling + card. + MARGARET. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] And yet a dispensation may be had. + MARGARET. And yet I would that you would answer me. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] I'll win this Lady Margaret. For whom? + Why, for my King! Tush, that's a wooden thing! + MARGARET. He talks of wood. It is some carpenter. + SUFFOLK. [Aside] Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, + And peace established between these realms. + But there remains a scruple in that too; + For though her father be the King of Naples, + Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, + And our nobility will scorn the match. + MARGARET. Hear ye, Captain-are you not at leisure? + SUFFOLK. [Aside] It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much. + Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. + Madam, I have a secret to reveal. + MARGARET. [Aside] What though I be enthrall'd? He seems + a knight, + And will not any way dishonour me. + SUFFOLK. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. + MARGARET. [Aside] Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French; + And then I need not crave his courtesy. + SUFFOLK. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause + MARGARET. [Aside] Tush! women have been captivate ere + now. + SUFFOLK. Lady, wherefore talk you so? + MARGARET. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. + SUFFOLK. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose + Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? + MARGARET. To be a queen in bondage is more vile + Than is a slave in base servility; + For princes should be free. + SUFFOLK. And so shall you, + If happy England's royal king be free. + MARGARET. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me? + SUFFOLK. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen, + To put a golden sceptre in thy hand + And set a precious crown upon thy head, + If thou wilt condescend to be my- + MARGARET. What? + SUFFOLK. His love. + MARGARET. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. + SUFFOLK. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am + To woo so fair a dame to be his wife + And have no portion in the choice myself. + How say you, madam? Are ye so content? + MARGARET. An if my father please, I am content. + SUFFOLK. Then call our captains and our colours forth! + And, madam, at your father's castle walls + We'll crave a parley to confer with him. + + Sound a parley. Enter REIGNIER on the walls + + See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner! + REIGNIER. To whom? + SUFFOLK. To me. + REIGNIER. Suffolk, what remedy? + I am a soldier and unapt to weep + Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. + SUFFOLK. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord. + Consent, and for thy honour give consent, + Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king, + Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto; + And this her easy-held imprisonment + Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. + REIGNIER. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? + SUFFOLK. Fair Margaret knows + That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. + REIGNIER. Upon thy princely warrant I descend + To give thee answer of thy just demand. + Exit REIGNIER from the walls + SUFFOLK. And here I will expect thy coming. + + Trumpets sound. Enter REIGNIER below + + REIGNIER. Welcome, brave Earl, into our territories; + Command in Anjou what your Honour pleases. + SUFFOLK. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, + Fit to be made companion with a king. + What answer makes your Grace unto my suit? + REIGNIER. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth + To be the princely bride of such a lord, + Upon condition I may quietly + Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and Anjou, + Free from oppression or the stroke of war, + My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. + SUFFOLK. That is her ransom; I deliver her. + And those two counties I will undertake + Your Grace shall well and quietly enjoy. + REIGNIER. And I again, in Henry's royal name, + As deputy unto that gracious king, + Give thee her hand for sign of plighted faith. + SUFFOLK. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, + Because this is in traffic of a king. + [Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well content + To be mine own attorney in this case. + I'll over then to England with this news, + And make this marriage to be solemniz'd. + So, farewell, Reignier. Set this diamond safe + In golden palaces, as it becomes. + REIGNIER. I do embrace thee as I would embrace + The Christian prince, King Henry, were he here. + MARGARET. Farewell, my lord. Good wishes, praise, and + prayers, + Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [She is going] + SUFFOLK. Farewell, sweet madam. But hark you, Margaret + No princely commendations to my king? + MARGARET. Such commendations as becomes a maid, + A virgin, and his servant, say to him. + SUFFOLK. Words sweetly plac'd and modestly directed. + But, madam, I must trouble you again + No loving token to his Majesty? + MARGARET. Yes, my good lord: a pure unspotted heart, + Never yet taint with love, I send the King. + SUFFOLK. And this withal. [Kisses her] + MARGARET. That for thyself, I will not so presume + To send such peevish tokens to a king. + Exeunt REIGNIER and MARGARET + SUFFOLK. O, wert thou for myself! But, Suffolk, stay; + Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth: + There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. + Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise. + Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, + And natural graces that extinguish art; + Repeat their semblance often on the seas, + That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, + Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder. Exit + + SCENE 4. + + Camp of the DUKE OF YORK in Anjou + + Enter YORK, WARWICK, and others + YORK. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. + + Enter LA PUCELLE, guarded, and a SHEPHERD + + SHEPHERD. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart outright! + Have I sought every country far and near, + And, now it is my chance to find thee out, + Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? + Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee! + PUCELLE. Decrepit miser! base ignoble wretch! + I am descended of a gentler blood; + Thou art no father nor no friend of mine. + SHEPHERD. Out, out! My lords, an please you, 'tis not so; + I did beget her, all the parish knows. + Her mother liveth yet, can testify + She was the first fruit of my bach'lorship. + WARWICK. Graceless, wilt thou deny thy parentage? + YORK. This argues what her kind of life hath been- + Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. + SHEPHERD. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so obstacle! + God knows thou art a collop of my flesh; + And for thy sake have I shed many a tear. + Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan. + PUCELLE. Peasant, avaunt! You have suborn'd this man + Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. + SHEPHERD. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest + The morn that I was wedded to her mother. + Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. + Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time + Of thy nativity. I would the milk + Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dst her breast + Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake. + Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs afield, + I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee. + Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? + O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good. Exit + YORK. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long, + To fill the world with vicious qualities. + PUCELLE. First let me tell you whom you have condemn'd: + Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, + But issued from the progeny of kings; + Virtuous and holy, chosen from above + By inspiration of celestial grace, + To work exceeding miracles on earth. + I never had to do with wicked spirits. + But you, that are polluted with your lusts, + Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, + Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, + Because you want the grace that others have, + You judge it straight a thing impossible + To compass wonders but by help of devils. + No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been + A virgin from her tender infancy, + Chaste and immaculate in very thought; + Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd, + Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. + YORK. Ay, ay. Away with her to execution! + WARWICK. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, + Spare for no fagots, let there be enow. + Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, + That so her torture may be shortened. + PUCELLE. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? + Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity + That warranteth by law to be thy privilege: + I am with child, ye bloody homicides; + Murder not then the fruit within my womb, + Although ye hale me to a violent death. + YORK. Now heaven forfend! The holy maid with child! + WARWICK. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: + Is all your strict preciseness come to this? + YORK. She and the Dauphin have been juggling. + I did imagine what would be her refuge. + WARWICK. Well, go to; we'll have no bastards live; + Especially since Charles must father it. + PUCELLE. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his: + It was Alencon that enjoy'd my love. + YORK. Alencon, that notorious Machiavel! + It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. + PUCELLE. O, give me leave, I have deluded you. + 'Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I nam'd, + But Reignier, King of Naples, that prevail'd. + WARWICK. A married man! That's most intolerable. + YORK. Why, here's a girl! I think she knows not well + There were so many-whom she may accuse. + WARWICK. It's sign she hath been liberal and free. + YORK. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. + Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and thee. + Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. + PUCELLE. Then lead me hence-with whom I leave my + curse: + May never glorious sun reflex his beams + Upon the country where you make abode; + But darkness and the gloomy shade of death + Environ you, till mischief and despair + Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves! + Exit, guarded + YORK. Break thou in pieces and consume to ashes, + Thou foul accursed minister of hell! + + Enter CARDINAL BEAUFORT, attended + + CARDINAL. Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence + With letters of commission from the King. + For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, + Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils, + Have earnestly implor'd a general peace + Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; + And here at hand the Dauphin and his train + Approacheth, to confer about some matter. + YORK. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? + After the slaughter of so many peers, + So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, + That in this quarrel have been overthrown + And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, + Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? + Have we not lost most part of all the towns, + By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, + Our great progenitors had conquered? + O Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief + The utter loss of all the realm of France. + WARWICK. Be patient, York. If we conclude a peace, + It shall be with such strict and severe covenants + As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. + + Enter CHARLES, ALENCON, BASTARD, REIGNIER, and others + + CHARLES. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed + That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, + We come to be informed by yourselves + What the conditions of that league must be. + YORK. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes + The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, + By sight of these our baleful enemies. + CARDINAL. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: + That, in regard King Henry gives consent, + Of mere compassion and of lenity, + To ease your country of distressful war, + An suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, + You shall become true liegemen to his crown; + And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear + To pay him tribute and submit thyself, + Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him, + And still enjoy thy regal dignity. + ALENCON. Must he be then as shadow of himself? + Adorn his temples with a coronet + And yet, in substance and authority, + Retain but privilege of a private man? + This proffer is absurd and reasonless. + CHARLES. 'Tis known already that I am possess'd + With more than half the Gallian territories, + And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king. + Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, + Detract so much from that prerogative + As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole? + No, Lord Ambassador; I'll rather keep + That which I have than, coveting for more, + Be cast from possibility of all. + YORK. Insulting Charles! Hast thou by secret means + Us'd intercession to obtain a league, + And now the matter grows to compromise + Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison? + Either accept the title thou usurp'st, + Of benefit proceeding from our king + And not of any challenge of desert, + Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. + REIGNIER. [To CHARLES] My lord, you do not well in + obstinacy + To cavil in the course of this contract. + If once it be neglected, ten to one + We shall not find like opportunity. + ALENCON. [To CHARLES] To say the truth, it is your policy + To save your subjects from such massacre + And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen + By our proceeding in hostility; + And therefore take this compact of a truce, + Although you break it when your pleasure serves. + WARWICK. How say'st thou, Charles? Shall our condition + stand? + CHARLES. It shall; + Only reserv'd, you claim no interest + In any of our towns of garrison. + YORK. Then swear allegiance to his Majesty: + As thou art knight, never to disobey + Nor be rebellious to the crown of England + Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. + [CHARLES and the rest give tokens of fealty] + So, now dismiss your army when ye please; + Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, + For here we entertain a solemn peace. Exeunt + + SCENE 5. + + London. The palace + + Enter SUFFOLK, in conference with the KING, + GLOUCESTER and EXETER + + KING HENRY. Your wondrous rare description, noble Earl, + Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me. + Her virtues, graced with external gifts, + Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; + And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts + Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, + So am I driven by breath of her renown + Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive + Where I may have fruition of her love. + SUFFOLK. Tush, my good lord! This superficial tale + Is but a preface of her worthy praise. + The chief perfections of that lovely dame, + Had I sufficient skill to utter them, + Would make a volume of enticing lines, + Able to ravish any dull conceit; + And, which is more, she is not so divine, + So full-replete with choice of all delights, + But with as humble lowliness of mind + She is content to be at your command + Command, I mean, of virtuous intents, + To love and honour Henry as her lord. + KING HENRY. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. + Therefore, my Lord Protector, give consent + That Margaret may be England's royal Queen. + GLOUCESTER. So should I give consent to flatter sin. + You know, my lord, your Highness is betroth'd + Unto another lady of esteem. + How shall we then dispense with that contract, + And not deface your honour with reproach? + SUFFOLK. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; + Or one that at a triumph, having vow'd + To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists + By reason of his adversary's odds: + A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, + And therefore may be broke without offence. + GLOUCESTER. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than + that? + Her father is no better than an earl, + Although in glorious titles he excel. + SUFFOLK. Yes, my lord, her father is a king, + The King of Naples and Jerusalem; + And of such great authority in France + As his alliance will confirm our peace, + And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. + GLOUCESTER. And so the Earl of Armagnac may do, + Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. + EXETER. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal dower; + Where Reignier sooner will receive than give. + SUFFOLK. A dow'r, my lords! Disgrace not so your king, + That he should be so abject, base, and poor, + To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. + Henry is able to enrich his queen, + And not to seek a queen to make him rich. + So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, + As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. + Marriage is a matter of more worth + Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; + Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects, + Must be companion of his nuptial bed. + And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, + It most of all these reasons bindeth us + In our opinions she should be preferr'd; + For what is wedlock forced but a hell, + An age of discord and continual strife? + Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, + And is a pattern of celestial peace. + Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, + But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? + Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, + Approves her fit for none but for a king; + Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, + More than in women commonly is seen, + Will answer our hope in issue of a king; + For Henry, son unto a conqueror, + Is likely to beget more conquerors, + If with a lady of so high resolve + As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. + Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me + That Margaret shall be Queen, and none but she. + KING HENRY. Whether it be through force of your report, + My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that + My tender youth was never yet attaint + With any passion of inflaming love, + I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd, + I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, + Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, + As I am sick with working of my thoughts. + Take therefore shipping; post, my lord, to France; + Agree to any covenants; and procure + That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come + To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd + King Henry's faithful and anointed queen. + For your expenses and sufficient charge, + Among the people gather up a tenth. + Be gone, I say; for till you do return + I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. + And you, good uncle, banish all offence: + If you do censure me by what you were, + Not what you are, I know it will excuse + This sudden execution of my will. + And so conduct me where, from company, + I may revolve and ruminate my grief. Exit + GLOUCESTER. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EXETER + SUFFOLK. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd; and thus he goes, + As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, + With hope to find the like event in love + But prosper better than the Troyan did. + Margaret shall now be Queen, and rule the King; + But I will rule both her, the King, and realm. Exit + + + + +THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + +Dramatis Personae + + KING HENRY THE SIXTH + HUMPHREY, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his uncle + CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, great-uncle to the King + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK + EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons + DUKE OF SOMERSET + DUKE OF SUFFOLK + DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + LORD CLIFFORD + YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL OF WARWICK + LORD SCALES + LORD SAY + SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD + WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother + SIR JOHN STANLEY + VAUX + MATTHEW GOFFE + A LIEUTENANT, a SHIPMASTER, a MASTER'S MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE + TWO GENTLEMEN, prisoners with Suffolk + JOHN HUME and JOHN SOUTHWELL, two priests + ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer + A SPIRIT raised by him + THOMAS HORNER, an armourer + PETER, his man + CLERK OF CHATHAM + MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS + SAUNDER SIMPCOX, an impostor + ALEXANDER IDEN, a Kentish gentleman + JACK CADE, a rebel + GEORGE BEVIS, JOHN HOLLAND, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH THE WEAVER, + MICHAEL, &c., followers of Cade + TWO MURDERERS + + MARGARET, Queen to King Henry + ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester + MARGERY JOURDAIN, a witch + WIFE to SIMPCOX + + Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald, + a Beadle, a Sheriff, Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, + Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. + +SCENE: England + +ACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace + +Flourish of trumpets; then hautboys. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY OF +GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and CARDINAL BEAUFORT, on the one side; +the QUEEN, SUFFOLK, YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other + + SUFFOLK. As by your high imperial Majesty + I had in charge at my depart for France, + As procurator to your Excellence, + To marry Princess Margaret for your Grace; + So, in the famous ancient city Tours, + In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, + The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne, and Alencon, + Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops, + I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd; + And humbly now upon my bended knee, + In sight of England and her lordly peers, + Deliver up my title in the Queen + To your most gracious hands, that are the substance + Of that great shadow I did represent: + The happiest gift that ever marquis gave, + The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. + KING HENRY. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret: + I can express no kinder sign of love + Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life, + Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! + For thou hast given me in this beauteous face + A world of earthly blessings to my soul, + If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. + QUEEN. Great King of England, and my gracious lord, + The mutual conference that my mind hath had, + By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, + In courtly company or at my beads, + With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, + Makes me the bolder to salute my king + With ruder terms, such as my wit affords + And over-joy of heart doth minister. + KING HENRY. Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, + Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, + Makes me from wond'ring fall to weeping joys, + Such is the fulness of my heart's content. + Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. + ALL. [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness! + QUEEN. We thank you all. [Flourish] + SUFFOLK. My Lord Protector, so it please your Grace, + Here are the articles of contracted peace + Between our sovereign and the French King Charles, + For eighteen months concluded by consent. + GLOUCESTER. [Reads] 'Imprimis: It is agreed between the French King + Charles and William de la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador + for Henry King of England, that the said Henry shall espouse the + Lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia, + and Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the thirtieth + of May next ensuing. + Item: That the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be + released and delivered to the King her father'- + [Lets the paper fall] + KING HENRY. Uncle, how now! + GLOUCESTER. Pardon me, gracious lord; + Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, + And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. + KING HENRY. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on. + CARDINAL. [Reads] 'Item: It is further agreed between them that the + duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over + to the King her father, and she sent over of the King of + England's own proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.' + KING HENRY. They please us well. Lord Marquess, kneel down. + We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk, + And girt thee with the sword. Cousin of York, + We here discharge your Grace from being Regent + I' th' parts of France, till term of eighteen months + Be full expir'd. Thanks, uncle Winchester, + Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, + Salisbury, and Warwick; + We thank you all for this great favour done + In entertainment to my princely queen. + Come, let us in, and with all speed provide + To see her coronation be perform'd. + Exeunt KING, QUEEN, and SUFFOLK + GLOUCESTER. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, + To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief + Your grief, the common grief of all the land. + What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, + His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? + Did he so often lodge in open field, + In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, + To conquer France, his true inheritance? + And did my brother Bedford toil his wits + To keep by policy what Henry got? + Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, + Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, + Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy? + Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, + With all the learned Council of the realm, + Studied so long, sat in the Council House + Early and late, debating to and fro + How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? + And had his Highness in his infancy + Crowned in Paris, in despite of foes? + And shall these labours and these honours die? + Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, + Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die? + O peers of England, shameful is this league! + Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, + Blotting your names from books of memory, + Razing the characters of your renown, + Defacing monuments of conquer'd France, + Undoing all, as all had never been! + CARDINAL. Nephew, what means this passionate discourse, + This peroration with such circumstance? + For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. + GLOUCESTER. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can; + But now it is impossible we should. + Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, + Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine + Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style + Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. + SALISBURY. Now, by the death of Him that died for all, + These counties were the keys of Normandy! + But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? + WARWICK. For grief that they are past recovery; + For were there hope to conquer them again + My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. + Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; + Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer; + And are the cities that I got with wounds + Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? + Mort Dieu! + YORK. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, + That dims the honour of this warlike isle! + France should have torn and rent my very heart + Before I would have yielded to this league. + I never read but England's kings have had + Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives; + And our King Henry gives away his own + To match with her that brings no vantages. + GLOUCESTER. A proper jest, and never heard before, + That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth + For costs and charges in transporting her! + She should have stay'd in France, and starv'd in France, + Before- + CARDINAL. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot: + It was the pleasure of my lord the King. + GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind; + 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, + But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. + Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face + I see thy fury; if I longer stay + We shall begin our ancient bickerings. + Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, + I prophesied France will be lost ere long. Exit + CARDINAL. So, there goes our Protector in a rage. + 'Tis known to you he is mine enemy; + Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, + And no great friend, I fear me, to the King. + Consider, lords, he is the next of blood + And heir apparent to the English crown. + Had Henry got an empire by his marriage + And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, + There's reason he should be displeas'd at it. + Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words + Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. + What though the common people favour him, + Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester,' + Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice + 'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' + With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!' + I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, + He will be found a dangerous Protector. + BUCKINGHAM. Why should he then protect our sovereign, + He being of age to govern of himself? + Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, + And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, + We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat. + CARDINAL. This weighty business will not brook delay; + I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. Exit + SOMERSET. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride + And greatness of his place be grief to us, + Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal; + His insolence is more intolerable + Than all the princes in the land beside; + If Gloucester be displac'd, he'll be Protector. + BUCKINGHAM. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be Protector, + Despite Duke Humphrey or the Cardinal. + Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and SOMERSET + SALISBURY. Pride went before, ambition follows him. + While these do labour for their own preferment, + Behoves it us to labour for the realm. + I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester + Did bear him like a noble gentleman. + Oft have I seen the haughty Cardinal- + More like a soldier than a man o' th' church, + As stout and proud as he were lord of all- + Swear like a ruffian and demean himself + Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. + Warwick my son, the comfort of my age, + Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, + Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, + Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey. + And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, + In bringing them to civil discipline, + Thy late exploits done in the heart of France + When thou wert Regent for our sovereign, + Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: + Join we together for the public good, + In what we can, to bridle and suppress + The pride of Suffolk and the Cardinal, + With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; + And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds + While they do tend the profit of the land. + WARWICK. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land + And common profit of his country! + YORK. And so says York- [Aside] for he hath greatest cause. + SALISBURY. Then let's make haste away and look unto the main. + WARWICK. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost- + That Maine which by main force Warwick did win, + And would have kept so long as breath did last. + Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, + Which I will win from France, or else be slain. + Exeunt WARWICK and SALISBURY + YORK. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; + Paris is lost; the state of Normandy + Stands on a tickle point now they are gone. + Suffolk concluded on the articles; + The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd + To changes two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. + I cannot blame them all: what is't to them? + 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. + Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, + And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, + Still revelling like lords till all be gone; + While as the silly owner of the goods + Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands + And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof, + While all is shar'd and all is borne away, + Ready to starve and dare not touch his own. + So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, + While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. + Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland, + Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood + As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt + Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. + Anjou and Maine both given unto the French! + Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, + Even as I have of fertile England's soil. + A day will come when York shall claim his own; + And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts, + And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey, + And when I spy advantage, claim the crown, + For that's the golden mark I seek to hit. + Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, + Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, + Nor wear the diadem upon his head, + Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown. + Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve; + Watch thou and wake, when others be asleep, + To pry into the secrets of the state; + Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love + With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen, + And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars; + Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, + With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd, + And in my standard bear the arms of York, + To grapple with the house of Lancaster; + And force perforce I'll make him yield the crown, + Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. Exit + +SCENE II. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S house + +Enter DUKE and his wife ELEANOR + + DUCHESS. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn + Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? + Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows, + As frowning at the favours of the world? + Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, + Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? + What see'st thou there? King Henry's diadem, + Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? + If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face + Until thy head be circled with the same. + Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. + What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine; + And having both together heav'd it up, + We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, + And never more abase our sight so low + As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. + GLOUCESTER. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, + Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts! + And may that thought, when I imagine ill + Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, + Be my last breathing in this mortal world! + My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad. + DUCHESS. What dream'd my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it + With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. + GLOUCESTER. Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court, + Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot, + But, as I think, it was by th' Cardinal; + And on the pieces of the broken wand + Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset + And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk. + This was my dream; what it doth bode God knows. + DUCHESS. Tut, this was nothing but an argument + That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove + Shall lose his head for his presumption. + But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet Duke: + Methought I sat in seat of majesty + In the cathedral church of Westminster, + And in that chair where kings and queens were crown'd; + Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneel'd to me, + And on my head did set the diadem. + GLOUCESTER. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright. + Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! + Art thou not second woman in the realm, + And the Protector's wife, belov'd of him? + Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command + Above the reach or compass of thy thought? + And wilt thou still be hammering treachery + To tumble down thy husband and thyself + From top of honour to disgrace's feet? + Away from me, and let me hear no more! + DUCHESS. What, what, my lord! Are you so choleric + With Eleanor for telling but her dream? + Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself + And not be check'd. + GLOUCESTER. Nay, be not angry; I am pleas'd again. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure + You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans, + Where as the King and Queen do mean to hawk. + GLOUCESTER. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? + DUCHESS. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and MESSENGER + Follow I must; I cannot go before, + While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind. + Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, + I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks + And smooth my way upon their headless necks; + And, being a woman, I will not be slack + To play my part in Fortune's pageant. + Where are you there, Sir John? Nay, fear not, man, + We are alone; here's none but thee and I. + + Enter HUME + + HUME. Jesus preserve your royal Majesty! + DUCHESS. What say'st thou? Majesty! I am but Grace. + HUME. But, by the grace of God and Hume's advice, + Your Grace's title shall be multiplied. + DUCHESS. What say'st thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferr'd + With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch of Eie, + With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? + And will they undertake to do me good? + HUME. This they have promised, to show your Highness + A spirit rais'd from depth of underground + That shall make answer to such questions + As by your Grace shall be propounded him + DUCHESS. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions; + When from Saint Albans we do make return + We'll see these things effected to the full. + Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, + With thy confederates in this weighty cause. Exit + HUME. Hume must make merry with the Duchess' gold; + Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John Hume! + Seal up your lips and give no words but mum: + The business asketh silent secrecy. + Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch: + Gold cannot come amiss were she a devil. + Yet have I gold flies from another coast- + I dare not say from the rich Cardinal, + And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk; + Yet I do find it so; for, to be plain, + They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, + Have hired me to undermine the Duchess, + And buzz these conjurations in her brain. + They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker'; + Yet am I Suffolk and the Cardinal's broker. + Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near + To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. + Well, so its stands; and thus, I fear, at last + Hume's knavery will be the Duchess' wreck, + And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall + Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. Exit + +SCENE III. London. The palace + +Enter three or four PETITIONERS, PETER, the Armourer's man, being one + + FIRST PETITIONER. My masters, let's stand close; my Lord Protector + will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our + supplications in the quill. + SECOND PETITIONER. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good + man, Jesu bless him! + + Enter SUFFOLK and QUEEN + + FIRST PETITIONER. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the Queen with him. + I'll be the first, sure. + SECOND PETITIONER. Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk and + not my Lord Protector. + SUFFOLK. How now, fellow! Wouldst anything with me? + FIRST PETITIONER. I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my Lord + Protector. + QUEEN. [Reads] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your supplications to + his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine? + FIRST PETITIONER. Mine is, an't please your Grace, against John + Goodman, my Lord Cardinal's man, for keeping my house and lands, + and wife and all, from me. + SUFFOLK. Thy wife too! That's some wrong indeed. What's yours? + What's here! [Reads] 'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing + the commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave! + SECOND PETITIONER. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our + whole township. + PETER. [Presenting his petition] Against my master, Thomas Horner, + for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. + QUEEN. What say'st thou? Did the Duke of York say he was rightful + heir to the crown? + PETER. That my master was? No, forsooth. My master said that he + was, and that the King was an usurper. + SUFFOLK. Who is there? [Enter servant] Take this fellow in, and + send for his master with a pursuivant presently. We'll hear more + of your matter before the King. + Exit servant with PETER + QUEEN. And as for you, that love to be protected + Under the wings of our Protector's grace, + Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. + [Tears the supplications] + Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. + ALL. Come, let's be gone. Exeunt + QUEEN. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, + Is this the fashions in the court of England? + Is this the government of Britain's isle, + And this the royalty of Albion's king? + What, shall King Henry be a pupil still, + Under the surly Gloucester's governance? + Am I a queen in title and in style, + And must be made a subject to a duke? + I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours + Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love + And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France, + I thought King Henry had resembled thee + In courage, courtship, and proportion; + But all his mind is bent to holiness, + To number Ave-Maries on his beads; + His champions are the prophets and apostles; + His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ; + His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves + Are brazen images of canonized saints. + I would the college of the Cardinals + Would choose him Pope, and carry him to Rome, + And set the triple crown upon his head; + That were a state fit for his holiness. + SUFFOLK. Madam, be patient. As I was cause + Your Highness came to England, so will I + In England work your Grace's full content. + QUEEN. Beside the haughty Protector, have we Beaufort + The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham, + And grumbling York; and not the least of these + But can do more in England than the King. + SUFFOLK. And he of these that can do most of all + Cannot do more in England than the Nevils; + Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. + QUEEN. Not all these lords do vex me half so much + As that proud dame, the Lord Protector's wife. + She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, + More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife. + Strangers in court do take her for the Queen. + She bears a duke's revenues on her back, + And in her heart she scorns our poverty; + Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her? + Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, + She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day + The very train of her worst wearing gown + Was better worth than all my father's lands, + Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. + SUFFOLK. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her, + And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds + That she will light to listen to the lays, + And never mount to trouble you again. + So, let her rest. And, madam, list to me, + For I am bold to counsel you in this: + Although we fancy not the Cardinal, + Yet must we join with him and with the lords, + Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace. + As for the Duke of York, this late complaint + Will make but little for his benefit. + So one by one we'll weed them all at last, + And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. + + Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, DUKE HUMPHREY, + CARDINAL BEAUFORT, BUCKINGHAM, YORK, SOMERSET, SALISBURY, + WARWICK, and the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER + + KING HENRY. For my part, noble lords, I care not which: + Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. + YORK. If York have ill demean'd himself in France, + Then let him be denay'd the regentship. + SOMERSET. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, + Let York be Regent; I will yield to him. + WARWICK. Whether your Grace be worthy, yea or no, + Dispute not that; York is the worthier. + CARDINAL. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. + WARWICK. The Cardinal's not my better in the field. + BUCKINGHAM. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. + WARWICK. Warwick may live to be the best of all. + SALISBURY. Peace, son! And show some reason, Buckingham, + Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. + QUEEN. Because the King, forsooth, will have it so. + GLOUCESTER. Madam, the King is old enough himself + To give his censure. These are no women's matters. + QUEEN. If he be old enough, what needs your Grace + To be Protector of his Excellence? + GLOUCESTER. Madam, I am Protector of the realm; + And at his pleasure will resign my place. + SUFFOLK. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. + Since thou wert king- as who is king but thou?- + The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack, + The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas, + And all the peers and nobles of the realm + Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. + CARDINAL. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags + Are lank and lean with thy extortions. + SOMERSET. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire + Have cost a mass of public treasury. + BUCKINGHAM. Thy cruelty in execution + Upon offenders hath exceeded law, + And left thee to the mercy of the law. + QUEEN. Thy sale of offices and towns in France, + If they were known, as the suspect is great, + Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. + Exit GLOUCESTER. The QUEEN drops QUEEN her fan + Give me my fan. What, minion, can ye not? + [She gives the DUCHESS a box on the ear] + I cry your mercy, madam; was it you? + DUCHESS. Was't I? Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman. + Could I come near your beauty with my nails, + I could set my ten commandments in your face. + KING HENRY. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. + DUCHESS. Against her will, good King? Look to 't in time; + She'll hamper thee and dandle thee like a baby. + Though in this place most master wear no breeches, + She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unreveng'd. Exit + BUCKINGHAM. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, + And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds. + She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs, + She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. Exit + + Re-enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. Now, lords, my choler being overblown + With walking once about the quadrangle, + I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. + As for your spiteful false objections, + Prove them, and I lie open to the law; + But God in mercy so deal with my soul + As I in duty love my king and country! + But to the matter that we have in hand: + I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man + To be your Regent in the realm of France. + SUFFOLK. Before we make election, give me leave + To show some reason, of no little force, + That York is most unmeet of any man. + YORK. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet: + First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; + Next, if I be appointed for the place, + My Lord of Somerset will keep me here + Without discharge, money, or furniture, + Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands. + Last time I danc'd attendance on his will + Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. + WARWICK. That can I witness; and a fouler fact + Did never traitor in the land commit. + SUFFOLK. Peace, headstrong Warwick! + WARWICK. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? + + Enter HORNER, the Armourer, and his man PETER, guarded + + SUFFOLK. Because here is a man accus'd of treason: + Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! + YORK. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? + KING HENRY. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these? + SUFFOLK. Please it your Majesty, this is the man + That doth accuse his master of high treason; + His words were these: that Richard Duke of York + Was rightful heir unto the English crown, + And that your Majesty was an usurper. + KING HENRY. Say, man, were these thy words? + HORNER. An't shall please your Majesty, I never said nor thought + any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accus'd by the + villain. + PETER. [Holding up his hands] By these ten bones, my lords, he did + speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my + Lord of York's armour. + YORK. Base dunghill villain and mechanical, + I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. + I do beseech your royal Majesty, + Let him have all the rigour of the law. + HORNER`. Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My + accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault + the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with + me. I have good witness of this; therefore I beseech your + Majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's + accusation. + KING HENRY. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? + GLOUCESTER. This doom, my lord, if I may judge: + Let Somerset be Regent o'er the French, + Because in York this breeds suspicion; + And let these have a day appointed them + For single combat in convenient place, + For he hath witness of his servant's malice. + This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom. + SOMERSET. I humbly thank your royal Majesty. + HORNER. And I accept the combat willingly. + PETER. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity my case! + The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon + me, I shall never be able to fight a blow! O Lord, my heart! + GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd. + KING HENRY. Away with them to prison; and the day of combat shall + be the last of the next month. + Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Flourish. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. London. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S garden + +Enter MARGERY JOURDAIN, the witch; the two priests, HUME and SOUTHWELL; +and BOLINGBROKE + + HUME. Come, my masters; the Duchess, I tell you, expects + performance of your promises. + BOLINGBROKE. Master Hume, we are therefore provided; will her + ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? + HUME. Ay, what else? Fear you not her courage. + BOLINGBROKE. I have heard her reported to be a woman of an + invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that + you be by her aloft while we be busy below; and so I pray you go, + in God's name, and leave us. [Exit HUME] Mother Jourdain, be you + prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and + let us to our work. + + Enter DUCHESS aloft, followed by HUME + + DUCHESS. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this gear, the + sooner the better. + BOLINGBROKE. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: + Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, + The time of night when Troy was set on fire; + The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl, + And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves- + That time best fits the work we have in hand. + Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise + We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. + + [Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; + BOLINGBROKE or SOUTHWELL reads: 'Conjuro te,' &c. + It thunders and lightens terribly; then the SPIRIT riseth] + + SPIRIT. Adsum. + MARGERY JOURDAIN. Asmath, + By the eternal God, whose name and power + Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; + For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence. + SPIRIT. Ask what thou wilt; that I had said and done. + BOLINGBROKE. [Reads] 'First of the king: what shall of him become?' + SPIRIT. The Duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; + But him outlive, and die a violent death. + [As the SPIRIT speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answer] + BOLINGBROKE. 'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?' + SPIRIT. By water shall he die and take his end. + BOLINGBROKE. 'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?' + SPIRIT. Let him shun castles: + Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains + Than where castles mounted stand. + Have done, for more I hardly can endure. + BOLINGBROKE. Descend to darkness and the burning lake; + False fiend, avoid! Thunder and lightning. Exit SPIRIT + + Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUKE OF + BUCKINGHAM with guard, and break in + + YORK. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. + Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch. + What, madam, are you there? The King and commonweal + Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains; + My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not, + See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. + DUCHESS. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, + Injurious Duke, that threatest where's no cause. + BUCKINGHAM. True, madam, none at all. What can you this? + Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close, + And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us. + Stafford, take her to thee. + We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. + All, away! + Exeunt, above, DUCHESS and HUME, guarded; below, + WITCH, SOUTHWELL and BOLINGBROKE, guarded + YORK. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch'd her well. + A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! + Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. + What have we here? [Reads] + 'The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; + But him outlive, and die a violent death.' + Why, this is just + 'Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse.' + Well, to the rest: + 'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?' + 'By water shall he die and take his end.' + 'What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?' + 'Let him shun castles; + Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains + Than where castles mounted stand.' + Come, come, my lords; + These oracles are hardly attain'd, + And hardly understood. + The King is now in progress towards Saint Albans, + With him the husband of this lovely lady; + Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them- + A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector. + BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, + To be the post, in hope of his reward. + YORK. At your pleasure, my good lord. + Who's within there, ho? + + Enter a serving-man + + Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick + To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. Saint Albans + +Enter the KING, QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with +Falconers halloing + + QUEEN. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, + I saw not better sport these seven years' day; + Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high, + And ten to one old Joan had not gone out. + KING HENRY. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, + And what a pitch she flew above the rest! + To see how God in all His creatures works! + Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. + SUFFOLK. No marvel, an it like your Majesty, + My Lord Protector's hawks do tow'r so well; + They know their master loves to be aloft, + And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind + That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. + CARDINAL. I thought as much; he would be above the clouds. + GLOUCESTER. Ay, my lord Cardinal, how think you by that? + Were it not good your Grace could fly to heaven? + KING HENRY. The treasury of everlasting joy! + CARDINAL. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts + Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; + Pernicious Protector, dangerous peer, + That smooth'st it so with King and commonweal. + GLOUCESTER. What, Cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? + Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? + Churchmen so hot? Good uncle, hide such malice; + With such holiness can you do it? + SUFFOLK. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes + So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. + GLOUCESTER. As who, my lord? + SUFFOLK. Why, as you, my lord, + An't like your lordly Lord's Protectorship. + GLOUCESTER. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. + QUEEN. And thy ambition, Gloucester. + KING HENRY. I prithee, peace, + Good Queen, and whet not on these furious peers; + For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. + CARDINAL. Let me be blessed for the peace I make + Against this proud Protector with my sword! + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere + come to that! + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou dar'st. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious numbers for the + matter; + In thine own person answer thy abuse. + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou dar'st not peep; an + if thou dar'st, + This evening on the east side of the grove. + KING HENRY. How now, my lords! + CARDINAL. Believe me, cousin Gloucester, + Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, + We had had more sport. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Come with thy + two-hand sword. + GLOUCESTER. True, uncle. + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advis'd? The east side of + the grove? + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you. + KING HENRY. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester! + GLOUCESTER. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. + [Aside to CARDINAL] Now, by God's Mother, priest, + I'll shave your crown for this, + Or all my fence shall fail. + CARDINAL. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum; + Protector, see to't well; protect yourself. + KING HENRY. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. + How irksome is this music to my heart! + When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? + I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. + + Enter a TOWNSMAN of Saint Albans, crying 'A miracle!' + + GLOUCESTER. What means this noise? + Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? + TOWNSMAN. A miracle! A miracle! + SUFFOLK. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle. + TOWNSMAN. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albans shrine + Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight; + A man that ne'er saw in his life before. + KING HENRY. Now God be prais'd that to believing souls + Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! + + Enter the MAYOR OF SAINT ALBANS and his brethren, + bearing Simpcox between two in a chair; + his WIFE and a multitude following + + CARDINAL. Here comes the townsmen on procession + To present your Highness with the man. + KING HENRY. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, + Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. + GLOUCESTER. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the King; + His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him. + KING HENRY. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, + That we for thee may glorify the Lord. + What, hast thou been long blind and now restor'd? + SIMPCOX. Born blind, an't please your Grace. + WIFE. Ay indeed was he. + SUFFOLK. What woman is this? + WIFE. His wife, an't like your worship. + GLOUCESTER. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better + told. + KING HENRY. Where wert thou born? + SIMPCOX. At Berwick in the north, an't like your Grace. + KING HENRY. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee. + Let never day nor night unhallowed pass, + But still remember what the Lord hath done. + QUEEN. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance, + Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? + SIMPCOX. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd + A hundred times and oft'ner, in my sleep, + By good Saint Alban, who said 'Simpcox, come, + Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' + WIFE. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft + Myself have heard a voice to call him so. + CARDINAL. What, art thou lame? + SIMPCOX. Ay, God Almighty help me! + SUFFOLK. How cam'st thou so? + SIMPCOX. A fall off of a tree. + WIFE. A plum tree, master. + GLOUCESTER. How long hast thou been blind? + SIMPCOX. O, born so, master! + GLOUCESTER. What, and wouldst climb a tree? + SIMPCOX. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. + WIFE. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. + GLOUCESTER. Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst venture so. + SIMPCOX. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons + And made me climb, With danger of my life. + GLOUCESTER. A subtle knave! But yet it shall not serve: + Let me see thine eyes; wink now; now open them; + In my opinion yet thou seest not well. + SIMPCOX. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban. + GLOUCESTER. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? + SIMPCOX. Red, master; red as blood. + GLOUCESTER. Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of? + SIMPCOX. Black, forsooth; coal-black as jet. + KING HENRY. Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? + SUFFOLK. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. + GLOUCESTER. But cloaks and gowns before this day a many. + WIFE. Never before this day in all his life. + GLOUCESTER. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? + SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I know not. + GLOUCESTER. What's his name? + SIMPCOX. I know not. + GLOUCESTER. Nor his? + SIMPCOX. No, indeed, master. + GLOUCESTER. What's thine own name? + SIMPCOX. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. + GLOUCESTER. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lying'st knave in + Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well + have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we + do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly to + nominate them all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here + hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his cunning to be + great that could restore this cripple to his legs again? + SIMPCOX. O master, that you could! + GLOUCESTER. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in + your town, and things call'd whips? + MAYOR. Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace. + GLOUCESTER. Then send for one presently. + MAYOR. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. + Exit an attendant + GLOUCESTER. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A stool + brought] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, + leap me over this stool and run away. + SIMPCOX. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone! + You go about to torture me in vain. + + Enter a BEADLE with whips + + GLOUCESTER. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. + Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool. + BEADLE. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet + quickly. + SIMPCOX. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. + + After the BEADLE hath hit him once, he leaps over + the stool and runs away; and they follow and cry + 'A miracle!' + + KING HENRY. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long? + QUEEN. It made me laugh to see the villain run. + GLOUCESTER. Follow the knave, and take this drab away. + WIFE. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need! + GLOUCESTER. Let them be whipp'd through every market town till they + come to Berwick, from whence they came. + Exeunt MAYOR, BEADLE, WIFE, &c. + CARDINAL. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. + SUFFOLK. True; made the lame to leap and fly away. + GLOUCESTER. But you have done more miracles than I: + You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM + + KING HENRY. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? + BUCKINGHAM. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold: + A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, + Under the countenance and confederacy + Of Lady Eleanor, the Protector's wife, + The ringleader and head of all this rout, + Have practis'd dangerously against your state, + Dealing with witches and with conjurers, + Whom we have apprehended in the fact, + Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, + Demanding of King Henry's life and death + And other of your Highness' Privy Council, + As more at large your Grace shall understand. + CARDINAL. And so, my Lord Protector, by this means + Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. + This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; + 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. + GLOUCESTER. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart. + Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers; + And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to the + Or to the meanest groom. + KING HENRY. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, + Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! + QUEEN. Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest; + And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. + GLOUCESTER. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal + How I have lov'd my King and commonweal; + And for my wife I know not how it stands. + Sorry I am to hear what I have heard. + Noble she is; but if she have forgot + Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such + As, like to pitch, defile nobility, + I banish her my bed and company + And give her as a prey to law and shame, + That hath dishonoured Gloucester's honest name. + KING HENRY. Well, for this night we will repose us here. + To-morrow toward London back again + To look into this business thoroughly + And call these foul offenders to their answers, + And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, + Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. + Flourish. Exeunt + +SCENE II. London. The DUKE OF YORK'S garden + +Enter YORK, SALISBURY, and WARWICK + + YORK. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick, + Our simple supper ended, give me leave + In this close walk to satisfy myself + In craving your opinion of my tide, + Which is infallible, to England's crown. + SALISBURY. My lord, I long to hear it at full. + WARWICK. Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good, + The Nevils are thy subjects to command. + YORK. Then thus: + Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons; + The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales; + The second, William of Hatfield; and the third, + Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to whom + Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster; + The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; + The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; + William of Windsor was the seventh and last. + Edward the Black Prince died before his father + And left behind him Richard, his only son, + Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king + Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, + The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, + Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, + Seiz'd on the realm, depos'd the rightful king, + Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came. + And him to Pomfret, where, as all you know, + Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously. + WARWICK. Father, the Duke hath told the truth; + Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. + YORK. Which now they hold by force, and not by right; + For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, + The issue of the next son should have reign'd. + SALISBURY. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. + YORK. The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line + I claim the crown, had issue Philippe, a daughter, + Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March; + Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March; + Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. + SALISBURY. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, + As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; + And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, + Who kept him in captivity till he died. + But, to the rest. + YORK. His eldest sister, Anne, + My mother, being heir unto the crown, + Married Richard Earl of Cambridge, who was + To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son, son. + By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir + To Roger Earl of March, who was the son + Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, + Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence; + So, if the issue of the elder son + Succeed before the younger, I am King. + WARWICK. What plain proceedings is more plain than this? + Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, + The fourth son: York claims it from the third. + Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign. + It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee + And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. + Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together, + And in this private plot be we the first + That shall salute our rightful sovereign + With honour of his birthright to the crown. + BOTH. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's King! + YORK. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king + Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd + With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; + And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, + But with advice and silent secrecy. + Do you as I do in these dangerous days: + Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, + At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, + At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, + Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, + That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey; + 'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that, + Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. + SALISBURY. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. + WARWICK. My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick + Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. + YORK. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, + Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick + The greatest man in England but the King. Exeunt + +SCENE III. London. A hall of justice + +Sound trumpets. Enter the KING and State: the QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, YORK, +SUFFOLK, and SALISBURY, with guard, to banish the DUCHESS. Enter, +guarded, the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, +and BOLINGBROKE + + KING HENRY. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: + In sight of God and us, your guilt is great; + Receive the sentence of the law for sins + Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. + You four, from hence to prison back again; + From thence unto the place of execution: + The witch in Smithfield shall be burnt to ashes, + And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. + You, madam, for you are more nobly born, + Despoiled of your honour in your life, + Shall, after three days' open penance done, + Live in your country here in banishment + With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man. + DUCHESS. Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. + GLOUCESTER. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee. + I cannot justify whom the law condemns. + Exeunt the DUCHESS and the other prisoners, guarded + Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. + Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age + Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground! + I beseech your Majesty give me leave to go; + Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. + KING HENRY. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester; ere thou go, + Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself + Protector be; and God shall be my hope, + My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. + And go in peace, Humphrey, no less belov'd + Than when thou wert Protector to thy King. + QUEEN. I see no reason why a king of years + Should be to be protected like a child. + God and King Henry govern England's realm! + Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm. + GLOUCESTER. My staff! Here, noble Henry, is my staff. + As willingly do I the same resign + As ere thy father Henry made it mine; + And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it + As others would ambitiously receive it. + Farewell, good King; when I am dead and gone, + May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit + QUEEN. Why, now is Henry King, and Margaret Queen, + And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself, + That bears so shrewd a maim: two pulls at once- + His lady banish'd and a limb lopp'd off. + This staff of honour raught, there let it stand + Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. + SUFFOLK. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays; + Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. + YORK. Lords, let him go. Please it your Majesty, + This is the day appointed for the combat; + And ready are the appellant and defendant, + The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, + So please your Highness to behold the fight. + QUEEN. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore + Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. + KING HENRY. A God's name, see the lists and all things fit; + Here let them end it, and God defend the right! + YORK. I never saw a fellow worse bested, + Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, + The servant of his armourer, my lords. + + Enter at one door, HORNER, the Armourer, and his + NEIGHBOURS, drinking to him so much that he is + drunk; and he enters with a drum before him and + his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the + other door PETER, his man, with a drum and sandbag, + and PRENTICES drinking to him + + FIRST NEIGHBOUR. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of + sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. + SECOND NEIGHBOUR. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco. + THIRD NEIGHBOUR. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour; + drink, and fear not your man. + HORNER. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig + for Peter! + FIRST PRENTICE. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid. + SECOND PRENTICE. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight + for credit of the prentices. + PETER. I thank you all. Drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I + think I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an + if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my + hammer; and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord + bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, + he hath learnt so much fence already. + SALISBURY. Come, leave your drinking and fall to blows. + Sirrah, what's thy name? + PETER. Peter, forsooth. + SALISBURY. Peter? What more? + PETER. Thump. + SALISBURY. Thump? Then see thou thump thy master well. + HORNER. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's + instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man; and + touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him + any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have + at thee with a down right blow! + YORK. Dispatch- this knave's tongue begins to double. + Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants! + [Alarum. They fight and PETER strikes him down] + HORNER. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. + [Dies] + YORK. Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in + thy master's way. + PETER. O God, have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O + Peter, thou hast prevail'd in right! + KING HENRY. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight, + For by his death we do perceive his guilt; + And God in justice hath reveal'd to us + The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, + Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. + Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. + Sound a flourish. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. London. A street + +Enter DUKE HUMPHREY and his men, in mourning cloaks + + GLOUCESTER. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud, + And after summer evermore succeeds + Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold; + So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. + Sirs, what's o'clock? + SERVING-MAN. Ten, my lord. + GLOUCESTER. Ten is the hour that was appointed me + To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess. + Uneath may she endure the flinty streets + To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. + Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook + The abject people gazing on thy face, + With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, + That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels + When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. + But, soft! I think she comes, and I'll prepare + My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. + + Enter the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER in a white sheet, + and a taper burning in her hand, with SIR JOHN + STANLEY, the SHERIFF, and OFFICERS + + SERVING-MAN. So please your Grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. + GLOUCESTER. No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by. + DUCHESS. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? + Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze! + See how the giddy multitude do point + And nod their heads and throw their eyes on thee; + Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks, + And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame + And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine! + GLOUCESTER. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. + DUCHESS. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself! + For whilst I think I am thy married wife + And thou a prince, Protector of this land, + Methinks I should not thus be led along, + Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, + And follow'd with a rabble that rejoice + To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. + The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, + And when I start, the envious people laugh + And bid me be advised how I tread. + Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? + Trowest thou that e'er I'll look upon the world + Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? + No; dark shall be my light and night my day; + To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. + Sometimes I'll say I am Duke Humphrey's wife, + And he a prince, and ruler of the land; + Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, + As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, + Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock + To every idle rascal follower. + But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame, + Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death + Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will. + For Suffolk- he that can do all in all + With her that hateth thee and hates us all- + And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, + Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, + And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee. + But fear not thou until thy foot be snar'd, + Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. + GLOUCESTER. Ah, Nell, forbear! Thou aimest all awry. + I must offend before I be attainted; + And had I twenty times so many foes, + And each of them had twenty times their power, + All these could not procure me any scathe + So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. + Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach? + Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away, + But I in danger for the breach of law. + Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell. + I pray thee sort thy heart to patience; + These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. + + Enter a HERALD + + HERALD. I summon your Grace to his Majesty's Parliament, + Holden at Bury the first of this next month. + GLOUCESTER. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! + This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. Exit HERALD + My Nell, I take my leave- and, master sheriff, + Let not her penance exceed the King's commission. + SHERIFF. An't please your Grace, here my commission stays; + And Sir John Stanley is appointed now + To take her with him to the Isle of Man. + GLOUCESTER. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here? + STANLEY. So am I given in charge, may't please your Grace. + GLOUCESTER. Entreat her not the worse in that I pray + You use her well; the world may laugh again, + And I may live to do you kindness if + You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell. + DUCHESS. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell! + GLOUCESTER. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and servants + DUCHESS. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee! + For none abides with me. My joy is death- + Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, + Because I wish'd this world's eternity. + Stanley, I prithee go, and take me hence; + I care not whither, for I beg no favour, + Only convey me where thou art commanded. + STANLEY. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man, + There to be us'd according to your state. + DUCHESS. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach- + And shall I then be us'd reproachfully? + STANLEY. Like to a duchess and Duke Humphrey's lady; + According to that state you shall be us'd. + DUCHESS. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, + Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. + SHERIFF. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. + DUCHESS. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd. + Come, Stanley, shall we go? + STANLEY. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, + And go we to attire you for our journey. + DUCHESS. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet. + No, it will hang upon my richest robes + And show itself, attire me how I can. + Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds + +Sound a sennet. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SUFFOLK, YORK, +BUCKINGHAM, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the Parliament + + KING HENRY. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come. + 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, + Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. + QUEEN. Can you not see, or will ye not observe + The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? + With what a majesty he bears himself; + How insolent of late he is become, + How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? + We know the time since he was mild and affable, + And if we did but glance a far-off look + Immediately he was upon his knee, + That all the court admir'd him for submission. + But meet him now and be it in the morn, + When every one will give the time of day, + He knits his brow and shows an angry eye + And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, + Disdaining duty that to us belongs. + Small curs are not regarded when they grin, + But great men tremble when the lion roars, + And Humphrey is no little man in England. + First note that he is near you in descent, + And should you fall he is the next will mount; + Me seemeth, then, it is no policy- + Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, + And his advantage following your decease- + That he should come about your royal person + Or be admitted to your Highness' Council. + By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts; + And when he please to make commotion, + 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. + Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; + Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden + And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. + The reverent care I bear unto my lord + Made me collect these dangers in the Duke. + If it be fond, can it a woman's fear; + Which fear if better reasons can supplant, + I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke. + My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, + Reprove my allegation if you can, + Or else conclude my words effectual. + SUFFOLK. Well hath your Highness seen into this duke; + And had I first been put to speak my mind, + I think I should have told your Grace's tale. + The Duchess, by his subornation, + Upon my life, began her devilish practices; + Or if he were not privy to those faults, + Yet by reputing of his high descent- + As next the King he was successive heir- + And such high vaunts of his nobility, + Did instigate the bedlam brainsick Duchess + By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. + Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep, + And in his simple show he harbours treason. + The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. + No, no, my sovereign, Gloucester is a man + Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. + CARDINAL. Did he not, contrary to form of law, + Devise strange deaths for small offences done? + YORK. And did he not, in his protectorship, + Levy great sums of money through the realm + For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? + By means whereof the towns each day revolted. + BUCKINGHAM. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown + Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey. + KING HENRY. My lords, at once: the care you have of us, + To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, + Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience? + Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent + From meaning treason to our royal person + As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: + The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given + To dream on evil or to work my downfall. + QUEEN. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance? + Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrow'd, + For he's disposed as the hateful raven. + Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him, + For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf. + Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? + Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all + Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. + + Enter SOMERSET + + SOMERSET. All health unto my gracious sovereign! + KING HENRY. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France? + SOMERSET. That all your interest in those territories + Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. + KING HENRY. Cold news, Lord Somerset; but God's will be done! + YORK. [Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France + As firmly as I hope for fertile England. + Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, + And caterpillars eat my leaves away; + But I will remedy this gear ere long, + Or sell my title for a glorious grave. + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. All happiness unto my lord the King! + Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. + SUFFOLK. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, + Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art. + I do arrest thee of high treason here. + GLOUCESTER. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush + Nor change my countenance for this arrest: + A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. + The purest spring is not so free from mud + As I am clear from treason to my sovereign. + Who can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty? + YORK. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France + And, being Protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay; + By means whereof his Highness hath lost France. + GLOUCESTER. Is it but thought so? What are they that think it? + I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay + Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. + So help me God, as I have watch'd the night- + Ay, night by night- in studying good for England! + That doit that e'er I wrested from the King, + Or any groat I hoarded to my use, + Be brought against me at my trial-day! + No; many a pound of mine own proper store, + Because I would not tax the needy commons, + Have I dispursed to the garrisons, + And never ask'd for restitution. + CARDINAL. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. + GLOUCESTER. I say no more than truth, so help me God! + YORK. In your protectorship you did devise + Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, + That England was defam'd by tyranny. + GLOUCESTER. Why, 'tis well known that whiles I was Protector + Pity was all the fault that was in me; + For I should melt at an offender's tears, + And lowly words were ransom for their fault. + Unless it were a bloody murderer, + Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers, + I never gave them condign punishment. + Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd + Above the felon or what trespass else. + SUFFOLK. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd; + But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, + Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. + I do arrest you in His Highness' name, + And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal + To keep until your further time of trial. + KING HENRY. My Lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope + That you will clear yourself from all suspense. + My conscience tells me you are innocent. + GLOUCESTER. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous! + Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, + And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand; + Foul subornation is predominant, + And equity exil'd your Highness' land. + I know their complot is to have my life; + And if my death might make this island happy + And prove the period of their tyranny, + I would expend it with all willingness. + But mine is made the prologue to their play; + For thousands more that yet suspect no peril + Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. + Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, + And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; + Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue + The envious load that lies upon his heart; + And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, + Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, + By false accuse doth level at my life. + And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, + Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, + And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up + My liefest liege to be mine enemy; + Ay, all of you have laid your heads together- + Myself had notice of your conventicles- + And all to make away my guiltless life. + I shall not want false witness to condemn me + Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt. + The ancient proverb will be well effected: + 'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' + CARDINAL. My liege, his railing is intolerable. + If those that care to keep your royal person + From treason's secret knife and traitor's rage + Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, + And the offender granted scope of speech, + 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace. + SUFFOLK. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here + With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, + As if she had suborned some to swear + False allegations to o'erthrow his state? + QUEEN. But I can give the loser leave to chide. + GLOUCESTER. Far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed. + Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! + And well such losers may have leave to speak. + BUCKINGHAM. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day. + Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner. + CARDINAL. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure. + GLOUCESTER. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch + Before his legs be firm to bear his body! + Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, + And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. + Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! + For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. Exit, guarded + KING HENRY. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best + Do or undo, as if ourself were here. + QUEEN. What, will your Highness leave the Parliament? + KING HENRY. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief, + Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; + My body round engirt with misery- + For what's more miserable than discontent? + Ah, uncle Humphrey, in thy face I see + The map of honour, truth, and loyalty! + And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come + That e'er I prov'd thee false or fear'd thy faith. + What louring star now envies thy estate + That these great lords, and Margaret our Queen, + Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? + Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; + And as the butcher takes away the calf, + And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, + Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, + Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence; + And as the dam runs lowing up and down, + Looking the way her harmless young one went, + And can do nought but wail her darling's loss, + Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case + With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes + Look after him, and cannot do him good, + So mighty are his vowed enemies. + His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan + Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.' Exit + QUEEN. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams: + Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, + Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester's show + Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile + With sorrow snares relenting passengers; + Or as the snake, roll'd in a flow'ring bank, + With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child + That for the beauty thinks it excellent. + Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I- + And yet herein I judge mine own wit good- + This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world + To rid us from the fear we have of him. + CARDINAL. That he should die is worthy policy; + But yet we want a colour for his death. + 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. + SUFFOLK. But, in my mind, that were no policy: + The King will labour still to save his life; + The commons haply rise to save his life; + And yet we have but trivial argument, + More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. + YORK. So that, by this, you would not have him die. + SUFFOLK. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I! + YORK. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death. + But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, + Say as you think, and speak it from your souls: + Were't not all one an empty eagle were set + To guard the chicken from a hungry kite + As place Duke Humphrey for the King's Protector? + QUEEN. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. + SUFFOLK. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness then + To make the fox surveyor of the fold? + Who being accus'd a crafty murderer, + His guilt should be but idly posted over, + Because his purpose is not executed. + No; let him die, in that he is a fox, + By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, + Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood, + As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. + And do not stand on quillets how to slay him; + Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, + Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, + So he be dead; for that is good deceit + Which mates him first that first intends deceit. + QUEEN. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke. + SUFFOLK. Not resolute, except so much were done, + For things are often spoke and seldom meant; + But that my heart accordeth with my tongue, + Seeing the deed is meritorious, + And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, + Say but the word, and I will be his priest. + CARDINAL. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk, + Ere you can take due orders for a priest; + Say you consent and censure well the deed, + And I'll provide his executioner- + I tender so the safety of my liege. + SUFFOLK. Here is my hand the deed is worthy doing. + QUEEN. And so say I. + YORK. And I. And now we three have spoke it, + It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. + + Enter a POST + + POST. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain + To signify that rebels there are up + And put the Englishmen unto the sword. + Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, + Before the wound do grow uncurable; + For, being green, there is great hope of help. + CARDINAL. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop! + What counsel give you in this weighty cause? + YORK. That Somerset be sent as Regent thither; + 'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd, + Witness the fortune he hath had in France. + SOMERSET. If York, with all his far-fet policy, + Had been the Regent there instead of me, + He never would have stay'd in France so long. + YORK. No, not to lose it all as thou hast done. + I rather would have lost my life betimes + Than bring a burden of dishonour home + By staying there so long till all were lost. + Show me one scar character'd on thy skin: + Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win. + QUEEN. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire, + If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with; + No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still. + Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there, + Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. + YORK. What, worse than nought? Nay, then a shame take all! + SOMERSET. And in the number, thee that wishest shame! + CARDINAL. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is. + Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms + And temper clay with blood of Englishmen; + To Ireland will you lead a band of men, + Collected choicely, from each county some, + And try your hap against the Irishmen? + YORK. I will, my lord, so please his Majesty. + SUFFOLK. Why, our authority is his consent, + And what we do establish he confirms; + Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. + YORK. I am content; provide me soldiers, lords, + Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. + SUFFOLK. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd. + But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey. + CARDINAL. No more of him; for I will deal with him + That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. + And so break off; the day is almost spent. + Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. + YORK. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days + At Bristol I expect my soldiers; + For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. + SUFFOLK. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York. + Exeunt all but YORK + YORK. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts + And change misdoubt to resolution; + Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art + Resign to death- it is not worth th' enjoying. + Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man + And find no harbour in a royal heart. + Faster than spring-time show'rs comes thought on thought, + And not a thought but thinks on dignity. + My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, + Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. + Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done + To send me packing with an host of men. + I fear me you but warm the starved snake, + Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts. + 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me; + I take it kindly. Yet be well assur'd + You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. + Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, + I will stir up in England some black storm + Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; + And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage + Until the golden circuit on my head, + Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, + Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. + And for a minister of my intent + I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman, + John Cade of Ashford, + To make commotion, as full well he can, + Under the tide of John Mortimer. + In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade + Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, + And fought so long tiff that his thighs with darts + Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine; + And in the end being rescu'd, I have seen + Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, + Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. + Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern, + Hath he conversed with the enemy, + And undiscover'd come to me again + And given me notice of their villainies. + This devil here shall be my substitute; + For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, + In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble. + By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, + How they affect the house and claim of York. + Say he be taken, rack'd, and tortured; + I know no pain they can inflict upon him + Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms. + Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will, + Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, + And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd; + For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, + And Henry put apart, the next for me. Exit + +SCENE II. Bury St. Edmunds. A room of state + +Enter two or three MURDERERS running over the stage, from the murder of +DUKE HUMPHREY + + FIRST MURDERER. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know + We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded. + SECOND MURDERER. O that it were to do! What have we done? + Didst ever hear a man so penitent? + + Enter SUFFOLK + + FIRST MURDERER. Here comes my lord. + SUFFOLK. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? + FIRST MURDERER. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. + SUFFOLK. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house; + I will reward you for this venturous deed. + The King and all the peers are here at hand. + Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well, + According as I gave directions? + FIRST MURDERER. 'Tis, my good lord. + SUFFOLK. Away! be gone. Exeunt MURDERERS + + Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, + CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants + + KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight; + Say we intend to try his Grace to-day, + If he be guilty, as 'tis published. + SUFFOLK. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit + KING HENRY. Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all, + Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester + Than from true evidence, of good esteem, + He be approv'd in practice culpable. + QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail + That faultless may condemn a nobleman! + Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion! + KING HENRY. I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much. + + Re-enter SUFFOLK + + How now! Why look'st thou pale? Why tremblest thou? + Where is our uncle? What's the matter, Suffolk? + SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead. + QUEEN. Marry, God forfend! + CARDINAL. God's secret judgment! I did dream to-night + The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word. + [The KING swoons] + QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead. + SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. + QUEEN. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes! + SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient. + KING. O heavenly God! + QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord? + SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort! + KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? + Came he right now to sing a raven's note, + Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs; + And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, + By crying comfort from a hollow breast, + Can chase away the first conceived sound? + Hide not thy poison with such sug'red words; + Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say, + Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting. + Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! + Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny + Sits in grim majesty to fright the world. + Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding; + Yet do not go away; come, basilisk, + And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight; + For in the shade of death I shall find joy- + In life but double death,'now Gloucester's dead. + QUEEN. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? + Although the Duke was enemy to him, + Yet he most Christian-like laments his death; + And for myself- foe as he was to me- + Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, + Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life, + I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, + Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs, + And all to have the noble Duke alive. + What know I how the world may deem of me? + For it is known we were but hollow friends: + It may be judg'd I made the Duke away; + So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, + And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. + This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy! + To be a queen and crown'd with infamy! + KING HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man! + QUEEN. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. + What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? + I am no loathsome leper- look on me. + What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf? + Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen. + Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb? + Why, then Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. + Erect his statue and worship it, + And make my image but an alehouse sign. + Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea, + And twice by awkward wind from England's bank + Drove back again unto my native clime? + What boded this but well-forewarning wind + Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest, + Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'? + What did I then but curs'd the gentle gusts, + And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves; + And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, + Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? + Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer, + But left that hateful office unto thee. + The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd to drown me, + Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore + With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness; + The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands + And would not dash me with their ragged sides, + Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, + Might in thy palace perish Margaret. + As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, + When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, + I stood upon the hatches in the storm; + And when the dusky sky began to rob + My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, + I took a costly jewel from my neck- + A heart it was, bound in with diamonds- + And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it; + And so I wish'd thy body might my heart. + And even with this I lost fair England's view, + And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart, + And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles + For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. + How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue- + The agent of thy foul inconstancy- + To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did + When he to madding Dido would unfold + His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy! + Am I not witch'd like her? Or thou not false like him? + Ay me, I can no more! Die, Margaret, + For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. + + Noise within. Enter WARWICK, SALISBURY, + and many commons + + WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign, + That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd'red + By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means. + The commons, like an angry hive of bees + That want their leader, scatter up and down + And care not who they sting in his revenge. + Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny + Until they hear the order of his death. + KING HENRY. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true; + But how he died God knows, not Henry. + Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, + And comment then upon his sudden death. + WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury, + With the rude multitude till I return. Exit + Exit SALISBURY with the commons + KING HENRY. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts- + My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul + Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life! + If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; + For judgment only doth belong to Thee. + Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips + With twenty thousand kisses and to drain + Upon his face an ocean of salt tears + To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk; + And with my fingers feel his hand un-feeling; + But all in vain are these mean obsequies; + And to survey his dead and earthy image, + What were it but to make my sorrow greater? + + Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK + + WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body. + KING HENRY. That is to see how deep my grave is made; + For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, + For, seeing him, I see my life in death. + WARWICK. As surely as my soul intends to live + With that dread King that took our state upon Him + To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, + I do believe that violent hands were laid + Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke. + SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! + What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow? + WARWICK. See how the blood is settled in his face. + Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, + Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, + Being all descended to the labouring heart, + Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, + Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy, + Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth + To blush and beautify the cheek again. + But see, his face is black and full of blood; + His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, + Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; + His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling; + His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd + And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. + Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; + His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, + Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. + It cannot be but he was murd'red here: + The least of all these signs were probable. + SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death? + Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; + And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. + WARWICK. But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes; + And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep. + 'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend; + And 'tis well seen he found an enemy. + QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen + As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. + WARWICK. Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh, + And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, + But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter? + Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest + But may imagine how the bird was dead, + Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? + Even so suspicious is this tragedy. + QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife? + Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons? + SUFFOLK. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; + But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, + That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart + That slanders me with murder's crimson badge. + Say if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, + That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. + Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others + WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him? + QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, + Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, + Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. + WARWICK. Madam, be still- with reverence may I say; + For every word you speak in his behalf + Is slander to your royal dignity. + SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour, + If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, + Thy mother took into her blameful bed + Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock + Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art, + And never of the Nevils' noble race. + WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, + And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, + Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, + And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, + I would, false murd'rous coward, on thy knee + Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech + And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st, + That thou thyself was born in bastardy; + And, after all this fearful homage done, + Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, + Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men. + SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, + If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. + WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. + Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, + And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost. + Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK + KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted? + Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just; + And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, + Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. + [A noise within] + QUEEN. What noise is this? + + Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn + + KING. Why, how now, lords, your wrathful weapons drawn + Here in our presence! Dare you be so bold? + Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? + SUFFOLK. The trait'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury, + Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. + + Re-enter SALISBURY + + SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] Sirs, stand apart, the King + shall know your mind. + Dread lord, the commons send you word by me + Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, + Or banished fair England's territories, + They will by violence tear him from your palace + And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. + They say by him the good Duke Humphrey died; + They say in him they fear your Highness' death; + And mere instinct of love and loyalty, + Free from a stubborn opposite intent, + As being thought to contradict your liking, + Makes them thus forward in his banishment. + They say, in care of your most royal person, + That if your Highness should intend to sleep + And charge that no man should disturb your rest, + In pain of your dislike or pain of death, + Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, + Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue + That slily glided towards your Majesty, + It were but necessary you were wak'd, + Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, + The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal. + And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, + That they will guard you, whe'er you will or no, + From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is; + With whose envenomed and fatal sting + Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, + They say, is shamefully bereft of life. + COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury! + SUFFOLK. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, + Could send such message to their sovereign; + But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, + To show how quaint an orator you are. + But all the honour Salisbury hath won + Is that he was the lord ambassador + Sent from a sort of tinkers to the King. + COMMONS. [Within] An answer from the King, or we will all break in! + KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me + I thank them for their tender loving care; + And had I not been cited so by them, + Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; + For sure my thoughts do hourly prophesy + Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. + And therefore by His Majesty I swear, + Whose far unworthy deputy I am, + He shall not breathe infection in this air + But three days longer, on the pain of death. + Exit SALISBURY + QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk! + KING HENRY. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk! + No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him, + Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. + Had I but said, I would have kept my word; + But when I swear, it is irrevocable. + If after three days' space thou here be'st found + On any ground that I am ruler of, + The world shall not be ransom for thy life. + Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; + I have great matters to impart to thee. + Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK + QUEEN. Mischance and sorrow go along with you! + Heart's discontent and sour affliction + Be playfellows to keep you company! + There's two of you; the devil make a third, + And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! + SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations, + And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. + QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch, + Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy? + SUFFOLK. A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them? + Would curses kill as doth the mandrake's groan, + I would invent as bitter searching terms, + As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, + Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, + With full as many signs of deadly hate, + As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave. + My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words, + Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint, + Mine hair be fix'd an end, as one distract; + Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban; + And even now my burden'd heart would break, + Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! + Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! + Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! + Their chiefest prospect murd'ring basilisks! + Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings! + Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss, + And boding screech-owls make the consort full! + all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell- + QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself; + And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, + Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, + And turns the force of them upon thyself. + SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? + Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, + Well could I curse away a winter's night, + Though standing naked on a mountain top + Where biting cold would never let grass grow, + And think it but a minute spent in sport. + QUEEN. O, let me entreat thee cease! Give me thy hand, + That I may dew it with my mournful tears; + Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place + To wash away my woeful monuments. + O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, + That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, + Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! + So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; + 'Tis but surmis'd whiles thou art standing by, + As one that surfeits thinking on a want. + I will repeal thee or, be well assur'd, + Adventure to be banished myself; + And banished I am, if but from thee. + Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. + O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd + Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, + Loather a hundred times to part than die. + Yet now, farewell; and farewell life with thee! + SUFFOLK. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, + Once by the King and three times thrice by thee, + 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence; + A wilderness is populous enough, + So Suffolk had thy heavenly company; + For where thou art, there is the world itself, + With every several pleasure in the world; + And where thou art not, desolation. + I can no more: Live thou to joy thy life; + Myself no joy in nought but that thou liv'st. + + Enter VAUX + + QUEEN. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee? + VAUX. To signify unto his Majesty + That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death; + For suddenly a grievous sickness took him + That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, + Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. + Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost + Were by his side; sometime he calls the King + And whispers to his pillow, as to him, + The secrets of his overcharged soul; + And I am sent to tell his Majesty + That even now he cries aloud for him. + QUEEN. Go tell this heavy message to the King. Exit VAUX + Ay me! What is this world! What news are these! + But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, + Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? + Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, + And with the southern clouds contend in tears- + Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? + Now get thee hence: the King, thou know'st, is coming; + If thou be found by me; thou art but dead. + SUFFOLK. If I depart from thee I cannot live; + And in thy sight to die, what were it else + But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? + Here could I breathe my soul into the air, + As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe + Dying with mother's dug between its lips; + Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad + And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, + To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth; + So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, + Or I should breathe it so into thy body, + And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. + To die by thee were but to die in jest: + From thee to die were torture more than death. + O, let me stay, befall what may befall! + QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive, + It is applied to a deathful wound. + To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee; + For whereso'er thou art in this world's globe + I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. + SUFFOLK. I go. + QUEEN. And take my heart with thee. [She kisses him] + SUFFOLK. A jewel, lock'd into the woefull'st cask + That ever did contain a thing of worth. + Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we: + This way fall I to death. + QUEEN. This way for me. Exeunt severally + +SCENE III. London. CARDINAL BEAUFORT'S bedchamber + +Enter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed + + KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. + CARDINAL. If thou be'st Death I'll give thee England's treasure, + Enough to purchase such another island, + So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. + KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life + Where death's approach is seen so terrible! + WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. + CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will. + Died he not in his bed? Where should he die? + Can I make men live, whe'er they will or no? + O, torture me no more! I will confess. + Alive again? Then show me where he is; + I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. + He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. + Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright, + Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul! + Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary + Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. + KING HENRY. O Thou eternal Mover of the heavens, + Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! + O, beat away the busy meddling fiend + That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, + And from his bosom purge this black despair! + WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin + SALISBURY. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. + KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! + Lord Card'nal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, + Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. + He dies, and makes no sign: O God, forgive him! + WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. + KING HENRY. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. + Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; + And let us all to meditation. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE I. The coast of Kent + +Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a LIEUTENANT, a +SHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors; SUFFOLK and +other GENTLEMEN, as prisoners + + LIEUTENANT. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day + Is crept into the bosom of the sea; + And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades + That drag the tragic melancholy night; + Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings + Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws + Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. + Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; + For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, + Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, + Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore. + Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; + And thou that art his mate make boot of this; + The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know? + MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. + MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. + LIEUTENANT. What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns, + And bear the name and port of gentlemen? + Cut both the villains' throats- for die you shall; + The lives of those which we have lost in fight + Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum! + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight. + WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, + [To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; + And so should these, if I might have my will. + LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. + SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman: + Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. + WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore. + How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright? + SUFFOLK. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. + A cunning man did calculate my birth + And told me that by water I should die; + Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded; + Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded. + WHITMORE. Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not: + Never yet did base dishonour blur our name + But with our sword we wip'd away the blot; + Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, + Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, + And I proclaim'd a coward through the world. + SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince, + The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. + WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags? + SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke: + Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I? + LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. + SUFFOLK. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood, + The honourable blood of Lancaster, + Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. + Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup, + Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule, + And thought thee happy when I shook my head? + How often hast thou waited at my cup, + Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, + When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? + Remember it, and let it make thee crestfall'n, + Ay, and allay thus thy abortive pride, + How in our voiding-lobby hast thou stood + And duly waited for my coming forth. + This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, + And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. + WHITMORE. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? + LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. + SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. + LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side + Strike off his head. + SUFFOLK. Thou dar'st not, for thy own. + LIEUTENANT. Poole! + SUFFOLK. Poole? + LIEUTENANT. Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt + Troubles the silver spring where England drinks; + Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth + For swallowing the treasure of the realm. + Thy lips, that kiss'd the Queen, shall sweep the ground; + And thou that smil'dst at good Duke Humphrey's death + Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, + Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again; + And wedded be thou to the hags of hell + For daring to affy a mighty lord + Unto the daughter of a worthless king, + Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. + By devilish policy art thou grown great, + And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd + With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. + By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France; + The false revolting Normans thorough thee + Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy + Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts, + And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. + The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, + Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, + As hating thee, are rising up in arms; + And now the house of York- thrust from the crown + By shameful murder of a guiltless king + And lofty proud encroaching tyranny- + Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours + Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, + Under the which is writ 'Invitis nubibus.' + The commons here in Kent are up in arms; + And to conclude, reproach and beggary + Is crept into the palace of our King, + And all by thee. Away! convey him hence. + SUFFOLK. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder + Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! + Small things make base men proud: this villain here, + Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more + Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate. + Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives. + It is impossible that I should die + By such a lowly vassal as thyself. + Thy words move rage and not remorse in me. + I go of message from the Queen to France: + I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel. + LIEUTENANT. Walter- + WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. + SUFFOLK. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it is thee I fear. + WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. + What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. + SUFFOLK. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and rough, + Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. + Far be it we should honour such as these + With humble suit: no, rather let my head + Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any + Save to the God of heaven and to my king; + And sooner dance upon a bloody pole + Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. + True nobility is exempt from fear: + More can I bear than you dare execute. + LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. + SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, + That this my death may never be forgot- + Great men oft die by vile bezonians: + A Roman sworder and banditto slave + Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand + Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders + Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. + Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK + LIEUTENANT. And as for these, whose ransom we have set, + It is our pleasure one of them depart; + Therefore come you with us, and let him go. + Exeunt all but the FIRST GENTLEMAN + + Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK'S body + + WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie, + Until the Queen his mistress bury it. Exit + FIRST GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! + His body will I bear unto the King. + If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; + So will the Queen, that living held him dear. + Exit with the body + +SCENE II. Blackheath + +Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND + + GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have + been up these two days. + JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then. + GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the + commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. + JOHN. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never + merry world in England since gentlemen came up. + GEORGE. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen. + JOHN. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. + GEORGE. Nay, more, the King's Council are no good workmen. + JOHN. True; and yet it is said 'Labour in thy vocation'; which is + as much to say as 'Let the magistrates be labouring men'; and + therefore should we be magistrates. + GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave + mind than a hard hand. + JOHN. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of + Wingham- + GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's + leather of. + JOHN. And Dick the butcher- + GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity's throat + cut like a calf. + JOHN. And Smith the weaver- + GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun. + JOHN. Come, come, let's fall in with them. + + Drum. Enter CADE, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH + THE WEAVER, and a SAWYER, with infinite numbers + + CADE. We John Cade, so term'd of our supposed father- + DICK. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. + CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the + spirit of putting down kings and princes- command silence. + DICK. Silence! + CADE. My father was a Mortimer- + DICK. [Aside] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer. + CADE. My mother a Plantagenet- + DICK. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife. + CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies- + DICK. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many + laces. + SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd + pack, she washes bucks here at home. + CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house. + DICK. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there + was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but + the cage. + CADE. Valiant I am. + SMITH. [Aside] 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. + CADE. I am able to endure much. + DICK. [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three + market days together. + CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire. + SMITH. [Aside] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of + proof. + DICK. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being + burnt i' th' hand for stealing of sheep. + CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows + reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves + sold for a penny; the three-hoop'd pot shall have ten hoops; and + I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be + in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And + when I am king- as king I will be + ALL. God save your Majesty! + CADE. I thank you, good people- there shall be no money; all shall + eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one + livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their + lord. + DICK. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. + CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that + of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That + parchment, being scribbl'd o'er, should undo a man? Some say the + bee stings; but I say 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once + to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! Who's + there? + + Enter some, bringing in the CLERK OF CHATHAM + + SMITH. The clerk of Chatham. He can write and read and cast + accompt. + CADE. O monstrous! + SMITH. We took him setting of boys' copies. + CADE. Here's a villain! + SMITH. Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't. + CADE. Nay, then he is a conjurer. + DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand. + CADE. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper man, of mine honour; + unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, + I must examine thee. What is thy name? + CLERK. Emmanuel. + DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters; 'twill go hard + with you. + CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name, or hast thou a + mark to thyself, like a honest plain-dealing man? + CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can + write my name. + ALL. He hath confess'd. Away with him! He's a villain and a + traitor. + CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about + his neck. Exit one with the CLERK + + Enter MICHAEL + + MICHAEL. Where's our General? + CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow. + MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are + hard by, with the King's forces. + CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He shall be + encount'red with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight, + is 'a? + MICHAEL. No. + CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently. + [Kneels] Rise up, Sir John Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him! + + Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and WILLIAM + his brother, with drum and soldiers + + STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, + Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down; + Home to your cottages, forsake this groom; + The King is merciful if you revolt. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, + If you go forward; therefore yield or die. + CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not; + It is to you, good people, that I speak, + O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign; + For I am rightful heir unto the crown. + STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; + And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? + CADE. And Adam was a gardener. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. And what of that? + CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, + Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not? + STAFFORD. Ay, sir. + CADE. By her he had two children at one birth. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. That's false. + CADE. Ay, there's the question; but I say 'tis true. + The elder of them being put to nurse, + Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away, + And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, + Became a bricklayer when he came to age. + His son am I; deny it if you can. + DICK. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king. + SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks + are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not. + STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge's words + That speaks he knows not what? + ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this. + CADE. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself- Go to, sirrah, + tell the King from me that for his father's sake, Henry the + Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, + I am content he shall reign; but I'll be Protector over him. + DICK. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling + the dukedom of Maine. + CADE. And good reason; for thereby is England main'd and fain to go + with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I + tell you that that Lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth and made + it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and + therefore he is a traitor. + STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance! + CADE. Nay, answer if you can; the Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to, + then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an + enemy be a good counsellor, or no? + ALL. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. + WILLIAM STAFFORD. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, + Assail them with the army of the King. + STAFFORD. Herald, away; and throughout every town + Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; + That those which fly before the battle ends + May, even in their wives'and children's sight, + Be hang'd up for example at their doors. + And you that be the King's friends, follow me. + Exeunt the TWO STAFFORDS and soldiers + CADE. And you that love the commons follow me. + Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty. + We will not leave one lord, one gentleman; + Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon, + For they are thrifty honest men and such + As would- but that they dare not- take our parts. + DICK. They are all in order, and march toward us. + CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come, + march forward. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath + +Alarums to the fight, wherein both the STAFFORDS are slain. +Enter CADE and the rest + + CADE. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? + DICK. Here, sir. + CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst + thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house; + therefore thus will I reward thee- the Lent shall be as long + again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a + hundred lacking one. + DICK. I desire no more. + CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deserv'st no less. [Putting on SIR + HUMPHREY'S brigandine] This monument of the victory will I bear, + and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come + to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us. + DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and + let out the prisoners. + CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards + London. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. London. The palace + +Enter the KING with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head; +the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD SAY + + QUEEN. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind + And makes it fearful and degenerate; + Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. + But who can cease to weep, and look on this? + Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; + But where's the body that I should embrace? + BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels' + supplication? + KING HENRY. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat; + For God forbid so many simple souls + Should perish by the sword! And I myself, + Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, + Will parley with Jack Cade their general. + But stay, I'll read it over once again. + QUEEN. Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face + Rul'd like a wandering planet over me, + And could it not enforce them to relent + That were unworthy to behold the same? + KING HENRY. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. + SAY. Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his. + KING HENRY. How now, madam! + Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? + I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, + Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me. + QUEEN. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. + + Enter A MESSENGER + + KING HENRY. How now! What news? Why com'st thou in such haste? + MESSENGER. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord! + Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, + Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house, + And calls your Grace usurper, openly, + And vows to crown himself in Westminster. + His army is a ragged multitude + Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless; + Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death + Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. + All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, + They call false caterpillars and intend their death. + KING HENRY. O graceless men! they know not what they do. + BUCKINGHAM. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth + Until a power be rais'd to put them down. + QUEEN. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive, + These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd! + KING HENRY. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee; + Therefore away with us to Killingworth. + SAY. So might your Grace's person be in danger. + The sight of me is odious in their eyes; + And therefore in this city will I stay + And live alone as secret as I may. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. Jack Cade hath gotten London Bridge. + The citizens fly and forsake their houses; + The rascal people, thirsting after prey, + Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear + To spoil the city and your royal court. + BUCKINGHAM. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse. + KING HENRY. Come Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us. + QUEEN. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. + KING HENRY. [To LORD SAY] Farewell, my lord, trust not the Kentish + rebels. + BUCKINGHAM. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. + SAY. The trust I have is in mine innocence, + And therefore am I bold and resolute. Exeunt + +SCENE V. London. The Tower + +Enter LORD SCALES Upon the Tower, walking. Then enter two or three +CITIZENS, below + + SCALES. How now! Is Jack Cade slain? + FIRST CITIZEN. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have + won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them. + The Lord Mayor craves aid of your honour from the + Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. + SCALES. Such aid as I can spare you shall command, + But I am troubled here with them myself; + The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. + But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, + And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe; + Fight for your King, your country, and your lives; + And so, farewell, for I must hence again. Exeunt + +SCENE VI. London. Cannon street + +Enter JACK CADE and the rest, and strikes his staff on London Stone + + CADE. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon + London Stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the + pissing conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our + reign. And now henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls me + other than Lord Mortimer. + + Enter a SOLDIER, running + + SOLDIER. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! + CADE. Knock him down there. [They kill him] + SMITH. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call ye Jack Cade more; + I think he hath a very fair warning. + DICK. My lord, there's an army gathered together in Smithfield. + CADE. Come then, let's go fight with them. But first go and set + London Bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. + Come, let's away. Exeunt + +SCENE VII. London. Smithfield + +Alarums. MATTHEW GOFFE is slain, and all the rest. Then enter JACK +CADE, with his company + + CADE. So, sirs. Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to th' + Inns of Court; down with them all. + DICK. I have a suit unto your lordship. + CADE. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word. + DICK. Only that the laws of England may come out of your mouth. + JOHN. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in + the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet. + SMITH. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his breath + stinks with eating toasted cheese. + CADE. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. Away, burn all the + records of the realm. My mouth shall be the Parliament of + England. + JOHN. [Aside] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his + teeth be pull'd out. + CADE. And henceforward all things shall be in common. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My lord, a prize, a prize! Here's the Lord Say, which sold + the towns in France; he that made us pay one and twenty fifteens, and + one shining to the pound, the last subsidy. + + Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the LORD SAY + + CADE. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. Ah, thou say, + thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! Now art thou within point + blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my + Majesty for giving up of Normandy unto Mounsieur Basimecu the + Dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even + the presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must + sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most + traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a + grammar school; and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other + books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to + be us'd, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou + hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou + hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and + such abominable words as no Christian ear can endure to hear. + Thou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men before + them about matters they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou + hast put them in prison, and because they could not read, thou + hast hang'd them, when, indeed, only for that cause they have + been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride in a foot-cloth, dost + thou not? + SAY. What of that? + CADE. Marry, thou ought'st not to let thy horse wear a cloak, when + honester men than thou go in their hose and doublets. + DICK. And work in their shirt too, as myself, for example, that am + a butcher. + SAY. You men of Kent- + DICK. What say you of Kent? + SAY. Nothing but this: 'tis 'bona terra, mala gens.' + CADE. Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin. + SAY. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. + Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, + Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle. + Sweet is the country, because full of riches; + The people liberal valiant, active, wealthy; + Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. + I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; + Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. + Justice with favour have I always done; + Pray'rs and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. + When have I aught exacted at your hands, + But to maintain the King, the realm, and you? + Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, + Because my book preferr'd me to the King, + And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, + Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, + Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits + You cannot but forbear to murder me. + This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings + For your behoof. + CADE. Tut, when struck'st thou one blow in the field? + SAY. Great men have reaching hands. Oft have I struck + Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. + GEORGE. O monstrous coward! What, to come behind folks? + SAY. These cheeks are pale for watching for your good. + CADE. Give him a box o' th' ear, and that will make 'em red again. + SAY. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes + Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. + CADE. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the help of hatchet. + DICK. Why dost thou quiver, man? + SAY. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. + CADE. Nay, he nods at us, as who should say 'I'll be even with + you'; I'll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no. + Take him away, and behead him. + SAY. Tell me: wherein have I offended most? + Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak. + Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? + Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? + Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death? + These hands are free from guiltless bloodshedding, + This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. + O, let me live! + CADE. [Aside] I feel remorse in myself with his words; but I'll + bridle it. He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for + his life.- Away with him! He has a familiar under his tongue; he + speaks not o' God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike + off his head presently, and then break into his son-in-law's + house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them + both upon two poles hither. + ALL. It shall be done. + SAY. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your pray'rs, + God should be so obdurate as yourselves, + How would it fare with your departed souls? + And therefore yet relent and save my life. + CADE. Away with him, and do as I command ye. [Exeunt some with + LORD SAY] The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head + on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a + maid be married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere they + have it. Men shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and + command that their wives be as free as heart can wish or tongue + can tell. + DICK. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and take up + commodities upon our bills? + CADE. Marry, presently. + ALL. O, brave! + + Re-enter one with the heads + + CADE. But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they + lov'd well when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they + consult about the giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers, + defer the spoil of the city until night; for with these borne before + us instead of maces will we ride through the streets, and at every + corner have them kiss. Away! Exeunt + +SCENE VIII. Southwark + +Alarum and retreat. Enter again CADE and all his rabblement + + CADE. Up Fish Street! down Saint Magnus' Corner! Kill and knock down! + Throw them into Thames! [Sound a parley] What noise is + this I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or parley when I + command them kill? + + Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD, attended + + BUCKINGHAM. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb thee. + And therefore yet relent, and save my life. + Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the King + Unto the commons whom thou hast misled; + And here pronounce free pardon to them all + That will forsake thee and go home in peace. + CLIFFORD. What say ye, countrymen? Will ye relent + And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you, + Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths? + Who loves the King, and will embrace his pardon, + Fling up his cap and say 'God save his Majesty!' + Who hateth him and honours not his father, + Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, + Shake he his weapon at us and pass by. + ALL. God save the King! God save the King! + CADE. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are ye so brave? + And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? Will you needs be + hang'd with your about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke + through London gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart + in Southwark? I thought ye would never have given out these arms + till you had recovered your ancient freedom. But you are all + recreants and dastards, and delight to live in slavery to the + nobility. Let them break your backs with burdens, take your + houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters before + your faces. For me, I will make shift for one; and so God's curse + light upon you all! + ALL. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade! + CLIFFORD. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, + That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him? + Will he conduct you through the heart of France, + And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? + Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; + Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, + Unless by robbing of your friends and us. + Were't not a shame that whilst you live at jar + The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, + Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you? + Methinks already in this civil broil + I see them lording it in London streets, + Crying 'Villiago!' unto all they meet. + Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry + Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. + To France, to France, and get what you have lost; + Spare England, for it is your native coast. + Henry hath money; you are strong and manly. + God on our side, doubt not of victory. + ALL. A Clifford! a Clifford! We'll follow the King and Clifford. + CADE. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this + multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred + mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their + heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me for here + is no staying. In despite of the devils and hell, have through + the very middest of you! and heavens and honour be witness that + no want of resolution in me, but only my followers' base and + ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels. + Exit + BUCKINGHAM. What, is he fled? Go some, and follow him; + And he that brings his head unto the King + Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. + Exeunt some of them + Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean + To reconcile you all unto the King. Exeunt + +SCENE IX. Killing, worth Castle + +Sound trumpets. Enter KING, QUEEN, and SOMERSET, on the terrace + + KING HENRY. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne + And could command no more content than I? + No sooner was I crept out of my cradle + But I was made a king, at nine months old. + Was never subject long'd to be a King + As I do long and wish to be a subject. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM and old CLIFFORD + + BUCKINGHAM. Health and glad tidings to your Majesty! + KING HENRY. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor Cade surpris'd? + Or is he but retir'd to make him strong? + + Enter, below, multitudes, with halters about their necks + + CLIFFORD. He is fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield, + And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, + Expect your Highness' doom of life or death. + KING HENRY. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, + To entertain my vows of thanks and praise! + Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, + And show'd how well you love your Prince and country. + Continue still in this so good a mind, + And Henry, though he be infortunate, + Assure yourselves, will never be unkind. + And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, + I do dismiss you to your several countries. + ALL. God save the King! God save the King! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Please it your Grace to be advertised + The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland + And with a puissant and a mighty power + Of gallowglasses and stout kerns + Is marching hitherward in proud array, + And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, + His arms are only to remove from thee + The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. + KING HENRY. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd; + Like to a ship that, having scap'd a tempest, + Is straightway calm'd, and boarded with a pirate; + But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd, + And now is York in arms to second him. + I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him + And ask him what's the reason of these arms. + Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower- + And Somerset, we will commit thee thither + Until his army be dismiss'd from him. + SOMERSET. My lord, + I'll yield myself to prison willingly, + Or unto death, to do my country good. + KING HENRY. In any case be not too rough in terms, + For he is fierce and cannot brook hard language. + BUCKINGHAM. I will, my lord, and doubt not so to deal + As all things shall redound unto your good. + KING HENRY. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better; + For yet may England curse my wretched reign. + Flourish. Exeunt + +SCENE X. Kent. Iden's garden + +Enter CADE + + CADE. Fie on ambitions! Fie on myself, that have a sword and yet am + ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods and + durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I + so hungry that, if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand + years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick wall have I + climb'd into this garden, to see if I can eat grass or pick a sallet + another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot + weather. And I think this word 'sallet' was born to do me good; for + many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pain had been cleft with a + brown bill; and many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely + marching, it hath serv'd me instead of a quart-pot to drink in; and + now the word 'sallet' must serve me to feed on. + + Enter IDEN + + IDEN. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court + And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? + This small inheritance my father left me + Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. + I seek not to wax great by others' waning + Or gather wealth I care not with what envy; + Sufficeth that I have maintains my state, + And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. + CADE. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for + entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt + betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the King by carrying my + head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich and + swallow my sword like a great pin ere thou and I part. + IDEN. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be, + I know thee not; why then should I betray thee? + Is't not enough to break into my garden + And like a thief to come to rob my grounds, + Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, + But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? + CADE. Brave thee? Ay, by the best blood that ever was broach'd, and + beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five + days, yet come thou and thy five men and if I do not leave you + all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass + more. + IDEN. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands, + That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, + Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. + Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine; + See if thou canst outface me with thy looks; + Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; + Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, + Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon; + My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast, + And if mine arm be heaved in the air, + Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. + As for words, whose greatness answers words, + Let this my sword report what speech forbears. + CADE. By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I heard! + Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the burly bon'd + clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech + God on my knees thou mayst be turn'd to hobnails. [Here they + fight; CADE falls] O, I am slain! famine and no other hath slain + me. Let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but the + ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden, and + be henceforth a burying place to all that do dwell in this house, + because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. + IDEN. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? + Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed + And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead. + Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point, + But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat + To emblaze the honour that thy master got. + CADE. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from + me she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be + cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, + not by valour. [Dies] + IDEN. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge. + Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! + And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, + So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. + Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels + Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, + And there cut off thy most ungracious head, + Which I will bear in triumph to the King, + Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. Exit + +ACT V. SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath + +Enter YORK, and his army of Irish, with drum and colours + + YORK. From Ireland thus comes York to claim his right + And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: + Ring bells aloud, burn bonfires clear and bright, + To entertain great England's lawful king. + Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear? + Let them obey that knows not how to rule; + This hand was made to handle nought but gold. + I cannot give due action to my words + Except a sword or sceptre balance it. + A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul + On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM + + [Aside] Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me? + The King hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. + BUCKINGHAM. York, if thou meanest well I greet thee well. + YORK. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting. + Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure? + BUCKINGHAM. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, + To know the reason of these arms in peace; + Or why thou, being a subject as I am, + Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, + Should raise so great a power without his leave, + Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. + YORK. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. + O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, + I am so angry at these abject terms; + And now, like Ajax Telamonius, + On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. + I am far better born than is the King, + More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts; + But I must make fair weather yet awhile, + Till Henry be more weak and I more strong.- + Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me + That I have given no answer all this while; + My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. + The cause why I have brought this army hither + Is to remove proud Somerset from the King, + Seditious to his Grace and to the state. + BUCKINGHAM. That is too much presumption on thy part; + But if thy arms be to no other end, + The King hath yielded unto thy demand: + The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. + YORK. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? + BUCKINGHAM. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. + YORK. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my pow'rs. + Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; + Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, + You shall have pay and everything you wish. + And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, + Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, + As pledges of my fealty and love. + I'll send them all as willing as I live: + Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have, + Is his to use, so Somerset may die. + BUCKINGHAM. York, I commend this kind submission. + We twain will go into his Highness' tent. + + Enter the KING, and attendants + + KING HENRY. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, + That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? + YORK. In all submission and humility + York doth present himself unto your Highness. + KING HENRY. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring? + YORK. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence, + And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, + Who since I heard to be discomfited. + + Enter IDEN, with CADE's head + + IDEN. If one so rude and of so mean condition + May pass into the presence of a king, + Lo, I present your Grace a traitor's head, + The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. + KING HENRY. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou! + O, let me view his visage, being dead, + That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. + Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? + IDEN. I was, an't like your Majesty. + KING HENRY. How art thou call'd? And what is thy degree? + IDEN. Alexander Iden, that's my name; + A poor esquire of Kent that loves his king. + BUCKINGHAM. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss + He were created knight for his good service. + KING HENRY. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels] Rise up a knight. + We give thee for reward a thousand marks, + And will that thou thenceforth attend on us. + IDEN. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, + And never live but true unto his liege! + + Enter the QUEEN and SOMERSET + + KING HENRY. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with th' Queen: + Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke. + QUEEN. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, + But boldly stand and front him to his face. + YORK. How now! Is Somerset at liberty? + Then, York, unloose thy long-imprisoned thoughts + And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. + Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? + False king, why hast thou broken faith with me, + Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? + King did I call thee? No, thou art not king; + Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, + Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. + That head of thine doth not become a crown; + Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, + And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. + That gold must round engirt these brows of mine, + Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, + Is able with the change to kill and cure. + Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, + And with the same to act controlling laws. + Give place. By heaven, thou shalt rule no more + O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. + SOMERSET. O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York, + Of capital treason 'gainst the King and crown. + Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. + YORK. Wouldst have me kneel? First let me ask of these, + If they can brook I bow a knee to man. + Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail: Exit attendant + I know, ere thy will have me go to ward, + They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. + QUEEN. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, + To say if that the bastard boys of York + Shall be the surety for their traitor father. + Exit BUCKINGHAM + YORK. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, + Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! + The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, + Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those + That for my surety will refuse the boys! + + Enter EDWARD and RICHARD PLANTAGENET + + See where they come: I'll warrant they'll make it good. + + Enter CLIFFORD and his SON + + QUEEN. And here comes Clifford to deny their bail. + CLIFFORD. Health and all happiness to my lord the King! + [Kneels] + YORK. I thank thee, Clifford. Say, what news with thee? + Nay, do not fright us with an angry look. + We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; + For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. + CLIFFORD. This is my King, York, I do not mistake; + But thou mistakes me much to think I do. + To Bedlam with him! Is the man grown mad? + KING HENRY. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious humour + Makes him oppose himself against his king. + CLIFFORD. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, + And chop away that factious pate of his. + QUEEN. He is arrested, but will not obey; + His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. + YORK. Will you not, sons? + EDWARD. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. + RICHARD. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. + CLIFFORD. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! + YORK. Look in a glass, and call thy image so: + I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. + Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, + That with the very shaking of their chains + They may astonish these fell-lurking curs. + Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. + + Enter the EARLS OF WARWICK and SALISBURY + + CLIFFORD. Are these thy bears? We'll bait thy bears to death, + And manacle the berard in their chains, + If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. + RICHARD. Oft have I seen a hot o'er weening cur + Run back and bite, because he was withheld; + Who, being suffer'd, with the bear's fell paw, + Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and cried; + And such a piece of service will you do, + If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick. + CLIFFORD. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, + As crooked in thy manners as thy shape! + YORK. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. + CLIFFORD. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves. + KING HENRY. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow? + Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, + Thou mad misleader of thy brainsick son! + What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian + And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? + O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? + If it be banish'd from the frosty head, + Where shall it find a harbour in the earth? + Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war + And shame thine honourable age with blood? + Why art thou old, and want'st experience? + Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? + For shame! In duty bend thy knee to me, + That bows unto the grave with mickle age. + SALISBURY. My lord, I have considered with myself + The tide of this most renowned duke, + And in my conscience do repute his Grace + The rightful heir to England's royal seat. + KING HENRY. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? + SALISBURY. I have. + KING HENRY. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath? + SALISBURY. It is great sin to swear unto a sin; + But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. + Who can be bound by any solemn vow + To do a murd'rous deed, to rob a man, + To force a spotless virgin's chastity, + To reave the orphan of his patrimony, + To wring the widow from her custom'd right, + And have no other reason for this wrong + But that he was bound by a solemn oath? + QUEEN. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. + KING HENRY. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. + YORK. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, + I am resolv'd for death or dignity. + CLIFFORD. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. + WARWICK. You were best to go to bed and dream again + To keep thee from the tempest of the field. + CLIFFORD. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm + Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; + And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, + Might I but know thee by thy household badge. + WARWICK. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, + The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, + This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, + As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, + That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, + Even to affright thee with the view thereof. + CLIFFORD. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear + And tread it under foot with all contempt, + Despite the berard that protects the bear. + YOUNG CLIFFORD. And so to arms, victorious father, + To quell the rebels and their complices. + RICHARD. Fie! charity, for shame! Speak not in spite, + For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. + YOUNG CLIFFORD. Foul stigmatic, that's more than thou canst tell. + RICHARD. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. + Exeunt severally + +SCENE II. Saint Albans + +Alarums to the battle. Enter WARWICK + + WARWICK. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls; + And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, + Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum + And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, + Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me. + Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, + WARWICK is hoarse with calling thee to arms. + + Enter YORK + + How now, my noble lord! what, all a-foot? + YORK. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; + But match to match I have encount'red him, + And made a prey for carrion kites and crows + Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. + + Enter OLD CLIFFORD + + WARWICK. Of one or both of us the time is come. + YORK. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chase, + For I myself must hunt this deer to death. + WARWICK. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou fight'st. + As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, + It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. Exit + CLIFFORD. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause? + YORK. With thy brave bearing should I be in love + But that thou art so fast mine enemy. + CLIFFORD. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem + But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason. + YORK. So let it help me now against thy sword, + As I in justice and true right express it! + CLIFFORD. My soul and body on the action both! + YORK. A dreadful lay! Address thee instantly. + [They fight and CLIFFORD falls] + CLIFFORD. La fin couronne les oeuvres. [Dies] + YORK. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still. + Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! Exit + + Enter YOUNG CLIFFORD + + YOUNG CLIFFORD. Shame and confusion! All is on the rout; + Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds + Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, + Whom angry heavens do make their minister, + Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part + Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly. + He that is truly dedicate to war + Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself + Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, + The name of valour. [Sees his father's body] + O, let the vile world end + And the premised flames of the last day + Knit earth and heaven together! + Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, + Particularities and petty sounds + To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, + To lose thy youth in peace and to achieve + The silver livery of advised age, + And in thy reverence and thy chair-days thus + To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight + My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine + It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; + No more will I their babes. Tears virginal + Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; + And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, + Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. + Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: + Meet I an infant of the house of York, + Into as many gobbets will I cut it + As wild Medea young Absyrtus did; + In cruelty will I seek out my fame. + Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; + As did Aeneas old Anchises bear, + So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; + But then Aeneas bare a living load, + Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. + Exit with the body + + Enter RICHARD and SOMERSET to fight. SOMERSET is killed + + RICHARD. So, lie thou there; + For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, + The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset + Hath made the wizard famous in his death. + Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still: + Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. Exit + + Fight. Excursions. Enter KING, QUEEN, and others + + QUEEN. Away, my lord! You are slow; for shame, away! + KING HENRY. Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay. + QUEEN. What are you made of? You'll nor fight nor fly. + Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, + To give the enemy way, and to secure us + By what we can, which can no more but fly. + [Alarum afar off] + If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom + Of all our fortunes; but if we haply scape- + As well we may, if not through your neglect- + We shall to London get, where you are lov'd, + And where this breach now in our fortunes made + May readily be stopp'd. + + Re-enter YOUNG CLIFFORD + + YOUNG CLIFFORD. But that my heart's on future mischief set, + I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; + But fly you must; uncurable discomfit + Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. + Away, for your relief! and we will live + To see their day and them our fortune give. + Away, my lord, away! Exeunt + +SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans + +Alarum. Retreat. Enter YORK, RICHARD, WARWICK, and soldiers, with drum +and colours + + YORK. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, + That winter lion, who in rage forgets + Aged contusions and all brush of time + And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, + Repairs him with occasion? This happy day + Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, + If Salisbury be lost. + RICHARD. My noble father, + Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, + Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, + Persuaded him from any further act; + But still where danger was, still there I met him; + And like rich hangings in a homely house, + So was his will in his old feeble body. + But, noble as he is, look where he comes. + + Enter SALISBURY + + SALISBURY. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to-day! + By th' mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard: + God knows how long it is I have to live, + And it hath pleas'd Him that three times to-day + You have defended me from imminent death. + Well, lords, we have not got that which we have; + 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, + Being opposites of such repairing nature. + YORK. I know our safety is to follow them; + For, as I hear, the King is fled to London + To call a present court of Parliament. + Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. + What says Lord Warwick? Shall we after them? + WARWICK. After them? Nay, before them, if we can. + Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day: + Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York, + Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. + Sound drum and trumpets and to London all; + And more such days as these to us befall! Exeunt + + + + +THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING HENRY THE SIXTH + EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, his son + LEWIS XI, King of France DUKE OF SOMERSET + DUKE OF EXETER EARL OF OXFORD + EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND EARL OF WESTMORELAND + LORD CLIFFORD + RICHARD PLANTAGENET, DUKE OF YORK + EDWARD, EARL OF MARCH, afterwards KING EDWARD IV, his son + EDMUND, EARL OF RUTLAND, his son + GEORGE, afterwards DUKE OF CLARENCE, his son + RICHARD, afterwards DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his son + DUKE OF NORFOLK MARQUIS OF MONTAGUE + EARL OF WARWICK EARL OF PEMBROKE + LORD HASTINGS LORD STAFFORD + SIR JOHN MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York + SIR HUGH MORTIMER, uncle to the Duke of York + HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, a youth + LORD RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey + SIR WILLIAM STANLEY SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY + SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE TUTOR, to Rutland + MAYOR OF YORK LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER + A NOBLEMAN TWO KEEPERS + A HUNTSMAN + A SON that has killed his father + A FATHER that has killed his son + + QUEEN MARGARET + LADY GREY, afterwards QUEEN to Edward IV + BONA, sister to the French Queen + + Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, etc. + +SCENE: England and France + +ACT I. SCENE I. London. The Parliament House + +Alarum. Enter DUKE OF YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, +WARWICK, and soldiers, with white roses in their hats + + WARWICK. I wonder how the King escap'd our hands. + YORK. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north, + He slily stole away and left his men; + Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, + Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, + Cheer'd up the drooping army, and himself, + Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast, + Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, + Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. + EDWARD. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, + Is either slain or wounded dangerous; + I cleft his beaver with a downright blow. + That this is true, father, behold his blood. + MONTAGUE. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, + Whom I encount'red as the battles join'd. + RICHARD. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. + [Throwing down SOMERSET'S head] + YORK. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. + But is your Grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? + NORFOLK. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! + RICHARD. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. + WARWICK. And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, + Before I see thee seated in that throne + Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, + I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. + This is the palace of the fearful King, + And this the regal seat. Possess it, York; + For this is thine, and not King Henry's heirs'. + YORK. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will; + For hither we have broken in by force. + NORFOLK. We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. + YORK. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. Stay by me, my lords; + And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. + [They go up] + WARWICK. And when the King comes, offer him no violence. + Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. + YORK. The Queen this day here holds her parliament, + But little thinks we shall be of her council. + By words or blows here let us win our right. + RICHARD. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. + WARWICK. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, + Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be King, + And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice + Hath made us by-words to our enemies. + YORK. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute: + I mean to take possession of my right. + WARWICK. Neither the King, nor he that loves him best, + The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, + Dares stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells. + I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares. + Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. + [YORK occupies the throne] + + Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, + WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and others, with red roses in + their hats + + KING HENRY. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, + Even in the chair of state! Belike he means, + Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, + To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. + Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father; + And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge + On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. + NORTHUMBERLAND. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me! + CLIFFORD. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. + WESTMORELAND. What, shall we suffer this? Let's pluck him down; + My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. + KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. + CLIFFORD. Patience is for poltroons such as he; + He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. + My gracious lord, here in the parliament + Let us assail the family of York. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so. + KING HENRY. Ah, know you not the city favours them, + And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? + EXETER. But when the Duke is slain they'll quickly fly. + KING HENRY. Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, + To make a shambles of the parliament house! + Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, + Shall be the war that Henry means to use. + Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne + And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; + I am thy sovereign. + YORK. I am thine. + EXETER. For shame, come down; he made thee Duke of York. + YORK. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. + EXETER. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. + WARWICK. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown + In following this usurping Henry. + CLIFFORD. Whom should he follow but his natural king? + WARWICK. True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. + KING HENRY. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? + YORK. It must and shall be so; content thyself. + WARWICK. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be King. + WESTMORELAND. He is both King and Duke of Lancaster; + And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. + WARWICK. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget + That we are those which chas'd you from the field, + And slew your fathers, and with colours spread + March'd through the city to the palace gates. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; + And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. + WESTMORELAND. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, + Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, I'll have more lives + Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. + CLIFFORD. Urge it no more; lest that instead of words + I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger + As shall revenge his death before I stir. + WARWICK. Poor Clifford, how I scorn his worthless threats! + YORK. Will you we show our title to the crown? + If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. + KING HENRY. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? + Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; + Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: + I am the son of Henry the Fifth, + Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop, + And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. + WARWICK. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. + KING HENRY. The Lord Protector lost it, and not I: + When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. + RICHARD. You are old enough now, and yet methinks you lose. + Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. + EDWARD. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. + MONTAGUE. Good brother, as thou lov'st and honourest arms, + Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. + RICHARD. Sound drums and trumpets, and the King will fly. + YORK. Sons, peace! + KING HENRY. Peace thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. + WARWICK. Plantagenet shall speak first. Hear him, lords; + And be you silent and attentive too, + For he that interrupts him shall not live. + KING HENRY. Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, + Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? + No; first shall war unpeople this my realm; + Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, + And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, + Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? + My title's good, and better far than his. + WARWICK. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be King. + KING HENRY. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. + YORK. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. + KING HENRY. [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.- + Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? + YORK. What then? + KING HENRY. An if he may, then am I lawful King; + For Richard, in the view of many lords, + Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, + Whose heir my father was, and I am his. + YORK. He rose against him, being his sovereign, + And made him to resign his crown perforce. + WARWICK. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, + Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? + EXETER. No; for he could not so resign his crown + But that the next heir should succeed and reign. + KING HENRY. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? + EXETER. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. + YORK. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? + EXETER. My conscience tells me he is lawful King. + KING HENRY. [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, + Think not that Henry shall be so depos'd. + WARWICK. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Thou art deceiv'd. 'Tis not thy southern power + Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, + Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, + Can set the Duke up in despite of me. + CLIFFORD. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, + Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence. + May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, + Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! + KING HENRY. O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! + YORK. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. + What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? + WARWICK. Do right unto this princely Duke of York; + Or I will fill the house with armed men, + And over the chair of state, where now he sits, + Write up his title with usurping blood. + [He stamps with his foot and the + soldiers show themselves] + KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, hear but one word: + Let me for this my life-time reign as king. + YORK. Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, + And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. + KING HENRY. I am content. Richard Plantagenet, + Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. + CLIFFORD. What wrong is this unto the Prince your son! + WARWICK. What good is this to England and himself! + WESTMORELAND. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry! + CLIFFORD. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and or us! + WESTMORELAND. I cannot stay to hear these articles. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Nor I. + CLIFFORD. Come, cousin, let us tell the Queen these news. + WESTMORELAND. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, + In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Be thou a prey unto the house of York + And die in bands for this unmanly deed! + CLIFFORD. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, + Or live in peace abandon'd and despis'd! + Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, CLIFFORD, + and WESTMORELAND + WARWICK. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. + EXETER. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. + KING HENRY. Ah, Exeter! + WARWICK. Why should you sigh, my lord? + KING HENRY. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, + Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. + But be it as it may. [To YORK] I here entail + The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; + Conditionally, that here thou take an oath + To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, + To honour me as thy king and sovereign, + And neither by treason nor hostility + To seek to put me down and reign thyself. + YORK. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. + [Coming from the throne] + WARWICK. Long live King Henry! Plantagenet, embrace him. + KING HENRY. And long live thou, and these thy forward sons! + YORK. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. + EXETER. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes! + [Sennet. Here they come down] + YORK. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. + WARWICK. And I'll keep London with my soldiers. + NORFOLK. And I to Norfolk with my followers. + MONTAGUE. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. + Exeunt the YORKISTS + KING HENRY. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. + + Enter QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE OF WALES + + EXETER. Here comes the Queen, whose looks bewray her anger. + I'll steal away. + KING HENRY. Exeter, so will I. + QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. + KING HENRY. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. + QUEEN MARGARET. Who can be patient in such extremes? + Ah, wretched man! Would I had died a maid, + And never seen thee, never borne thee son, + Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father! + Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? + Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I, + Or felt that pain which I did for him once, + Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, + Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there + Rather than have made that savage duke thine heir, + And disinherited thine only son. + PRINCE OF WALES. Father, you cannot disinherit me. + If you be King, why should not I succeed? + KING HENRY. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son. + The Earl of Warwick and the Duke enforc'd me. + QUEEN MARGARET. Enforc'd thee! Art thou King and wilt be + forc'd? + I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! + Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; + And giv'n unto the house of York such head + As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. + To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, + What is it but to make thy sepulchre + And creep into it far before thy time? + Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais; + Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; + The Duke is made Protector of the realm; + And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds + The trembling lamb environed with wolves. + Had I been there, which am a silly woman, + The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes + Before I would have granted to that act. + But thou prefer'st thy life before thine honour; + And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, + Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, + Until that act of parliament be repeal'd + Whereby my son is disinherited. + The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours + Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; + And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace + And utter ruin of the house of York. + Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; + Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. + KING HENRY. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. + QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hast spoke too much already; get thee gone. + KING HENRY. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. + PRINCE OF WALES. When I return with victory from the field + I'll see your Grace; till then I'll follow her. + QUEEN MARGARET. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. + Exeunt QUEEN MARGARET and the PRINCE + KING HENRY. Poor queen! How love to me and to her son + Hath made her break out into terms of rage! + Reveng'd may she be on that hateful Duke, + Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, + Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle + Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! + The loss of those three lords torments my heart. + I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; + Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. + EXETER. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, in Yorkshire + +Flourish. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and MONTAGUE + + RICHARD. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. + EDWARD. No, I can better play the orator. + MONTAGUE. But I have reasons strong and forcible. + + Enter the DUKE OF YORK + + YORK. Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? + What is your quarrel? How began it first? + EDWARD. No quarrel, but a slight contention. + YORK. About what? + RICHARD. About that which concerns your Grace and us- + The crown of England, father, which is yours. + YORK. Mine, boy? Not till King Henry be dead. + RICHARD. Your right depends not on his life or death. + EDWARD. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now. + By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, + It will outrun you, father, in the end. + YORK. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. + EDWARD. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: + I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. + RICHARD. No; God forbid your Grace should be forsworn. + YORK. I shall be, if I claim by open war. + RICHARD. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. + YORK. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. + RICHARD. An oath is of no moment, being not took + Before a true and lawful magistrate + That hath authority over him that swears. + Henry had none, but did usurp the place; + Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, + Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. + Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think + How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown, + Within whose circuit is Elysium + And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. + Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest + Until the white rose that I wear be dy'd + Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. + YORK. Richard, enough; I will be King, or die. + Brother, thou shalt to London presently + And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. + Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk + And tell him privily of our intent. + You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, + With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise; + In them I trust, for they are soldiers, + Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. + While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more + But that I seek occasion how to rise, + And yet the King not privy to my drift, + Nor any of the house of Lancaster? + + Enter a MESSENGER + + But, stay. What news? Why com'st thou in such post? + MESSENGER. The Queen with all the northern earls and lords + Intend here to besiege you in your castle. + She is hard by with twenty thousand men; + And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. + YORK. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? + Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; + My brother Montague shall post to London. + Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, + Whom we have left protectors of the King, + With pow'rful policy strengthen themselves + And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. + MONTAGUE. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not. + And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Exit + + Enter SIR JOHN and SIR HUGH MORTIMER + + YORK. Sir john and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles! + You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; + The army of the Queen mean to besiege us. + SIR JOHN. She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. + YORK. What, with five thousand men? + RICHARD. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. + A woman's general; what should we fear? + [A march afar off] + EDWARD. I hear their drums. Let's set our men in order, + And issue forth and bid them battle straight. + YORK. Five men to twenty! Though the odds be great, + I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. + Many a battle have I won in France, + When as the enemy hath been ten to one; + Why should I not now have the like success? Exeunt + +SCENE III. Field of battle between Sandal Castle and Wakefield + +Alarum. Enter RUTLAND and his TUTOR + + RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to scape their hands? + Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! + + Enter CLIFFORD and soldiers + + CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! Thy priesthood saves thy life. + As for the brat of this accursed duke, + Whose father slew my father, he shall die. + TUTOR. And I, my lord, will bear him company. + CLIFFORD. Soldiers, away with him! + TUTOR. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, + Lest thou be hated both of God and man. + Exit, forced off by soldiers + CLIFFORD. How now, is he dead already? Or is it fear + That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. + RUTLAND. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch + That trembles under his devouring paws; + And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, + And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. + Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, + And not with such a cruel threat'ning look! + Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. + I am too mean a subject for thy wrath; + Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. + CLIFFORD. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood + Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. + RUTLAND. Then let my father's blood open it again: + He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. + CLIFFORD. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine + Were not revenge sufficient for me; + No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves + And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, + It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. + The sight of any of the house of York + Is as a fury to torment my soul; + And till I root out their accursed line + And leave not one alive, I live in hell. + Therefore- + RUTLAND. O, let me pray before I take my death! + To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me. + CLIFFORD. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. + RUTLAND. I never did thee harm; why wilt thou slay me? + CLIFFORD. Thy father hath. + RUTLAND. But 'twas ere I was born. + Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, + Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, + He be as miserably slain as I. + Ah, let me live in prison all my days; + And when I give occasion of offence + Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. + CLIFFORD. No cause! + Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Stabs him] + RUTLAND. Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! [Dies] + CLIFFORD. Plantagenet, I come, Plantagenet; + And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade + Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, + Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. Exit + +SCENE IV. Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter the DUKE OF YORK + + YORK. The army of the Queen hath got the field. + My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; + And all my followers to the eager foe + Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind, + Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. + My sons- God knows what hath bechanced them; + But this I know- they have demean'd themselves + Like men born to renown by life or death. + Three times did Richard make a lane to me, + And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out.' + And full as oft came Edward to my side + With purple falchion, painted to the hilt + In blood of those that had encount'red him. + And when the hardiest warriors did retire, + Richard cried 'Charge, and give no foot of ground!' + And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! + A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' + With this we charg'd again; but out alas! + We bodg'd again; as I have seen a swan + With bootless labour swim against the tide + And spend her strength with over-matching waves. + [A short alarum within] + Ah, hark! The fatal followers do pursue, + And I am faint and cannot fly their fury; + And were I strong, I would not shun their fury. + The sands are numb'red that make up my life; + Here must I stay, and here my life must end. + + Enter QUEEN MARGARET, CLIFFORD, NORTHUMBERLAND, + the PRINCE OF WALES, and soldiers + + Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, + I dare your quenchless fury to more rage; + I am your butt, and I abide your shot. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. + CLIFFORD. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm + With downright payment show'd unto my father. + Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, + And made an evening at the noontide prick. + YORK. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth + A bird that will revenge upon you all; + And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, + Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. + Why come you not? What! multitudes, and fear? + CLIFFORD. So cowards fight when they can fly no further; + So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; + So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, + Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. + YORK. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, + And in thy thought o'errun my former time; + And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face, + And bite thy tongue that slanders him with cowardice + Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! + CLIFFORD. I will not bandy with thee word for word, + But buckler with thee blows, twice two for one. + QUEEN MARGARET. Hold, valiant Clifford; for a thousand causes + I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. + Wrath makes him deaf; speak thou, Northumberland. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much + To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart. + What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, + For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, + When he might spurn him with his foot away? + It is war's prize to take all vantages; + And ten to one is no impeach of valour. + [They lay hands on YORK, who struggles] + CLIFFORD. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. + NORTHUMBERLAND. So doth the cony struggle in the net. + YORK. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; + So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-match'd. + NORTHUMBERLAND. What would your Grace have done unto him now? + QUEEN MARGARET. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, + Come, make him stand upon this molehill here + That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, + Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. + What, was it you that would be England's king? + Was't you that revell'd in our parliament + And made a preachment of your high descent? + Where are your mess of sons to back you now? + The wanton Edward and the lusty George? + And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, + Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice + Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? + Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? + Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood + That valiant Clifford with his rapier's point + Made issue from the bosom of the boy; + And if thine eyes can water for his death, + I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. + Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, + I should lament thy miserable state. + I prithee grieve to make me merry, York. + What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails + That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? + Why art thou patient, man? Thou shouldst be mad; + And I to make thee mad do mock thee thus. + Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. + Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; + York cannot speak unless he wear a crown. + A crown for York!-and, lords, bow low to him. + Hold you his hands whilst I do set it on. + [Putting a paper crown on his head] + Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! + Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, + And this is he was his adopted heir. + But how is it that great Plantagenet + Is crown'd so soon and broke his solemn oath? + As I bethink me, you should not be King + Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. + And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, + And rob his temples of the diadem, + Now in his life, against your holy oath? + O, 'tis a fault too too + Off with the crown and with the crown his head; + And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. + CLIFFORD. That is my office, for my father's sake. + QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. + YORK. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, + Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! + How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex + To triumph like an Amazonian trull + Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! + But that thy face is visard-like, unchanging, + Made impudent with use of evil deeds, + I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. + To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, + Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. + Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, + Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, + Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. + Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? + It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; + Unless the adage must be verified, + That beggars mounted run their horse to death. + 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; + But, God He knows, thy share thereof is small. + 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd; + The contrary doth make thee wond'red at. + 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; + The want thereof makes thee abominable. + Thou art as opposite to every good + As the Antipodes are unto us, + Or as the south to the septentrion. + O tiger's heart wrapp'd in a woman's hide! + How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, + To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, + And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? + Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible: + Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. + Bid'st thou me rage? Why, now thou hast thy wish; + Wouldst have me weep? Why, now thou hast thy will; + For raging wind blows up incessant showers, + And when the rage allays, the rain begins. + These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; + And every drop cries vengeance for his death + 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so + That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. + YORK. That face of his the hungry cannibals + Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood; + But you are more inhuman, more inexorable- + O, ten times more- than tigers of Hyrcania. + See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears. + This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, + And I with tears do wash the blood away. + Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this; + And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, + Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; + Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears + And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' + There, take the crown, and with the crown my curse; + And in thy need such comfort come to thee + As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! + Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world; + My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! + NORTHUMBERLAND. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, + I should not for my life but weep with him, + To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. + QUEEN MARGARET. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? + Think but upon the wrong he did us all, + And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. + CLIFFORD. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. + [Stabbing him] + QUEEN MARGARET. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. + [Stabbing him] + YORK. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! + My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. + [Dies] + QUEEN MARGARET. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; + So York may overlook the town of York. + Flourish. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire + +A march. Enter EDWARD, RICHARD, and their power + + EDWARD. I wonder how our princely father scap'd, + Or whether he be scap'd away or no + From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit. + Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; + Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; + Or had he scap'd, methinks we should have heard + The happy tidings of his good escape. + How fares my brother? Why is he so sad? + RICHARD. I cannot joy until I be resolv'd + Where our right valiant father is become. + I saw him in the battle range about, + And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. + Methought he bore him in the thickest troop + As doth a lion in a herd of neat; + Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, + Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, + The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. + So far'd our father with his enemies; + So fled his enemies my warlike father. + Methinks 'tis prize enough to be his son. + See how the morning opes her golden gates + And takes her farewell of the glorious sun. + How well resembles it the prime of youth, + Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! + EDWARD. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? + RICHARD. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; + Not separated with the racking clouds, + But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. + See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, + As if they vow'd some league inviolable. + Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. + In this the heaven figures some event. + EDWARD. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. + I think it cites us, brother, to the field, + That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, + Each one already blazing by our meeds, + Should notwithstanding join our lights together + And overshine the earth, as this the world. + Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear + Upon my target three fair shining suns. + RICHARD. Nay, bear three daughters- by your leave I speak it, + You love the breeder better than the male. + + Enter a MESSENGER, blowing + + But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell + Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? + MESSENGER. Ah, one that was a woeful looker-on + When as the noble Duke of York was slain, + Your princely father and my loving lord! + EDWARD. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much. + RICHARD. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. + MESSENGER. Environed he was with many foes, + And stood against them as the hope of Troy + Against the Greeks that would have ent'red Troy. + But Hercules himself must yield to odds; + And many strokes, though with a little axe, + Hews down and fells the hardest-timber'd oak. + By many hands your father was subdu'd; + But only slaught'red by the ireful arm + Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen, + Who crown'd the gracious Duke in high despite, + Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, + The ruthless Queen gave him to dry his cheeks + A napkin steeped in the harmless blood + Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain; + And after many scorns, many foul taunts, + They took his head, and on the gates of York + They set the same; and there it doth remain, + The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. + EDWARD. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, + Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. + O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain + The flow'r of Europe for his chivalry; + And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, + For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. + Now my soul's palace is become a prison. + Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body + Might in the ground be closed up in rest! + For never henceforth shall I joy again; + Never, O never, shall I see more joy. + RICHARD. I cannot weep, for all my body's moisture + Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart; + Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden, + For self-same wind that I should speak withal + Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, + And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. + To weep is to make less the depth of grief. + Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me! + Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, + Or die renowned by attempting it. + EDWARD. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; + His dukedom and his chair with me is left. + RICHARD. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, + Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun; + For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom, say: + Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. + + March. Enter WARWICK, MONTAGUE, and their army + + WARWICK. How now, fair lords! What fare? What news abroad? + RICHARD. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount + Our baleful news and at each word's deliverance + Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told, + The words would add more anguish than the wounds. + O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! + EDWARD. O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet + Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption + Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. + WARWICK. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; + And now, to add more measure to your woes, + I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. + After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, + Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, + Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, + Were brought me of your loss and his depart. + I, then in London, keeper of the King, + Muster'd my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, + And very well appointed, as I thought, + March'd toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen, + Bearing the King in my behalf along; + For by my scouts I was advertised + That she was coming with a full intent + To dash our late decree in parliament + Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. + Short tale to make- we at Saint Albans met, + Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought; + But whether 'twas the coldness of the King, + Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, + That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen, + Or whether 'twas report of her success, + Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, + Who thunders to his captives blood and death, + I cannot judge; but, to conclude with truth, + Their weapons like to lightning came and went: + Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight + Or like an idle thresher with a flail, + Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. + I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, + With promise of high pay and great rewards, + But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, + And we in them no hope to win the day; + So that we fled: the King unto the Queen; + Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, + In haste post-haste are come to join with you; + For in the marches here we heard you were + Making another head to fight again. + EDWARD. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? + And when came George from Burgundy to England? + WARWICK. Some six miles off the Duke is with the soldiers; + And for your brother, he was lately sent + From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, + With aid of soldiers to this needful war. + RICHARD. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. + Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, + But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. + WARWICK. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; + For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine + Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head + And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, + Were he as famous and as bold in war + As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. + RICHARD. I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not. + 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. + But in this troublous time what's to be done? + Shall we go throw away our coats of steel + And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns, + Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? + Or shall we on the helmets of our foes + Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? + If for the last, say 'Ay,' and to it, lords. + WARWICK. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; + And therefore comes my brother Montague. + Attend me, lords. The proud insulting Queen, + With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, + And of their feather many moe proud birds, + Have wrought the easy-melting King like wax. + He swore consent to your succession, + His oath enrolled in the parliament; + And now to London all the crew are gone + To frustrate both his oath and what beside + May make against the house of Lancaster. + Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong. + Now if the help of Norfolk and myself, + With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, + Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, + Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, + Why, Via! to London will we march amain, + And once again bestride our foaming steeds, + And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' + But never once again turn back and fly. + RICHARD. Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak. + Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day + That cries 'Retire!' if Warwick bid him stay. + EDWARD. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; + And when thou fail'st- as God forbid the hour!- + Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend. + WARWICK. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York; + The next degree is England's royal throne, + For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd + In every borough as we pass along; + And he that throws not up his cap for joy + Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. + King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, + Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, + But sound the trumpets and about our task. + RICHARD. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, + As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, + I come to pierce it or to give thee mine. + EDWARD. Then strike up drums. God and Saint George for us! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + WARWICK. How now! what news? + MESSENGER. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me + The Queen is coming with a puissant host, + And craves your company for speedy counsel. + WARWICK. Why, then it sorts; brave warriors, let's away. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. Before York + +Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, the PRINCE OF WALES, +CLIFFORD, +NORTHUMBERLAND, with drum and trumpets + + QUEEN MARGARET. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. + Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy + That sought to be encompass'd with your crown. + Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? + KING HENRY. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck- + To see this sight, it irks my very soul. + Withhold revenge, dear God; 'tis not my fault, + Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow. + CLIFFORD. My gracious liege, this too much lenity + And harmful pity must be laid aside. + To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? + Not to the beast that would usurp their den. + Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? + Not his that spoils her young before her face. + Who scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? + Not he that sets his foot upon her back, + The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on, + And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. + Ambitious York did level at thy crown, + Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows. + He, but a Duke, would have his son a king, + And raise his issue like a loving sire: + Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, + Didst yield consent to disinherit him, + Which argued thee a most unloving father. + Unreasonable creatures feed their young; + And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, + Yet, in protection of their tender ones, + Who hath not seen them- even with those wings + Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight- + Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, + Offering their own lives in their young's defence + For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! + Were it not pity that this goodly boy + Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, + And long hereafter say unto his child + 'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got + My careless father fondly gave away'? + Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; + And let his manly face, which promiseth + Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart + To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. + KING HENRY. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, + Inferring arguments of mighty force. + But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear + That things ill got had ever bad success? + And happy always was it for that son + Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? + I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; + And would my father had left me no more! + For all the rest is held at such a rate + As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep + Than in possession any jot of pleasure. + Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know + How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! + QUEEN MARGARET. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh, + And this soft courage makes your followers faint. + You promis'd knighthood to our forward son: + Unsheathe your sword and dub him presently. + Edward, kneel down. + KING HENRY. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; + And learn this lesson: Draw thy sword in right. + PRINCE OF WALES. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, + I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, + And in that quarrel use it to the death. + CLIFFORD. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Royal commanders, be in readiness; + For with a band of thirty thousand men + Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York, + And in the towns, as they do march along, + Proclaims him king, and many fly to him. + Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. + CLIFFORD. I would your Highness would depart the field: + The Queen hath best success when you are absent. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. + KING HENRY. Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Be it with resolution, then, to fight. + PRINCE OF WALES. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, + And hearten those that fight in your defence. + Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' + + March. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD, WARWICK, + NORFOLK, MONTAGUE, and soldiers + + EDWARD. Now, perjur'd Henry, wilt thou kneel for grace + And set thy diadem upon my head, + Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? + QUEEN MARGARET. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy. + Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms + Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? + EDWARD. I am his king, and he should bow his knee. + I was adopted heir by his consent: + Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, + You that are King, though he do wear the crown, + Have caus'd him by new act of parliament + To blot out me and put his own son in. + CLIFFORD. And reason too: + Who should succeed the father but the son? + RICHARD. Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! + CLIFFORD. Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, + Or any he, the proudest of thy sort. + RICHARD. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? + CLIFFORD. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. + RICHARD. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. + WARWICK. What say'st thou, Henry? Wilt thou yield the crown? + QUEEN MARGARET. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick! Dare you speak? + When you and I met at Saint Albans last + Your legs did better service than your hands. + WARWICK. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. + CLIFFORD. You said so much before, and yet you fled. + WARWICK. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. + NORTHUMBERLAND. No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. + RICHARD. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. + Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain + The execution of my big-swol'n heart + Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. + CLIFFORD. I slew thy father; call'st thou him a child? + RICHARD. Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, + As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; + But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. + KING HENRY. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. + QUEEN MARGARET. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. + KING HENRY. I prithee give no limits to my tongue: + I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. + CLIFFORD. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here + Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. + RICHARD. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword. + By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd + That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. + EDWARD. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? + A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day + That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. + WARWICK. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; + For York in justice puts his armour on. + PRINCE OF WALES. If that be right which Warwick says is right, + There is no wrong, but every thing is right. + RICHARD. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; + For well I wot thou hast thy mother's tongue. + QUEEN MARGARET. But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; + But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, + Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, + As venom toads or lizards' dreadful stings. + RICHARD. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, + Whose father bears the title of a king- + As if a channel should be call'd the sea- + Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, + To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? + EDWARD. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns + To make this shameless callet know herself. + Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, + Although thy husband may be Menelaus; + And ne'er was Agamemmon's brother wrong'd + By that false woman as this king by thee. + His father revell'd in the heart of France, + And tam'd the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; + And had he match'd according to his state, + He might have kept that glory to this day; + But when he took a beggar to his bed + And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day, + Even then that sunshine brew'd a show'r for him + That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France + And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. + For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? + Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; + And we, in pity of the gentle King, + Had slipp'd our claim until another age. + GEORGE. But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, + And that thy summer bred us no increase, + We set the axe to thy usurping root; + And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, + Yet know thou, since we have begun to strike, + We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, + Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. + EDWARD. And in this resolution I defy thee; + Not willing any longer conference, + Since thou deniest the gentle King to speak. + Sound trumpets; let our bloody colours wave, + And either victory or else a grave! + QUEEN MARGARET. Stay, Edward. + EDWARD. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay; + These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. + Exeunt + +SCENE III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire + +Alarum; excursions. Enter WARWICK + + WARWICK. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, + I lay me down a little while to breathe; + For strokes receiv'd and many blows repaid + Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, + And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. + + Enter EDWARD, running + + EDWARD. Smile, gentle heaven, or strike, ungentle death; + For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. + WARWICK. How now, my lord. What hap? What hope of good? + + Enter GEORGE + + GEORGE. Our hap is lost, our hope but sad despair; + Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us. + What counsel give you? Whither shall we fly? + EDWARD. Bootless is flight: they follow us with wings; + And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. + + Enter RICHARD + + RICHARD. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? + Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, + Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; + And in the very pangs of death he cried, + Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, + 'Warwick, revenge! Brother, revenge my death.' + So, underneath the belly of their steeds, + That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, + The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. + WARWICK. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood. + I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. + Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, + Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage, + And look upon, as if the tragedy + Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? + Here on my knee I vow to God above + I'll never pause again, never stand still, + Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine + Or fortune given me measure of revenge. + EDWARD. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine, + And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! + And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face + I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to Thee, + Thou setter-up and plucker-down of kings, + Beseeching Thee, if with Thy will it stands + That to my foes this body must be prey, + Yet that Thy brazen gates of heaven may ope + And give sweet passage to my sinful soul. + Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, + Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. + RICHARD. Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, + Let me embrace thee in my weary arms. + I that did never weep now melt with woe + That winter should cut off our spring-time so. + WARWICK. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. + GEORGE. Yet let us all together to our troops, + And give them leave to fly that will not stay, + And call them pillars that will stand to us; + And if we thrive, promise them such rewards + As victors wear at the Olympian games. + This may plant courage in their quailing breasts, + For yet is hope of life and victory. + Forslow no longer; make we hence amain. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Another part of the field + +Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD + + RICHARD. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone. + Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, + And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, + Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. + CLIFFORD. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone. + This is the hand that stabbed thy father York; + And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; + And here's the heart that triumphs in their death + And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother + To execute the like upon thyself; + And so, have at thee! [They fight] + + Enter WARWICK; CLIFFORD flies + + RICHARD. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; + For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter KING HENRY alone + + KING HENRY. This battle fares like to the morning's war, + When dying clouds contend with growing light, + What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, + Can neither call it perfect day nor night. + Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea + Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; + Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea + Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind. + Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; + Now one the better, then another best; + Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, + Yet neither conqueror nor conquered. + So is the equal poise of this fell war. + Here on this molehill will I sit me down. + To whom God will, there be the victory! + For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, + Have chid me from the battle, swearing both + They prosper best of all when I am thence. + Would I were dead, if God's good will were so! + For what is in this world but grief and woe? + O God! methinks it were a happy life + To be no better than a homely swain; + To sit upon a hill, as I do now, + To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, + Thereby to see the minutes how they run- + How many makes the hour full complete, + How many hours brings about the day, + How many days will finish up the year, + How many years a mortal man may live. + When this is known, then to divide the times- + So many hours must I tend my flock; + So many hours must I take my rest; + So many hours must I contemplate; + So many hours must I sport myself; + So many days my ewes have been with young; + So many weeks ere the poor fools will can; + So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: + So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, + Pass'd over to the end they were created, + Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. + Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! + Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade + To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, + Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy + To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? + O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. + And to conclude: the shepherd's homely curds, + His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, + His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, + All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, + Is far beyond a prince's delicates- + His viands sparkling in a golden cup, + His body couched in a curious bed, + When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. + + Alarum. Enter a son that hath kill'd his Father, at + one door; and a FATHER that hath kill'd his Son, at + another door + + SON. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. + This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight + May be possessed with some store of crowns; + And I, that haply take them from him now, + May yet ere night yield both my life and them + To some man else, as this dead man doth me. + Who's this? O God! It is my father's face, + Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. + O heavy times, begetting such events! + From London by the King was I press'd forth; + My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, + Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; + And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, + Have by my hands of life bereaved him. + Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did. + And pardon, father, for I knew not thee. + My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; + And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. + KING HENRY. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! + Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, + Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. + Weep, wretched man; I'll aid thee tear for tear; + And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, + Be blind with tears and break o'ercharg'd with grief. + + Enter FATHER, bearing of his SON + + FATHER. Thou that so stoutly hath resisted me, + Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; + For I have bought it with an hundred blows. + But let me see. Is this our foeman's face? + Ah, no, no, no, no, it is mine only son! + Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, + Throw up thine eye! See, see what show'rs arise, + Blown with the windy tempest of my heart + Upon thy wounds, that kills mine eye and heart! + O, pity, God, this miserable age! + What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, + Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, + This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! + O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, + And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! + KING HENRY. Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! + O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! + O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! + The red rose and the white are on his face, + The fatal colours of our striving houses: + The one his purple blood right well resembles; + The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth. + Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! + If you contend, a thousand lives must perish. + SON. How will my mother for a father's death + Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied! + FATHER. How will my wife for slaughter of my son + Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied! + KING HENRY. How will the country for these woeful chances + Misthink the King, and not be satisfied! + SON. Was ever son so rued a father's death? + FATHER. Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? + KING HENRY. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? + Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. + SON. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. + Exit with the body + FATHER. These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; + My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, + For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; + My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; + And so obsequious will thy father be, + Even for the loss of thee, having no more, + As Priam was for all his valiant sons. + I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, + For I have murdered where I should not kill. + Exit with the body + KING HENRY. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, + Here sits a king more woeful than you are. + + Alarums, excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, + PRINCE OF WALES, and EXETER + + PRINCE OF WALES. Fly, father, fly; for all your friends are fled, + And Warwick rages like a chafed bull. + Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. + QUEEN MARGARET. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain. + Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds + Having the fearful flying hare in sight, + With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, + And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, + Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. + EXETER. Away! for vengeance comes along with them. + Nay, stay not to expostulate; make speed; + Or else come after. I'll away before. + KING HENRY. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter. + Not that I fear to stay, but love to go + Whither the Queen intends. Forward; away! Exeunt + +SCENE VI. Another part of the field + +A loud alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded + + CLIFFORD. Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, + Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. + O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow + More than my body's parting with my soul! + My love and fear glu'd many friends to thee; + And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts, + Impairing Henry, strength'ning misproud York. + The common people swarm like summer flies; + And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? + And who shines now but Henry's enemies? + O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent + That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds, + Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! + And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, + Or as thy father and his father did, + Giving no ground unto the house of York, + They never then had sprung like summer flies; + I and ten thousand in this luckless realm + Had left no mourning widows for our death; + And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. + For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? + And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? + Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds. + No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight. + The foe is merciless and will not pity; + For at their hands I have deserv'd no pity. + The air hath got into my deadly wounds, + And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. + Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; + I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms: split my breast. + [He faints] + + Alarum and retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE, RICHARD + MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and soldiers + + EDWARD. Now breathe we, lords. Good fortune bids us pause + And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. + Some troops pursue the bloody-minded Queen + That led calm Henry, though he were a king, + As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, + Command an argosy to stern the waves. + But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? + WARWICK. No, 'tis impossible he should escape; + For, though before his face I speak the words, + Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave; + And, whereso'er he is, he's surely dead. + [CLIFFORD groans, and dies] + RICHARD. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? + A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. + See who it is. + EDWARD. And now the battle's ended, + If friend or foe, let him be gently used. + RICHARD. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; + Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch + In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, + But set his murd'ring knife unto the root + From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring- + I mean our princely father, Duke of York. + WARWICK. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, + Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; + Instead whereof let this supply the room. + Measure for measure must be answered. + EDWARD. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, + That nothing sung but death to us and ours. + Now death shall stop his dismal threat'ning sound, + And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. + WARWICK. I think his understanding is bereft. + Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? + Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, + And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. + RICHARD. O, would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth. + 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, + Because he would avoid such bitter taunts + Which in the time of death he gave our father. + GEORGE. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. + RICHARD. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. + EDWARD. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. + WARWICK. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. + GEORGE. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. + RICHARD. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. + EDWARD. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. + GEORGE. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? + WARWICK. They mock thee, Clifford; swear as thou wast wont. + RICHARD. What, not an oath? Nay, then the world goes hard + When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. + I know by that he's dead; and by my soul, + If this right hand would buy two hours' life, + That I in all despite might rail at him, + This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood + Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst + York and young Rutland could not satisfy. + WARWICK. Ay, but he's dead. Off with the traitor's head, + And rear it in the place your father's stands. + And now to London with triumphant march, + There to be crowned England's royal King; + From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, + And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen. + So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; + And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread + The scatt'red foe that hopes to rise again; + For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, + Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. + First will I see the coronation; + And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea + To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. + EDWARD. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; + For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, + And never will I undertake the thing + Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. + Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester; + And George, of Clarence; Warwick, as ourself, + Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. + RICHARD. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; + For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. + WARWICK. Tut, that's a foolish observation. + Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London + To see these honours in possession. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. A chase in the north of England + +Enter two KEEPERS, with cross-bows in their hands + + FIRST KEEPER. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves, + For through this laund anon the deer will come; + And in this covert will we make our stand, + Culling the principal of all the deer. + SECOND KEEPER. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. + FIRST KEEPER. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow + Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. + Here stand we both, and aim we at the best; + And, for the time shall not seem tedious, + I'll tell thee what befell me on a day + In this self-place where now we mean to stand. + SECOND KEEPER. Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. + + Enter KING HENRY, disguised, with a prayer-book + + KING HENRY. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, + To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. + No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; + Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, + Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed. + No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, + No humble suitors press to speak for right, + No, not a man comes for redress of thee; + For how can I help them and not myself? + FIRST KEEPER. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee. + This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him. + KING HENRY. Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, + For wise men say it is the wisest course. + SECOND KEEPER. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. + FIRST KEEPER. Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. + KING HENRY. My Queen and son are gone to France for aid; + And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick + Is thither gone to crave the French King's sister + To wife for Edward. If this news be true, + Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; + For Warwick is a subtle orator, + And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. + By this account, then, Margaret may win him; + For she's a woman to be pitied much. + Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his breast; + Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; + The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; + And Nero will be tainted with remorse + To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. + Ay, but she's come to beg: Warwick, to give. + She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry: + He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. + She weeps, and says her Henry is depos'd: + He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; + That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; + Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, + Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, + And in conclusion wins the King from her + With promise of his sister, and what else, + To strengthen and support King Edward's place. + O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, + Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! + SECOND KEEPER. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? + KING HENRY. More than I seem, and less than I was born to: + A man at least, for less I should not be; + And men may talk of kings, and why not I? + SECOND KEEPER. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. + KING HENRY. Why, so I am- in mind; and that's enough. + SECOND KEEPER. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? + KING HENRY. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; + Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, + Not to be seen. My crown is call'd content; + A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. + SECOND KEEPER. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, + Your crown content and you must be contented + To go along with us; for as we think, + You are the king King Edward hath depos'd; + And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, + Will apprehend you as his enemy. + KING HENRY. But did you never swear, and break an oath? + SECOND KEEPER. No, never such an oath; nor will not now. + KING HENRY. Where did you dwell when I was King of England? + SECOND KEEPER. Here in this country, where we now remain. + KING HENRY. I was anointed king at nine months old; + My father and my grandfather were kings; + And you were sworn true subjects unto me; + And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? + FIRST KEEPER. No; + For we were subjects but while you were king. + KING HENRY. Why, am I dead? Do I not breathe a man? + Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! + Look, as I blow this feather from my face, + And as the air blows it to me again, + Obeying with my wind when I do blow, + And yielding to another when it blows, + Commanded always by the greater gust, + Such is the lightness of you common men. + But do not break your oaths; for of that sin + My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. + Go where you will, the King shall be commanded; + And be you kings: command, and I'll obey. + FIRST KEEPER. We are true subjects to the King, King Edward. + KING HENRY. So would you be again to Henry, + If he were seated as King Edward is. + FIRST KEEPER. We charge you, in God's name and the King's, + To go with us unto the officers. + KING HENRY. In God's name, lead; your King's name be obey'd; + And what God will, that let your King perform; + And what he will, I humbly yield unto. Exeunt + +SCENE II. London. The palace + +Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and LADY GREY + + KING EDWARD. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans' field + This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, + His land then seiz'd on by the conqueror. + Her suit is now to repossess those lands; + Which we in justice cannot well deny, + Because in quarrel of the house of York + The worthy gentleman did lose his life. + GLOUCESTER. Your Highness shall do well to grant her suit; + It were dishonour to deny it her. + KING EDWARD. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Yea, is it so? + I see the lady hath a thing to grant, + Before the King will grant her humble suit. + CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] He knows the game; how true he + keeps the wind! + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Silence! + KING EDWARD. Widow, we will consider of your suit; + And come some other time to know our mind. + LADY GREY. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay. + May it please your Highness to resolve me now; + And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, widow? Then I'll warrant you all your + lands, + An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. + Fight closer or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. + CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I fear her not, unless she chance + to fall. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] God forbid that, for he'll take + vantages. + KING EDWARD. How many children hast thou, widow, tell me. + CLARENCE. [Aside to GLOUCESTER] I think he means to beg a child of + her. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside to CLARENCE] Nay, then whip me; he'll rather + give her two. + LADY GREY. Three, my most gracious lord. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] You shall have four if you'll be rul'd by him. + KING EDWARD. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. + LADY GREY. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it, then. + KING EDWARD. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have + leave + Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. + [GLOUCESTER and CLARENCE withdraw] + KING EDWARD. Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? + LADY GREY. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. + KING EDWARD. And would you not do much to do them good? + LADY GREY. To do them good I would sustain some harm. + KING EDWARD. Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. + LADY GREY. Therefore I came unto your Majesty. + KING EDWARD. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. + LADY GREY. So shall you bind me to your Highness' service. + KING EDWARD. What service wilt thou do me if I give them? + LADY GREY. What you command that rests in me to do. + KING EDWARD. But you will take exceptions to my boon. + LADY GREY. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. + KING EDWARD. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. + LADY GREY. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands. + GLOUCESTER. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. + CLARENCE. As red as fire! Nay, then her wax must melt. + LADY GREY. Why stops my lord? Shall I not hear my task? + KING EDWARD. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. + LADY GREY. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. + KING EDWARD. Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. + LADY GREY. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. + GLOUCESTER. The match is made; she seals it with a curtsy. + KING EDWARD. But stay thee- 'tis the fruits of love I mean. + LADY GREY. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. + KING EDWARD. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. + What love, thinkst thou, I sue so much to get? + LADY GREY. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; + That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. + KING EDWARD. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. + LADY GREY. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. + KING EDWARD. But now you partly may perceive my mind. + LADY GREY. My mind will never grant what I perceive + Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright. + KING EDWARD. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. + LADY GREY. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. + KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. + LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; + For by that loss I will not purchase them. + KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. + LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me. + But, mighty lord, this merry inclination + Accords not with the sadness of my suit. + Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no. + KING EDWARD. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request; + No, if thou dost say no to my demand. + LADY GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. + GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows. + CLARENCE. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. + KING EDWARD. [Aside] Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty; + Her words doth show her wit incomparable; + All her perfections challenge sovereignty. + One way or other, she is for a king; + And she shall be my love, or else my queen. + Say that King Edward take thee for his queen? + LADY GREY. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord. + I am a subject fit to jest withal, + But far unfit to be a sovereign. + KING EDWARD. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee + I speak no more than what my soul intends; + And that is to enjoy thee for my love. + LADY GREY. And that is more than I will yield unto. + I know I am too mean to be your queen, + And yet too good to be your concubine. + KING EDWARD. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen. + LADY GREY. 'Twill grieve your Grace my sons should call you father. + KING EDWARD.No more than when my daughters call thee mother. + Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; + And, by God's Mother, I, being but a bachelor, + Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing + To be the father unto many sons. + Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. + GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. + CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shrift. + KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. + GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. + KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her. + CLARENCE. To who, my lord? + KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself. + GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days' wonder at the least. + CLARENCE. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. + GLOUCESTER. By so much is the wonder in extremes. + KING EDWARD. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both + Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. + + Enter a NOBLEMAN + + NOBLEMAN. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken + And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. + KING EDWARD. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower. + And go we, brothers, to the man that took him + To question of his apprehension. + Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + GLOUCESTER. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. + Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, + That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring + To cross me from the golden time I look for! + And yet, between my soul's desire and me- + The lustful Edward's title buried- + Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, + And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, + To take their rooms ere I can place myself. + A cold premeditation for my purpose! + Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; + Like one that stands upon a promontory + And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, + Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; + And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, + Saying he'll lade it dry to have his way- + So do I wish the crown, being so far off; + And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; + And so I say I'll cut the causes off, + Flattering me with impossibilities. + My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, + Unless my hand and strength could equal them. + Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; + What other pleasure can the world afford? + I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, + And deck my body in gay ornaments, + And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. + O miserable thought! and more unlikely + Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns. + Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb; + And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, + She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe + To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub + To make an envious mountain on my back, + Where sits deformity to mock my body; + To shape my legs of an unequal size; + To disproportion me in every part, + Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp + That carries no impression like the dam. + And am I, then, a man to be belov'd? + O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought! + Then, since this earth affords no joy to me + But to command, to check, to o'erbear such + As are of better person than myself, + I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, + And whiles I live t' account this world but hell, + Until my misshap'd trunk that bear this head + Be round impaled with a glorious crown. + And yet I know not how to get the crown, + For many lives stand between me and home; + And I- like one lost in a thorny wood + That rents the thorns and is rent with the thorns, + Seeking a way and straying from the way + Not knowing how to find the open air, + But toiling desperately to find it out- + Torment myself to catch the English crown; + And from that torment I will free myself + Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. + Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, + And cry 'Content!' to that which grieves my heart, + And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, + And frame my face to all occasions. + I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; + I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; + I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, + Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, + And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. + I can add colours to the chameleon, + Change shapes with Protheus for advantages, + And set the murderous Machiavel to school. + Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? + Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. Exit + +SCENE III. France. The KING'S palace + +Flourish. Enter LEWIS the French King, his sister BONA, his Admiral +call'd BOURBON; PRINCE EDWARD, QUEEN MARGARET, and the EARL of OXFORD. +LEWIS sits, and riseth up again + + LEWIS. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, + Sit down with us. It ill befits thy state + And birth that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit. + QUEEN MARGARET. No, mighty King of France. Now Margaret + Must strike her sail and learn a while to serve + Where kings command. I was, I must confess, + Great Albion's Queen in former golden days; + But now mischance hath trod my title down + And with dishonour laid me on the ground, + Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, + And to my humble seat conform myself. + LEWIS. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this deep despair? + QUEEN MARGARET. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears + And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. + LEWIS. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, + And sit thee by our side. [Seats her by him] Yield not thy neck + To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind + Still ride in triumph over all mischance. + Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; + It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. + QUEEN MARGARET. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts + And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. + Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis + That Henry, sole possessor of my love, + Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, + And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn; + While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York + Usurps the regal title and the seat + Of England's true-anointed lawful King. + This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, + With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, + Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; + And if thou fail us, all our hope is done. + Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; + Our people and our peers are both misled, + Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, + And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. + LEWIS. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm, + While we bethink a means to break it off. + QUEEN MARGARET. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. + LEWIS. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee. + QUEEN MARGARET. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow. + And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow! + + Enter WARWICK + + LEWIS. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence? + QUEEN MARGARET. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend. + LEWIS. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France? + [He descends. She ariseth] + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; + For this is he that moves both wind and tide. + WARWICK. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, + My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, + I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, + First to do greetings to thy royal person, + And then to crave a league of amity, + And lastly to confirm that amity + With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant + That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, + To England's King in lawful marriage. + QUEEN MARGARET. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. + WARWICK. [To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf, + I am commanded, with your leave and favour, + Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue + To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; + Where fame, late ent'ring at his heedful ears, + Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue. + QUEEN MARGARET. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak + Before you answer Warwick. His demand + Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, + But from deceit bred by necessity; + For how can tyrants safely govern home + Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? + To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, + That Henry liveth still; but were he dead, + Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son. + Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage + Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour; + For though usurpers sway the rule a while + Yet heav'ns are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. + WARWICK. Injurious Margaret! + PRINCE OF WALES. And why not Queen? + WARWICK. Because thy father Henry did usurp; + And thou no more art prince than she is queen. + OXFORD. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, + Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; + And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, + Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; + And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, + Who by his prowess conquered all France. + From these our Henry lineally descends. + WARWICK. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse + You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost + All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? + Methinks these peers of France should smile at that. + But for the rest: you tell a pedigree + Of threescore and two years- a silly time + To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. + OXFORD. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, + Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, + And not betray thy treason with a blush? + WARWICK. Can Oxford that did ever fence the right + Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? + For shame! Leave Henry, and call Edward king. + OXFORD. Call him my king by whose injurious doom + My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, + Was done to death; and more than so, my father, + Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, + When nature brought him to the door of death? + No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, + This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. + WARWICK. And I the house of York. + LEWIS. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford, + Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside + While I use further conference with Warwick. + [They stand aloof] + QUEEN MARGARET. Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not! + LEWIS. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, + Is Edward your true king? for I were loath + To link with him that were not lawful chosen. + WARWICK. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. + LEWIS. But is he gracious in the people's eye? + WARWICK. The more that Henry was unfortunate. + LEWIS. Then further: all dissembling set aside, + Tell me for truth the measure of his love + Unto our sister Bona. + WARWICK. Such it seems + As may beseem a monarch like himself. + Myself have often heard him say and swear + That this his love was an eternal plant + Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, + The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, + Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, + Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. + LEWIS. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. + BONA. Your grant or your denial shall be mine. + [To WARWICK] Yet I confess that often ere this day, + When I have heard your king's desert recounted, + Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. + LEWIS. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's. + And now forthwith shall articles be drawn + Touching the jointure that your king must make, + Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd. + Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness + That Bona shall be wife to the English king. + PRINCE OF WALES. To Edward, but not to the English king. + QUEEN MARGARET. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device + By this alliance to make void my suit. + Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. + LEWIS. And still is friend to him and Margaret. + But if your title to the crown be weak, + As may appear by Edward's good success, + Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd + From giving aid which late I promised. + Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand + That your estate requires and mine can yield. + WARWICK. Henry now lives in Scotland at his case, + Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. + And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, + You have a father able to maintain you, + And better 'twere you troubled him than France. + QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, + Proud setter up and puller down of kings! + I will not hence till with my talk and tears, + Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold + Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love; + For both of you are birds of self-same feather. + [POST blowing a horn within] + LEWIS. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee. + + Enter the POST + + POST. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you, + Sent from your brother, Marquis Montague. + These from our King unto your Majesty. + And, madam, these for you; from whom I know not. + [They all read their letters] + OXFORD. I like it well that our fair Queen and mistress + Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. + PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled. + I hope all's for the best. + LEWIS. Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen? + QUEEN MARGARET. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop'd joys. + WARWICK. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. + LEWIS. What, has your king married the Lady Grey? + And now, to soothe your forgery and his, + Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? + Is this th' alliance that he seeks with France? + Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? + QUEEN MARGARET. I told your Majesty as much before. + This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. + WARWICK. King Lewis, I here protest in sight of heaven, + And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, + That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's- + No more my king, for he dishonours me, + But most himself, if he could see his shame. + Did I forget that by the house of York + My father came untimely to his death? + Did I let pass th' abuse done to my niece? + Did I impale him with the regal crown? + Did I put Henry from his native right? + And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? + Shame on himself! for my desert is honour; + And to repair my honour lost for him + I here renounce him and return to Henry. + My noble Queen, let former grudges pass, + And henceforth I am thy true servitor. + I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona, + And replant Henry in his former state. + QUEEN MARGARET. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love; + And I forgive and quite forget old faults, + And joy that thou becom'st King Henry's friend. + WARWICK. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, + That if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us + With some few bands of chosen soldiers, + I'll undertake to land them on our coast + And force the tyrant from his seat by war. + 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him; + And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, + He's very likely now to fall from him + For matching more for wanton lust than honour + Or than for strength and safety of our country. + BONA. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd + But by thy help to this distressed queen? + QUEEN MARGARET. Renowned Prince, how shall poor Henry live + Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? + BONA. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. + WARWICK. And mine, fair Lady Bona, joins with yours. + LEWIS. And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. + Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd + You shall have aid. + QUEEN MARGARET. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. + LEWIS. Then, England's messenger, return in post + And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, + That Lewis of France is sending over masquers + To revel it with him and his new bride. + Thou seest what's past; go fear thy king withal. + BONA. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, + I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake. + QUEEN MARGARET. Tell him my mourning weeds are laid aside, + And I am ready to put armour on. + WARWICK. Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, + And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. + There's thy reward; be gone. Exit POST + LEWIS. But, Warwick, + Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, + Shall cross the seas and bid false Edward battle: + And, as occasion serves, this noble Queen + And Prince shall follow with a fresh supply. + Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt: + What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? + WARWICK. This shall assure my constant loyalty: + That if our Queen and this young Prince agree, + I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy + To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. + QUEEN MARGARET. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion. + Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, + Therefore delay not- give thy hand to Warwick; + And with thy hand thy faith irrevocable + That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. + PRINCE OF WALES. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; + And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. + [He gives his hand to WARWICK] + LEWIS. stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied; + And thou, Lord Bourbon, our High Admiral, + Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. + I long till Edward fall by war's mischance + For mocking marriage with a dame of France. + Exeunt all but WARWICK + WARWICK. I came from Edward as ambassador, + But I return his sworn and mortal foe. + Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, + But dreadful war shall answer his demand. + Had he none else to make a stale but me? + Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. + I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, + And I'll be chief to bring him down again; + Not that I pity Henry's misery, + But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. Exit + +ACT IV. SCENE I. London. The palace + +Enter GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, SOMERSET, and MONTAGUE + + GLOUCESTER. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you + Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? + Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? + CLARENCE. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France! + How could he stay till Warwick made return? + SOMERSET. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the King. + + Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, attended; LADY + GREY, as Queen; PEMBROKE, STAFFORD, HASTINGS, + and others. Four stand on one side, and four on the other + + GLOUCESTER. And his well-chosen bride. + CLARENCE. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. + KING EDWARD. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice + That you stand pensive as half malcontent? + CLARENCE. As well as Lewis of France or the Earl of Warwick, + Which are so weak of courage and in judgment + That they'll take no offence at our abuse. + KING EDWARD. Suppose they take offence without a cause; + They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward, + Your King and Warwick's and must have my will. + GLOUCESTER. And shall have your will, because our King. + Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. + KING EDWARD. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? + GLOUCESTER. Not I. + No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd + Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity + To sunder them that yoke so well together. + KING EDWARD. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, + Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey + Should not become my wife and England's Queen. + And you too, Somerset and Montague, + Speak freely what you think. + CLARENCE. Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis + Becomes your enemy for mocking him + About the marriage of the Lady Bona. + GLOUCESTER. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, + Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. + KING EDWARD. What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd + By such invention as I can devise? + MONTAGUE. Yet to have join'd with France in such alliance + Would more have strength'ned this our commonwealth + 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage. + HASTINGS. Why, knows not Montague that of itself + England is safe, if true within itself? + MONTAGUE. But the safer when 'tis back'd with France. + HASTINGS. 'Tis better using France than trusting France. + Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas + Which He hath giv'n for fence impregnable, + And with their helps only defend ourselves. + In them and in ourselves our safety lies. + CLARENCE. For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves + To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. + KING EDWARD. Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant; + And for this once my will shall stand for law. + GLOUCESTER. And yet methinks your Grace hath not done well + To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales + Unto the brother of your loving bride. + She better would have fitted me or Clarence; + But in your bride you bury brotherhood. + CLARENCE. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir + Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, + And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. + KING EDWARD. Alas, poor Clarence! Is it for a wife + That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. + CLARENCE. In choosing for yourself you show'd your judgment, + Which being shallow, you shall give me leave + To play the broker in mine own behalf; + And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. + KING EDWARD. Leave me or tarry, Edward will be King, + And not be tied unto his brother's will. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My lords, before it pleas'd his Majesty + To raise my state to title of a queen, + Do me but right, and you must all confess + That I was not ignoble of descent: + And meaner than myself have had like fortune. + But as this title honours me and mine, + So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, + Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. + KING EDWARD. My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns. + What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, + So long as Edward is thy constant friend + And their true sovereign whom they must obey? + Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, + Unless they seek for hatred at my hands; + Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, + And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. + + Enter a POST + + KING EDWARD. Now, messenger, what letters or what news + From France? + MESSENGER. My sovereign liege, no letters, and few words, + But such as I, without your special pardon, + Dare not relate. + KING EDWARD. Go to, we pardon thee; therefore, in brief, + Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. + What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters? + MESSENGER. At my depart, these were his very words: + 'Go tell false Edward, the supposed king, + That Lewis of France is sending over masquers + To revel it with him and his new bride.' + KING EDWARD. IS Lewis so brave? Belike he thinks me Henry. + But what said Lady Bona to my marriage? + MESSENGER. These were her words, utt'red with mild disdain: + 'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, + I'll wear the willow-garland for his sake.' + KING EDWARD. I blame not her: she could say little less; + She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? + For I have heard that she was there in place. + MESSENGER. 'Tell him' quoth she 'my mourning weeds are done, + And I am ready to put armour on.' + KING EDWARD. Belike she minds to play the Amazon. + But what said Warwick to these injuries? + MESSENGER. He, more incens'd against your Majesty + Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words: + 'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong; + And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.' + KING EDWARD. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words? + Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd. + They shall have wars and pay for their presumption. + But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? + MESSENGER. Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship + That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. + CLARENCE. Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger. + Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, + For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; + That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage + I may not prove inferior to yourself. + You that love me and Warwick, follow me. + Exit, and SOMERSET follows + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Not I. + My thoughts aim at a further matter; I + Stay not for the love of Edward but the crown. + KING EDWARD. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick! + Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; + And haste is needful in this desp'rate case. + Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf + Go levy men and make prepare for war; + They are already, or quickly will be landed. + Myself in person will straight follow you. + Exeunt PEMBROKE and STAFFORD + But ere I go, Hastings and Montague, + Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, + Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance. + Tell me if you love Warwick more than me? + If it be so, then both depart to him: + I rather wish you foes than hollow friends. + But if you mind to hold your true obedience, + Give me assurance with some friendly vow, + That I may never have you in suspect. + MONTAGUE. So God help Montague as he proves true! + HASTINGS. And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause! + KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? + GLOUCESTER. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. + KING EDWARD. Why, so! then am I sure of victory. + Now therefore let us hence, and lose no hour + Till we meet Warwick with his foreign pow'r. Exeunt + +SCENE II. A plain in Warwickshire + +Enter WARWICK and OXFORD, with French soldiers + + WARWICK. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; + The common people by numbers swarm to us. + + Enter CLARENCE and SOMERSET + + But see where Somerset and Clarence comes. + Speak suddenly, my lords- are we all friends? + CLARENCE. Fear not that, my lord. + WARWICK. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; + And welcome, Somerset. I hold it cowardice + To rest mistrustful where a noble heart + Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; + Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, + Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings. + But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. + And now what rests but, in night's coverture, + Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, + His soldiers lurking in the towns about, + And but attended by a simple guard, + We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? + Our scouts have found the adventure very easy; + That as Ulysses and stout Diomede + With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, + And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, + So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, + At unawares may beat down Edward's guard + And seize himself- I say not 'slaughter him,' + For I intend but only to surprise him. + You that will follow me to this attempt, + Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. + [They all cry 'Henry!'] + Why then, let's on our way in silent sort. + For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! Exeunt + +SCENE III. Edward's camp, near Warwick + +Enter three WATCHMEN, to guard the KING'S tent + + FIRST WATCHMAN. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand; + The King by this is set him down to sleep. + SECOND WATCHMAN. What, will he not to bed? + FIRST WATCHMAN. Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow + Never to lie and take his natural rest + Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. + SECOND WATCHMAN. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, + If Warwick be so near as men report. + THIRD WATCHMAN. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that + That with the King here resteth in his tent? + FIRST WATCHMAN. 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the King's chiefest friend. + THIRD WATCHMAN. O, is it So? But why commands the King + That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, + While he himself keeps in the cold field? + SECOND WATCHMAN. 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. + THIRD WATCHMAN. Ay, but give me worship and quietness; + I like it better than dangerous honour. + If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, + 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. + FIRST WATCHMAN. Unless our halberds did shut up his passage. + SECOND WATCHMAN. Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent + But to defend his person from night-foes? + + Enter WARWICK, CLARENCE, OXFORD, SOMERSET, + and French soldiers, silent all + + WARWICK. This is his tent; and see where stand his guard. + Courage, my masters! Honour now or never! + But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. + FIRST WATCHMAN. Who goes there? + SECOND WATCHMAN. Stay, or thou diest. + + WARWICK and the rest cry all 'Warwick! Warwick!' and + set upon the guard, who fly, crying 'Arm! Arm!' WARWICK + and the rest following them + + The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re-enter WARWICK + and the rest, bringing the KING out in his gown, + sitting in a chair. GLOUCESTER and HASTINGS fly over the stage + + SOMERSET. What are they that fly there? + WARWICK. Richard and Hastings. Let them go; here is the Duke. + KING EDWARD. The Duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted, + Thou call'dst me King? + WARWICK. Ay, but the case is alter'd. + When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, + Then I degraded you from being King, + And come now to create you Duke of York. + Alas, how should you govern any kingdom + That know not how to use ambassadors, + Nor how to be contented with one wife, + Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, + Nor how to study for the people's welfare, + Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? + KING EDWARD. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? + Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. + Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, + Of thee thyself and all thy complices, + Edward will always bear himself as King. + Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, + My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. + WARWICK. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king; + [Takes off his crown] + But Henry now shall wear the English crown + And be true King indeed; thou but the shadow. + My Lord of Somerset, at my request, + See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd + Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. + When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, + I'll follow you and tell what answer + Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. + Now for a while farewell, good Duke of York. + KING EDWARD. What fates impose, that men must needs abide; + It boots not to resist both wind and tide. + [They lead him out forcibly] + OXFORD. What now remains, my lords, for us to do + But march to London with our soldiers? + WARWICK. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; + To free King Henry from imprisonment, + And see him seated in the regal throne. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. London. The palace + +Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and RIVERS + + RIVERS. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn + What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward? + RIVERS. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, but the loss of his own royal person. + RIVERS. Then is my sovereign slain? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner; + Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard + Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares; + And, as I further have to understand, + Is new committed to the Bishop of York, + Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. + RIVERS. These news, I must confess, are full of grief; + Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: + Warwick may lose that now hath won the day. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay. + And I the rather wean me from despair + For love of Edward's offspring in my womb. + This is it that makes me bridle passion + And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; + Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear + And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, + Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown + King Edward's fruit, true heir to th' English crown. + RIVERS. But, madam, where is Warwick then become? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I am inform'd that he comes towards London + To set the crown once more on Henry's head. + Guess thou the rest: King Edward's friends must down. + But to prevent the tyrant's violence- + For trust not him that hath once broken faith- + I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary + To save at least the heir of Edward's right. + There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. + Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: + If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. Exeunt + +SCENE V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire + +Enter GLOUCESTER, LORD HASTINGS, SIR WILLIAM STANLEY, and others + + GLOUCESTER. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley, + Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither + Into this chiefest thicket of the park. + Thus stands the case: you know our King, my brother, + Is prisoner to the Bishop here, at whose hands + He hath good usage and great liberty; + And often but attended with weak guard + Comes hunting this way to disport himself. + I have advertis'd him by secret means + That if about this hour he make this way, + Under the colour of his usual game, + He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, + To set him free from his captivity. + + Enter KING EDWARD and a HUNTSMAN with him + + HUNTSMAN. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game. + KING EDWARD. Nay, this way, man. See where the huntsmen stand. + Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest, + Stand you thus close to steal the Bishop's deer? + GLOUCESTER. Brother, the time and case requireth haste; + Your horse stands ready at the park corner. + KING EDWARD. But whither shall we then? + HASTINGS. To Lynn, my lord; and shipt from thence to Flanders. + GLOUCESTER. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. + KING EDWARD. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. + GLOUCESTER. But wherefore stay we? 'Tis no time to talk. + KING EDWARD. Huntsman, what say'st thou? Wilt thou go along? + HUNTSMAN. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. + GLOUCESTER. Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado. + KING EDWARD. Bishop, farewell. Shield thee from Warwick's frown, + And pray that I may repossess the crown. Exeunt + +SCENE VI. London. The Tower + +Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, CLARENCE, WARWICK, SOMERSET, young HENRY, +EARL OF RICHMOND, OXFORD, MONTAGUE, LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER, and +attendants + + KING HENRY. Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends + Have shaken Edward from the regal seat + And turn'd my captive state to liberty, + My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, + At our enlargement what are thy due fees? + LIEUTENANT. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sov'reigns; + But if an humble prayer may prevail, + I then crave pardon of your Majesty. + KING HENRY. For what, Lieutenant? For well using me? + Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness, + For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure; + Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds + Conceive when, after many moody thoughts, + At last by notes of household harmony + They quite forget their loss of liberty. + But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, + And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; + He was the author, thou the instrument. + Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite + By living low where fortune cannot hurt me, + And that the people of this blessed land + May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, + Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, + I here resign my government to thee, + For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. + WARWICK. Your Grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous, + And now may seem as wise as virtuous + By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, + For few men rightly temper with the stars; + Yet in this one thing let me blame your Grace, + For choosing me when Clarence is in place. + CLARENCE. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, + To whom the heav'ns in thy nativity + Adjudg'd an olive branch and laurel crown, + As likely to be blest in peace and war; + And therefore I yield thee my free consent. + WARWICK. And I choose Clarence only for Protector. + KING HENRY. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your hands. + Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, + That no dissension hinder government. + I make you both Protectors of this land, + While I myself will lead a private life + And in devotion spend my latter days, + To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. + WARWICK. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will? + CLARENCE. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent, + For on thy fortune I repose myself. + WARWICK. Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content. + We'll yoke together, like a double shadow + To Henry's body, and supply his place; + I mean, in bearing weight of government, + While he enjoys the honour and his ease. + And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful + Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, + And all his lands and goods confiscated. + CLARENCE. What else? And that succession be determin'd. + WARWICK. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. + KING HENRY. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, + Let me entreat- for I command no more- + That Margaret your Queen and my son Edward + Be sent for to return from France with speed; + For till I see them here, by doubtful fear + My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. + CLARENCE. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. + KING HENRY. My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that, + Of whom you seem to have so tender care? + SOMERSET. My liege, it is young Henry, Earl of Richmond. + KING HENRY. Come hither, England's hope. + [Lays his hand on his head] + If secret powers + Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, + This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. + His looks are full of peaceful majesty; + His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, + His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself + Likely in time to bless a regal throne. + Make much of him, my lords; for this is he + Must help you more than you are hurt by me. + + Enter a POST + + WARWICK. What news, my friend? + POST. That Edward is escaped from your brother + And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. + WARWICK. Unsavoury news! But how made he escape? + POST. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester + And the Lord Hastings, who attended him + In secret ambush on the forest side + And from the Bishop's huntsmen rescu'd him; + For hunting was his daily exercise. + WARWICK. My brother was too careless of his charge. + But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide + A salve for any sore that may betide. + Exeunt all but SOMERSET, RICHMOND, and OXFORD + SOMERSET. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's; + For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, + And we shall have more wars befor't be long. + As Henry's late presaging prophecy + Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, + So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts, + What may befall him to his harm and ours. + Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, + Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany, + Till storms be past of civil enmity. + OXFORD. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, + 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. + SOMERSET. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. + Come therefore, let's about it speedily. Exeunt + +SCENE VII. Before York + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest, + Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, + And says that once more I shall interchange + My waned state for Henry's regal crown. + Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas, + And brought desired help from Burgundy; + What then remains, we being thus arriv'd + From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, + But that we enter, as into our dukedom? + GLOUCESTER. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this; + For many men that stumble at the threshold + Are well foretold that danger lurks within. + KING EDWARD. Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us. + By fair or foul means we must enter in, + For hither will our friends repair to us. + HASTINGS. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them. + + Enter, on the walls, the MAYOR OF YORK and + his BRETHREN + + MAYOR. My lords, we were forewarned of your coming + And shut the gates for safety of ourselves, + For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. + KING EDWARD. But, Master Mayor, if Henry be your King, + Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. + MAYOR. True, my good lord; I know you for no less. + KING EDWARD. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, + As being well content with that alone. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] But when the fox hath once got in his nose, + He'll soon find means to make the body follow. + HASTINGS. Why, Master Mayor, why stand you in a doubt? + Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends. + MAYOR. Ay, say you so? The gates shall then be open'd. + [He descends] + GLOUCESTER. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded! + HASTINGS. The good old man would fain that all were well, + So 'twere not long of him; but being ent'red, + I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade + Both him and all his brothers unto reason. + + Enter, below, the MAYOR and two ALDERMEN + + KING EDWARD. So, Master Mayor. These gates must not be shut + But in the night or in the time of war. + What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; + [Takes his keys] + For Edward will defend the town and thee, + And all those friends that deign to follow me. + + March. Enter MONTGOMERY with drum and soldiers + + GLOUCESTER. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, + Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. + KING EDWARD. Welcome, Sir john! But why come you in arms? + MONTGOMERY. To help King Edward in his time of storm, + As every loyal subject ought to do. + KING EDWARD. Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget + Our title to the crown, and only claim + Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. + MONTGOMERY. Then fare you well, for I will hence again. + I came to serve a king and not a duke. + Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. + [The drum begins to march] + KING EDWARD. Nay, stay, Sir John, a while, and we'll debate + By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. + MONTGOMERY. What talk you of debating? In few words: + If you'll not here proclaim yourself our King, + I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone + To keep them back that come to succour you. + Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title? + GLOUCESTER. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points? + KING EDWARD. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim; + Till then 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. + HASTINGS. Away with scrupulous wit! Now arms must rule. + GLOUCESTER. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. + Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; + The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. + KING EDWARD. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right, + And Henry but usurps the diadem. + MONTGOMERY. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself; + And now will I be Edward's champion. + HASTINGS. Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd. + Come, fellow soldier, make thou proclamation. + [Gives him a paper. Flourish] + SOLDIER. [Reads] 'Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, + King of England and France, and Lord of Ireland, &c.' + MONTGOMERY. And whoso'er gainsays King Edward's right, + By this I challenge him to single fight. + [Throws down gauntlet] + ALL. Long live Edward the Fourth! + KING EDWARD. Thanks, brave Montgomery, and thanks unto you all; + If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. + Now for this night let's harbour here in York; + And when the morning sun shall raise his car + Above the border of this horizon, + We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates; + For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. + Ah, froward Clarence, how evil it beseems the + To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother! + Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick. + Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day, + And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. Exeunt + +SCENE VIII. London. The palace + +Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, WARWICK, MONTAGUE, CLARENCE, OXFORD, and +EXETER + + WARWICK. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, + With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, + Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas + And with his troops doth march amain to London; + And many giddy people flock to him. + KING HENRY. Let's levy men and beat him back again. + CLARENCE. A little fire is quickly trodden out, + Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. + WARWICK. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, + Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; + Those will I muster up, and thou, son Clarence, + Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, + The knights and gentlemen to come with thee. + Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, + Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find + Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st. + And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, + In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. + My sovereign, with the loving citizens, + Like to his island girt in with the ocean + Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, + Shall rest in London till we come to him. + Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. + Farewell, my sovereign. + KING HENRY. Farewell, my Hector and my Troy's true hope. + CLARENCE. In sign of truth, I kiss your Highness' hand. + KING HENRY. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate! + MONTAGUE. Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave. + OXFORD. [Kissing the KING'S band] And thus I seal my truth and bid + adieu. + KING HENRY. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, + And all at once, once more a happy farewell. + WARWICK. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Coventry. + Exeunt all but the KING and EXETER + KING HENRY. Here at the palace will I rest a while. + Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? + Methinks the power that Edward hath in field + Should not be able to encounter mine. + EXETER. The doubt is that he will seduce the rest. + KING HENRY. That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame: + I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, + Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; + My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, + My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, + My mercy dried their water-flowing tears; + I have not been desirous of their wealth, + Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, + Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd. + Then why should they love Edward more than me? + No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace; + And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, + The lamb will never cease to follow him. + [Shout within 'A Lancaster! A Lancaster!'] + EXETER. Hark, hark, my lord! What shouts are these? + + Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence; + And once again proclaim us King of England. + You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow. + Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, + And swell so much the higher by their ebb. + Hence with him to the Tower: let him not speak. + Exeunt some with KING HENRY + And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, + Where peremptory Warwick now remains. + The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, + Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. + GLOUCESTER. Away betimes, before his forces join, + And take the great-grown traitor unawares. + Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. Coventry + +Enter WARWICK, the MAYOR OF COVENTRY, two MESSENGERS, and others upon +the walls + + WARWICK. Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? + How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? + FIRST MESSENGER. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. + WARWICK. How far off is our brother Montague? + Where is the post that came from Montague? + SECOND MESSENGER. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. + + Enter SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE + + WARWICK. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? + And by thy guess how nigh is Clarence now? + SOMERVILLE. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, + And do expect him here some two hours hence. + [Drum heard] + WARWICK. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum. + SOMERVILLE. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies. + The drum your Honour hears marcheth from Warwick. + WARWICK. Who should that be? Belike unlook'd for friends. + SOMERVILLE. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. + + March. Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, + and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. + GLOUCESTER. See how the surly Warwick mans the wall. + WARWICK. O unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come? + Where slept our scouts or how are they seduc'd + That we could hear no news of his repair? + KING EDWARD. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, + Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee, + Call Edward King, and at his hands beg mercy? + And he shall pardon thee these outrages. + WARWICK. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, + Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down, + Call Warwick patron, and be penitent? + And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. + GLOUCESTER. I thought, at least, he would have said the King; + Or did he make the jest against his will? + WARWICK. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? + GLOUCESTER. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give. + I'll do thee service for so good a gift. + WARWICK. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother. + KING EDWARD. Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift. + WARWICK. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight; + And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; + And Henry is my King, Warwick his subject. + KING EDWARD. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner. + And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: + What is the body when the head is off? + GLOUCESTER. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, + But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, + The king was slily finger'd from the deck! + You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, + And ten to one you'll meet him in the Tower. + KING EDWARD. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. + GLOUCESTER. Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down. + Nay, when? Strike now, or else the iron cools. + WARWICK. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, + And with the other fling it at thy face, + Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. + KING EDWARD. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend, + This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, + Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, + Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood: + 'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.' + + Enter OXFORD, with drum and colours + + WARWICK. O cheerful colours! See where Oxford comes. + OXFORD. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! + [He and his forces enter the city] + GLOUCESTER. The gates are open, let us enter too. + KING EDWARD. So other foes may set upon our backs. + Stand we in good array, for they no doubt + Will issue out again and bid us battle; + If not, the city being but of small defence, + We'll quietly rouse the traitors in the same. + WARWICK. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. + + Enter MONTAGUE, with drum and colours + + MONTAGUE. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! + [He and his forces enter the city] + GLOUCESTER. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason + Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. + KING EDWARD. The harder match'd, the greater victory. + My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. + + Enter SOMERSET, with drum and colours + + SOMERSET. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! + [He and his forces enter the city] + GLOUCESTER. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, + Have sold their lives unto the house of York; + And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. + + Enter CLARENCE, with drum and colours + + WARWICK. And lo where George of Clarence sweeps along, + Of force enough to bid his brother battle; + With whom an upright zeal to right prevails + More than the nature of a brother's love. + CLARENCE. Clarence, Clarence, for Lancaster! + KING EDWARD. Et tu Brute- wilt thou stab Caesar too? + A parley, sirrah, to George of Clarence. + [Sound a parley. RICHARD and CLARENCE whisper] + WARWICK. Come, Clarence, come. Thou wilt if Warwick call. + CLARENCE. [Taking the red rose from his hat and throwing + it at WARWICK] + Father of Warwick, know you what this means? + Look here, I throw my infamy at thee. + I will not ruinate my father's house, + Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, + And set up Lancaster. Why, trowest thou, Warwick, + That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, + To bend the fatal instruments of war + Against his brother and his lawful King? + Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath. + To keep that oath were more impiety + Than Jephtha when he sacrific'd his daughter. + I am so sorry for my trespass made + That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, + I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; + With resolution whereso'er I meet thee- + As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad- + To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. + And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, + And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. + Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; + And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, + For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. + KING EDWARD. Now welcome more, and ten times more belov'd, + Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. + GLOUCESTER. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like. + WARWICK. O passing traitor, perjur'd and unjust! + KING EDWARD. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave die town and fight? + Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? + WARWICK. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence! + I will away towards Barnet presently + And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. + KING EDWARD. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares and leads the way. + Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory! + Exeunt YORKISTS + [March. WARWICK and his company follow] + +SCENE II. A field of battle near Barnet + +Alarum and excursions. Enter KING EDWARD, bringing forth WARWICK, +wounded + + KING EDWARD. So, lie thou there. Die thou, and die our fear; + For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. + Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, + That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. Exit + WARWICK. Ah, who is nigh? Come to me, friend or foe, + And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? + Why ask I that? My mangled body shows, + My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, + That I must yield my body to the earth + And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. + Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, + Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, + Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, + Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree + And kept low shrubs from winter's pow'rful wind. + These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, + Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun + To search the secret treasons of the world; + The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, + Were lik'ned oft to kingly sepulchres; + For who liv'd King, but I could dig his grave? + And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? + Lo now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! + My parks, my walks, my manors, that I had, + Even now forsake me; and of all my lands + Is nothing left me but my body's length. + what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? + And live we how we can, yet die we must. + + Enter OXFORD and SOMERSET + + SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, + We might recover all our loss again. + The Queen from France hath brought a puissant power; + Even now we heard the news. Ah, couldst thou fly! + WARWICK. Why then, I would not fly. Ah, Montague, + If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, + And with thy lips keep in my soul a while! + Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, + Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood + That glues my lips and will not let me speak. + Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. + SOMERSET. Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breath'd his last; + And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, + And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.' + And more he would have said; and more he spoke, + Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, + That mought not be distinguish'd; but at last, + I well might hear, delivered with a groan, + 'O farewell, Warwick!' + WARWICK. Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves: + For Warwick bids you all farewell, to meet in heaven. + [Dies] + OXFORD. Away, away, to meet the Queen's great power! + [Here they bear away his body] + +SCENE III. Another part of the field + +Flourish. Enter KING in triumph; with GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and the +rest + + KING EDWARD. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, + And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. + But in the midst of this bright-shining day + I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud + That will encounter with our glorious sun + Ere he attain his easeful western bed- + I mean, my lords, those powers that the Queen + Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast + And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. + CLARENCE. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud + And blow it to the source from whence it came; + Thy very beams will dry those vapours up, + For every cloud engenders not a storm. + GLOUCESTER. The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong, + And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her. + If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd + Her faction will be full as strong as ours. + KING EDWARD. are advertis'd by our loving friends + That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; + We, having now the best at Barnet field, + Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; + And as we march our strength will be augmented + In every county as we go along. + Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Plains wear Tewksbury + +Flourish. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, +and SOLDIERS + + QUEEN MARGARET. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their + loss, + But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. + What though the mast be now blown overboard, + The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, + And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood; + Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he + Should leave the helm and, like a fearful lad, + With tearful eyes add water to the sea + And give more strength to that which hath too much; + Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, + Which industry and courage might have sav'd? + Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! + Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? + And Montague our top-mast; what of him? + Our slaught'red friends the tackles; what of these? + Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? + And Somerset another goodly mast? + The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? + And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I + For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? + We will not from the helm to sit and weep, + But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, + From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck, + As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. + And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? + What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? + And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? + All these the enemies to our poor bark. + Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while! + Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink. + Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, + Or else you famish- that's a threefold death. + This speak I, lords, to let you understand, + If case some one of you would fly from us, + That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers + More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks. + Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided + 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. + PRINCE OF WALES. Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit + Should, if a coward hear her speak these words, + Infuse his breast with magnanimity + And make him naked foil a man-at-arms. + I speak not this as doubting any here; + For did I but suspect a fearful man, + He should have leave to go away betimes, + Lest in our need he might infect another + And make him of the like spirit to himself. + If any such be here- as God forbid!- + Let him depart before we need his help. + OXFORD. Women and children of so high a courage, + And warriors faint! Why, 'twere perpetual shame. + O brave young Prince! thy famous grandfather + Doth live again in thee. Long mayst thou Eve + To bear his image and renew his glories! + SOMERSET. And he that will not fight for such a hope, + Go home to bed and, like the owl by day, + If he arise, be mock'd and wond'red at. + QUEEN MARGARET. Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks. + PRINCE OF WALES. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand + Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. + OXFORD. I thought no less. It is his policy + To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. + SOMERSET. But he's deceiv'd; we are in readiness. + QUEEN MARGARET. This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness. + OXFORD. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. + + Flourish and march. Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD, + GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and soldiers + + KING EDWARD. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood + Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength, + Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. + I need not add more fuel to your fire, + For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out. + Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. + QUEEN MARGARET. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say + My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, + Ye see, I drink the water of my eye. + Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, + Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, + His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, + His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent; + And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. + You fight in justice. Then, in God's name, lords, + Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. + Alarum, retreat, excursions. Exeunt + +SCENE V. Another part of the field + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces, +With QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners + + KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils. + Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight; + For Somerset, off with his guilty head. + Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. + OXFORD. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. + SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. + Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded + QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world, + To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. + KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward + Shall have a high reward, and he his life? + GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes. + + Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD + + KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak. + What, can so young a man begin to prick? + Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make + For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, + And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? + PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York. + Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; + Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, + Whilst I propose the self-same words to the + Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd! + GLOUCESTER. That you might still have worn the petticoat + And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. + PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter's night; + His currish riddle sorts not with this place. + GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. + GLOUCESTER. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. + PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather. + KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue. + CLARENCE. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. + PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful. + Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George, + And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all + I am your better, traitors as ye are; + And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. + KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. + [Stabs him] + GLOUCESTER. Sprawl'st thou? Take that, to end thy agony. + [Stabs him] + CLARENCE. And there's for twitting me with perjury. + [Stabs him] + QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too! + GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her] + KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much. + GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words? + KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery. + GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother. + I'll hence to London on a serious matter; + Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. + CLARENCE. What? what? + GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower! Exit + QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy! + Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers! + They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, + Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, + If this foul deed were by to equal it. + He was a man: this, in respect, a child; + And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. + What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? + No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak- + And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. + Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals! + How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! + You have no children, butchers, if you had, + The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse. + But if you ever chance to have a child, + Look in his youth to have him so cut off + As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince! + KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce. + QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here. + Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death. + What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou. + CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. + QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. + CLARENCE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it? + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself. + 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. + What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, + Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? + Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; + Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. + KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence. + QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince. + Exit, led out forcibly + KING EDWARD. Where's Richard gone? + CLARENCE. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, + To make a bloody supper in the Tower. + KING EDWARD. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. + Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort + With pay and thanks; and let's away to London + And see our gentle queen how well she fares. + By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. Exeunt + +SCENE VI. London. The Tower + +Enter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls + + GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? + KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord- my lord, I should say rather. + 'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better. + 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike, + And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.' + GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer. + Exit LIEUTENANT + KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; + So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, + And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. + What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? + GLOUCESTER. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind: + The thief doth fear each bush an officer. + KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush + With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; + And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, + Have now the fatal object in my eye + Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd. + GLOUCESTER. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete + That taught his son the office of a fowl! + And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. + KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; + Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; + The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, + Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea + Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. + Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! + My breast can better brook thy dagger's point + Than can my ears that tragic history. + But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life? + GLOUCESTER. Think'st thou I am an executioner? + KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art. + If murdering innocents be executing, + Why, then thou are an executioner. + GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. + KING HENRY. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume, + Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. + And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand + Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, + And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, + And many an orphan's water-standing eye- + Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, + Orphans for their parents' timeless death- + Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. + The owl shriek'd at thy birth- an evil sign; + The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; + Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees; + The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, + And chatt'ring pies in dismal discords sung; + Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, + And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, + To wit, an indigest deformed lump, + Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. + Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, + To signify thou cam'st to bite the world; + And if the rest be true which I have heard, + Thou cam'st- + GLOUCESTER. I'll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech. + [Stabs him] + For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. + KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. + O, God forgive my sins and pardon thee! [Dies] + GLOUCESTER. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster + Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. + See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death. + O, may such purple tears be always shed + From those that wish the downfall of our house! + If any spark of life be yet remaining, + Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither- + [Stabs him again] + I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. + Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; + For I have often heard my mother say + I came into the world with my legs forward. + Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste + And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? + The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried + 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' + And so I was, which plainly signified + That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. + Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, + Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. + I have no brother, I am like no brother; + And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine, + Be resident in men like one another, + And not in me! I am myself alone. + Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light, + But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; + For I will buzz abroad such prophecies + That Edward shall be fearful of his life; + And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. + King Henry and the Prince his son are gone. + Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest; + Counting myself but bad till I be best. + I'll throw thy body in another room, + And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. + Exit with the body + +SCENE VII. London. The palace + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, +HASTINGS, NURSE, with the Young PRINCE, and attendants + + KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, + Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies. + What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, + Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride! + Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd + For hardy and undoubted champions; + Two Cliffords, as the father and the son; + And two Northumberlands- two braver men + Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound; + With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, + That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion + And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. + Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat + And made our footstool of security. + Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. + Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself + Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night, + Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, + That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace; + And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest if your head were laid; + For yet I am not look'd on in the world. + This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave; + And heave it shall some weight or break my back. + Work thou the way- and that shall execute. + KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen; + And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. + CLARENCE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty + I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. + KING EDWARD. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks. + GLOUCESTER. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st, + Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. + [Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master + And cried 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm. + KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights, + Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. + CLARENCE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret? + Reignier, her father, to the King of France + Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, + And hither have they sent it for her ransom. + KING EDWARD. Away with her, and waft her hence to France. + And now what rests but that we spend the time + With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, + Such as befits the pleasure of the court? + Sound drums and trumpets. Farewell, sour annoy! + For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. Exeunt + + + + +KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL CAMPEIUS + CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V + CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + DUKE OF NORFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREY + LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR + GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER + BISHOP OF LINCOLN LORD ABERGAVENNY + LORD SANDYS SIR HENRY GUILDFORD + SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR ANTHONY DENNY + SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SECRETARIES to Wolsey + CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey + GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine + THREE GENTLEMEN + DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King + GARTER KING-AT-ARMS + SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham + BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS + DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber + PORTER, and his MAN PAGE to Gardiner + A CRIER + + QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced + ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen + AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen + PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine + + Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb + Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes, + Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits + + SCENE: + + London; Westminster; Kimbolton + + KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + + THE PROLOGUE. + + I come no more to make you laugh; things now + That bear a weighty and a serious brow, + Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, + Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, + We now present. Those that can pity here + May, if they think it well, let fall a tear: + The subject will deserve it. Such as give + Their money out of hope they may believe + May here find truth too. Those that come to see + Only a show or two, and so agree + The play may pass, if they be still and willing, + I'll undertake may see away their shilling + Richly in two short hours. Only they + That come to hear a merry bawdy play, + A noise of targets, or to see a fellow + In a long motley coat guarded with yellow, + Will be deceiv'd; for, gentle hearers, know, + To rank our chosen truth with such a show + As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting + Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring + To make that only true we now intend, + Will leave us never an understanding friend. + Therefore, for goodness sake, and as you are known + The first and happiest hearers of the town, + Be sad, as we would make ye. Think ye see + The very persons of our noble story + As they were living; think you see them great, + And follow'd with the general throng and sweat + Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see + How soon this mightiness meets misery. + And if you can be merry then, I'll say + A man may weep upon his wedding-day. + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +London. The palace + +Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, the DUKE OF +BUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY + + BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done + Since last we saw in France? + NORFOLK. I thank your Grace, + Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer + Of what I saw there. + BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague + Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when + Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, + Met in the vale of Andren. + NORFOLK. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde- + I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; + Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung + In their embracement, as they grew together; + Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd + Such a compounded one? + BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time + I was my chamber's prisoner. + NORFOLK. Then you lost + The view of earthly glory; men might say, + Till this time pomp was single, but now married + To one above itself. Each following day + Became the next day's master, till the last + Made former wonders its. To-day the French, + All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, + Shone down the English; and to-morrow they + Made Britain India: every man that stood + Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were + As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too, + Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear + The pride upon them, that their very labour + Was to them as a painting. Now this masque + Was cried incomparable; and th' ensuing night + Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings, + Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, + As presence did present them: him in eye + still him in praise; and being present both, + 'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner + Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns- + For so they phrase 'em-by their heralds challeng'd + The noble spirits to arms, they did perform + Beyond thought's compass, that former fabulous story, + Being now seen possible enough, got credit, + That Bevis was believ'd. + BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far! + NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect + In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything + Would by a good discourser lose some life + Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal: + To the disposing of it nought rebell'd; + Order gave each thing view. The office did + Distinctly his full function. + BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide- + I mean, who set the body and the limbs + Of this great sport together, as you guess? + NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element + In such a business. + BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord? + NORFOLK. All this was ord'red by the good discretion + Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. + BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man's pie is freed + From his ambitious finger. What had he + To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder + That such a keech can with his very bulk + Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun, + And keep it from the earth. + NORFOLK. Surely, sir, + There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends; + For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace + Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon + For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied + To eminent assistants, but spider-like, + Out of his self-drawing web, 'a gives us note + The force of his own merit makes his way- + A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys + A place next to the King. + ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell + What heaven hath given him-let some graver eye + Pierce into that; but I can see his pride + Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that? + If not from hell, the devil is a niggard + Or has given all before, and he begins + A new hell in himself. + BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil, + Upon this French going out, took he upon him- + Without the privity o' th' King-t' appoint + Who should attend on him? He makes up the file + Of all the gentry; for the most part such + To whom as great a charge as little honour + He meant to lay upon; and his own letter, + The honourable board of council out, + Must fetch him in he papers. + ABERGAVENNY. I do know + Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have + By this so sicken'd their estates that never + They shall abound as formerly. + BUCKINGHAM. O, many + Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em + For this great journey. What did this vanity + But minister communication of + A most poor issue? + NORFOLK. Grievingly I think + The peace between the French and us not values + The cost that did conclude it. + BUCKINGHAM. Every man, + After the hideous storm that follow'd, was + A thing inspir'd, and, not consulting, broke + Into a general prophecy-that this tempest, + Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded + The sudden breach on't. + NORFOLK. Which is budded out; + For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd + Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux. + ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore + Th' ambassador is silenc'd? + NORFOLK. Marry, is't. + ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas'd + At a superfluous rate! + BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business + Our reverend Cardinal carried. + NORFOLK. Like it your Grace, + The state takes notice of the private difference + Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you- + And take it from a heart that wishes towards you + Honour and plenteous safety-that you read + The Cardinal's malice and his potency + Together; to consider further, that + What his high hatred would effect wants not + A minister in his power. You know his nature, + That he's revengeful; and I know his sword + Hath a sharp edge-it's long and't may be said + It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend, + Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel + You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock + That I advise your shunning. + + Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the + guard, and two SECRETARIES with papers. The CARDINAL in his + passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both + full of disdain + + WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? Ha! + Where's his examination? + SECRETARY. Here, so please you. + WOLSEY. Is he in person ready? + SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace. + WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham + shall lessen this big look. + Exeunt WOLSEY and his train + BUCKINGHAM. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I + Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best + Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book + Outworths a noble's blood. + NORFOLK. What, are you chaf'd? + Ask God for temp'rance; that's th' appliance only + Which your disease requires. + BUCKINGHAM. I read in's looks + Matter against me, and his eye revil'd + Me as his abject object. At this instant + He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King; + I'll follow, and outstare him. + NORFOLK. Stay, my lord, + And let your reason with your choler question + What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills + Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like + A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way, + Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England + Can advise me like you; be to yourself + As you would to your friend. + BUCKINGHAM. I'll to the King, + And from a mouth of honour quite cry down + This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim + There's difference in no persons. + NORFOLK. Be advis'd: + Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot + That it do singe yourself. We may outrun + By violent swiftness that which we run at, + And lose by over-running. Know you not + The fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er + In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd. + I say again there is no English soul + More stronger to direct you than yourself, + If with the sap of reason you would quench + Or but allay the fire of passion. + BUCKINGHAM. Sir, + I am thankful to you, and I'll go along + By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow- + Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but + From sincere motions, by intelligence, + And proofs as clear as founts in July when + We see each grain of gravel-I do know + To be corrupt and treasonous. + NORFOLK. Say not treasonous. + BUCKINGHAM. To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong + As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox, + Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav'nous + As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief + As able to perform't, his mind and place + Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally- + Only to show his pomp as well in France + As here at home, suggests the King our master + To this last costly treaty, th' interview + That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass + Did break i' th' wrenching. + NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did. + BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal + The articles o' th' combination drew + As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified + As he cried 'Thus let be' to as much end + As give a crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinal + Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, + Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, + Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy + To th' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor, + Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt- + For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came + To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation- + His fears were that the interview betwixt + England and France might through their amity + Breed him some prejudice; for from this league + Peep'd harms that menac'd him-privily + Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow- + Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor + Paid ere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted + Ere it was ask'd-but when the way was made, + And pav'd with gold, the Emperor thus desir'd, + That he would please to alter the King's course, + And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know, + As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal + Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, + And for his own advantage. + NORFOLK. I am sorry + To hear this of him, and could wish he were + Something mistaken in't. + BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable: + I do pronounce him in that very shape + He shall appear in proof. + + Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him, + and two or three of the guard + + BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it. + SERGEANT. Sir, + My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl + Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I + Arrest thee of high treason, in the name + Of our most sovereign King. + BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord, + The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish + Under device and practice. + BRANDON. I am sorry + To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on + The business present; 'tis his Highness' pleasure + You shall to th' Tower. + BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing + To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me + Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heav'n + Be done in this and all things! I obey. + O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well! + BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company. + [To ABERGAVENNY] The King + Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know + How he determines further. + ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said, + The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure + By me obey'd. + BRANDON. Here is warrant from + The King t' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies + Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car, + One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor- + BUCKINGHAM. So, so! + These are the limbs o' th' plot; no more, I hope. + BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux. + BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins? + BRANDON. He. + BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal + Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already. + I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, + Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on + By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell. + Exeunt + +ACT I. SCENE 2. + +London. The Council Chamber + +Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the +NOBLES, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself +under the KING'S feet on his right side + + KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it, + Thanks you for this great care; I stood i' th' level + Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks + To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us + That gentleman of Buckingham's. In person + I'll hear his confessions justify; + And point by point the treasons of his master + He shall again relate. + + A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter the QUEEN, + usher'd by the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING + riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by + him + + QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor. + KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit + Never name to us: you have half our power. + The other moiety ere you ask is given; + Repeat your will, and take it. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty. + That you would love yourself, and in that love + Not unconsidered leave your honour nor + The dignity of your office, is the point + Of my petition. + KING. Lady mine, proceed. + QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few, + And those of true condition, that your subjects + Are in great grievance: there have been commissions + Sent down among 'em which hath flaw'd the heart + Of all their loyalties; wherein, although, + My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches + Most bitterly on you as putter-on + Of these exactions, yet the King our master- + Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!-even he escapes not + Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks + The sides of loyalty, and almost appears + In loud rebellion. + NORFOLK. Not almost appears- + It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, + The clothiers all, not able to maintain + The many to them 'longing, have put of + The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who + Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger + And lack of other means, in desperate manner + Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar, + And danger serves among them. + KING. Taxation! + Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal, + You that are blam'd for it alike with us, + Know you of this taxation? + WOLSEY. Please you, sir, + I know but of a single part in aught + Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file + Where others tell steps with me. + QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord! + You know no more than others! But you frame + Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome + To those which would not know them, and yet must + Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, + Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are + Most pestilent to th' hearing; and to bear 'em + The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say + They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer + Too hard an exclamation. + KING. Still exaction! + The nature of it? In what kind, let's know, + Is this exaction? + QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous + In tempting of your patience, but am bold'ned + Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief + Comes through commissions, which compels from each + The sixth part of his substance, to be levied + Without delay; and the pretence for this + Is nam'd your wars in France. This makes bold mouths; + Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze + Allegiance in them; their curses now + Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass + This tractable obedience is a slave + To each incensed will. I would your Highness + Would give it quick consideration, for + There is no primer business. + KING. By my life, + This is against our pleasure. + WOLSEY. And for me, + I have no further gone in this than by + A single voice; and that not pass'd me but + By learned approbation of the judges. If I am + Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know + My faculties nor person, yet will be + The chronicles of my doing, let me say + 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake + That virtue must go through. We must not stint + Our necessary actions in the fear + To cope malicious censurers, which ever + As rav'nous fishes do a vessel follow + That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further + Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, + By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is + Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft + Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up + For our best act. If we shall stand still, + In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, + We should take root here where we sit, or sit + State-statues only. + KING. Things done well + And with a care exempt themselves from fear: + Things done without example, in their issue + Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent + Of this commission? I believe, not any. + We must not rend our subjects from our laws, + And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? + A trembling contribution! Why, we take + From every tree lop, bark, and part o' th' timber; + And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, + The air will drink the sap. To every county + Where this is question'd send our letters with + Free pardon to each man that has denied + The force of this commission. Pray, look tot; + I put it to your care. + WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY] A word with you. + Let there be letters writ to every shire + Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons + Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois'd + That through our intercession this revokement + And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you + Further in the proceeding. Exit SECRETARY + + Enter SURVEYOR + + QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham + Is run in your displeasure. + KING. It grieves many. + The gentleman is learn'd and a most rare speaker; + To nature none more bound; his training such + That he may furnish and instruct great teachers + And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, + When these so noble benefits shall prove + Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, + They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly + Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, + Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, + Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find + His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady, + Hath into monstrous habits put the graces + That once were his, and is become as black + As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear- + This was his gentleman in trust-of him + Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount + The fore-recited practices, whereof + We cannot feel too little, hear too much. + WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you, + Most like a careful subject, have collected + Out of the Duke of Buckingham. + KING. Speak freely. + SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day + It would infect his speech-that if the King + Should without issue die, he'll carry it so + To make the sceptre his. These very words + I've heard him utter to his son-in-law, + Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd + Revenge upon the Cardinal. + WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note + This dangerous conception in this point: + Not friended by his wish, to your high person + His will is most malignant, and it stretches + Beyond you to your friends. + QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn'd Lord Cardinal, + Deliver all with charity. + KING. Speak on. + How grounded he his title to the crown + Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him + At any time speak aught? + SURVEYOR. He was brought to this + By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton. + KING. What was that Henton? + SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar, + His confessor, who fed him every minute + With words of sovereignty. + KING. How know'st thou this? + SURVEYOR. Not long before your Highness sped to France, + The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish + Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand + What was the speech among the Londoners + Concerning the French journey. I replied + Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, + To the King's danger. Presently the Duke + Said 'twas the fear indeed and that he doubted + 'Twould prove the verity of certain words + Spoke by a holy monk 'that oft' says he + 'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit + John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour + To hear from him a matter of some moment; + Whom after under the confession's seal + He solemnly had sworn that what he spoke + My chaplain to no creature living but + To me should utter, with demure confidence + This pausingly ensu'd: "Neither the King nor's heirs, + Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive + To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke + Shall govern England."' + QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well, + You were the Duke's surveyor, and lost your office + On the complaint o' th' tenants. Take good heed + You charge not in your spleen a noble person + And spoil your nobler soul. I say, take heed; + Yes, heartily beseech you. + KING. Let him on. + Go forward. + SURVEYOR. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. + I told my lord the Duke, by th' devil's illusions + The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous + for him + To ruminate on this so far, until + It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd, + It was much like to do. He answer'd 'Tush, + It can do me no damage'; adding further + That, had the King in his last sickness fail'd, + The Cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads + Should have gone off. + KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha! + There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further? + SURVEYOR. I can, my liege. + KING. Proceed. + SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich, + After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke + About Sir William Bulmer- + KING. I remember + Of such a time: being my sworn servant, + The Duke retain'd him his. But on: what hence? + SURVEYOR. 'If' quoth he 'I for this had been committed- + As to the Tower I thought-I would have play'd + The part my father meant to act upon + Th' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, + Made suit to come in's presence, which if granted, + As he made semblance of his duty, would + Have put his knife into him.' + KING. A giant traitor! + WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom, + And this man out of prison? + QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all! + KING. There's something more would out of thee: what say'st? + SURVEYOR. After 'the Duke his father' with the 'knife,' + He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, + Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes, + He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour + Was, were he evil us'd, he would outgo + His father by as much as a performance + Does an irresolute purpose. + KING. There's his period, + To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd; + Call him to present trial. If he may + Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, + Let him not seek't of us. By day and night! + He's traitor to th' height. Exeunt + +ACT I. SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS + + CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle + Men into such strange mysteries? + SANDYS. New customs, + Though they be never so ridiculous, + Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. + CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English + Have got by the late voyage is but merely + A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones; + For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly + Their very noses had been counsellors + To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so. + SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it, + That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin + Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. + CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord, + Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't, + That sure th' have worn out Christendom. + + Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL + + How now? + What news, Sir Thomas Lovell? + LOVELL. Faith, my lord, + I hear of none but the new proclamation + That's clapp'd upon the court gate. + CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for? + LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, + That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. + CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs + To think an English courtier may be wise, + And never see the Louvre. + LOVELL. They must either, + For so run the conditions, leave those remnants + Of fool and feather that they got in France, + With all their honourable points of ignorance + Pertaining thereunto-as fights and fireworks; + Abusing better men than they can be, + Out of a foreign wisdom-renouncing clean + The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, + Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel + And understand again like honest men, + Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it, + They may, cum privilegio, wear away + The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at. + SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases + Are grown so catching. + CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies + Will have of these trim vanities! + LOVELL. Ay, marry, + There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons + Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies. + A French song and a fiddle has no fellow. + SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going, + For sure there's no converting 'em. Now + An honest country lord, as I am, beaten + A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong + And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r Lady, + Held current music too. + CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys; + Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. + SANDYS. No, my lord, + Nor shall not while I have a stamp. + CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas, + Whither were you a-going? + LOVELL. To the Cardinal's; + Your lordship is a guest too. + CHAMBERLAIN. O, 'tis true; + This night he makes a supper, and a great one, + To many lords and ladies; there will be + The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. + LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, + A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; + His dews fall everywhere. + CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble; + He had a black mouth that said other of him. + SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him + Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: + Men of his way should be most liberal, + They are set here for examples. + CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so; + But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; + Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas, + We shall be late else; which I would not be, + For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford, + This night to be comptrollers. + SANDYS. I am your lordship's. Exeunt + +ACT I. SCENE 4. + +London. The Presence Chamber in York Place + +Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table +for the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN, and divers other LADIES and +GENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door; at another door enter SIR HENRY +GUILDFORD + + GUILDFORD. Ladies, a general welcome from his Grace + Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates + To fair content and you. None here, he hopes, + In all this noble bevy, has brought with her + One care abroad; he would have all as merry + As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome, + Can make good people. + + Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR + THOMAS LOVELL + + O, my lord, y'are tardy, + The very thought of this fair company + Clapp'd wings to me. + CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford. + SANDYS. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal + But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these + Should find a running banquet ere they rested + I think would better please 'em. By my life, + They are a sweet society of fair ones. + LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor + To one or two of these! + SANDYS. I would I were; + They should find easy penance. + LOVELL. Faith, how easy? + SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it. + CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, + Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this. + His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze: + Two women plac'd together makes cold weather. + My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking: + Pray sit between these ladies. + SANDYS. By my faith, + And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies. + [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady] + If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; + I had it from my father. + ANNE. Was he mad, sir? + SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too. + But he would bite none; just as I do now, + He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her] + CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord. + So, now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen, + The penance lies on you if these fair ladies + Pass away frowning. + SANDYS. For my little cure, + Let me alone. + + Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and + takes his state + + WOLSEY. Y'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady + Or gentleman that is not freely merry + Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome- + And to you all, good health! [Drinks] + SANDYS. Your Grace is noble. + Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks + And save me so much talking. + WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys, + I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours. + Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen, + Whose fault is this? + SANDYS. The red wine first must rise + In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em + Talk us to silence. + ANNE. You are a merry gamester, + My Lord Sandys. + SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play. + Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam, + For 'tis to such a thing- + ANNE. You cannot show me. + SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon. + [Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg'd] + WOLSEY. What's that? + CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye. Exit a SERVANT + WOLSEY. What warlike voice, + And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not: + By all the laws of war y'are privileg'd. + + Re-enter SERVANT + + CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is't? + SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers- + For so they seem. Th' have left their barge and landed, + And hither make, as great ambassadors + From foreign princes. + WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain, + Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue; + And pray receive 'em nobly and conduct 'em + Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty + Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. + Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables remov'd + You have now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it. + A good digestion to you all; and once more + I show'r a welcome on ye; welcome all. + + Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers, + habited like shepherds, usher'd by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN. + They pass directly before the CARDINAL, + and gracefully salute him + + A noble company! What are their pleasures? + CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd + To tell your Grace, that, having heard by fame + Of this so noble and so fair assembly + This night to meet here, they could do no less, + Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, + But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct, + Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat + An hour of revels with 'em. + WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain, + They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em + A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. + [They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN] + KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, + Till now I never knew thee! [Music. Dance] + WOLSEY. My lord! + CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace? + WOLSEY. Pray tell 'em thus much from me: + There should be one amongst 'em, by his person, + More worthy this place than myself; to whom, + If I but knew him, with my love and duty + I would surrender it. + CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord. + [He whispers to the maskers] + WOLSEY. What say they? + CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess, + There is indeed; which they would have your Grace + Find out, and he will take it. + WOLSEY. Let me see, then. [Comes from his state] + By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make + My royal choice. + KING. [Unmasking] Ye have found him, Cardinal. + You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord. + You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, Cardinal, + I should judge now unhappily. + WOLSEY. I am glad + Your Grace is grown so pleasant. + KING. My Lord Chamberlain, + Prithee come hither: what fair lady's that? + CHAMBERLAIN. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's + daughter- + The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness' women. + KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart, + I were unmannerly to take you out + And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! + Let it go round. + WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready + I' th' privy chamber? + LOVELL. Yes, my lord. + WOLSEY. Your Grace, + I fear, with dancing is a little heated. + KING. I fear, too much. + WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord, + In the next chamber. + KING. Lead in your ladies, ev'ry one. Sweet partner, + I must not yet forsake you. Let's be merry: + Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths + To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure + To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream + Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it. + Exeunt, with trumpets + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +Westminster. A street + +Enter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye! + Ev'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become + Of the great Duke of Buckingham. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll save you + That labour, sir. All's now done but the ceremony + Of bringing back the prisoner. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen'd. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for't. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass'd it? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you in a little. The great Duke. + Came to the bar; where to his accusations + He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged + Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. + The King's attorney, on the contrary, + Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions, + Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir'd + To have brought, viva voce, to his face; + At which appear'd against him his surveyor, + Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor, and John Car, + Confessor to him, with that devil-monk, + Hopkins, that made this mischief. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he + That fed him with his prophecies? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same. + All these accus'd him strongly, which he fain + Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not; + And so his peers, upon this evidence, + Have found him guilty of high treason. Much + He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all + Was either pitied in him or forgotten. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self + FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th' bar to hear + His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd + With such an agony he sweat extremely, + And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty; + But he fell to himself again, and sweetly + In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not; + He never was so womanish; the cause + He may a little grieve at. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly + The Cardinal is the end of this. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis likely, + By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, + Then deputy of Ireland, who remov'd, + Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, + Lest he should help his father. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state + Was a deep envious one. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return + No doubt he will requite it. This is noted, + And generally: whoever the King favours + The Cardinal instantly will find employment, + And far enough from court too. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons + Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, + Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much + They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, + The mirror of all courtesy- + + Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment, tip-staves + before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds + on each side; accompanied with SIR THOMAS + LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDYS, + and common people, etc. + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir, + And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let's stand close, and behold him. + BUCKINGHAM. All good people, + You that thus far have come to pity me, + Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. + I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, + And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness, + And if I have a conscience, let it sink me + Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! + The law I bear no malice for my death: + 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice. + But those that sought it I could wish more Christians. + Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em; + Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief + Nor build their evils on the graves of great men, + For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em. + For further life in this world I ne'er hope + Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies + More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me + And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, + His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave + Is only bitter to him, only dying, + Go with me like good angels to my end; + And as the long divorce of steel falls on me + Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, + And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God's name. + LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity, + If ever any malice in your heart + Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. + BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you + As I would be forgiven. I forgive all. + There cannot be those numberless offences + 'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy + Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace; + And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him + You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers + Yet are the King's, and, till my soul forsake, + Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live + Longer than I have time to tell his years; + Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be; + And when old time Shall lead him to his end, + Goodness and he fill up one monument! + LOVELL. To th' water side I must conduct your Grace; + Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, + Who undertakes you to your end. + VAUX. Prepare there; + The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready; + And fit it with such furniture as suits + The greatness of his person. + BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas, + Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. + When I came hither I was Lord High Constable + And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun. + Yet I am richer than my base accusers + That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it; + And with that blood will make 'em one day groan fort. + My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, + Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, + Flying for succour to his servant Banister, + Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd + And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! + Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying + My father's loss, like a most royal prince, + Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins + Made my name once more noble. Now his son, + Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all + That made me happy, at one stroke has taken + For ever from the world. I had my trial, + And must needs say a noble one; which makes me + A little happier than my wretched father; + Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both + Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most- + A most unnatural and faithless service. + Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me, + This from a dying man receive as certain: + Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels, + Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends + And give your hearts to, when they once perceive + The least rub in your fortunes, fall away + Like water from ye, never found again + But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, + Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour + Of my long weary life is come upon me. + Farewell; + And when you would say something that is sad, + Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! + Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train + FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, + I fear, too many curses on their heads + That were the authors. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless, + 'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling + Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, + Greater than this. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us! + What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require + A strong faith to conceal it. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it; + I do not talk much. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident. + You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear + A buzzing of a separation + Between the King and Katharine? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not; + For when the King once heard it, out of anger + He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight + To stop the rumour and allay those tongues + That durst disperse it. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir, + Is found a truth now; for it grows again + Fresher than e'er it was, and held for certain + The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal + Or some about him near have, out of malice + To the good Queen, possess'd him with a scruple + That will undo her. To confirm this too, + Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd and lately; + As all think, for this business. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the Cardinal; + And merely to revenge him on the Emperor + For not bestowing on him at his asking + The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is't + not cruel + That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal + Will have his will, and she must fall. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis woeful. + We are too open here to argue this; + Let's think in private more. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter + + CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord, + 'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care + had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. They were + young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. + When they were ready to set out for London, a man of + my Lord Cardinal's, by commission, and main power, took + 'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv'd + before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd + our mouths, sir.' + + I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them. + He will have all, I think. + + Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK + + NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain. + CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces. + SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd? + CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private, + Full of sad thoughts and troubles. + NORFOLK. What's the cause? + CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife + Has crept too near his conscience. + SUFFOLK. No, his conscience + Has crept too near another lady. + NORFOLK. 'Tis so; + This is the Cardinal's doing; the King-Cardinal, + That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, + Turns what he list. The King will know him one day. + SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else. + NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business! + And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league + Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew, + He dives into the King's soul and there scatters + Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, + Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage; + And out of all these to restore the King, + He counsels a divorce, a loss of her + That like a jewel has hung twenty years + About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; + Of her that loves him with that excellence + That angels love good men with; even of her + That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, + Will bless the King-and is not this course pious? + CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true + These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 'em, + And every true heart weeps for 't. All that dare + Look into these affairs see this main end- + The French King's sister. Heaven will one day open + The King's eyes, that so long have slept upon + This bold bad man. + SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery. + NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance; + Or this imperious man will work us an + From princes into pages. All men's honours + Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd + Into what pitch he please. + SUFFOLK. For me, my lords, + I love him not, nor fear him-there's my creed; + As I am made without him, so I'll stand, + If the King please; his curses and his blessings + Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in. + I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him + To him that made him proud-the Pope. + NORFOLK. Let's in; + And with some other business put the King + From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him. + My lord, you'll bear us company? + CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me, + The King has sent me otherwhere; besides, + You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him. + Health to your lordships! + NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain. + Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws + the curtain and sits reading pensively + SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted. + KING. Who's there, ha? + NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry. + KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves + Into my private meditations? + Who am I, ha? + NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences + Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way + Is business of estate, in which we come + To know your royal pleasure. + KING. Ye are too bold. + Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business. + Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? + + Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission + + Who's there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey, + The quiet of my wounded conscience, + Thou art a cure fit for a King. [To CAMPEIUS] You're + welcome, + Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom. + Use us and it. [To WOLSEY] My good lord, have great care + I be not found a talker. + WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot. + I would your Grace would give us but an hour + Of private conference. + KING. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. + NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him! + SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of! + I would not be so sick though for his place. + But this cannot continue. + NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, + I'll venture one have-at-him. + SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. + Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK + WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom + Above all princes, in committing freely + Your scruple to the voice of Christendom. + Who can be angry now? What envy reach you? + The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, + Must now confess, if they have any goodness, + The trial just and noble. All the clerks, + I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms + Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment, + Invited by your noble self, hath sent + One general tongue unto us, this good man, + This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius, + Whom once more I present unto your Highness. + KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, + And thank the holy conclave for their loves. + They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. + CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers' loves, + You are so noble. To your Highness' hand + I tender my commission; by whose virtue- + The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord + Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant + In the unpartial judging of this business. + KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted + Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? + WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov'd her + So dear in heart not to deny her that + A woman of less place might ask by law- + Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. + KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour + To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal, + Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; + I find him a fit fellow. Exit WOLSEY + + Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER + + WOLSEY. [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand: much + joy and favour to you; + You are the King's now. + GARDINER. [Aside to WOLSEY] But to be commanded + For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me. + KING. Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers] + CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace + In this man's place before him? + WOLSEY. Yes, he was. + CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man? + WOLSEY. Yes, surely. + CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then, + Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal. + WOLSEY. How! Of me? + CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him + And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, + Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him + That he ran mad and died. + WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him! + That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers + There's places of rebuke. He was a fool, + For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, + If I command him, follows my appointment. + I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, + We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. + KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen. + Exit GARDINER + The most convenient place that I can think of + For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars; + There ye shall meet about this weighty business- + My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord, + Would it not grieve an able man to leave + So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience! + O, 'tis a tender place! and I must leave her. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY + + ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches: + His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she + So good a lady that no tongue could ever + Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life, + She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after + So many courses of the sun enthroned, + Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which + To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than + 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire-after this process, + To give her the avaunt, it is a pity + Would move a monster. + OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper + Melt and lament for her. + ANNE. O, God's will! much better + She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal, + Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce + It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging + As soul and body's severing. + OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady! + She's a stranger now again. + ANNE. So much the more + Must pity drop upon her. Verily, + I swear 'tis better to be lowly born + And range with humble livers in content + Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief + And wear a golden sorrow. + OLD LADY. Our content + Is our best having. + ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead, + I would not be a queen. + OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would, + And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you, + For all this spice of your hypocrisy. + You that have so fair parts of woman on you + Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet + Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; + Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, + Saving your mincing, the capacity + Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive + If you might please to stretch it. + ANNE. Nay, good troth. + OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen! + ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven. + OLD LADY. 'Tis strange: a threepence bow'd would hire me, + Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you, + What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs + To bear that load of title? + ANNE. No, in truth. + OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little; + I would not be a young count in your way + For more than blushing comes to. If your back + Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak + Ever to get a boy. + ANNE. How you do talk! + I swear again I would not be a queen + For all the world. + OLD LADY. In faith, for little England + You'd venture an emballing. I myself + Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd + No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here? + + Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN + + CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know + The secret of your conference? + ANNE. My good lord, + Not your demand; it values not your asking. + Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. + CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming + The action of good women; there is hope + All will be well. + ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen! + CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings + Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, + Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes + Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty + Commends his good opinion of you to you, and + Does purpose honour to you no less flowing + Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide + A thousand pound a year, annual support, + Out of his grace he adds. + ANNE. I do not know + What kind of my obedience I should tender; + More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers + Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes + More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes + Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, + Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, + As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness; + Whose health and royalty I pray for. + CHAMBERLAIN. Lady, + I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit + The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus'd her well: + Beauty and honour in her are so mingled + That they have caught the King; and who knows yet + But from this lady may proceed a gem + To lighten all this isle?-I'll to the King + And say I spoke with you. + ANNE. My honour'd lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN + OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see! + I have been begging sixteen years in court- + Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could + Come pat betwixt too early and too late + For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! + A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon + This compell'd fortune!-have your mouth fill'd up + Before you open it. + ANNE. This is strange to me. + OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no. + There was a lady once-'tis an old story- + That would not be a queen, that would she not, + For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it? + ANNE. Come, you are pleasant. + OLD LADY. With your theme I could + O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! + A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! + No other obligation! By my life, + That promises moe thousands: honour's train + Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time + I know your back will bear a duchess. Say, + Are you not stronger than you were? + ANNE. Good lady, + Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, + And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, + If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me + To think what follows. + The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful + In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver + What here y' have heard to her. + OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE 4. + +London. A hall in Blackfriars + +Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver +wands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the +ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY, +ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance, +follows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a +Cardinal's hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; then a +GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS bearing +a silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars; +after them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two +NOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN and +their trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the two +CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance +from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court, +in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. The LORDS sit next the +BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the +stage + + WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, + Let silence be commanded. + KING. What's the need? + It hath already publicly been read, + And on all sides th' authority allow'd; + You may then spare that time. + WOLSEY. Be't so; proceed. + SCRIBE. Say 'Henry King of England, come into the court.' + CRIER. Henry King of England, &c. + KING. Here. + SCRIBE. Say 'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.' + CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c. + + The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair, + goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels + at his feet; then speaks + + QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, + And to bestow your pity on me; for + I am a most poor woman and a stranger, + Born out of your dominions, having here + No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance + Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, + In what have I offended you? What cause + Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure + That thus you should proceed to put me of + And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, + I have been to you a true and humble wife, + At all times to your will conformable, + Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, + Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry + As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour + I ever contradicted your desire + Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends + Have I not strove to love, although I knew + He were mine enemy? What friend of mine + That had to him deriv'd your anger did + Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice + He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind + That I have been your wife in this obedience + Upward of twenty years, and have been blest + With many children by you. If, in the course + And process of this time, you can report, + And prove it too against mine honour, aught, + My bond to wedlock or my love and duty, + Against your sacred person, in God's name, + Turn me away and let the foul'st contempt + Shut door upon me, and so give me up + To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir, + The King, your father, was reputed for + A prince most prudent, of an excellent + And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdinand, + My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one + The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many + A year before. It is not to be question'd + That they had gather'd a wise council to them + Of every realm, that did debate this business, + Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly + Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may + Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel + I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God, + Your pleasure be fulfill'd! + WOLSEY. You have here, lady, + And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men + Of singular integrity and learning, + Yea, the elect o' th' land, who are assembled + To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless + That longer you desire the court, as well + For your own quiet as to rectify + What is unsettled in the King. + CAMPEIUS. His Grace + Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam, + It's fit this royal session do proceed + And that, without delay, their arguments + Be now produc'd and heard. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal, + To you I speak. + WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam? + QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, + I am about to weep; but, thinking that + We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain + The daughter of a king, my drops of tears + I'll turn to sparks of fire. + WOLSEY. Be patient yet. + QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before + Or God will punish me. I do believe, + Induc'd by potent circumstances, that + You are mine enemy, and make my challenge + You shall not be my judge; for it is you + Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me- + Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, + I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul + Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more + I hold my most malicious foe and think not + At all a friend to truth. + WOLSEY. I do profess + You speak not like yourself, who ever yet + Have stood to charity and display'd th' effects + Of disposition gentle and of wisdom + O'ertopping woman's pow'r. Madam, you do me wrong: + I have no spleen against you, nor injustice + For you or any; how far I have proceeded, + Or how far further shall, is warranted + By a commission from the Consistory, + Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me + That I have blown this coal: I do deny it. + The King is present; if it be known to him + That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, + And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much + As you have done my truth. If he know + That I am free of your report, he knows + I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him + It lies to cure me, and the cure is to + Remove these thoughts from you; the which before + His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech + You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking + And to say so no more. + QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord, + I am a simple woman, much too weak + T' oppose your cunning. Y'are meek and humble-mouth'd; + You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, + With meekness and humility; but your heart + Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. + You have, by fortune and his Highness' favours, + Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted + Where pow'rs are your retainers, and your words, + Domestics to you, serve your will as't please + Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you + You tender more your person's honour than + Your high profession spiritual; that again + I do refuse you for my judge and here, + Before you all, appeal unto the Pope, + To bring my whole cause 'fore his Holiness + And to be judg'd by him. + [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart] + CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate, + Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and + Disdainful to be tried by't; 'tis not well. + She's going away. + KING. Call her again. + CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. + GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call'd back. + QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way; + When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help! + They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on. + I will not tarry; no, nor ever more + Upon this business my appearance make + In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants + KING. Go thy ways, Kate. + That man i' th' world who shall report he has + A better wife, let him in nought be trusted + For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone- + If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, + Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, + Obeying in commanding, and thy parts + Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out- + The queen of earthly queens. She's noble born; + And like her true nobility she has + Carried herself towards me. + WOLSEY. Most gracious sir, + In humblest manner I require your Highness + That it shall please you to declare in hearing + Of all these ears-for where I am robb'd and bound, + There must I be unloos'd, although not there + At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I + Did broach this business to your Highness, or + Laid any scruple in your way which might + Induce you to the question on't, or ever + Have to you, but with thanks to God for such + A royal lady, spake one the least word that might + Be to the prejudice of her present state, + Or touch of her good person? + KING. My Lord Cardinal, + I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, + I free you from't. You are not to be taught + That you have many enemies that know not + Why they are so, but, like to village curs, + Bark when their fellows do. By some of these + The Queen is put in anger. Y'are excus'd. + But will you be more justified? You ever + Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desir'd + It to be stirr'd; but oft have hind'red, oft, + The passages made toward it. On my honour, + I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point, + And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, + I will be bold with time and your attention. + Then mark th' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to't: + My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness, + Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd + By th' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador, + Who had been hither sent on the debating + A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and + Our daughter Mary. I' th' progress of this business, + Ere a determinate resolution, he- + I mean the Bishop-did require a respite + Wherein he might the King his lord advertise + Whether our daughter were legitimate, + Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, + Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook + The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, + Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble + The region of my breast, which forc'd such way + That many maz'd considerings did throng + And press'd in with this caution. First, methought + I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had + Commanded nature that my lady's womb, + If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should + Do no more offices of life to't than + The grave does to the dead; for her male issue + Or died where they were made, or shortly after + This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought + This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom, + Well worthy the best heir o' th' world, should not + Be gladded in't by me. Then follows that + I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in + By this my issue's fail, and that gave to me + Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in + The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer + Toward this remedy, whereupon we are + Now present here together; that's to say + I meant to rectify my conscience, which + I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, + By all the reverend fathers of the land + And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private + With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember + How under my oppression I did reek, + When I first mov'd you. + LINCOLN. Very well, my liege. + KING. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say + How far you satisfied me. + LINCOLN. So please your Highness, + The question did at first so stagger me- + Bearing a state of mighty moment in't + And consequence of dread-that I committed + The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt, + And did entreat your Highness to this course + Which you are running here. + KING. I then mov'd you, + My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave + To make this present summons. Unsolicited + I left no reverend person in this court, + But by particular consent proceeded + Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on, + For no dislike i' th' world against the person + Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points + Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward. + Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life + And kingly dignity, we are contented + To wear our moral state to come with her, + Katharine our queen, before the primest creature + That's paragon'd o' th' world. + CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness, + The Queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness + That we adjourn this court till further day; + Meanwhile must be an earnest motion + Made to the Queen to call back her appeal + She intends unto his Holiness. + KING. [Aside] I may perceive + These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor + This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. + My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, + Prithee return. With thy approach I know + My comfort comes along. -Break up the court; + I say, set on. Exuent in manner as they entered + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +London. The QUEEN'S apartments + +Enter the QUEEN and her women, as at work + + QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows + sad with troubles; + Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst. Leave working. + + SONG + + Orpheus with his lute made trees, + And the mountain tops that freeze, + Bow themselves when he did sing; + To his music plants and flowers + Ever sprung, as sun and showers + There had made a lasting spring. + + Every thing that heard him play, + Even the billows of the sea, + Hung their heads and then lay by. + In sweet music is such art, + Killing care and grief of heart + Fall asleep or hearing die. + + Enter a GENTLEMAN + + QUEEN KATHARINE. How now? + GENTLEMAN. An't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals + Wait in the presence. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me? + GENTLEMAN. They will'd me say so, madam. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces + To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business + With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? + I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, + They should be good men, their affairs as righteous; + But all hoods make not monks. + + Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS + + WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness! + QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife; + I would be all, against the worst may happen. + What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? + WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw + Into your private chamber, we shall give you + The full cause of our coming. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here; + There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, + Deserves a corner. Would all other women + Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! + My lords, I care not-so much I am happy + Above a number-if my actions + Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em, + Envy and base opinion set against 'em, + I know my life so even. If your business + Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, + Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing. + WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima- + QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin! + I am not such a truant since my coming, + As not to know the language I have liv'd in; + A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; + Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you, + If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake: + Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal, + The willing'st sin I ever yet committed + May be absolv'd in English. + WOLSEY. Noble lady, + I am sorry my integrity should breed, + And service to his Majesty and you, + So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant + We come not by the way of accusation + To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, + Nor to betray you any way to sorrow- + You have too much, good lady; but to know + How you stand minded in the weighty difference + Between the King and you, and to deliver, + Like free and honest men, our just opinions + And comforts to your cause. + CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam, + My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, + Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace, + Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure + Both of his truth and him-which was too far- + Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, + His service and his counsel. + QUEEN KATHARINE. [Aside] To betray me.- + My lords, I thank you both for your good wins; + Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so! + But how to make ye suddenly an answer, + In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, + More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit, + And to such men of gravity and learning, + In truth I know not. I was set at work + Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking + Either for such men or such business. + For her sake that I have been-for I feel + The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces, + Let me have time and counsel for my cause. + Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless! + WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears; + Your hopes and friends are infinite. + QUEEN KATHARINE. In England + But little for my profit; can you think, lords, + That any Englishman dare give me counsel? + Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure- + Though he be grown so desperate to be honest- + And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, + They that must weigh out my afflictions, + They that my trust must grow to, live not here; + They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, + In mine own country, lords. + CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace + Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. + QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir? + CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King's protection; + He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much + Both for your honour better and your cause; + For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye + You'll part away disgrac'd. + WOLSEY. He tells you rightly. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin. + Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye! + Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge + That no king can corrupt. + CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us. + QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, + Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; + But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye. + Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? + The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady- + A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? + I will not wish ye half my miseries: + I have more charity; but say I warned ye. + Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once + The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. + WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction; + You turn the good we offer into envy. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye, + And all such false professors! Would you have me- + If you have any justice, any pity, + If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits- + Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? + Alas! has banish'd me his bed already, + His love too long ago! I am old, my lords, + And all the fellowship I hold now with him + Is only my obedience. What can happen + To me above this wretchedness? All your studies + Make me a curse like this. + CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long-let me speak myself, + Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one? + A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, + Never yet branded with suspicion? + Have I with all my full affections + Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, obey'd him, + Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him, + Almost forgot my prayers to content him, + And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords. + Bring me a constant woman to her husband, + One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure, + And to that woman, when she has done most, + Yet will I add an honour-a great patience. + WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. + QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, + To give up willingly that noble title + Your master wed me to: nothing but death + Shall e'er divorce my dignities. + WOLSEY. Pray hear me. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth, + Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! + Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. + What will become of me now, wretched lady? + I am the most unhappy woman living. + [To her WOMEN] Alas, poor wenches, where are now + your fortunes? + Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, + No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; + Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the My, + That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, + I'll hang my head and perish. + WOLSEY. If your Grace + Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, + You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady, + Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places, + The way of our profession is against it; + We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em. + For goodness' sake, consider what you do; + How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly + Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage. + The hearts of princes kiss obedience, + So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits + They swell and grow as terrible as storms. + I know you have a gentle, noble temper, + A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us + Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. + CAMPEIUS. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues + With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, + As yours was put into you, ever casts + Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you; + Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please + To trust us in your business, we are ready + To use our utmost studies in your service. + QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray + forgive me + If I have us'd myself unmannerly; + You know I am a woman, lacking wit + To make a seemly answer to such persons. + Pray do my service to his Majesty; + He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers + While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, + Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs + That little thought, when she set footing here, + She should have bought her dignities so dear. Exeunt + +ACT III.SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and +the LORD CHAMBERLAIN + + NORFOLK. If you will now unite in your complaints + And force them with a constancy, the Cardinal + Cannot stand under them: if you omit + The offer of this time, I cannot promise + But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces + With these you bear already. + SURREY. I am joyful + To meet the least occasion that may give me + Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke, + To be reveng'd on him. + SUFFOLK. Which of the peers + Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least + Strangely neglected? When did he regard + The stamp of nobleness in any person + Out of himself? + CHAMBERLAIN. My lords, you speak your pleasures. + What he deserves of you and me I know; + What we can do to him-though now the time + Gives way to us-I much fear. If you cannot + Bar his access to th' King, never attempt + Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft + Over the King in's tongue. + NORFOLK. O, fear him not! + His spell in that is out; the King hath found + Matter against him that for ever mars + The honey of his language. No, he's settled, + Not to come off, in his displeasure. + SURREY. Sir, + I should be glad to hear such news as this + Once every hour. + NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true: + In the divorce his contrary proceedings + Are all unfolded; wherein he appears + As I would wish mine enemy. + SURREY. How came + His practices to light? + SUFFOLK. Most Strangely. + SURREY. O, how, how? + SUFFOLK. The Cardinal's letters to the Pope miscarried, + And came to th' eye o' th' King; wherein was read + How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness + To stay the judgment o' th' divorce; for if + It did take place, 'I do' quoth he 'perceive + My king is tangled in affection to + A creature of the Queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.' + SURREY. Has the King this? + SUFFOLK. Believe it. + SURREY. Will this work? + CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts + And hedges his own way. But in this point + All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic + After his patient's death: the King already + Hath married the fair lady. + SURREY. Would he had! + SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord! + For, I profess, you have it. + SURREY. Now, all my joy + Trace the conjunction! + SUFFOLK. My amen to't! + NORFOLK. An men's! + SUFFOLK. There's order given for her coronation; + Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left + To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, + She is a gallant creature, and complete + In mind and feature. I persuade me from her + Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall + In it be memoriz'd. + SURREY. But will the King + Digest this letter of the Cardinal's? + The Lord forbid! + NORFOLK. Marry, amen! + SUFFOLK. No, no; + There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose + Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius + Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; + Has left the cause o' th' King unhandled, and + Is posted, as the agent of our Cardinal, + To second all his plot. I do assure you + The King cried 'Ha!' at this. + CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him, + And let him cry 'Ha!' louder! + NORFOLK. But, my lord, + When returns Cranmer? + SUFFOLK. He is return'd in his opinions; which + Have satisfied the King for his divorce, + Together with all famous colleges + Almost in Christendom. Shortly, I believe, + His second marriage shall be publish'd, and + Her coronation. Katharine no more + Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager + And widow to Prince Arthur. + NORFOLK. This same Cranmer's + A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain + In the King's business. + SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him + For it an archbishop. + NORFOLK. So I hear. + SUFFOLK. 'Tis so. + + Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL + + The Cardinal! + NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he's moody. + WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell, + Gave't you the King? + CROMWELL. To his own hand, in's bedchamber. + WOLSEY. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper? + CROMWELL. Presently + He did unseal them; and the first he view'd, + He did it with a serious mind; a heed + Was in his countenance. You he bade + Attend him here this morning. + WOLSEY. Is he ready + To come abroad? + CROMWELL. I think by this he is. + WOLSEY. Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL + [Aside] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon, + The French King's sister; he shall marry her. + Anne Bullen! No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him; + There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen! + No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish + To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke! + NORFOLK. He's discontented. + SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King + Does whet his anger to him. + SURREY. Sharp enough, + Lord, for thy justice! + WOLSEY. [Aside] The late Queen's gentlewoman, a knight's + daughter, + To be her mistress' mistress! The Queen's queen! + This candle burns not clear. 'Tis I must snuff it; + Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous + And well deserving? Yet I know her for + A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to + Our cause that she should lie i' th' bosom of + Our hard-rul'd King. Again, there is sprung up + An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one + Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King, + And is his oracle. + NORFOLK. He is vex'd at something. + + Enter the KING, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL + + SURREY. I would 'twere something that would fret the string, + The master-cord on's heart! + SUFFOLK. The King, the King! + KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated + To his own portion! And what expense by th' hour + Seems to flow from him! How, i' th' name of thrift, + Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords, + Saw you the Cardinal? + NORFOLK. My lord, we have + Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion + Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts, + Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, + Then lays his finger on his temple; straight + Springs out into fast gait; then stops again, + Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts + His eye against the moon. In most strange postures + We have seen him set himself. + KING. It may well be + There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning + Papers of state he sent me to peruse, + As I requir'd; and wot you what I found + There-on my conscience, put unwittingly? + Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing + The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, + Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which + I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks + Possession of a subject. + NORFOLK. It's heaven's will; + Some spirit put this paper in the packet + To bless your eye withal. + KING. If we did think + His contemplation were above the earth + And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still + dwell in his musings; but I am afraid + His thinkings are below the moon, not worth + His serious considering. + [The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL, + who goes to the CARDINAL] + WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me! + Ever God bless your Highness! + KING. Good, my lord, + You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory + Of your best graces in your mind; the which + You were now running o'er. You have scarce time + To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span + To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that + I deem you an ill husband, and am glad + To have you therein my companion. + WOLSEY. Sir, + For holy offices I have a time; a time + To think upon the part of business which + I bear i' th' state; and nature does require + Her times of preservation, which perforce + I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, + Must give my tendance to. + KING. You have said well. + WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together, + As I will lend you cause, my doing well + With my well saying! + KING. 'Tis well said again; + And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well; + And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you: + He said he did; and with his deed did crown + His word upon you. Since I had my office + I have kept you next my heart; have not alone + Employ'd you where high profits might come home, + But par'd my present havings to bestow + My bounties upon you. + WOLSEY. [Aside] What should this mean? + SURREY. [Aside] The Lord increase this business! + KING. Have I not made you + The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me + If what I now pronounce you have found true; + And, if you may confess it, say withal + If you are bound to us or no. What say you? + WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces, + Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could + My studied purposes requite; which went + Beyond all man's endeavours. My endeavours, + Have ever come too short of my desires, + Yet fil'd with my abilities; mine own ends + Have been mine so that evermore they pointed + To th' good of your most sacred person and + The profit of the state. For your great graces + Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I + Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; + My pray'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty, + Which ever has and ever shall be growing, + Till death, that winter, kill it. + KING. Fairly answer'd! + A loyal and obedient subject is + Therein illustrated; the honour of it + Does pay the act of it, as, i' th' contrary, + The foulness is the punishment. I presume + That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, + My heart dropp'd love, my pow'r rain'd honour, more + On you than any, so your hand and heart, + Your brain, and every function of your power, + Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, + As 'twere in love's particular, be more + To me, your friend, than any. + WOLSEY. I do profess + That for your Highness' good I ever labour'd + More than mine own; that am, have, and will be- + Though all the world should crack their duty to you, + And throw it from their soul; though perils did + Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and + Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty, + As doth a rock against the chiding flood, + Should the approach of this wild river break, + And stand unshaken yours. + KING. 'Tis nobly spoken. + Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, + For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this; + [Giving him papers] + And after, this; and then to breakfast with + What appetite you have. + Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES + throng after him, smiling and whispering + WOLSEY. What should this mean? + What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it? + He parted frowning from me, as if ruin + Leap'd from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion + Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him- + Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper; + I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so; + This paper has undone me. 'Tis th' account + Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together + For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom, + And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, + Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil + Made me put this main secret in the packet + I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this? + No new device to beat this from his brains? + I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know + A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune, + Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To th' Pope.' + The letter, as I live, with all the business + I writ to's Holiness. Nay then, farewell! + I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness, + And from that full meridian of my glory + I haste now to my setting. I shall fall + Like a bright exhalation in the evening, + And no man see me more. + + Re-enter to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and + SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD + CHAMBERLAIN + + NORFOLK. Hear the King's pleasure, Cardinal, who commands you + To render up the great seal presently + Into our hands, and to confine yourself + To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's, + Till you hear further from his Highness. + WOLSEY. Stay: + Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry + Authority so weighty. + SUFFOLK. Who dares cross 'em, + Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly? + WOLSEY. Till I find more than will or words to do it- + I mean your malice-know, officious lords, + I dare and must deny it. Now I feel + Of what coarse metal ye are moulded-envy; + How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, + As if it fed ye; and how sleek and wanton + Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin! + Follow your envious courses, men of malice; + You have Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt + In time will find their fit rewards. That seal + You ask with such a violence, the King- + Mine and your master-with his own hand gave me; + Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, + During my life; and, to confirm his goodness, + Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who'll take it? + SURREY. The King, that gave it. + WOLSEY. It must be himself then. + SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. + WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest. + Within these forty hours Surrey durst better + Have burnt that tongue than said so. + SURREY. Thy ambition, + Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land + Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law. + The heads of all thy brother cardinals, + With thee and all thy best parts bound together, + Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy! + You sent me deputy for Ireland; + Far from his succour, from the King, from all + That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him; + Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, + Absolv'd him with an axe. + WOLSEY. This, and all else + This talking lord can lay upon my credit, + I answer is most false. The Duke by law + Found his deserts; how innocent I was + From any private malice in his end, + His noble jury and foul cause can witness. + If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you + You have as little honesty as honour, + That in the way of loyalty and truth + Toward the King, my ever royal master, + Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be + And an that love his follies. + SURREY. By my soul, + Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel + My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords + Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? + And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, + To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, + Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward + And dare us with his cap like larks. + WOLSEY. All goodness + Is poison to thy stomach. + SURREY. Yes, that goodness + Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, + Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion; + The goodness of your intercepted packets + You writ to th' Pope against the King; your goodness, + Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. + My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, + As you respect the common good, the state + Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, + Whom, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen- + Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles + Collected from his life. I'll startle you + Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench + Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal. + WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, + But that I am bound in charity against it! + NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's hand; + But, thus much, they are foul ones. + WOLSEY. So much fairer + And spotless shall mine innocence arise, + When the King knows my truth. + SURREY. This cannot save you. + I thank my memory I yet remember + Some of these articles; and out they shall. + Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal, + You'll show a little honesty. + WOLSEY. Speak on, sir; + I dare your worst objections. If I blush, + It is to see a nobleman want manners. + SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you! + First, that without the King's assent or knowledge + You wrought to be a legate; by which power + You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. + NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else + To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus' + Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the King + To be your servant. + SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge + Either of King or Council, when you went + Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold + To carry into Flanders the great seal. + SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission + To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude, + Without the King's will or the state's allowance, + A league between his Highness and Ferrara. + SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus'd + Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin. + SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance, + By what means got I leave to your own conscience, + To furnish Rome and to prepare the ways + You have for dignities, to the mere undoing + Of all the kingdom. Many more there are, + Which, since they are of you, and odious, + I will not taint my mouth with. + CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord, + Press not a falling man too far! 'Tis virtue. + His faults lie open to the laws; let them, + Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him + So little of his great self. + SURREY. I forgive him. + SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is- + Because all those things you have done of late, + By your power legatine within this kingdom, + Fall into th' compass of a praemunire- + That therefore such a writ be sued against you: + To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, + Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be + Out of the King's protection. This is my charge. + NORFOLK. And so we'll leave you to your meditations + How to live better. For your stubborn answer + About the giving back the great seal to us, + The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. + So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal. + Exeunt all but WOLSEY + WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me. + Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! + This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth + The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms + And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; + The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, + And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely + His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, + And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, + Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, + This many summers in a sea of glory; + But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride + At length broke under me, and now has left me, + Weary and old with service, to the mercy + Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. + Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; + I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched + Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! + There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, + That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin + More pangs and fears than wars or women have; + And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, + Never to hope again. + + Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed + + Why, how now, Cromwell! + CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir. + WOLSEY. What, amaz'd + At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder + A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, + I am fall'n indeed. + CROMWELL. How does your Grace? + WOLSEY. Why, well; + Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. + I know myself now, and I feel within me + A peace above all earthly dignities, + A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd me, + I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders, + These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken + A load would sink a navy-too much honour. + O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden + Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven! + CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it. + WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks, + Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, + To endure more miseries and greater far + Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. + What news abroad? + CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst + Is your displeasure with the King. + WOLSEY. God bless him! + CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen + Lord Chancellor in your place. + WOLSEY. That's somewhat sudden. + But he's a learned man. May he continue + Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice + For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones + When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, + May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him! + What more? + CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, + Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. + WOLSEY. That's news indeed. + CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne, + Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, + This day was view'd in open as his queen, + Going to chapel; and the voice is now + Only about her coronation. + WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull'd me down. + O Cromwell, + The King has gone beyond me. All my glories + In that one woman I have lost for ever. + No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, + Or gild again the noble troops that waited + Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell; + I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now + To be thy lord and master. Seek the King; + That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him + What and how true thou art. He will advance thee; + Some little memory of me will stir him- + I know his noble nature-not to let + Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, + Neglect him not; make use now, and provide + For thine own future safety. + CROMWELL. O my lord, + Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo + So good, so noble, and so true a master? + Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, + With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. + The King shall have my service; but my prayers + For ever and for ever shall be yours. + WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear + In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, + Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. + Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, + And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, + And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention + Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee- + Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, + And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, + Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in- + A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. + Mark but my fall and that that ruin'd me. + Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: + By that sin fell the angels. How can man then, + The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? + Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee; + Corruption wins not more than honesty. + Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace + To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; + Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, + Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, + Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! + Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in. + There take an inventory of all I have + To the last penny; 'tis the King's. My robe, + And my integrity to heaven, is all + I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! + Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal + I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age + Have left me naked to mine enemies. + CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience. + WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell + The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +A street in Westminster + +Enter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another + + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y'are well met once again. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and + behold + The Lady Anne pass from her coronation? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter + The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd + sorrow; + This, general joy. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis well. The citizens, + I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds- + As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward- + In celebration of this day with shows, + Pageants, and sights of honour. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater, + Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains, + That paper in your hand? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; 'tis the list + Of those that claim their offices this day, + By custom of the coronation. + The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims + To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk, + He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known + those customs, + I should have been beholding to your paper. + But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine, + The Princess Dowager? How goes her business? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop + Of Canterbury, accompanied with other + Learned and reverend fathers of his order, + Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of + From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which + She was often cited by them, but appear'd not. + And, to be short, for not appearance and + The King's late scruple, by the main assent + Of all these learned men, she was divorc'd, + And the late marriage made of none effect; + Since which she was removed to Kimbolton, + Where she remains now sick. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady! [Trumpets] + The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming. +[Hautboys] + + THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION. + + 1. A lively flourish of trumpets. + 2. Then two JUDGES. + 3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him. + 4. CHORISTERS singing. [Music] + 5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in + his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper + crown. + 6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a + demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY, + bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an + earl's coronet. Collars of Esses. + 7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on + his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward. + With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of + marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses. + 8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it + the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with + pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON + and WINCHESTER. + 9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold + wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train. + 10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold + without flowers. + + Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state, + and then a great flourish of trumpets + + SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know. + Who's that that bears the sceptre? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset; + And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be + The Duke of Suffolk? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the same-High Steward. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. [Looking on the QUEEN] Heaven + bless thee! + Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. + Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; + Our king has all the Indies in his arms, + And more and richer, when he strains that lady; + I cannot blame his conscience. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear + The cloth of honour over her are four barons + Of the Cinque-ports. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all + are near her. + I take it she that carries up the train + Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed, + And sometimes falling ones. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that. + Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets + + Enter a third GENTLEMAN + + God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i' th' Abbey, where a finger + Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled + With the mere rankness of their joy. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw + The ceremony? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream + Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen + To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell of + A distance from her, while her Grace sat down + To rest awhile, some half an hour or so, + In a rich chair of state, opposing freely + The beauty of her person to the people. + Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman + That ever lay by man; which when the people + Had the full view of, such a noise arose + As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, + As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks- + Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces + Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy + I never saw before. Great-bellied women, + That had not half a week to go, like rams + In the old time of war, would shake the press, + And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living + Could say 'This is my wife' there, all were woven + So strangely in one piece. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow'd? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with + modest paces + Came to the altar, where she kneel'd, and saintlike + Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. + Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people; + When by the Archbishop of Canterbury + She had all the royal makings of a queen: + As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, + The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems + Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir, + With all the choicest music of the kingdom, + Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted, + And with the same full state pac'd back again + To York Place, where the feast is held. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir, + You must no more call it York Place: that's past: + For since the Cardinal fell that title's lost. + 'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it; + But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name + Is fresh about me. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops + Were those that went on each side of the Queen? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester, + Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary; + The other, London. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester + Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's, + The virtuous Cranmer. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that; + However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes, + Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you? + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell, + A man in much esteem with th' King, and truly + A worthy friend. The King has made him Master + O' th' jewel House, + And one, already, of the Privy Council. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more. + THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt. + Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which + Is to th' court, and there ye shall be my guests: + Something I can command. As I walk thither, + I'll tell ye more. + BOTH. You may command us, sir. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE 2. + +Kimbolton + +Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman +Usher, and PATIENCE, her woman + + GRIFFITH. How does your Grace? + KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death! + My legs like loaden branches bow to th' earth, + Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair. + So-now, methinks, I feel a little ease. + Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, + That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, + Was dead? + GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace, + Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. + KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died. + If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, + For my example. + GRIFFITH. Well, the voice goes, madam; + For after the stout Earl Northumberland + Arrested him at York and brought him forward, + As a man sorely tainted, to his answer, + He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill + He could not sit his mule. + KATHARINE. Alas, poor man! + GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, + Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, + With all his covent, honourably receiv'd him; + To whom he gave these words: 'O father Abbot, + An old man, broken with the storms of state, + Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; + Give him a little earth for charity!' + So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness + Pursu'd him still And three nights after this, + About the hour of eight-which he himself + Foretold should be his last-full of repentance, + Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, + He gave his honours to the world again, + His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. + KATHARINE. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! + Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, + And yet with charity. He was a man + Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking + Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion, + Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play; + His own opinion was his law. I' th' presence + He would say untruths, and be ever double + Both in his words and meaning. He was never, + But where he meant to ruin, pitiful. + His promises were, as he then was, mighty; + But his performance, as he is now, nothing. + Of his own body he was ill, and gave + The clergy ill example. + GRIFFITH. Noble madam, + Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues + We write in water. May it please your Highness + To hear me speak his good now? + KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith; + I were malicious else. + GRIFFITH. This Cardinal, + Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly + Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle. + He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; + Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; + Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not, + But to those men that sought him sweet as summer. + And though he were unsatisfied in getting- + Which was a sin-yet in bestowing, madam, + He was most princely: ever witness for him + Those twins of learning that he rais'd in you, + Ipswich and Oxford! One of which fell with him, + Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; + The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, + So excellent in art, and still so rising, + That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. + His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; + For then, and not till then, he felt himself, + And found the blessedness of being little. + And, to add greater honours to his age + Than man could give him, he died fearing God. + KATHARINE. After my death I wish no other herald, + No other speaker of my living actions, + To keep mine honour from corruption, + But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. + Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, + With thy religious truth and modesty, + Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him! + patience, be near me still, and set me lower: + I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, + Cause the musicians play me that sad note + I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating + On that celestial harmony I go to. + [Sad and solemn music] + GRIFFITH. She is asleep. Good wench, let's sit down quiet, + For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience. + + THE VISION. + + Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six PERSONAGES clad + in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and + golden vizards on their faces; branches of bays or palm in their + hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain + changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head, at + which the other four make reverent curtsies. Then the two that + held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who + observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland + over her head; which done, they deliver the same garland to the + last two, who likewise observe the same order; at which, as it + were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing, + and holdeth up her hands to heaven. And so in their dancing + vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues + + KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone? + And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? + GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here. + KATHARINE. It is not you I call for. + Saw ye none enter since I slept? + GRIFFITH. None, madam. + KATHARINE. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop + Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces + Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? + They promis'd me eternal happiness, + And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel + I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall, assuredly. + GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams + Possess your fancy. + KATHARINE. Bid the music leave, + They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases] + PATIENCE. Do you note + How much her Grace is alter'd on the sudden? + How long her face is drawn! How pale she looks, + And of an earthly cold! Mark her eyes. + GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray. + PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. An't like your Grace- + KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow. + Deserve we no more reverence? + GRIFFITH. You are to blame, + Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, + To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel. + MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness' pardon; + My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying + A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you. + KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow + Let me ne'er see again. Exit MESSENGER + + Enter LORD CAPUCIUS + + If my sight fail not, + You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor, + My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. + CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant. + KATHARINE. O, my Lord, + The times and titles now are alter'd strangely + With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you, + What is your pleasure with me? + CAPUCIUS. Noble lady, + First, mine own service to your Grace; the next, + The King's request that I would visit you, + Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me + Sends you his princely commendations + And heartily entreats you take good comfort. + KATHARINE. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, + 'Tis like a pardon after execution: + That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; + But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. + How does his Highness? + CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health. + KATHARINE. So may he ever do! and ever flourish + When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name + Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter + I caus'd you write yet sent away? + PATIENCE. No, madam. [Giving it to KATHARINE] + KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver + This to my lord the King. + CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam. + KATHARINE. In which I have commended to his goodness + The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter- + The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!- + Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding- + She is young, and of a noble modest nature; + I hope she will deserve well-and a little + To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, + Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition + Is that his noble Grace would have some pity + Upon my wretched women that so long + Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully; + Of which there is not one, I dare avow- + And now I should not lie-but will deserve, + For virtue and true beauty of the soul, + For honesty and decent carriage, + A right good husband, let him be a noble; + And sure those men are happy that shall have 'em. + The last is for my men-they are the poorest, + But poverty could never draw 'em from me- + That they may have their wages duly paid 'em, + And something over to remember me by. + If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life + And able means, we had not parted thus. + These are the whole contents; and, good my lord, + By that you love the dearest in this world, + As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, + Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the King + To do me this last right. + CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will, + Or let me lose the fashion of a man! + KATHARINE. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me + In all humility unto his Highness; + Say his long trouble now is passing + Out of this world. Tell him in death I bless'd him, + For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell, + My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience, + You must not leave me yet. I must to bed; + Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench, + Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over + With maiden flowers, that all the world may know + I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me, + Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like + A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. + I can no more. Exeunt, leading KATHARINE + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +London. A gallery in the palace + +Enter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before him, +met by SIR THOMAS LOVELL + + GARDINER. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? + BOY. It hath struck. + GARDINER. These should be hours for necessities, + Not for delights; times to repair our nature + With comforting repose, and not for us + To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas! + Whither so late? + LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord? + GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero + With the Duke of Suffolk. + LOVELL. I must to him too, + Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. + GARDINER. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? + It seems you are in haste. An if there be + No great offence belongs to't, give your friend + Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk- + As they say spirits do-at midnight, have + In them a wilder nature than the business + That seeks despatch by day. + LOVELL. My lord, I love you; + And durst commend a secret to your ear + Much weightier than this work. The Queen's in labour, + They say in great extremity, and fear'd + She'll with the labour end. + GARDINER. The fruit she goes with + I pray for heartily, that it may find + Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas, + I wish it grubb'd up now. + LOVELL. Methinks I could + Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says + She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does + Deserve our better wishes. + GARDINER. But, sir, sir- + Hear me, Sir Thomas. Y'are a gentleman + Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; + And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well- + 'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me- + Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, + Sleep in their graves. + LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two + The most remark'd i' th' kingdom. As for Cromwell, + Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master + O' th' Rolls, and the King's secretary; further, sir, + Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments, + With which the time will load him. Th' Archbishop + Is the King's hand and tongue, and who dare speak + One syllable against him? + GARDINER. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, + There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd + To speak my mind of him; and indeed this day, + Sir-I may tell it you-I think I have + Incens'd the lords o' th' Council, that he is- + For so I know he is, they know he is- + A most arch heretic, a pestilence + That does infect the land; with which they moved + Have broken with the King, who hath so far + Given ear to our complaint-of his great grace + And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs + Our reasons laid before him-hath commanded + To-morrow morning to the Council board + He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas, + And we must root him out. From your affairs + I hinder you too long-good night, Sir Thomas. + LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant. + Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE + + Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK + + KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night; + My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me. + SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before. + KING. But little, Charles; + Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. + Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news? + LOVELL. I could not personally deliver to her + What you commanded me, but by her woman + I sent your message; who return'd her thanks + In the great'st humbleness, and desir'd your Highness + Most heartily to pray for her. + KING. What say'st thou, ha? + To pray for her? What, is she crying out? + LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff'rance made + Almost each pang a death. + KING. Alas, good lady! + SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and + With gentle travail, to the gladding of + Your Highness with an heir! + KING. 'Tis midnight, Charles; + Prithee to bed; and in thy pray'rs remember + Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone, + For I must think of that which company + Will not be friendly to. + SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness + A quiet night, and my good mistress will + Remember in my prayers. + KING. Charles, good night. Exit SUFFOLK + + Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY + + Well, sir, what follows? + DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop, + As you commanded me. + KING. Ha! Canterbury? + DENNY. Ay, my good lord. + KING. 'Tis true. Where is he, Denny? + DENNY. He attends your Highness' pleasure. + KING. Bring him to us. Exit DENNY + LOVELL. [Aside] This is about that which the bishop spake. + I am happily come hither. + + Re-enter DENNY, With CRANMER + + KING. Avoid the gallery. [LOVELL seems to stay] + Ha! I have said. Be gone. + What! Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY + CRANMER. [Aside] I am fearful-wherefore frowns he thus? + 'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well. + KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know + Wherefore I sent for you. + CRANMER. [Kneeling] It is my duty + T'attend your Highness' pleasure. + KING. Pray you, arise, + My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury. + Come, you and I must walk a turn together; + I have news to tell you; come, come, me your hand. + Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, + And am right sorry to repeat what follows. + I have, and most unwillingly, of late + Heard many grievous-I do say, my lord, + Grievous-complaints of you; which, being consider'd, + Have mov'd us and our Council that you shall + This morning come before us; where I know + You cannot with such freedom purge yourself + But that, till further trial in those charges + Which will require your answer, you must take + Your patience to you and be well contented + To make your house our Tow'r. You a brother of us, + It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness + Would come against you. + CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness + And am right glad to catch this good occasion + Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff + And corn shall fly asunder; for I know + There's none stands under more calumnious tongues + Than I myself, poor man. + KING. Stand up, good Canterbury; + Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted + In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up; + Prithee let's walk. Now, by my holidame, + What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd + You would have given me your petition that + I should have ta'en some pains to bring together + Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you + Without indurance further. + CRANMER. Most dread liege, + The good I stand on is my truth and honesty; + If they shall fail, I with mine enemies + Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not, + Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing + What can be said against me. + KING. Know you not + How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world? + Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices + Must bear the same proportion; and not ever + The justice and the truth o' th' question carries + The due o' th' verdict with it; at what ease + Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt + To swear against you? Such things have been done. + You are potently oppos'd, and with a malice + Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, + I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master, + Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv'd + Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to; + You take a precipice for no leap of danger, + And woo your own destruction. + CRANMER. God and your Majesty + Protect mine innocence, or I fall into + The trap is laid for me! + KING. Be of good cheer; + They shall no more prevail than we give way to. + Keep comfort to you, and this morning see + You do appear before them; if they shall chance, + In charging you with matters, to commit you, + The best persuasions to the contrary + Fail not to use, and with what vehemency + Th' occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties + Will render you no remedy, this ring + Deliver them, and your appeal to us + There make before them. Look, the good man weeps! + He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest Mother! + I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul + None better in my kingdom. Get you gone, + And do as I have bid you. + Exit CRANMER + He has strangled his language in his tears. + + Enter OLD LADY + + GENTLEMAN. [Within] Come back; what mean you? + OLD LADY. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring + Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels + Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person + Under their blessed wings! + KING. Now, by thy looks + I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver'd? + Say ay, and of a boy. + OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege; + And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven + Both now and ever bless her! 'Tis a girl, + Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen + Desires your visitation, and to be + Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you + As cherry is to cherry. + KING. Lovell! + + Enter LOVELL + + LOVELL. Sir? + KING. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen. Exit + OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I'll ha' more! + An ordinary groom is for such payment. + I will have more, or scold it out of him. + Said I for this the girl was like to him! I'll + Have more, or else unsay't; and now, while 'tis hot, + I'll put it to the issue. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 2. + +Lobby before the Council Chamber + +Enter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + + CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman + That was sent to me from the Council pray'd me + To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho! + Who waits there? Sure you know me? + + Enter KEEPER + + KEEPER. Yes, my lord; + But yet I cannot help you. + CRANMER. Why? + KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call'd for. + + Enter DOCTOR BUTTS + + CRANMER. So. + BUTTS. [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad + I came this way so happily; the King + Shall understand it presently. Exit + CRANMER. [Aside] 'Tis Butts, + The King's physician; as he pass'd along, + How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me! + Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain, + This is of purpose laid by some that hate me- + God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice- + To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me + Wait else at door, a fellow councillor, + 'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures + Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. + + Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above + + BUTTS. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight- + KING. What's that, Butts? + BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day. + KING. Body a me, where is it? + BUTTS. There my lord: + The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury; + Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, + Pages, and footboys. + KING. Ha, 'tis he indeed. + Is this the honour they do one another? + 'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought + They had parted so much honesty among 'em- + At least good manners-as not thus to suffer + A man of his place, and so near our favour, + To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, + And at the door too, like a post with packets. + By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery! + Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close; + We shall hear more anon. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 3. + +The Council Chamber + +A Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed under +the state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the upper end of +the table on the left band, a seat being left void above him, as for +Canterbury's seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK, SURREY, LORD +CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side; CROMWELL +at lower end, as secretary. KEEPER at the door + + CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary; + Why are we met in council? + CROMWELL. Please your honours, + The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury. + GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it? + CROMWELL. Yes. + NORFOLK. Who waits there? + KEEPER. Without, my noble lords? + GARDINER. Yes. + KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop; + And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. + CHANCELLOR. Let him come in. + KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now. + + CRANMER approaches the Council table + + CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I am very sorry + To sit here at this present, and behold + That chair stand empty; but we all are men, + In our own natures frail and capable + Of our flesh; few are angels; out of which frailty + And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, + Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, + Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling + The whole realm by your teaching and your chaplains- + For so we are inform'd-with new opinions, + Divers and dangerous; which are heresies, + And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. + GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too, + My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses + Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, + But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur 'em + Till they obey the manage. If we suffer, + Out of our easiness and childish pity + To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, + Farewell all physic; and what follows then? + Commotions, uproars, with a general taint + Of the whole state; as of late days our neighbours, + The upper Germany, can dearly witness, + Yet freshly pitied in our memories. + CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress + Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, + And with no little study, that my teaching + And the strong course of my authority + Might go one way, and safely; and the end + Was ever to do well. Nor is there living- + I speak it with a single heart, my lords- + A man that more detests, more stirs against, + Both in his private conscience and his place, + Defacers of a public peace than I do. + Pray heaven the King may never find a heart + With less allegiance in it! Men that make + Envy and crooked malice nourishment + Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships + That, in this case of justice, my accusers, + Be what they will, may stand forth face to face + And freely urge against me. + SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord, + That cannot be; you are a councillor, + And by that virtue no man dare accuse you. + GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment, + We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure + And our consent, for better trial of you, + From hence you be committed to the Tower; + Where, being but a private man again, + You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, + More than, I fear, you are provided for. + CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you; + You are always my good friend; if your will pass, + I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, + You are so merciful. I see your end- + 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord, + Become a churchman better than ambition; + Win straying souls with modesty again, + Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, + Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, + I make as little doubt as you do conscience + In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, + But reverence to your calling makes me modest. + GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary; + That's the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers, + To men that understand you, words and weakness. + CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little, + By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, + However faulty, yet should find respect + For what they have been; 'tis a cruelty + To load a falling man. + GARDINER. Good Master Secretary, + I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst + Of all this table, say so. + CROMWELL. Why, my lord? + GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer + Of this new sect? Ye are not sound. + CROMWELL. Not sound? + GARDINER. Not sound, I say. + CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest! + Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. + GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language. + CROMWELL. Do. + Remember your bold life too. + CHANCELLOR. This is too much; + Forbear, for shame, my lords. + GARDINER. I have done. + CROMWELL. And I. + CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed, + I take it, by all voices, that forthwith + You be convey'd to th' Tower a prisoner; + There to remain till the King's further pleasure + Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords? + ALL. We are. + CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy, + But I must needs to th' Tower, my lords? + GARDINER. What other + Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome. + Let some o' th' guard be ready there. + + Enter the guard + + CRANMER. For me? + Must I go like a traitor thither? + GARDINER. Receive him, + And see him safe i' th' Tower. + CRANMER. Stay, good my lords, + I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; + By virtue of that ring I take my cause + Out of the gripes of cruel men and give it + To a most noble judge, the King my master. + CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King's ring. + SURREY. 'Tis no counterfeit. + SUFFOLK. 'Tis the right ring, by heav'n. I told ye all, + When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling, + 'Twould fall upon ourselves. + NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords, + The King will suffer but the little finger + Of this man to be vex'd? + CHAMBERLAIN. 'Tis now too certain; + How much more is his life in value with him! + Would I were fairly out on't! + CROMWELL. My mind gave me, + In seeking tales and informations + Against this man-whose honesty the devil + And his disciples only envy at- + Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye! + + Enter the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat + + GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven + In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; + Not only good and wise but most religious; + One that in all obedience makes the church + The chief aim of his honour and, to strengthen + That holy duty, out of dear respect, + His royal self in judgment comes to hear + The cause betwixt her and this great offender. + KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations, + Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not + To hear such flattery now, and in my presence + They are too thin and bare to hide offences. + To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel, + And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; + But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure + Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody. + [To CRANMER] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest + He that dares most but wag his finger at thee. + By all that's holy, he had better starve + Than but once think this place becomes thee not. + SURREY. May it please your Grace- + KING. No, sir, it does not please me. + I had thought I had had men of some understanding + And wisdom of my Council; but I find none. + Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, + This good man-few of you deserve that title- + This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy + At chamber door? and one as great as you are? + Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission + Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye + Power as he was a councillor to try him, + Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see, + More out of malice than integrity, + Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; + Which ye shall never have while I live. + CHANCELLOR. Thus far, + My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace + To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd + concerning his imprisonment was rather- + If there be faith in men-meant for his trial + And fair purgation to the world, than malice, + I'm sure, in me. + KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him; + Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. + I will say thus much for him: if a prince + May be beholding to a subject, + Am for his love and service so to him. + Make me no more ado, but all embrace him; + Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury, + I have a suit which you must not deny me: + That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism; + You must be godfather, and answer for her. + CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory + In such an honour; how may I deserve it, + That am a poor and humble subject to you? + KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You + shall have + Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk + And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you? + Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, + Embrace and love this man. + GARDINER. With a true heart + And brother-love I do it. + CRANMER. And let heaven + Witness how dear I hold this confirmation. + KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. + The common voice, I see, is verified + Of thee, which says thus: 'Do my Lord of Canterbury + A shrewd turn and he's your friend for ever.' + Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long + To have this young one made a Christian. + As I have made ye one, lords, one remain; + So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 4. + +The palace yard + +Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN + + PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you + take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your + gaping. + [Within: Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.] + PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is + this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, + and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch + your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look + for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? + MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible, + Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons, + To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep + On May-day morning; which will never be. + We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em. + PORTER. How got they in, and be hang'd? + MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in? + As much as one sound cudgel of four foot- + You see the poor remainder-could distribute, + I made no spare, sir. + PORTER. You did nothing, sir. + MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, + To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any + That had a head to hit, either young or old, + He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, + Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again; + And that I would not for a cow, God save her! + [ Within: Do you hear, master porter?] + PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. + Keep the door close, sirrah. + MAN. What would you have me do? + PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th' + dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some + strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the + women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication + is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening + will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather, + and all together. + MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow + somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his + face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now + reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, + they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three + times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged + against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us. + There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that + rail'd upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, + for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the + meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out 'Clubs!' + when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw + to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where + she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place. + At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em + still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, + deliver'd such a show'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw + mine honour in and let 'em win the work: the devil was + amongst 'em, I think surely. + PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse + and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation + of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear + brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo + Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; + besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come. + + Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN + + CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! + They grow still too; from all parts they are coming, + As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, + These lazy knaves? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows. + There's a trim rabble let in: are all these + Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have + Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, + When they pass back from the christening. + PORTER. An't please your honour, + We are but men; and what so many may do, + Not being torn a pieces, we have done. + An army cannot rule 'em. + CHAMBERLAIN. As I live, + If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye an + By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads + Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves; + And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when + Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound; + Th' are come already from the christening. + Go break among the press and find a way out + To let the troops pass fairly, or I'll find + A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months. + PORTER. Make way there for the Princess. + MAN. You great fellow, + Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache. + PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail; + I'll peck you o'er the pales else. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 5. + +The palace + +Enter TRUMPETS, sounding; then two ALDERMEN, LORD MAYOR, GARTER, +CRANMER, DUKE OF NORFOLK, with his marshal's staff, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, +two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening gifts; +then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the DUCHESS OF +NORFOLK, godmother, bearing the CHILD richly habited in a mantle, etc., +train borne by a LADY; then follows the MARCHIONESS DORSET, the other +godmother, and LADIES. The troop pass once about the stage, and GARTER +speaks + + GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long + and ever-happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, + Elizabeth! + + Flourish. Enter KING and guard + + CRANMER. [Kneeling] And to your royal Grace and the + good Queen! + My noble partners and myself thus pray: + All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, + Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, + May hourly fall upon ye! + KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop. + What is her name? + CRANMER. Elizabeth. + KING. Stand up, lord. [The KING kisses the child] + With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! + Into whose hand I give thy life. + CRANMER. Amen. + KING. My noble gossips, y'have been too prodigal; + I thank ye heartily. So shall this lady, + When she has so much English. + CRANMER. Let me speak, sir, + For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter + Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth. + This royal infant-heaven still move about her!- + Though in her cradle, yet now promises + Upon this land a thousand blessings, + Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be- + But few now living can behold that goodness- + A pattern to all princes living with her, + And all that shall succeed. Saba was never + More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue + Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces + That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, + With all the virtues that attend the good, + Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her, + Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her; + She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her: + Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, + And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her; + In her days every man shall eat in safety + Under his own vine what he plants, and sing + The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. + God shall be truly known; and those about her + From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, + And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. + Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when + The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix + Her ashes new create another heir + As great in admiration as herself, + So shall she leave her blessedness to one- + When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness- + Who from the sacred ashes of her honour + Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, + And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, + That were the servants to this chosen infant, + Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; + Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, + His honour and the greatness of his name + Shall be, and make new nations; he shall flourish, + And like a mountain cedar reach his branches + To all the plains about him; our children's children + Shall see this and bless heaven. + KING. Thou speakest wonders. + CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England, + An aged princess; many days shall see her, + And yet no day without a deed to crown it. + Would I had known no more! But she must die- + She must, the saints must have her-yet a virgin; + A most unspotted lily shall she pass + To th' ground, and all the world shall mourn her. + KING. O Lord Archbishop, + Thou hast made me now a man; never before + This happy child did I get anything. + This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me + That when I am in heaven I shall desire + To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. + I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor, + And you, good brethren, I am much beholding; + I have receiv'd much honour by your presence, + And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords; + Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye, + She will be sick else. This day, no man think + Has business at his house; for all shall stay. + This little one shall make it holiday. Exeunt + +KING_HENRY_VIII|EPILOGUE THE EPILOGUE. + + 'Tis ten to one this play can never please + All that are here. Some come to take their ease + And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, + W'have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, + They'll say 'tis nought; others to hear the city + Abus'd extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!' + Which we have not done neither; that, I fear, + All the expected good w'are like to hear + For this play at this time is only in + The merciful construction of good women; + For such a one we show'd 'em. If they smile + And say 'twill do, I know within a while + All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap + If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap. + + + + +KING JOHN + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING JOHN + PRINCE HENRY, his son + ARTHUR, DUKE OF BRITAINE, son of Geffrey, late Duke of + Britaine, the elder brother of King John + EARL OF PEMBROKE + EARL OF ESSEX + EARL OF SALISBURY + LORD BIGOT + HUBERT DE BURGH + ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge + PHILIP THE BASTARD, his half-brother + JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge + PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet + + KING PHILIP OF FRANCE + LEWIS, the Dauphin + LYMOGES, Duke of Austria + CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope's legate + MELUN, a French lord + CHATILLON, ambassador from France to King John + + QUEEN ELINOR, widow of King Henry II and mother to + King John + CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur + BLANCH OF SPAIN, daughter to the King of Castile + and niece to King John + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, widow of Sir Robert Faulconbridge + + Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, + Soldiers, Executioners, Messengers, Attendants + +SCENE: England and France + +ACT I. SCENE 1 + +KING JOHN's palace + +Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX, SALISBURY, and others, +with CHATILLON + + KING JOHN. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us? + CHATILLON. Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France + In my behaviour to the majesty, + The borrowed majesty, of England here. + ELINOR. A strange beginning- 'borrowed majesty'! + KING JOHN. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. + CHATILLON. Philip of France, in right and true behalf + Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, + Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim + To this fair island and the territories, + To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, + Desiring thee to lay aside the sword + Which sways usurpingly these several titles, + And put the same into young Arthur's hand, + Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. + KING JOHN. What follows if we disallow of this? + CHATILLON. The proud control of fierce and bloody war, + To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. + KING JOHN. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood, + Controlment for controlment- so answer France. + CHATILLON. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth- + The farthest limit of my embassy. + KING JOHN. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace; + Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; + For ere thou canst report I will be there, + The thunder of my cannon shall be heard. + So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath + And sullen presage of your own decay. + An honourable conduct let him have- + Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon. + Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE + ELINOR. What now, my son! Have I not ever said + How that ambitious Constance would not cease + Till she had kindled France and all the world + Upon the right and party of her son? + This might have been prevented and made whole + With very easy arguments of love, + Which now the manage of two kingdoms must + With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. + KING JOHN. Our strong possession and our right for us! + ELINOR. Your strong possession much more than your right, + Or else it must go wrong with you and me; + So much my conscience whispers in your ear, + Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear. + + Enter a SHERIFF + + ESSEX. My liege, here is the strangest controversy + Come from the country to be judg'd by you + That e'er I heard. Shall I produce the men? + KING JOHN. Let them approach. Exit SHERIFF + Our abbeys and our priories shall pay + This expedition's charge. + + Enter ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE and PHILIP, his bastard + brother + + What men are you? + BASTARD. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman + Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son, + As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge- + A soldier by the honour-giving hand + Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. + KING JOHN. What art thou? + ROBERT. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. + KING JOHN. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? + You came not of one mother then, it seems. + BASTARD. Most certain of one mother, mighty king- + That is well known- and, as I think, one father; + But for the certain knowledge of that truth + I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother. + Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. + ELINOR. Out on thee, rude man! Thou dost shame thy mother, + And wound her honour with this diffidence. + BASTARD. I, madam? No, I have no reason for it- + That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; + The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out + At least from fair five hundred pound a year. + Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land! + KING JOHN. A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born, + Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? + BASTARD. I know not why, except to get the land. + But once he slander'd me with bastardy; + But whe'er I be as true begot or no, + That still I lay upon my mother's head; + But that I am as well begot, my liege- + Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!- + Compare our faces and be judge yourself. + If old Sir Robert did beget us both + And were our father, and this son like him- + O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee + I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee! + KING JOHN. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! + ELINOR. He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face; + The accent of his tongue affecteth him. + Do you not read some tokens of my son + In the large composition of this man? + KING JOHN. Mine eye hath well examined his parts + And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, + What doth move you to claim your brother's land? + BASTARD. Because he hath a half-face, like my father. + With half that face would he have all my land: + A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a year! + ROBERT. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, + Your brother did employ my father much- + BASTARD. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land: + Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. + ROBERT. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy + To Germany, there with the Emperor + To treat of high affairs touching that time. + Th' advantage of his absence took the King, + And in the meantime sojourn'd at my father's; + Where how he did prevail I shame to speak- + But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores + Between my father and my mother lay, + As I have heard my father speak himself, + When this same lusty gentleman was got. + Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd + His lands to me, and took it on his death + That this my mother's son was none of his; + And if he were, he came into the world + Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. + Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, + My father's land, as was my father's will. + KING JOHN. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate: + Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him, + And if she did play false, the fault was hers; + Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands + That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, + Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, + Had of your father claim'd this son for his? + In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept + This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world; + In sooth, he might; then, if he were my brother's, + My brother might not claim him; nor your father, + Being none of his, refuse him. This concludes: + My mother's son did get your father's heir; + Your father's heir must have your father's land. + ROBERT. Shall then my father's will be of no force + To dispossess that child which is not his? + BASTARD. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, + Than was his will to get me, as I think. + ELINOR. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge, + And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, + Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, + Lord of thy presence and no land beside? + BASTARD. Madam, an if my brother had my shape + And I had his, Sir Robert's his, like him; + And if my legs were two such riding-rods, + My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin + That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose + Lest men should say 'Look where three-farthings goes!' + And, to his shape, were heir to all this land- + Would I might never stir from off this place, + I would give it every foot to have this face! + I would not be Sir Nob in any case. + ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, + Bequeath thy land to him and follow me? + I am a soldier and now bound to France. + BASTARD. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. + Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, + Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear. + Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. + ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. + BASTARD. Our country manners give our betters way. + KING JOHN. What is thy name? + BASTARD. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun: + Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son. + KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest: + Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great- + Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet. + BASTARD. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand; + My father gave me honour, yours gave land. + Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, + When I was got, Sir Robert was away! + ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet! + I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so. + BASTARD. Madam, by chance, but not by truth; what though? + Something about, a little from the right, + In at the window, or else o'er the hatch; + Who dares not stir by day must walk by night; + And have is have, however men do catch. + Near or far off, well won is still well shot; + And I am I, howe'er I was begot. + KING JOHN. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire: + A landless knight makes thee a landed squire. + Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed + For France, for France, for it is more than need. + BASTARD. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee! + For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty. + Exeunt all but the BASTARD + A foot of honour better than I was; + But many a many foot of land the worse. + Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. + 'Good den, Sir Richard!'-'God-a-mercy, fellow!' + And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter; + For new-made honour doth forget men's names: + 'Tis too respective and too sociable + For your conversion. Now your traveller, + He and his toothpick at my worship's mess- + And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, + Why then I suck my teeth and catechize + My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,' + Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin + 'I shall beseech you'-That is question now; + And then comes answer like an Absey book: + 'O sir,' says answer 'at your best command, + At your employment, at your service, sir!' + 'No, sir,' says question 'I, sweet sir, at yours.' + And so, ere answer knows what question would, + Saving in dialogue of compliment, + And talking of the Alps and Apennines, + The Pyrenean and the river Po- + It draws toward supper in conclusion so. + But this is worshipful society, + And fits the mounting spirit like myself; + For he is but a bastard to the time + That doth not smack of observation- + And so am I, whether I smack or no; + And not alone in habit and device, + Exterior form, outward accoutrement, + But from the inward motion to deliver + Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth; + Which, though I will not practise to deceive, + Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; + For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. + But who comes in such haste in riding-robes? + What woman-post is this? Hath she no husband + That will take pains to blow a horn before her? + + Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY + + O me, 'tis my mother! How now, good lady! + What brings you here to court so hastily? + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Where is that slave, thy brother? + Where is he + That holds in chase mine honour up and down? + BASTARD. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's son? + Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? + Is it Sir Robert's son that you seek so? + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, + Sir Robert's son! Why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert? + He is Sir Robert's son, and so art thou. + BASTARD. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? + GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip. + BASTARD. Philip-Sparrow! James, + There's toys abroad-anon I'll tell thee more. + Exit GURNEY + Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's son; + Sir Robert might have eat his part in me + Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his fast. + Sir Robert could do: well-marry, to confess- + Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it: + We know his handiwork. Therefore, good mother, + To whom am I beholding for these limbs? + Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, + That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour? + What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? + BASTARD. Knight, knight, good mother, Basilisco-like. + What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder. + But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's son: + I have disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land; + Legitimation, name, and all is gone. + Then, good my mother, let me know my father- + Some proper man, I hope. Who was it, mother? + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? + BASTARD. As faithfully as I deny the devil. + LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father. + By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd + To make room for him in my husband's bed. + Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! + Thou art the issue of my dear offence, + Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence. + BASTARD. Now, by this light, were I to get again, + Madam, I would not wish a better father. + Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, + And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly; + Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, + Subjected tribute to commanding love, + Against whose fury and unmatched force + The aweless lion could not wage the fight + Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. + He that perforce robs lions of their hearts + May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, + With all my heart I thank thee for my father! + Who lives and dares but say thou didst not well + When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. + Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; + And they shall say when Richard me begot, + If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin. + Who says it was, he lies; I say 'twas not. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE 1 + +France. Before Angiers + +Enter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF +FRANCE, +LEWIS the Dauphin, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and forces + + KING PHILIP. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. + Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, + Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart + And fought the holy wars in Palestine, + By this brave duke came early to his grave; + And for amends to his posterity, + At our importance hither is he come + To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; + And to rebuke the usurpation + Of thy unnatural uncle, English John. + Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. + ARTHUR. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death + The rather that you give his offspring life, + Shadowing their right under your wings of war. + I give you welcome with a powerless hand, + But with a heart full of unstained love; + Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke. + KING PHILIP. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? + AUSTRIA. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss + As seal to this indenture of my love: + That to my home I will no more return + Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, + Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, + Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides + And coops from other lands her islanders- + Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, + That water-walled bulwark, still secure + And confident from foreign purposes- + Even till that utmost corner of the west + Salute thee for her king. Till then, fair boy, + Will I not think of home, but follow arms. + CONSTANCE. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, + Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength + To make a more requital to your love! + AUSTRIA. The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords + In such a just and charitable war. + KING PHILIP. Well then, to work! Our cannon shall be bent + Against the brows of this resisting town; + Call for our chiefest men of discipline, + To cull the plots of best advantages. + We'll lay before this town our royal bones, + Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, + But we will make it subject to this boy. + CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your embassy, + Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood; + My Lord Chatillon may from England bring + That right in peace which here we urge in war, + And then we shall repent each drop of blood + That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. + + Enter CHATILLON + + KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish, + Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. + What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; + We coldly pause for thee. Chatillon, speak. + CHATILLON. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege + And stir them up against a mightier task. + England, impatient of your just demands, + Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds, + Whose leisure I have stay'd, have given him time + To land his legions all as soon as I; + His marches are expedient to this town, + His forces strong, his soldiers confident. + With him along is come the mother-queen, + An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; + With her the Lady Blanch of Spain; + With them a bastard of the king's deceas'd; + And all th' unsettled humours of the land- + Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, + With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens- + Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, + Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, + To make a hazard of new fortunes here. + In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits + Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er + Did never float upon the swelling tide + To do offence and scathe in Christendom. [Drum beats] + The interruption of their churlish drums + Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand; + To parley or to fight, therefore prepare. + KING PHILIP. How much unlook'd for is this expedition! + AUSTRIA. By how much unexpected, by so much + We must awake endeavour for defence, + For courage mounteth with occasion. + Let them be welcome then; we are prepar'd. + + Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, BLANCH, the BASTARD, + PEMBROKE, and others + + KING JOHN. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit + Our just and lineal entrance to our own! + If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven, + Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct + Their proud contempt that beats His peace to heaven! + KING PHILIP. Peace be to England, if that war return + From France to England, there to live in peace! + England we love, and for that England's sake + With burden of our armour here we sweat. + This toil of ours should be a work of thine; + But thou from loving England art so far + That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, + Cut off the sequence of posterity, + Outfaced infant state, and done a rape + Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. + Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face: + These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his; + This little abstract doth contain that large + Which died in Geffrey, and the hand of time + Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. + That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, + And this his son; England was Geffrey's right, + And this is Geffrey's. In the name of God, + How comes it then that thou art call'd a king, + When living blood doth in these temples beat + Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest? + KING JOHN. From whom hast thou this great commission, France, + To draw my answer from thy articles? + KING PHILIP. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts + In any breast of strong authority + To look into the blots and stains of right. + That judge hath made me guardian to this boy, + Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong, + And by whose help I mean to chastise it. + KING JOHN. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. + KING PHILIP. Excuse it is to beat usurping down. + ELINOR. Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? + CONSTANCE. Let me make answer: thy usurping son. + ELINOR. Out, insolent! Thy bastard shall be king, + That thou mayst be a queen and check the world! + CONSTANCE. My bed was ever to thy son as true + As thine was to thy husband; and this boy + Liker in feature to his father Geffrey + Than thou and John in manners-being as Eke + As rain to water, or devil to his dam. + My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think + His father never was so true begot; + It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. + ELINOR. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. + CONSTANCE. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. + AUSTRIA. Peace! + BASTARD. Hear the crier. + AUSTRIA. What the devil art thou? + BASTARD. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, + An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. + You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, + Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; + I'll smoke your skin-coat an I catch you right; + Sirrah, look to 't; i' faith I will, i' faith. + BLANCH. O, well did he become that lion's robe + That did disrobe the lion of that robe! + BASTARD. It lies as sightly on the back of him + As great Alcides' shows upon an ass; + But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back, + Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. + AUSTRIA. What cracker is this same that deafs our ears + With this abundance of superfluous breath? + King Philip, determine what we shall do straight. + KING PHILIP. Women and fools, break off your conference. + King John, this is the very sum of all: + England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, + In right of Arthur, do I claim of thee; + Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms? + KING JOHN. My life as soon. I do defy thee, France. + Arthur of Britaine, yield thee to my hand, + And out of my dear love I'll give thee more + Than e'er the coward hand of France can win. + Submit thee, boy. + ELINOR. Come to thy grandam, child. + CONSTANCE. Do, child, go to it grandam, child; + Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will + Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig. + There's a good grandam! + ARTHUR. Good my mother, peace! + I would that I were low laid in my grave: + I am not worth this coil that's made for me. + ELINOR. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. + CONSTANCE. Now shame upon you, whe'er she does or no! + His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, + Draws those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, + Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; + Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd + To do him justice and revenge on you. + ELINOR. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! + CONSTANCE. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth, + Call not me slanderer! Thou and thine usurp + The dominations, royalties, and rights, + Of this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest son's son, + Infortunate in nothing but in thee. + Thy sins are visited in this poor child; + The canon of the law is laid on him, + Being but the second generation + Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. + KING JOHN. Bedlam, have done. + CONSTANCE. I have but this to say- + That he is not only plagued for her sin, + But God hath made her sin and her the plague + On this removed issue, plagued for her + And with her plague; her sin his injury, + Her injury the beadle to her sin; + All punish'd in the person of this child, + And all for her-a plague upon her! + ELINOR. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce + A will that bars the title of thy son. + CONSTANCE. Ay, who doubts that? A will, a wicked will; + A woman's will; a cank'red grandam's will! + KING PHILIP. Peace, lady! pause, or be more temperate. + It ill beseems this presence to cry aim + To these ill-tuned repetitions. + Some trumpet summon hither to the walls + These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak + Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. + + Trumpet sounds. Enter citizens upon the walls + + CITIZEN. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls? + KING PHILIP. 'Tis France, for England. + KING JOHN. England for itself. + You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects- + KING PHILIP. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, + Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle- + KING JOHN. For our advantage; therefore hear us first. + These flags of France, that are advanced here + Before the eye and prospect of your town, + Have hither march'd to your endamagement; + The cannons have their bowels full of wrath, + And ready mounted are they to spit forth + Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls; + All preparation for a bloody siege + And merciless proceeding by these French + Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates; + And but for our approach those sleeping stones + That as a waist doth girdle you about + By the compulsion of their ordinance + By this time from their fixed beds of lime + Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made + For bloody power to rush upon your peace. + But on the sight of us your lawful king, + Who painfully with much expedient march + Have brought a countercheck before your gates, + To save unscratch'd your city's threat'ned cheeks- + Behold, the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle; + And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, + To make a shaking fever in your walls, + They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, + To make a faithless error in your cars; + Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, + And let us in-your King, whose labour'd spirits, + Forwearied in this action of swift speed, + Craves harbourage within your city walls. + KING PHILIP. When I have said, make answer to us both. + Lo, in this right hand, whose protection + Is most divinely vow'd upon the right + Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet, + Son to the elder brother of this man, + And king o'er him and all that he enjoys; + For this down-trodden equity we tread + In warlike march these greens before your town, + Being no further enemy to you + Than the constraint of hospitable zeal + In the relief of this oppressed child + Religiously provokes. Be pleased then + To pay that duty which you truly owe + To him that owes it, namely, this young prince; + And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, + Save in aspect, hath all offence seal'd up; + Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent + Against th' invulnerable clouds of heaven; + And with a blessed and unvex'd retire, + With unhack'd swords and helmets all unbruis'd, + We will bear home that lusty blood again + Which here we came to spout against your town, + And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. + But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, + 'Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls + Can hide you from our messengers of war, + Though all these English and their discipline + Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. + Then tell us, shall your city call us lord + In that behalf which we have challeng'd it; + Or shall we give the signal to our rage, + And stalk in blood to our possession? + CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England's subjects; + For him, and in his right, we hold this town. + KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in. + CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King, + To him will we prove loyal. Till that time + Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. + KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King? + And if not that, I bring you witnesses: + Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed- + BASTARD. Bastards and else. + KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives. + KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those- + BASTARD. Some bastards too. + KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. + CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, + We for the worthiest hold the right from both. + KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls + That to their everlasting residence, + Before the dew of evening fall shall fleet + In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! + KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen! Mount, chevaliers; to arms! + BASTARD. Saint George, that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since + Sits on's horse back at mine hostess' door, + Teach us some fence! [To AUSTRIA] Sirrah, were I at home, + At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, + I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, + And make a monster of you. + AUSTRIA. Peace! no more. + BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar! + KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain, where we'll set forth + In best appointment all our regiments. + BASTARD. Speed then to take advantage of the field. + KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill + Command the rest to stand. God and our right! Exeunt + + Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE, + with trumpets, to the gates + + FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates + And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in, + Who by the hand of France this day hath made + Much work for tears in many an English mother, + Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; + Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, + Coldly embracing the discoloured earth; + And victory with little loss doth play + Upon the dancing banners of the French, + Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed, + To enter conquerors, and to proclaim + Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours. + + Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet + + ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: + King John, your king and England's, doth approach, + Commander of this hot malicious day. + Their armours that march'd hence so silver-bright + Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood. + There stuck no plume in any English crest + That is removed by a staff of France; + Our colours do return in those same hands + That did display them when we first march'd forth; + And like a jolly troop of huntsmen come + Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, + Dy'd in the dying slaughter of their foes. + Open your gates and give the victors way. + CITIZEN. Heralds, from off our tow'rs we might behold + From first to last the onset and retire + Of both your armies, whose equality + By our best eyes cannot be censured. + Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows; + Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted power; + Both are alike, and both alike we like. + One must prove greatest. While they weigh so even, + We hold our town for neither, yet for both. + + Enter the two KINGS, with their powers, at several doors + + KING JOHN. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? + Say, shall the current of our right run on? + Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, + Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell + With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, + Unless thou let his silver water keep + A peaceful progress to the ocean. + KING PHILIP. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood + In this hot trial more than we of France; + Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, + That sways the earth this climate overlooks, + Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, + We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, + Or add a royal number to the dead, + Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss + With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. + BASTARD. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory tow'rs + When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! + O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; + The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; + And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, + In undetermin'd differences of kings. + Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? + Cry 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, + You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! + Then let confusion of one part confirm + The other's peace. Till then, blows, blood, and death! + KING JOHN. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? + KING PHILIP. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? + CITIZEN. The King of England, when we know the King. + KING PHILIP. Know him in us that here hold up his right. + KING JOHN. In us that are our own great deputy + And bear possession of our person here, + Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. + CITIZEN. A greater pow'r than we denies all this; + And till it be undoubted, we do lock + Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; + King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolv'd, + Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. + BASTARD. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, + And stand securely on their battlements + As in a theatre, whence they gape and point + At your industrious scenes and acts of death. + Your royal presences be rul'd by me: + Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, + Be friends awhile, and both conjointly bend + Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town. + By east and west let France and England mount + Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths, + Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down + The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city. + I'd play incessantly upon these jades, + Even till unfenced desolation + Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. + That done, dissever your united strengths + And part your mingled colours once again, + Turn face to face and bloody point to point; + Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forth + Out of one side her happy minion, + To whom in favour she shall give the day, + And kiss him with a glorious victory. + How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? + Smacks it not something of the policy? + KING JOHN. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, + I like it well. France, shall we knit our pow'rs + And lay this Angiers even with the ground; + Then after fight who shall be king of it? + BASTARD. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, + Being wrong'd as we are by this peevish town, + Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, + As we will ours, against these saucy walls; + And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, + Why then defy each other, and pell-mell + Make work upon ourselves, for heaven or hell. + KING PHILIP. Let it be so. Say, where will you assault? + KING JOHN. We from the west will send destruction + Into this city's bosom. + AUSTRIA. I from the north. + KING PHILIP. Our thunder from the south + Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. + BASTARD. [Aside] O prudent discipline! From north to south, + Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth. + I'll stir them to it.-Come, away, away! + CITIZEN. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe awhile to stay, + And I shall show you peace and fair-fac'd league; + Win you this city without stroke or wound; + Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds + That here come sacrifices for the field. + Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. + KING JOHN. Speak on with favour; we are bent to hear. + CITIZEN. That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch, + Is niece to England; look upon the years + Of Lewis the Dauphin and that lovely maid. + If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, + Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? + If zealous love should go in search of virtue, + Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? + If love ambitious sought a match of birth, + Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch? + Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, + Is the young Dauphin every way complete- + If not complete of, say he is not she; + And she again wants nothing, to name want, + If want it be not that she is not he. + He is the half part of a blessed man, + Left to be finished by such as she; + And she a fair divided excellence, + Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. + O, two such silver currents, when they join, + Do glorify the banks that bound them in; + And two such shores to two such streams made one, + Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, Kings, + To these two princes, if you marry them. + This union shall do more than battery can + To our fast-closed gates; for at this match + With swifter spleen than powder can enforce, + The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope + And give you entrance; but without this match, + The sea enraged is not half so deaf, + Lions more confident, mountains and rocks + More free from motion-no, not Death himself + In mortal fury half so peremptory + As we to keep this city. + BASTARD. Here's a stay + That shakes the rotten carcass of old Death + Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, + That spits forth death and mountains, rocks and seas; + Talks as familiarly of roaring lions + As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! + What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? + He speaks plain cannon-fire, and smoke and bounce; + He gives the bastinado with his tongue; + Our ears are cudgell'd; not a word of his + But buffets better than a fist of France. + Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words + Since I first call'd my brother's father dad. + ELINOR. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; + Give with our niece a dowry large enough; + For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie + Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown + That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe + The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. + I see a yielding in the looks of France; + Mark how they whisper. Urge them while their souls + Are capable of this ambition, + Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath + Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, + Cool and congeal again to what it was. + CITIZEN. Why answer not the double majesties + This friendly treaty of our threat'ned town? + KING PHILIP. Speak England first, that hath been forward first + To speak unto this city: what say you? + KING JOHN. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, + Can in this book of beauty read 'I love,' + Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen; + For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, + And all that we upon this side the sea- + Except this city now by us besieg'd- + Find liable to our crown and dignity, + Shall gild her bridal bed, and make her rich + In titles, honours, and promotions, + As she in beauty, education, blood, + Holds hand with any princess of the world. + KING PHILIP. What say'st thou, boy? Look in the lady's face. + LEWIS. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find + A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, + The shadow of myself form'd in her eye; + Which, being but the shadow of your son, + Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow. + I do protest I never lov'd myself + Till now infixed I beheld myself + Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. + [Whispers with BLANCH] + BASTARD. [Aside] Drawn in the flattering table of her eye, + Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow, + And quarter'd in her heart-he doth espy + Himself love's traitor. This is pity now, + That hang'd and drawn and quarter'd there should be + In such a love so vile a lout as he. + BLANCH. My uncle's will in this respect is mine. + If he see aught in you that makes him like, + That anything he sees which moves his liking + I can with ease translate it to my will; + Or if you will, to speak more properly, + I will enforce it eas'ly to my love. + Further I will not flatter you, my lord, + That all I see in you is worthy love, + Than this: that nothing do I see in you- + Though churlish thoughts themselves should be your judge- + That I can find should merit any hate. + KING JOHN. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece? + BLANCH. That she is bound in honour still to do + What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. + KING JOHN. Speak then, Prince Dauphin; can you love this lady? + LEWIS. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love; + For I do love her most unfeignedly. + KING JOHN. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, + Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, + With her to thee; and this addition more, + Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. + Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, + Command thy son and daughter to join hands. + KING PHILIP. It likes us well; young princes, close your hands. + AUSTRIA. And your lips too; for I am well assur'd + That I did so when I was first assur'd. + KING PHILIP. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, + Let in that amity which you have made; + For at Saint Mary's chapel presently + The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. + Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? + I know she is not; for this match made up + Her presence would have interrupted much. + Where is she and her son? Tell me, who knows. + LEWIS. She is sad and passionate at your Highness' tent. + KING PHILIP. And, by my faith, this league that we have made + Will give her sadness very little cure. + Brother of England, how may we content + This widow lady? In her right we came; + Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, + To our own vantage. + KING JOHN. We will heal up all, + For we'll create young Arthur Duke of Britaine, + And Earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town + We make him lord of. Call the Lady Constance; + Some speedy messenger bid her repair + To our solemnity. I trust we shall, + If not fill up the measure of her will, + Yet in some measure satisfy her so + That we shall stop her exclamation. + Go we as well as haste will suffer us + To this unlook'd-for, unprepared pomp. + Exeunt all but the BASTARD + BASTARD. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! + John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole, + Hath willingly departed with a part; + And France, whose armour conscience buckled on, + Whom zeal and charity brought to the field + As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear + With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil, + That broker that still breaks the pate of faith, + That daily break-vow, he that wins of all, + Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids, + Who having no external thing to lose + But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that; + That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity, + Commodity, the bias of the world- + The world, who of itself is peised well, + Made to run even upon even ground, + Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias, + This sway of motion, this commodity, + Makes it take head from all indifferency, + From all direction, purpose, course, intent- + And this same bias, this commodity, + This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, + Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, + Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, + From a resolv'd and honourable war, + To a most base and vile-concluded peace. + And why rail I on this commodity? + But for because he hath not woo'd me yet; + Not that I have the power to clutch my hand + When his fair angels would salute my palm, + But for my hand, as unattempted yet, + Like a poor beggar raileth on the rich. + Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail + And say there is no sin but to be rich; + And being rich, my virtue then shall be + To say there is no vice but beggary. + Since kings break faith upon commodity, + Gain, be my lord, for I will worship thee. Exit + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +France. The FRENCH KING'S camp + +Enter CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and SALISBURY + + CONSTANCE. Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace! + False blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! + Shall Lewis have Blanch, and Blanch those provinces? + It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; + Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again. + It cannot be; thou dost but say 'tis so; + I trust I may not trust thee, for thy word + Is but the vain breath of a common man: + Believe me I do not believe thee, man; + I have a king's oath to the contrary. + Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, + For I am sick and capable of fears, + Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; + A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; + A woman, naturally born to fears; + And though thou now confess thou didst but jest, + With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, + But they will quake and tremble all this day. + What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? + Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? + What means that hand upon that breast of thine? + Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, + Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds? + Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? + Then speak again-not all thy former tale, + But this one word, whether thy tale be true. + SALISBURY. As true as I believe you think them false + That give you cause to prove my saying true. + CONSTANCE. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow, + Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; + And let belief and life encounter so + As doth the fury of two desperate men + Which in the very meeting fall and die! + Lewis marry Blanch! O boy, then where art thou? + France friend with England; what becomes of me? + Fellow, be gone: I cannot brook thy sight; + This news hath made thee a most ugly man. + SALISBURY. What other harm have I, good lady, done + But spoke the harm that is by others done? + CONSTANCE. Which harm within itself so heinous is + As it makes harmful all that speak of it. + ARTHUR. I do beseech you, madam, be content. + CONSTANCE. If thou that bid'st me be content wert grim, + Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, + Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains, + Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, + Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks, + I would not care, I then would be content; + For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou + Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. + But thou art fair, and at thy birth, dear boy, + Nature and Fortune join'd to make thee great: + Of Nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, + And with the half-blown rose; but Fortune, O! + She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee; + Sh' adulterates hourly with thine uncle John, + And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France + To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, + And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. + France is a bawd to Fortune and King John- + That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John! + Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? + Envenom him with words, or get thee gone + And leave those woes alone which I alone + Am bound to under-bear. + SALISBURY. Pardon me, madam, + I may not go without you to the kings. + CONSTANCE. Thou mayst, thou shalt; I will not go with thee; + I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, + For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop. + To me, and to the state of my great grief, + Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great + That no supporter but the huge firm earth + Can hold it up. [Seats herself on the ground] + Here I and sorrows sit; + Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. + + Enter KING JOHN, KING PHILIP, LEWIS, BLANCH, + ELINOR, the BASTARD, AUSTRIA, and attendants + + KING PHILIP. 'Tis true, fair daughter, and this blessed day + Ever in France shall be kept festival. + To solemnize this day the glorious sun + Stays in his course and plays the alchemist, + Turning with splendour of his precious eye + The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold. + The yearly course that brings this day about + Shall never see it but a holiday. + CONSTANCE. [Rising] A wicked day, and not a holy day! + What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done + That it in golden letters should be set + Among the high tides in the calendar? + Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, + This day of shame, oppression, perjury; + Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child + Pray that their burdens may not fall this day, + Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd; + But on this day let seamen fear no wreck; + No bargains break that are not this day made; + This day, all things begun come to ill end, + Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! + KING PHILIP. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause + To curse the fair proceedings of this day. + Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? + CONSTANCE. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit + Resembling majesty, which, being touch'd and tried, + Proves valueless; you are forsworn, forsworn; + You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, + But now in arms you strengthen it with yours. + The grappling vigour and rough frown of war + Is cold in amity and painted peace, + And our oppression hath made up this league. + Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings! + A widow cries: Be husband to me, heavens! + Let not the hours of this ungodly day + Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, + Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings! + Hear me, O, hear me! + AUSTRIA. Lady Constance, peace! + CONSTANCE. War! war! no peace! Peace is to me a war. + O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame + That bloody spoil. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward! + Thou little valiant, great in villainy! + Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! + Thou Fortune's champion that dost never fight + But when her humorous ladyship is by + To teach thee safety! Thou art perjur'd too, + And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, + A ramping fool, to brag and stamp and swear + Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave, + Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side, + Been sworn my soldier, bidding me depend + Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength, + And dost thou now fall over to my foes? + Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame, + And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. + AUSTRIA. O that a man should speak those words to me! + BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. + AUSTRIA. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. + BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. + KING JOHN. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself. + + Enter PANDULPH + + KING PHILIP. Here comes the holy legate of the Pope. + PANDULPH. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven! + To thee, King John, my holy errand is. + I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, + And from Pope Innocent the legate here, + Do in his name religiously demand + Why thou against the Church, our holy mother, + So wilfully dost spurn; and force perforce + Keep Stephen Langton, chosen Archbishop + Of Canterbury, from that holy see? + This, in our foresaid holy father's name, + Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. + KING JOHN. What earthly name to interrogatories + Can task the free breath of a sacred king? + Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name + So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, + To charge me to an answer, as the Pope. + Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England + Add thus much more, that no Italian priest + Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; + But as we under heaven are supreme head, + So, under Him that great supremacy, + Where we do reign we will alone uphold, + Without th' assistance of a mortal hand. + So tell the Pope, all reverence set apart + To him and his usurp'd authority. + KING PHILIP. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. + KING JOHN. Though you and all the kings of Christendom + Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, + Dreading the curse that money may buy out, + And by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, + Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, + Who in that sale sells pardon from himself- + Though you and all the rest, so grossly led, + This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; + Yet I alone, alone do me oppose + Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes. + PANDULPH. Then by the lawful power that I have + Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate; + And blessed shall he be that doth revolt + From his allegiance to an heretic; + And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, + Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, + That takes away by any secret course + Thy hateful life. + CONSTANCE. O, lawful let it be + That I have room with Rome to curse awhile! + Good father Cardinal, cry thou 'amen' + To my keen curses; for without my wrong + There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. + PANDULPH. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. + CONSTANCE. And for mine too; when law can do no right, + Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong; + Law cannot give my child his kingdom here, + For he that holds his kingdom holds the law; + Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, + How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? + PANDULPH. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, + Let go the hand of that arch-heretic, + And raise the power of France upon his head, + Unless he do submit himself to Rome. + ELINOR. Look'st thou pale, France? Do not let go thy hand. + CONSTANCE. Look to that, devil, lest that France repent + And by disjoining hands hell lose a soul. + AUSTRIA. King Philip, listen to the Cardinal. + BASTARD. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. + AUSTRIA. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs, + Because- + BASTARD. Your breeches best may carry them. + KING JOHN. Philip, what say'st thou to the Cardinal? + CONSTANCE. What should he say, but as the Cardinal? + LEWIS. Bethink you, father; for the difference + Is purchase of a heavy curse from Rome + Or the light loss of England for a friend. + Forgo the easier. + BLANCH. That's the curse of Rome. + CONSTANCE. O Lewis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here + In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. + BLANCH. The Lady Constance speaks not from her faith, + But from her need. + CONSTANCE. O, if thou grant my need, + Which only lives but by the death of faith, + That need must needs infer this principle- + That faith would live again by death of need. + O then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up: + Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down! + KING JOHN. The King is mov'd, and answers not to this. + CONSTANCE. O be remov'd from him, and answer well! + AUSTRIA. Do so, King Philip; hang no more in doubt. + BASTARD. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout. + KING PHILIP. I am perplex'd and know not what to say. + PANDULPH. What canst thou say but will perplex thee more, + If thou stand excommunicate and curs'd? + KING PHILIP. Good reverend father, make my person yours, + And tell me how you would bestow yourself. + This royal hand and mine are newly knit, + And the conjunction of our inward souls + Married in league, coupled and link'd together + With all religious strength of sacred vows; + The latest breath that gave the sound of words + Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, + Between our kingdoms and our royal selves; + And even before this truce, but new before, + No longer than we well could wash our hands, + To clap this royal bargain up of peace, + Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd + With slaughter's pencil, where revenge did paint + The fearful difference of incensed kings. + And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, + So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, + Unyoke this seizure and this kind regreet? + Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven, + Make such unconstant children of ourselves, + As now again to snatch our palm from palm, + Unswear faith sworn, and on the marriage-bed + Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, + And make a riot on the gentle brow + Of true sincerity? O, holy sir, + My reverend father, let it not be so! + Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose, + Some gentle order; and then we shall be blest + To do your pleasure, and continue friends. + PANDULPH. All form is formless, order orderless, + Save what is opposite to England's love. + Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church, + Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse- + A mother's curse-on her revolting son. + France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, + A chafed lion by the mortal paw, + A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, + Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. + KING PHILIP. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. + PANDULPH. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; + And like. a civil war set'st oath to oath. + Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow + First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd, + That is, to be the champion of our Church. + What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself + And may not be performed by thyself, + For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss + Is not amiss when it is truly done; + And being not done, where doing tends to ill, + The truth is then most done not doing it; + The better act of purposes mistook + Is to mistake again; though indirect, + Yet indirection thereby grows direct, + And falsehood cures, as fire cools fire + Within the scorched veins of one new-burn'd. + It is religion that doth make vows kept; + But thou hast sworn against religion + By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st, + And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth + Against an oath; the truth thou art unsure + To swear swears only not to be forsworn; + Else what a mockery should it be to swear! + But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; + And most forsworn to keep what thou dost swear. + Therefore thy later vows against thy first + Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; + And better conquest never canst thou make + Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts + Against these giddy loose suggestions; + Upon which better part our pray'rs come in, + If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know + The peril of our curses fight on thee + So heavy as thou shalt not shake them off, + But in despair die under the black weight. + AUSTRIA. Rebellion, flat rebellion! + BASTARD. Will't not be? + Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? + LEWIS. Father, to arms! + BLANCH. Upon thy wedding-day? + Against the blood that thou hast married? + What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men? + Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, + Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp? + O husband, hear me! ay, alack, how new + Is 'husband' in my mouth! even for that name, + Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, + Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms + Against mine uncle. + CONSTANCE. O, upon my knee, + Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, + Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom + Forethought by heaven! + BLANCH. Now shall I see thy love. What motive may + Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? + CONSTANCE. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, + His honour. O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! + LEWIS. I muse your Majesty doth seem so cold, + When such profound respects do pull you on. + PANDULPH. I will denounce a curse upon his head. + KING PHILIP. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall from thee. + CONSTANCE. O fair return of banish'd majesty! + ELINOR. O foul revolt of French inconstancy! + KING JOHN. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. + BASTARD. Old Time the clock-setter, that bald sexton Time, + Is it as he will? Well then, France shall rue. + BLANCH. The sun's o'ercast with blood. Fair day, adieu! + Which is the side that I must go withal? + I am with both: each army hath a hand; + And in their rage, I having hold of both, + They whirl asunder and dismember me. + Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win; + Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose; + Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; + Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive. + Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose: + Assured loss before the match be play'd. + LEWIS. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. + BLANCH. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. + KING JOHN. Cousin, go draw our puissance together. + Exit BASTARD + France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath, + A rage whose heat hath this condition + That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, + The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France. + KING PHILIP. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn + To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire. + Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. + KING JOHN. No more than he that threats. To arms let's hie! + Exeunt severally + +SCENE 2. + +France. Plains near Angiers + +Alarums, excursions. Enter the BASTARD with AUSTRIA'S head + + BASTARD. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; + Some airy devil hovers in the sky + And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there, + While Philip breathes. + + Enter KING JOHN, ARTHUR, and HUBERT + + KING JOHN. Hubert, keep this boy. Philip, make up: + My mother is assailed in our tent, + And ta'en, I fear. + BASTARD. My lord, I rescued her; + Her Highness is in safety, fear you not; + But on, my liege, for very little pains + Will bring this labour to an happy end. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +France. Plains near Angiers + +Alarums, excursions, retreat. Enter KING JOHN, ELINOR, ARTHUR, the +BASTARD, HUBERT, and LORDS + + KING JOHN. [To ELINOR] So shall it be; your Grace shall stay + behind, + So strongly guarded. [To ARTHUR] Cousin, look not sad; + Thy grandam loves thee, and thy uncle will + As dear be to thee as thy father was. + ARTHUR. O, this will make my mother die with grief! + KING JOHN. [To the BASTARD] Cousin, away for England! haste + before, + And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags + Of hoarding abbots; imprisoned angels + Set at liberty; the fat ribs of peace + Must by the hungry now be fed upon. + Use our commission in his utmost force. + BASTARD. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, + When gold and silver becks me to come on. + I leave your Highness. Grandam, I will pray, + If ever I remember to be holy, + For your fair safety. So, I kiss your hand. + ELINOR. Farewell, gentle cousin. + KING JOHN. Coz, farewell. + Exit BASTARD + ELINOR. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. + KING JOHN. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, + We owe thee much! Within this wall of flesh + There is a soul counts thee her creditor, + And with advantage means to pay thy love; + And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath + Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. + Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say- + But I will fit it with some better time. + By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd + To say what good respect I have of thee. + HUBERT. I am much bounden to your Majesty. + KING JOHN. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet, + But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, + Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. + I had a thing to say-but let it go: + The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, + Attended with the pleasures of the world, + Is all too wanton and too full of gawds + To give me audience. If the midnight bell + Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth + Sound on into the drowsy race of night; + If this same were a churchyard where we stand, + And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; + Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, + Had bak'd thy blood and made it heavy-thick, + Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, + Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes + And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, + A passion hateful to my purposes; + Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, + Hear me without thine cars, and make reply + Without a tongue, using conceit alone, + Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words- + Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, + I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. + But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well; + And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. + HUBERT. So well that what you bid me undertake, + Though that my death were adjunct to my act, + By heaven, I would do it. + KING JOHN. Do not I know thou wouldst? + Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye + On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend, + He is a very serpent in my way; + And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, + He lies before me. Dost thou understand me? + Thou art his keeper. + HUBERT. And I'll keep him so + That he shall not offend your Majesty. + KING JOHN. Death. + HUBERT. My lord? + KING JOHN. A grave. + HUBERT. He shall not live. + KING JOHN. Enough! + I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee. + Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee. + Remember. Madam, fare you well; + I'll send those powers o'er to your Majesty. + ELINOR. My blessing go with thee! + KING JOHN. [To ARTHUR] For England, cousin, go; + Hubert shall be your man, attend on you + With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho! Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +France. The FRENCH KING's camp + +Enter KING PHILIP, LEWIS, PANDULPH, and attendants + + KING PHILIP. So by a roaring tempest on the flood + A whole armado of convicted sail + Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship. + PANDULPH. Courage and comfort! All shall yet go well. + KING PHILIP. What can go well, when we have run so ill. + Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? + Arthur ta'en prisoner? Divers dear friends slain? + And bloody England into England gone, + O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? + LEWIS. he hath won, that hath he fortified; + So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, + Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, + Doth want example; who hath read or heard + Of any kindred action like to this? + KING PHILIP. Well could I bear that England had this praise, + So we could find some pattern of our shame. + + Enter CONSTANCE + + Look who comes here! a grave unto a soul; + Holding th' eternal spirit, against her will, + In the vile prison of afflicted breath. + I prithee, lady, go away with me. + CONSTANCE. Lo now! now see the issue of your peace! + KING PHILIP. Patience, good lady! Comfort, gentle Constance! + CONSTANCE. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, + But that which ends all counsel, true redress- + Death, death; O amiable lovely death! + Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! + Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, + Thou hate and terror to prosperity, + And I will kiss thy detestable bones, + And put my eyeballs in thy vaulty brows, + And ring these fingers with thy household worms, + And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, + And be a carrion monster like thyself. + Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st, + And buss thee as thy wife. Misery's love, + O, come to me! + KING PHILIP. O fair affliction, peace! + CONSTANCE. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry. + O that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! + Then with a passion would I shake the world, + And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy + Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, + Which scorns a modern invocation. + PANDULPH. Lady, you utter madness and not sorrow. + CONSTANCE. Thou art not holy to belie me so. + I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine; + My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; + Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost. + I am not mad-I would to heaven I were! + For then 'tis like I should forget myself. + O, if I could, what grief should I forget! + Preach some philosophy to make me mad, + And thou shalt be canoniz'd, Cardinal; + For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, + My reasonable part produces reason + How I may be deliver'd of these woes, + And teaches me to kill or hang myself. + If I were mad I should forget my son, + Or madly think a babe of clouts were he. + I am not mad; too well, too well I feel + The different plague of each calamity. + KING PHILIP. Bind up those tresses. O, what love I note + In the fair multitude of those her hairs! + Where but by a chance a silver drop hath fall'n, + Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends + Do glue themselves in sociable grief, + Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, + Sticking together in calamity. + CONSTANCE. To England, if you will. + KING PHILIP. Bind up your hairs. + CONSTANCE. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? + I tore them from their bonds, and cried aloud + 'O that these hands could so redeem my son, + As they have given these hairs their liberty!' + But now I envy at their liberty, + And will again commit them to their bonds, + Because my poor child is a prisoner. + And, father Cardinal, I have heard you say + That we shall see and know our friends in heaven; + If that be true, I shall see my boy again; + For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, + To him that did but yesterday suspire, + There was not such a gracious creature born. + But now will canker sorrow eat my bud + And chase the native beauty from his cheek, + And he will look as hollow as a ghost, + As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; + And so he'll die; and, rising so again, + When I shall meet him in the court of heaven + I shall not know him. Therefore never, never + Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. + PANDULPH. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. + CONSTANCE. He talks to me that never had a son. + KING PHILIP. You are as fond of grief as of your child. + CONSTANCE. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, + Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, + Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, + Remembers me of all his gracious parts, + Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; + Then have I reason to be fond of grief. + Fare you well; had you such a loss as I, + I could give better comfort than you do. + I will not keep this form upon my head, + [Tearing her hair] + When there is such disorder in my wit. + O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! + My life, my joy, my food, my ail the world! + My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! Exit + KING PHILIP. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. Exit + LEWIS. There's nothing in this world can make me joy. + Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale + Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; + And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, + That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. + PANDULPH. Before the curing of a strong disease, + Even in the instant of repair and health, + The fit is strongest; evils that take leave + On their departure most of all show evil; + What have you lost by losing of this day? + LEWIS. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. + PANDULPH. If you had won it, certainly you had. + No, no; when Fortune means to men most good, + She looks upon them with a threat'ning eye. + 'Tis strange to think how much King John hath lost + In this which he accounts so clearly won. + Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner? + LEWIS. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. + PANDULPH. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. + Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; + For even the breath of what I mean to speak + Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, + Out of the path which shall directly lead + Thy foot to England's throne. And therefore mark: + John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be + That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, + The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, + One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest. + A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand + Must be boisterously maintain'd as gain'd, + And he that stands upon a slipp'ry place + Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up; + That John may stand then, Arthur needs must fall; + So be it, for it cannot be but so. + LEWIS. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? + PANDULPH. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife, + May then make all the claim that Arthur did. + LEWIS. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. + PANDULPH. How green you are and fresh in this old world! + John lays you plots; the times conspire with you; + For he that steeps his safety in true blood + Shall find but bloody safety and untrue. + This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts + Of all his people and freeze up their zeal, + That none so small advantage shall step forth + To check his reign but they will cherish it; + No natural exhalation in the sky, + No scope of nature, no distemper'd day, + No common wind, no customed event, + But they will pluck away his natural cause + And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, + Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, + Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. + LEWIS. May be he will not touch young Arthur's life, + But hold himself safe in his prisonment. + PANDULPH. O, Sir, when he shall hear of your approach, + If that young Arthur be not gone already, + Even at that news he dies; and then the hearts + Of all his people shall revolt from him, + And kiss the lips of unacquainted change, + And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath + Out of the bloody fingers' ends of john. + Methinks I see this hurly all on foot; + And, O, what better matter breeds for you + Than I have nam'd! The bastard Faulconbridge + Is now in England ransacking the Church, + Offending charity; if but a dozen French + Were there in arms, they would be as a can + To train ten thousand English to their side; + Or as a little snow, tumbled about, + Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, + Go with me to the King. 'Tis wonderful + What may be wrought out of their discontent, + Now that their souls are topful of offence. + For England go; I will whet on the King. + LEWIS. Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go; + If you say ay, the King will not say no. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +England. A castle + +Enter HUBERT and EXECUTIONERS + + HUBERT. Heat me these irons hot; and look thou stand + Within the arras. When I strike my foot + Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth + And bind the boy which you shall find with me + Fast to the chair. Be heedful; hence, and watch. + EXECUTIONER. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. + HUBERT. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you. Look to't. + Exeunt EXECUTIONERS + Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. + + Enter ARTHUR + + ARTHUR. Good morrow, Hubert. + HUBERT. Good morrow, little Prince. + ARTHUR. As little prince, having so great a tide + To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. + HUBERT. Indeed I have been merrier. + ARTHUR. Mercy on me! + Methinks no body should be sad but I; + Yet, I remember, when I was in France, + Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, + Only for wantonness. By my christendom, + So I were out of prison and kept sheep, + I should be as merry as the day is long; + And so I would be here but that I doubt + My uncle practises more harm to me; + He is afraid of me, and I of him. + Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? + No, indeed, ist not; and I would to heaven + I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. + HUBERT. [Aside] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate + He will awake my mercy, which lies dead; + Therefore I will be sudden and dispatch. + ARTHUR. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day; + In sooth, I would you were a little sick, + That I might sit all night and watch with you. + I warrant I love you more than you do me. + HUBERT. [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom.- + Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper] + [Aside] How now, foolish rheum! + Turning dispiteous torture out of door! + I must be brief, lest resolution drop + Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.- + Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ? + ARTHUR. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect. + Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? + HUBERT. Young boy, I must. + ARTHUR. And will you? + HUBERT. And I will. + ARTHUR. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, + I knit my handkerchief about your brows- + The best I had, a princess wrought it me- + And I did never ask it you again; + And with my hand at midnight held your head; + And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, + Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, + Saying 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?' + Or 'What good love may I perform for you?' + Many a poor man's son would have lyen still, + And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; + But you at your sick service had a prince. + Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, + And call it cunning. Do, an if you will. + If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, + Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes, + These eyes that never did nor never shall + So much as frown on you? + HUBERT. I have sworn to do it; + And with hot irons must I burn them out. + ARTHUR. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it! + The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, + Approaching near these eyes would drink my tears, + And quench his fiery indignation + Even in the matter of mine innocence; + Nay, after that, consume away in rust + But for containing fire to harm mine eye. + Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? + An if an angel should have come to me + And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, + I would not have believ'd him-no tongue but Hubert's. + HUBERT. [Stamps] Come forth. + + Re-enter EXECUTIONERS, With cord, irons, etc. + + Do as I bid you do. + ARTHUR. O, save me, Hubert, save me! My eyes are out + Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. + HUBERT. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. + ARTHUR. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough? + I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. + For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! + Nay, hear me, Hubert! Drive these men away, + And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; + I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, + Nor look upon the iron angrily; + Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, + Whatever torment you do put me to. + HUBERT. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. + EXECUTIONER. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. + Exeunt EXECUTIONERS + ARTHUR. Alas, I then have chid away my friend! + He hath a stern look but a gentle heart. + Let him come back, that his compassion may + Give life to yours. + HUBERT. Come, boy, prepare yourself. + ARTHUR. Is there no remedy? + HUBERT. None, but to lose your eyes. + ARTHUR. O heaven, that there were but a mote in yours, + A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, + Any annoyance in that precious sense! + Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, + Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. + HUBERT. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue. + ARTHUR. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues + Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes. + Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert; + Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, + So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes, + Though to no use but still to look on you! + Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold + And would not harm me. + HUBERT. I can heat it, boy. + ARTHUR. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, + Being create for comfort, to be us'd + In undeserved extremes. See else yourself: + There is no malice in this burning coal; + The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, + And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. + HUBERT. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. + ARTHUR. An if you do, you will but make it blush + And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert. + Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes, + And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, + Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. + All things that you should use to do me wrong + Deny their office; only you do lack + That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, + Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. + HUBERT. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eye + For all the treasure that thine uncle owes. + Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, + With this same very iron to burn them out. + ARTHUR. O, now you look like Hubert! All this while + You were disguis'd. + HUBERT. Peace; no more. Adieu. + Your uncle must not know but you are dead: + I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports; + And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure + That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, + Will not offend thee. + ARTHUR. O heaven! I thank you, Hubert. + HUBERT. Silence; no more. Go closely in with me. + Much danger do I undergo for thee. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +England. KING JOHN'S palace + +Enter KING JOHN, PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and other LORDS + + KING JOHN. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, + And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. + PEMBROKE. This once again, but that your Highness pleas'd, + Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before, + And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off, + The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; + Fresh expectation troubled not the land + With any long'd-for change or better state. + SALISBURY. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, + To guard a title that was rich before, + To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, + To throw a perfume on the violet, + To smooth the ice, or add another hue + Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light + To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, + Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. + PEMBROKE. But that your royal pleasure must be done, + This act is as an ancient tale new told + And, in the last repeating, troublesome, + Being urged at a time unseasonable. + SALISBURY. In this the antique and well-noted face + Of plain old form is much disfigured; + And like a shifted wind unto a sail + It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about, + Startles and frights consideration, + Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, + For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. + PEMBROKE. When workmen strive to do better than well, + They do confound their skill in covetousness; + And oftentimes excusing of a fault + Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse, + As patches set upon a little breach + Discredit more in hiding of the fault + Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. + SALISBURY. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, + We breath'd our counsel; but it pleas'd your Highness + To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd, + Since all and every part of what we would + Doth make a stand at what your Highness will. + KING JOHN. Some reasons of this double coronation + I have possess'd you with, and think them strong; + And more, more strong, when lesser is my fear, + I shall indue you with. Meantime but ask + What you would have reform'd that is not well, + And well shall you perceive how willingly + I will both hear and grant you your requests. + PEMBROKE. Then I, as one that am the tongue of these, + To sound the purposes of all their hearts, + Both for myself and them- but, chief of all, + Your safety, for the which myself and them + Bend their best studies, heartily request + Th' enfranchisement of Arthur, whose restraint + Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent + To break into this dangerous argument: + If what in rest you have in right you hold, + Why then your fears-which, as they say, attend + The steps of wrong-should move you to mew up + Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days + With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth + The rich advantage of good exercise? + That the time's enemies may not have this + To grace occasions, let it be our suit + That you have bid us ask his liberty; + Which for our goods we do no further ask + Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, + Counts it your weal he have his liberty. + KING JOHN. Let it be so. I do commit his youth + To your direction. + + Enter HUBERT + + [Aside] Hubert, what news with you? + PEMBROKE. This is the man should do the bloody deed: + He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine; + The image of a wicked heinous fault + Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his + Doth show the mood of a much troubled breast, + And I do fearfully believe 'tis done + What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. + SALISBURY. The colour of the King doth come and go + Between his purpose and his conscience, + Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set. + His passion is so ripe it needs must break. + PEMBROKE. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence + The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. + KING JOHN. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand. + Good lords, although my will to give is living, + The suit which you demand is gone and dead: + He tells us Arthur is deceas'd to-night. + SALISBURY. Indeed, we fear'd his sickness was past cure. + PEMBROKE. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was, + Before the child himself felt he was sick. + This must be answer'd either here or hence. + KING JOHN. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? + Think you I bear the shears of destiny? + Have I commandment on the pulse of life? + SALISBURY. It is apparent foul-play; and 'tis shame + That greatness should so grossly offer it. + So thrive it in your game! and so, farewell. + PEMBROKE. Stay yet, Lord Salisbury, I'll go with thee + And find th' inheritance of this poor child, + His little kingdom of a forced grave. + That blood which ow'd the breadth of all this isle + Three foot of it doth hold-bad world the while! + This must not be thus borne: this will break out + To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt LORDS + KING JOHN. They burn in indignation. I repent. + There is no sure foundation set on blood, + No certain life achiev'd by others' death. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + A fearful eye thou hast; where is that blood + That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? + So foul a sky clears not without a storm. + Pour down thy weather-how goes all in France? + MESSENGER. From France to England. Never such a pow'r + For any foreign preparation + Was levied in the body of a land. + The copy of your speed is learn'd by them, + For when you should be told they do prepare, + The tidings comes that they are all arriv'd. + KING JOHN. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk? + Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care, + That such an army could be drawn in France, + And she not hear of it? + MESSENGER. My liege, her ear + Is stopp'd with dust: the first of April died + Your noble mother; and as I hear, my lord, + The Lady Constance in a frenzy died + Three days before; but this from rumour's tongue + I idly heard-if true or false I know not. + KING JOHN. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion! + O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd + My discontented peers! What! mother dead! + How wildly then walks my estate in France! + Under whose conduct came those pow'rs of France + That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here? + MESSENGER. Under the Dauphin. + KING JOHN. Thou hast made me giddy + With these in tidings. + + Enter the BASTARD and PETER OF POMFRET + + Now! What says the world + To your proceedings? Do not seek to stuff + My head with more ill news, for it is full. + BASTARD. But if you be afear'd to hear the worst, + Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. + KING JOHN. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd + Under the tide; but now I breathe again + Aloft the flood, and can give audience + To any tongue, speak it of what it will. + BASTARD. How I have sped among the clergymen + The sums I have collected shall express. + But as I travell'd hither through the land, + I find the people strangely fantasied; + Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams. + Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear; + And here's a prophet that I brought with me + From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found + With many hundreds treading on his heels; + To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, + That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, + Your Highness should deliver up your crown. + KING JOHN. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? + PETER. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. + KING JOHN. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; + And on that day at noon whereon he says + I shall yield up my crown let him be hang'd. + Deliver him to safety; and return, + For I must use thee. + Exit HUBERT with PETER + O my gentle cousin, + Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? + BASTARD. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it; + Besides, I met Lord Bigot and Lord Salisbury, + With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire, + And others more, going to seek the grave + Of Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to-night + On your suggestion. + KING JOHN. Gentle kinsman, go + And thrust thyself into their companies. + I have a way to will their loves again; + Bring them before me. + BASTARD. I Will seek them out. + KING JOHN. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before. + O, let me have no subject enemies + When adverse foreigners affright my towns + With dreadful pomp of stout invasion! + Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels, + And fly like thought from them to me again. + BASTARD. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. + KING JOHN. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman. + Exit BASTARD + Go after him; for he perhaps shall need + Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; + And be thou he. + MESSENGER. With all my heart, my liege. Exit + KING JOHN. My mother dead! + + Re-enter HUBERT + + HUBERT. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night; + Four fixed, and the fifth did whirl about + The other four in wondrous motion. + KING JOHN. Five moons! + HUBERT. Old men and beldams in the streets + Do prophesy upon it dangerously; + Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths; + And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, + And whisper one another in the ear; + And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist, + Whilst he that hears makes fearful action + With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. + I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, + The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, + With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; + Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, + Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste + Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, + Told of a many thousand warlike French + That were embattailed and rank'd in Kent. + Another lean unwash'd artificer + Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. + KING JOHN. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears? + Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? + Thy hand hath murd'red him. I had a mighty cause + To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. + HUBERT. No had, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me? + KING JOHN. It is the curse of kings to be attended + By slaves that take their humours for a warrant + To break within the bloody house of life, + And on the winking of authority + To understand a law; to know the meaning + Of dangerous majesty, when perchance it frowns + More upon humour than advis'd respect. + HUBERT. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. + KING JOHN. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth + Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal + Witness against us to damnation! + How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds + Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by, + A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, + Quoted and sign'd to do a deed of shame, + This murder had not come into my mind; + But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, + Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, + Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger, + I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; + And thou, to be endeared to a king, + Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. + HUBERT. My lord- + KING JOHN. Hadst thou but shook thy head or made pause, + When I spake darkly what I purposed, + Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, + As bid me tell my tale in express words, + Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, + And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me. + But thou didst understand me by my signs, + And didst in signs again parley with sin; + Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, + And consequently thy rude hand to act + The deed which both our tongues held vile to name. + Out of my sight, and never see me more! + My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, + Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign pow'rs; + Nay, in the body of the fleshly land, + This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, + Hostility and civil tumult reigns + Between my conscience and my cousin's death. + HUBERT. Arm you against your other enemies, + I'll make a peace between your soul and you. + Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine + Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, + Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. + Within this bosom never ent'red yet + The dreadful motion of a murderous thought + And you have slander'd nature in my form, + Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, + Is yet the cover of a fairer mind + Than to be butcher of an innocent child. + KING JOHN. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the peers, + Throw this report on their incensed rage + And make them tame to their obedience! + Forgive the comment that my passion made + Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, + And foul imaginary eyes of blood + Presented thee more hideous than thou art. + O, answer not; but to my closet bring + The angry lords with all expedient haste. + I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +England. Before the castle + +Enter ARTHUR, on the walls + + ARTHUR. The wall is high, and yet will I leap down. + Good ground, be pitiful and hurt me not! + There's few or none do know me; if they did, + This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. + I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. + If I get down and do not break my limbs, + I'll find a thousand shifts to get away. + As good to die and go, as die and stay. [Leaps down] + O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones. + Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! + [Dies] + + Enter PEMBROKE, SALISBURY, and BIGOT + + SALISBURY. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmundsbury; + It is our safety, and we must embrace + This gentle offer of the perilous time. + PEMBROKE. Who brought that letter from the Cardinal? + SALISBURY. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France, + Whose private with me of the Dauphin's love + Is much more general than these lines import. + BIGOT. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. + SALISBURY. Or rather then set forward; for 'twill be + Two long days' journey, lords, or ere we meet. + + Enter the BASTARD + + BASTARD. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords! + The King by me requests your presence straight. + SALISBURY. The King hath dispossess'd himself of us. + We will not line his thin bestained cloak + With our pure honours, nor attend the foot + That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks. + Return and tell him so. We know the worst. + BASTARD. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. + SALISBURY. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. + BASTARD. But there is little reason in your grief; + Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. + PEMBROKE. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. + BASTARD. 'Tis true-to hurt his master, no man else. + SALISBURY. This is the prison. What is he lies here? + PEMBROKE. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty! + The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. + SALISBURY. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, + Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. + BIGOT. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, + Found it too precious-princely for a grave. + SALISBURY. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld, + Or have you read or heard, or could you think? + Or do you almost think, although you see, + That you do see? Could thought, without this object, + Form such another? This is the very top, + The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, + Of murder's arms; this is the bloodiest shame, + The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, + That ever wall-ey'd wrath or staring rage + Presented to the tears of soft remorse. + PEMBROKE. All murders past do stand excus'd in this; + And this, so sole and so unmatchable, + Shall give a holiness, a purity, + To the yet unbegotten sin of times, + And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, + Exampled by this heinous spectacle. + BASTARD. It is a damned and a bloody work; + The graceless action of a heavy hand, + If that it be the work of any hand. + SALISBURY. If that it be the work of any hand! + We had a kind of light what would ensue. + It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; + The practice and the purpose of the King; + From whose obedience I forbid my soul + Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, + And breathing to his breathless excellence + The incense of a vow, a holy vow, + Never to taste the pleasures of the world, + Never to be infected with delight, + Nor conversant with ease and idleness, + Till I have set a glory to this hand + By giving it the worship of revenge. + PEMBROKE. and BIGOT. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. + + Enter HUBERT + + HUBERT. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you. + Arthur doth live; the King hath sent for you. + SALISBURY. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death! + Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone! + HUBERT. I am no villain. + SALISBURY. Must I rob the law? [Drawing his sword] + BASTARD. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. + SALISBURY. Not till I sheathe it in a murderer's skin. + HUBERT. Stand back, Lord Salisbury, stand back, I say; + By heaven, I think my sword's as sharp as yours. + I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, + Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; + Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget + Your worth, your greatness and nobility. + BIGOT. Out, dunghill! Dar'st thou brave a nobleman? + HUBERT. Not for my life; but yet I dare defend + My innocent life against an emperor. + SALISBURY. Thou art a murderer. + HUBERT. Do not prove me so. + Yet I am none. Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, + Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. + PEMBROKE. Cut him to pieces. + BASTARD. Keep the peace, I say. + SALISBURY. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. + BASTARD. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury. + If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, + Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, + I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime; + Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron + That you shall think the devil is come from hell. + BIGOT. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? + Second a villain and a murderer? + HUBERT. Lord Bigot, I am none. + BIGOT. Who kill'd this prince? + HUBERT. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well. + I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep + My date of life out for his sweet life's loss. + SALISBURY. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, + For villainy is not without such rheum; + And he, long traded in it, makes it seem + Like rivers of remorse and innocency. + Away with me, all you whose souls abhor + Th' uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house; + For I am stifled with this smell of sin. + BIGOT. Away toward Bury, to the Dauphin there! + PEMBROKE. There tell the King he may inquire us out. + Exeunt LORDS + BASTARD. Here's a good world! Knew you of this fair work? + Beyond the infinite and boundless reach + Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, + Art thou damn'd, Hubert. + HUBERT. Do but hear me, sir. + BASTARD. Ha! I'll tell thee what: + Thou'rt damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black- + Thou art more deep damn'd than Prince Lucifer; + There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell + As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. + HUBERT. Upon my soul- + BASTARD. If thou didst but consent + To this most cruel act, do but despair; + And if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread + That ever spider twisted from her womb + Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be a beam + To hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown thyself, + Put but a little water in a spoon + And it shall be as all the ocean, + Enough to stifle such a villain up + I do suspect thee very grievously. + HUBERT. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, + Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath + Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, + Let hell want pains enough to torture me! + I left him well. + BASTARD. Go, bear him in thine arms. + I am amaz'd, methinks, and lose my way + Among the thorns and dangers of this world. + How easy dost thou take all England up! + From forth this morsel of dead royalty + The life, the right, and truth of all this realm + Is fled to heaven; and England now is left + To tug and scamble, and to part by th' teeth + The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. + Now for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty + Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest + And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace; + Now powers from home and discontents at home + Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits, + As doth a raven on a sick-fall'n beast, + The imminent decay of wrested pomp. + Now happy he whose cloak and cincture can + Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, + And follow me with speed. I'll to the King; + A thousand businesses are brief in hand, + And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 1. England. KING JOHN'S palace + +Enter KING JOHN, PANDULPH, and attendants + + KING JOHN. Thus have I yielded up into your hand + The circle of my glory. + PANDULPH. [Gives back the crown] Take again + From this my hand, as holding of the Pope, + Your sovereign greatness and authority. + KING JOHN. Now keep your holy word; go meet the French; + And from his Holiness use all your power + To stop their marches fore we are inflam'd. + Our discontented counties do revolt; + Our people quarrel with obedience, + Swearing allegiance and the love of soul + To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. + This inundation of mistemp'red humour + Rests by you only to be qualified. + Then pause not; for the present time's so sick + That present med'cine must be minist'red + Or overthrow incurable ensues. + PANDULPH. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, + Upon your stubborn usage of the Pope; + But since you are a gentle convertite, + My tongue shall hush again this storm of war + And make fair weather in your blust'ring land. + On this Ascension-day, remember well, + Upon your oath of service to the Pope, + Go I to make the French lay down their arms. Exit + KING JOHN. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet + Say that before Ascension-day at noon + My crown I should give off? Even so I have. + I did suppose it should be on constraint; + But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. + + Enter the BASTARD + + BASTARD. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out + But Dover Castle. London hath receiv'd, + Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers. + Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone + To offer service to your enemy; + And wild amazement hurries up and down + The little number of your doubtful friends. + KING JOHN. Would not my lords return to me again + After they heard young Arthur was alive? + BASTARD. They found him dead, and cast into the streets, + An empty casket, where the jewel of life + By some damn'd hand was robbed and ta'en away. + KING JOHN. That villain Hubert told me he did live. + BASTARD. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. + But wherefore do you droop? Why look you sad? + Be great in act, as you have been in thought; + Let not the world see fear and sad distrust + Govern the motion of a kingly eye. + Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; + Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow + Of bragging horror; so shall inferior eyes, + That borrow their behaviours from the great, + Grow great by your example and put on + The dauntless spirit of resolution. + Away, and glister like the god of war + When he intendeth to become the field; + Show boldness and aspiring confidence. + What, shall they seek the lion in his den, + And fright him there, and make him tremble there? + O, let it not be said! Forage, and run + To meet displeasure farther from the doors + And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. + KING JOHN. The legate of the Pope hath been with me, + And I have made a happy peace with him; + And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers + Led by the Dauphin. + BASTARD. O inglorious league! + Shall we, upon the footing of our land, + Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, + Insinuation, parley, and base truce, + To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy, + A cock'red silken wanton, brave our fields + And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, + Mocking the air with colours idly spread, + And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms. + Perchance the Cardinal cannot make your peace; + Or, if he do, let it at least be said + They saw we had a purpose of defence. + KING JOHN. Have thou the ordering of this present time. + BASTARD. Away, then, with good courage! + Yet, I know + Our party may well meet a prouder foe. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. England. The DAUPHIN'S camp at Saint Edmundsbury + +Enter, in arms, LEWIS, SALISBURY, MELUN, PEMBROKE, BIGOT, and soldiers + + LEWIS. My Lord Melun, let this be copied out + And keep it safe for our remembrance; + Return the precedent to these lords again, + That, having our fair order written down, + Both they and we, perusing o'er these notes, + May know wherefore we took the sacrament, + And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. + SALISBURY. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. + And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear + A voluntary zeal and an unurg'd faith + To your proceedings; yet, believe me, Prince, + I am not glad that such a sore of time + Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, + And heal the inveterate canker of one wound + By making many. O, it grieves my soul + That I must draw this metal from my side + To be a widow-maker! O, and there + Where honourable rescue and defence + Cries out upon the name of Salisbury! + But such is the infection of the time + That, for the health and physic of our right, + We cannot deal but with the very hand + Of stern injustice and confused wrong. + And is't not pity, O my grieved friends! + That we, the sons and children of this isle, + Were born to see so sad an hour as this; + Wherein we step after a stranger-march + Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up + Her enemies' ranks-I must withdraw and weep + Upon the spot of this enforced cause- + To grace the gentry of a land remote + And follow unacquainted colours here? + What, here? O nation, that thou couldst remove! + That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, + Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself + And grapple thee unto a pagan shore, + Where these two Christian armies might combine + The blood of malice in a vein of league, + And not to spend it so unneighbourly! + LEWIS. A noble temper dost thou show in this; + And great affections wrestling in thy bosom + Doth make an earthquake of nobility. + O, what a noble combat hast thou fought + Between compulsion and a brave respect! + Let me wipe off this honourable dew + That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks. + My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, + Being an ordinary inundation; + But this effusion of such manly drops, + This show'r, blown up by tempest of the soul, + Startles mine eyes and makes me more amaz'd + Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven + Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. + Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, + And with a great heart heave away this storm; + Commend these waters to those baby eyes + That never saw the giant world enrag'd, + Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, + Full of warm blood, of mirth, of gossiping. + Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep + Into the purse of rich prosperity + As Lewis himself. So, nobles, shall you all, + That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. + + Enter PANDULPH + + And even there, methinks, an angel spake: + Look where the holy legate comes apace, + To give us warrant from the hand of heaven + And on our actions set the name of right + With holy breath. + PANDULPH. Hail, noble prince of France! + The next is this: King John hath reconcil'd + Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, + That so stood out against the holy Church, + The great metropolis and see of Rome. + Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up + And tame the savage spirit of wild war, + That, like a lion fostered up at hand, + It may lie gently at the foot of peace + And be no further harmful than in show. + LEWIS. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not back: + I am too high-born to be propertied, + To be a secondary at control, + Or useful serving-man and instrument + To any sovereign state throughout the world. + Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars + Between this chastis'd kingdom and myself + And brought in matter that should feed this fire; + And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out + With that same weak wind which enkindled it. + You taught me how to know the face of right, + Acquainted me with interest to this land, + Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart; + And come ye now to tell me John hath made + His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me? + I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, + After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; + And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back + Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? + Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne, + What men provided, what munition sent, + To underprop this action? Is 't not I + That undergo this charge? Who else but I, + And such as to my claim are liable, + Sweat in this business and maintain this war? + Have I not heard these islanders shout out + 'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns? + Have I not here the best cards for the game + To will this easy match, play'd for a crown? + And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? + No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. + PANDULPH. You look but on the outside of this work. + LEWIS. Outside or inside, I will not return + Till my attempt so much be glorified + As to my ample hope was promised + Before I drew this gallant head of war, + And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world + To outlook conquest, and to will renown + Even in the jaws of danger and of death. + [Trumpet sounds] + What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? + + Enter the BASTARD, attended + + BASTARD. According to the fair play of the world, + Let me have audience: I am sent to speak. + My holy lord of Milan, from the King + I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; + And, as you answer, I do know the scope + And warrant limited unto my tongue. + PANDULPH. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, + And will not temporize with my entreaties; + He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms. + BASTARD. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, + The youth says well. Now hear our English King; + For thus his royalty doth speak in me. + He is prepar'd, and reason too he should. + This apish and unmannerly approach, + This harness'd masque and unadvised revel + This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops, + The King doth smile at; and is well prepar'd + To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, + From out the circle of his territories. + That hand which had the strength, even at your door. + To cudgel you and make you take the hatch, + To dive like buckets in concealed wells, + To crouch in litter of your stable planks, + To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks, + To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out + In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake + Even at the crying of your nation's crow, + Thinking this voice an armed Englishman- + Shall that victorious hand be feebled here + That in your chambers gave you chastisement? + No. Know the gallant monarch is in arms + And like an eagle o'er his aery tow'rs + To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. + And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, + You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb + Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; + For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids, + Like Amazons, come tripping after drums, + Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, + Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts + To fierce and bloody inclination. + LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; + We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well; + We hold our time too precious to be spent + With such a brabbler. + PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak. + BASTARD. No, I will speak. + LEWIS. We will attend to neither. + Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war, + Plead for our interest and our being here. + BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; + And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start + And echo with the clamour of thy drum, + And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd + That shall reverberate all as loud as thine: + Sound but another, and another shall, + As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear + And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand- + Not trusting to this halting legate here, + Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need- + Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits + A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day + To feast upon whole thousands of the French. + LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. + BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. + Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +England. The field of battle + +Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT + + KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. + HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty? + KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long + Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, + Desires your Majesty to leave the field + And send him word by me which way you go. + KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. + MESSENGER. Be of good comfort; for the great supply + That was expected by the Dauphin here + Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands; + This news was brought to Richard but even now. + The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. + KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up + And will not let me welcome this good news. + Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight; + Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +England. Another part of the battlefield + +Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT + + SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends. + PEMBROKE. Up once again; put spirit in the French; + If they miscarry, we miscarry too. + SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, + In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. + PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field. + + Enter MELUN, wounded + + MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here. + SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names. + PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun. + SALISBURY. Wounded to death. + MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; + Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, + And welcome home again discarded faith. + Seek out King John, and fall before his feet; + For if the French be lords of this loud day, + He means to recompense the pains you take + By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn, + And I with him, and many moe with me, + Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury; + Even on that altar where we swore to you + Dear amity and everlasting love. + SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true? + MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view, + Retaining but a quantity of life, + Which bleeds away even as a form of wax + Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? + What in the world should make me now deceive, + Since I must lose the use of all deceit? + Why should I then be false, since it is true + That I must die here, and live hence by truth? + I say again, if Lewis do will the day, + He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours + Behold another day break in the east; + But even this night, whose black contagious breath + Already smokes about the burning crest + Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, + Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, + Paying the fine of rated treachery + Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. + If Lewis by your assistance win the day. + Commend me to one Hubert, with your King; + The love of him-and this respect besides, + For that my grandsire was an Englishman- + Awakes my conscience to confess all this. + In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence + From forth the noise and rumour of the field, + Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts + In peace, and part this body and my soul + With contemplation and devout desires. + SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul + But I do love the favour and the form + Of this most fair occasion, by the which + We will untread the steps of damned flight, + And like a bated and retired flood, + Leaving our rankness and irregular course, + Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, + And calmly run on in obedience + Even to our ocean, to great King John. + My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; + For I do see the cruel pangs of death + Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight, + And happy newness, that intends old right. + Exeunt, leading off MELUN + +SCENE 5. + +England. The French camp + +Enter LEWIS and his train + + LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, + But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, + When English measure backward their own ground + In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, + When with a volley of our needless shot, + After such bloody toil, we bid good night; + And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up, + Last in the field and almost lords of it! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? + LEWIS. Here; what news? + MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords + By his persuasion are again fall'n off, + And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, + Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. + LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart! + I did not think to be so sad to-night + As this hath made me. Who was he that said + King John did fly an hour or two before + The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs? + MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. + LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night; + The day shall not be up so soon as I + To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. Exeunt + +SCENE 6. + +An open place wear Swinstead Abbey + +Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally + + HUBERT. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. + BASTARD. A friend. What art thou? + HUBERT. Of the part of England. + BASTARD. Whither dost thou go? + HUBERT. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand + Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine? + BASTARD. Hubert, I think. + HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought. + I will upon all hazards well believe + Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well. + Who art thou? + BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please, + Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think + I come one way of the Plantagenets. + HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night + Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me + That any accent breaking from thy tongue + Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. + BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? + HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night + To find you out. + BASTARD. Brief, then; and what's the news? + HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, + Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. + BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news; + I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. + HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk; + I left him almost speechless and broke out + To acquaint you with this evil, that you might + The better arm you to the sudden time + Than if you had at leisure known of this. + BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him? + HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, + Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King + Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. + BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty? + HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back, + And brought Prince Henry in their company; + At whose request the King hath pardon'd them, + And they are all about his Majesty. + BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, + And tempt us not to bear above our power! + I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, + Passing these flats, are taken by the tide- + These Lincoln Washes have devoured them; + Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. + Away, before! conduct me to the King; + I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. Exeunt + +SCENE 7. + +The orchard at Swinstead Abbey + +Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT + + PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood + Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain. + Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house, + Doth by the idle comments that it makes + Foretell the ending of mortality. + + Enter PEMBROKE + + PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief + That, being brought into the open air, + It would allay the burning quality + Of that fell poison which assaileth him. + PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here. + Doth he still rage? Exit BIGOT + PEMBROKE. He is more patient + Than when you left him; even now he sung. + PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes + In their continuance will not feel themselves. + Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, + Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now + Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds + With many legions of strange fantasies, + Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, + Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing. + I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan + Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, + And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings + His soul and body to their lasting rest. + SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born + To set a form upon that indigest + Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. + + Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in + KING JOHN in a chair + + KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room; + It would not out at windows nor at doors. + There is so hot a summer in my bosom + That all my bowels crumble up to dust. + I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen + Upon a parchment, and against this fire + Do I shrink up. + PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty? + KING JOHN. Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off; + And none of you will bid the winter come + To thrust his icy fingers in my maw, + Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course + Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north + To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips + And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much; + I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait + And so ingrateful you deny me that. + PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears, + That might relieve you! + KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot. + Within me is a hell; and there the poison + Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize + On unreprievable condemned blood. + + Enter the BASTARD + + BASTARD. O, I am scalded with my violent motion + And spleen of speed to see your Majesty! + KING JOHN. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye! + The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt, + And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail + Are turned to one thread, one little hair; + My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, + Which holds but till thy news be uttered; + And then all this thou seest is but a clod + And module of confounded royalty. + BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, + Where God He knows how we shall answer him; + For in a night the best part of my pow'r, + As I upon advantage did remove, + Were in the Washes all unwarily + Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KING dies] + SALISBURY. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. + My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus. + PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. + What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, + When this was now a king, and now is clay? + BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind + To do the office for thee of revenge, + And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, + As it on earth hath been thy servant still. + Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres, + Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths, + And instantly return with me again + To push destruction and perpetual shame + Out of the weak door of our fainting land. + Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; + The Dauphin rages at our very heels. + SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we: + The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, + Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, + And brings from him such offers of our peace + As we with honour and respect may take, + With purpose presently to leave this war. + BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees + Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. + SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already; + For many carriages he hath dispatch'd + To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel + To the disposing of the Cardinal; + With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, + If you think meet, this afternoon will post + To consummate this business happily. + BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince, + With other princes that may best be spar'd, + Shall wait upon your father's funeral. + PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; + For so he will'd it. + BASTARD. Thither shall it, then; + And happily may your sweet self put on + The lineal state and glory of the land! + To whom, with all submission, on my knee + I do bequeath my faithful services + And true subjection everlastingly. + SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make, + To rest without a spot for evermore. + PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks, + And knows not how to do it but with tears. + BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, + Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. + This England never did, nor never shall, + Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, + But when it first did help to wound itself. + Now these her princes are come home again, + Come the three corners of the world in arms, + And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, + If England to itself do rest but true. Exeunt + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Rome. A street. +Scene II. The same. A public place. +Scene III. The same. A street. + + +ACT II +Scene I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard. +Scene II. A room in Caesar’s palace. +Scene III. A street near the Capitol. +Scene IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting. +Scene II. The same. The Forum. +Scene III. The same. A street. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. A room in Antony’s house. +Scene II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis. +Scene III. Within the tent of Brutus. + + +ACT V +Scene I. The plains of Philippi. +Scene II. The same. The field of battle. +Scene III. Another part of the field. +Scene IV. Another part of the field. +Scene V. Another part of the field. + + + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +JULIUS CAESAR +OCTAVIUS CAESAR, Triumvir after his death. +MARCUS ANTONIUS, ” ” ” +M. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS, ” ” ” +CICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA, Senators. +MARCUS BRUTUS, Conspirator against Caesar. +CASSIUS, ” ” ” +CASCA, ” ” ” +TREBONIUS, ” ” ” +LIGARIUS,” ” ” +DECIUS BRUTUS, ” ” ” +METELLUS CIMBER, ” ” ” +CINNA, ” ” ” +FLAVIUS, tribune +MARULLUS, tribune +ARTEMIDORUS, a Sophist of Cnidos. +A Soothsayer +CINNA, a poet. +Another Poet. +LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, young CATO, and VOLUMNIUS, Friends to +Brutus and Cassius. +VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS, Servants to Brutus +PINDARUS, Servant to Cassius + + +CALPHURNIA, wife to Caesar +PORTIA, wife to Brutus + +The Ghost of Caesar + + +Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants. + +SCENE: Rome, the conspirators’ camp near Sardis, and the plains of +Philippi. + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Rome. A street. + + Enter Flavius, Marullus and a throng of Citizens. + +FLAVIUS. +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? + +CARPENTER. +Why, sir, a carpenter. + +MARULLUS. +Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? +What dost thou with thy best apparel on? +You, sir, what trade are you? + +COBBLER. +Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a +cobbler. + +MARULLUS. +But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. + +COBBLER. +A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience, which is +indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. + +MARULLUS. +What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade? + +COBBLER. +Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I +can mend you. + +MARULLUS. +What mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow! + +COBBLER. +Why, sir, cobble you. + +FLAVIUS. +Thou art a cobbler, art thou? + +COBBLER. +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. + +FLAVIUS. +But wherefore art not in thy shop today? +Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? + +COBBLER. +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. + +MARULLUS. +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! +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 put on your best attire? +And do you now cull out a holiday? +And do you now strew flowers in his way, +That comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood? +Be gone! +Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, +Pray to the gods to intermit the plague +That needs must light on this ingratitude. + +FLAVIUS. +Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault +Assemble all the poor men of your sort, +Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears +Into the channel, till the lowest stream +Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. + + [_Exeunt Citizens._] + +See whether their basest metal be not mov’d; +They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. +Go you down that way towards the Capitol; +This way will I. Disrobe the images, +If you do find them deck’d with ceremonies. + +MARULLUS. +May we do so? +You know it is the feast of Lupercal. + +FLAVIUS. +It is no matter; let no images +Be hung with Caesar’s trophies. I’ll about +And drive away the vulgar from the streets; +So do you too, where you perceive them thick. +These growing feathers pluck’d from Caesar’s wing +Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, +Who else would soar above the view of men, +And keep us all in servile fearfulness. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A public place. + + Enter, in procession, with music, Caesar; Antony, for the course; + Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius and Casca; a great + crowd following, among them a Soothsayer. + +CAESAR. +Calphurnia. + +CASCA. +Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. + + [_Music ceases._] + +CAESAR. +Calphurnia. + +CALPHURNIA. +Here, my lord. + +CAESAR. +Stand you directly in Antonius’ way, +When he doth run his course. Antonius. + +ANTONY. +Caesar, my lord? + +CAESAR. +Forget not in your speed, Antonius, +To touch Calphurnia; for our elders say, +The barren, touched in this holy chase, +Shake off their sterile curse. + +ANTONY. +I shall remember. +When Caesar says “Do this,” it is perform’d. + +CAESAR. +Set on; and leave no ceremony out. + + [_Music._] + +SOOTHSAYER. +Caesar! + +CAESAR. +Ha! Who calls? + +CASCA. +Bid every noise be still; peace yet again! + + [_Music ceases._] + +CAESAR. +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. + +CAESAR. +What man is that? + +BRUTUS. +A soothsayer bids you beware the Ides of March. + +CAESAR. +Set him before me; let me see his face. + +CASSIUS. +Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar. + +CAESAR. +What say’st thou to me now? Speak once again. + +SOOTHSAYER. +Beware the Ides of March. + +CAESAR. +He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass. + + [_Sennet. Exeunt all but 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. + +BRUTUS. +Cassius, +Be not deceived: 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 behaviors; +But let not therefore my good friends be grieved +(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 thing. + +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? + +CASSIUS. +Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared 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. + + [_Flourish and 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. +I cannot tell what you and other men +Think of this life; but, for my single self, +I had as lief not be as live to be +In awe of such a thing as I myself. +I was born free as Caesar; so were you; +We both have fed as well, and we can both +Endure the winter’s cold as well as he: +For once, upon a raw and gusty day, +The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, +Caesar said to me, “Dar’st thou, Cassius, now +Leap in with me into this angry flood, +And swim to yonder point?” Upon the word, +Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, +And bade him follow: so indeed he did. +The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it +With lusty sinews, throwing it aside +And stemming it with hearts of controversy. +But ere we could arrive the point propos’d, +Caesar cried, “Help me, Cassius, or I sink!” +I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, +Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder +The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber +Did I the tired Caesar. And this man +Is now become a god; and Cassius is +A wretched creature, and must bend his body, +If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. +He had a fever when he was in Spain, +And when the fit was on him I did mark +How he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake: +His coward lips did from their colour fly, +And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world +Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan: +Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans +Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, +Alas, it cried, “Give me some drink, Titinius,” +As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, +A man of such a feeble temper should +So get the start of the majestic world, +And bear the palm alone. + + [_Shout. Flourish._] + +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.” +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 is it Rome indeed, and room enough, +When there is in it but one only man. +O, you and I have heard our fathers say, +There was a Brutus once that would have brook’d +Th’ 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, +Be any further mov’d. What you have said, +I will consider; what you have to say +I will with patience hear; and find a time +Both meet to hear and answer such high things. +Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: +Brutus had rather be a villager +Than to repute himself a son of Rome +Under these hard conditions as this time +Is like to lay upon us. + +CASSIUS. +I am glad that my weak words +Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. + + Enter Caesar and his Train. + +BRUTUS. +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 today. + +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: +Calphurnia’s cheek is pale; and Cicero +Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes +As we have seen him in the Capitol, +Being cross’d in conference by some senators. + +CASSIUS. +Casca will tell us what the matter is. + +CAESAR. +Antonius. + +ANTONY. +Caesar? + +CAESAR. +Let me have men about me that are fat, +Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep a-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. + +CAESAR. +Would he were fatter! But I fear him not: +Yet if my name were liable to fear, +I do not know the man I should avoid +So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, +He is a great observer, and he looks +Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays, +As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music. +Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort +As if he mock’d himself and scorn’d his spirit +That could be mov’d to smile at anything. +Such men as he be never at heart’s ease +Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, +And therefore are they very dangerous. +I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d +Than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. +Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, +And tell me truly what thou think’st of him. + + [_Exeunt Caesar and his Train. Casca stays._] + +CASCA. +You pull’d me by the cloak; would you speak with me? + +BRUTUS. +Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanc’d today, +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 offer’d him; and being offer’d 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? + +CASCA. +Why, for that too. + +CASSIUS. +They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for? + +CASCA. +Why, for that too. + +BRUTUS. +Was the crown offer’d him thrice? + +CASCA. +Ay, marry, was’t, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than +other; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted. + +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 hang’d, 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 fingers off it. And then he +offered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still, as +he refus’d it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp’d their chopt hands, +and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of +stinking breath because Caesar refus’d the crown, that it had, almost, +choked Caesar, for he swooned, and fell down at it. And for mine own +part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the +bad air. + +CASSIUS. +But, soft! I pray you. What, did Caesar swoon? + +CASCA. +He fell down in the market-place, and foam’d 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 common herd was glad +he refused the crown, he pluck’d me ope his doublet, and offer’d them +his throat to cut. And I had been a man of any occupation, if I would +not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the +rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, if he +had done or said anything amiss, he desir’d 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 stabb’d their mothers, they would +have done no less. + +BRUTUS. +And, after that, he came thus sad away? + +CASCA. +Ay. + +CASSIUS. +Did Cicero say anything? + +CASCA. +Ay, he spoke Greek. + +CASSIUS. +To what effect? + +CASCA. +Nay, and I tell you that, I’ll ne’er look you i’ the face again. But +those that understood him smil’d at one another and shook their heads; +but for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news +too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Caesar’s images, are +put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could +remember it. + +CASSIUS. +Will you sup with me tonight, Casca? + +CASCA. +No, I am promis’d forth. + +CASSIUS. +Will you dine with me tomorrow? + +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. + +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: +Tomorrow, 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. + + [_Exit Brutus._] + +Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet I see, +Thy honourable metal may be wrought +From that it is dispos’d: therefore ’tis 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. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. The same. A street. + + Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca with his + sword drawn, and Cicero. + +CICERO. +Good even, Casca: brought you Caesar home? +Why are you breathless, and why stare you so? + +CASCA. +Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth +Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, +I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds +Have riv’d the knotty oaks; and I have seen +Th’ ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, +To be exalted with the threatening clouds: +But never till tonight, never till now, +Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. +Either there is a civil strife in heaven, +Or else the world too saucy with the gods, +Incenses them to send destruction. + +CICERO. +Why, saw you anything more wonderful? + +CASCA. +A common slave, you’d know him well by sight, +Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn +Like twenty torches join’d, and yet his hand, +Not sensible of fire remain’d unscorch’d. +Besides, I ha’ not since put up my sword, +Against the Capitol I met a lion, +Who glared upon me, and went surly by, +Without annoying me. And there were drawn +Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, +Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw +Men, all in fire, walk up and down the streets. +And yesterday the bird of night did sit, +Even at noonday upon the marketplace, +Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies +Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, +“These are their reasons; they are natural”; +For I believe, they are portentous things +Unto the climate that they point upon. + +CICERO. +Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time. +But men may construe things after their fashion, +Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. +Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow? + +CASCA. +He doth, for he did bid Antonius +Send word to you he would be there tomorrow. + +CICERO. +Goodnight then, Casca: this disturbed sky +Is not to walk in. + +CASCA. +Farewell, Cicero. + + [_Exit Cicero._] + + Enter Cassius. + +CASSIUS. +Who’s there? + +CASCA. +A Roman. + +CASSIUS. +Casca, by your voice. + +CASCA. +Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! + +CASSIUS. +A very pleasing night to honest men. + +CASCA. +Who ever knew the heavens menace so? + +CASSIUS. +Those that have known the earth so full of faults. +For my part, I have walk’d about the streets, +Submitting me unto the perilous night; +And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, +Have bar’d my bosom to the thunder-stone; +And when the cross blue lightning seem’d to open +The breast of heaven, I did present myself +Even in the aim and very flash of it. + +CASCA. +But wherefore did you so much tempt the Heavens? +It is the part of men to fear and tremble, +When the most mighty gods by tokens send +Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. + +CASSIUS. +You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life +That should be in a Roman you do want, +Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze, +And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, +To see the strange impatience of the Heavens: +But if you would consider the true cause +Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, +Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind; +Why old men, fools, and children calculate, +Why all these things change from their ordinance, +Their natures, and pre-formed faculties, +To monstrous quality; why, you shall find +That Heaven hath infus’d them with these spirits, +To make them instruments of fear and warning +Unto some monstrous state. +Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man +Most like this dreadful night, +That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars, +As doth the lion in the Capitol; +A man no mightier than thyself, or me, +In personal action; yet prodigious grown, +And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. + +CASCA. +’Tis Caesar that you mean; is it not, Cassius? + +CASSIUS. +Let it be who it is: for Romans now +Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors; +But, woe the while! our fathers’ minds are dead, +And we are govern’d with our mothers’ spirits; +Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. + +CASCA. +Indeed, they say the senators tomorrow +Mean to establish Caesar as a king; +And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, +In every place, save here in Italy. + +CASSIUS. +I know where I will wear this dagger then; +Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: +Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; +Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat. +Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, +Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, +Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; +But life, being weary of these worldly bars, +Never lacks power to dismiss itself. +If I know this, know all the world besides, +That part of tyranny that I do bear +I can shake off at pleasure. + + [_Thunder still._] + +CASCA. +So can I: +So every bondman in his own hand bears +The power to cancel his captivity. + +CASSIUS. +And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? +Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf, +But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: +He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. +Those that with haste will make a mighty fire +Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome, +What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves +For the base matter to illuminate +So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief, +Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this +Before a willing bondman: then I know +My answer must be made; but I am arm’d, +And dangers are to me indifferent. + +CASCA. +You speak to Casca, and to such a man +That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand: +Be factious for redress of all these griefs, +And I will set this foot of mine as far +As who goes farthest. + +CASSIUS. +There’s a bargain made. +Now know you, Casca, I have mov’d already +Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans +To undergo with me an enterprise +Of honourable-dangerous consequence; +And I do know by this, they stay for me +In Pompey’s Porch: for now, this fearful night, +There is no stir or walking in the streets; +And the complexion of the element +In favour’s like the work we have in hand, +Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. + + Enter Cinna. + +CASCA. +Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste. + +CASSIUS. +’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait; +He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so? + +CINNA. +To find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber? + +CASSIUS. +No, it is Casca, one incorporate +To our attempts. Am I not stay’d for, Cinna? + +CINNA. +I am glad on’t. What a fearful night is this! +There’s two or three of us have seen strange sights. + +CASSIUS. +Am I not stay’d for? tell me. + +CINNA. +Yes, you are. O Cassius, if you could +But win the noble Brutus to our party— + +CASSIUS. +Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper, +And look you lay it in the praetor’s chair, +Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this +In at his window; set this up with wax +Upon old Brutus’ statue: all this done, +Repair to Pompey’s Porch, where you shall find us. +Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there? + +CINNA. +All but Metellus Cimber, and he’s gone +To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, +And so bestow these papers as you bade me. + +CASSIUS. +That done, repair to Pompey’s theatre. + + [_Exit Cinna._] + +Come, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day, +See Brutus at his house: three parts of him +Is ours already, and the man entire +Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. + +CASCA. +O, he sits high in all the people’s hearts! +And that which would appear offence in us, +His countenance, like richest alchemy, +Will change to virtue and to worthiness. + +CASSIUS. +Him, and his worth, and our great need of him, +You have right well conceited. Let us go, +For it is after midnight; and ere day, +We will awake him, and be sure of him. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard. + + Enter Brutus. + +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. +Call’d 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. +Th’ abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins +Remorse from power; and, to speak truth of Caesar, +I have not known when his affections sway’d +More than his reason. But ’tis a common proof, +That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder, +Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; +But when he once attains the 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 tomorrow, boy, the Ides of March? + +LUCIUS. +I know not, sir. + +BRUTUS. +Look in the calendar, and bring me word. + +LUCIUS. +I will, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +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’st: awake and see thyself. +Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!_ +“Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake!” +Such instigations have been often dropp’d +Where I have took them up. +“Shall Rome, &c.” Thus must I piece it out: +Shall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What, Rome? +My ancestors did from the streets of Rome +The Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king. +“Speak, strike, redress!” Am I entreated +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. + + [_Knock 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 moe with him. + +BRUTUS. +Do you know them? + +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 everyone 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 Brutus. + +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 +Betwixt 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. + +CINNA. +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. + +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? +Swear priests and cowards, and men cautelous, +Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls +That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear +Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain +The even virtue of our enterprise, +Nor th’ insuppressive mettle 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. + +CASCA. +Let us not leave him out. + +CINNA. +No, by no means. + +METELLUS. +O, let us have him, for his silver hairs +Will purchase us a good opinion, +And buy men’s voices to commend our deeds. +It shall be said, his judgment rul’d our hands; +Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, +But all be buried in his gravity. + +BRUTUS. +O, name him not; let us not break with him; +For he will never follow anything +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 let our hearts, as subtle masters do, +Stir up their servants to an act of rage, +And after seem to chide ’em. This shall mark +Our purpose necessary, and not envious; +Which so appearing to the common eyes, +We shall be call’d purgers, not murderers. +And for Mark Antony, think not of him; +For he can do no more than Caesar’s arm +When Caesar’s head is off. + +CASSIUS. +Yet I fear him; +For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar— + +BRUTUS. +Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: +If he love Caesar, all that he can do +Is to himself; take thought and die for Caesar. +And that were much he should; for he is given +To sports, to wildness, and much company. + +TREBONIUS. +There is no fear in him; let him not die; +For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. + + [_Clock strikes._] + +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 today 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 today. + +DECIUS. +Never fear that: if he be so resolved, +I can o’ersway him, for he loves to hear +That unicorns may be betray’d with trees, +And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, +Lions with toils, and men with flatterers. +But when I tell him he hates flatterers, +He says he does, being then most flattered. +Let me work; +For I can give his humour the true bent, +And I will bring him to the Capitol. + +CASSIUS. +Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. + +BRUTUS. +By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost? + +CINNA. +Be that the uttermost; and fail not then. + +METELLUS. +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 Metellus, go along by him: +He loves me well, and I have given him reason; +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 untired spirits and formal constancy. +And so, good morrow to you everyone. + + [_Exeunt all but Brutus._] + +Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter; +Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: +Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, +Which busy care draws in the brains of men; +Therefore thou sleep’st so sound. + + Enter Portia. + +PORTIA. +Brutus, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? +It is not for your health thus to commit +Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. + +PORTIA. +Nor for yours neither. Y’ have 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. +I urg’d you further; then you scratch’d your head, +And too impatiently stamp’d with your foot; +Yet I insisted, yet you answer’d not, +But with an angry wafture of your hand +Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did, +Fearing to strengthen that impatience +Which seem’d too much enkindled; and withal +Hoping it was but an effect of humour, +Which sometime hath his hour with every man. +It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; +And could it work so much upon your shape +As it hath much prevail’d on your condition, +I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, +Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. + +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 is it physical +To walk unbraced and suck up the humours +Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, +And will he steal out of his wholesome bed +To dare the vile contagion of the night, +And tempt the rheumy and 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, your self, your half, +Why you are heavy, and what men tonight +Have had resort to you; for here have been +Some six or seven, who did hide their faces +Even from darkness. + +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 your self +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! + + [_Knock._] + +Hark, hark, one knocks. Portia, go in awhile; +And by and by thy bosom shall partake +The secrets of my heart. +All my engagements I will construe to thee, +All the charactery of my sad brows. +Leave me with haste. + + [_Exit Portia._] + + Enter Lucius with Ligarius. + +Lucius, who’s that knocks? + +LUCIUS. +Here is a sick man that would speak with you. + +BRUTUS. +Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. +Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how? + +LIGARIUS. +Vouchsafe good-morrow from a feeble tongue. + +BRUTUS. +O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, +To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! + +LIGARIUS. +I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand +Any exploit worthy the name of honour. + +BRUTUS. +Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, +Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. + +LIGARIUS. +By all the gods that Romans bow before, +I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome! +Brave son, derived from honourable loins! +Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur’d up +My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, +And I will strive with things impossible, +Yea, get the better of them. What’s to do? + +BRUTUS. +A piece of work that will make sick men whole. + +LIGARIUS. +But are not some whole that we must make sick? + +BRUTUS. +That must we also. What it is, my Caius, +I shall unfold to thee, as we are going, +To whom it must be done. + +LIGARIUS. +Set on your foot, +And with a heart new-fir’d I follow you, +To do I know not what; but it sufficeth +That Brutus leads me on. + + [_Thunder._] + +BRUTUS. +Follow me then. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A room in Caesar’s palace. + + Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his nightgown. + +CAESAR. +Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight: +Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, +“Help, ho! They murder Caesar!” Who’s within? + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +My lord? + +CAESAR. +Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, +And bring me their opinions of success. + +SERVANT. +I will, my lord. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Calphurnia. + +CALPHURNIA. +What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth? +You shall not stir out of your house today. + +CAESAR. +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. + +CALPHURNIA. +Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, +Yet now they fright me. There is one within, +Besides the things that we have heard and seen, +Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. +A lioness hath whelped in the streets, +And graves have yawn’d, and yielded up their dead; +Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds +In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, +Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; +The noise of battle hurtled in the air, +Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, +And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. +O Caesar, these things are beyond all use, +And I do fear them! + +CAESAR. +What can be avoided +Whose end is purpos’d by the mighty gods? +Yet Caesar shall go forth; for these predictions +Are to the world in general as to Caesar. + +CALPHURNIA. +When beggars die, there are no comets seen; +The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. + +CAESAR. +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 Servant. + +What say the augurers? + +SERVANT. +They would not have you to stir forth today. +Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, +They could not find a heart within the beast. + +CAESAR. +The gods do this in shame of cowardice: +Caesar should be a beast without a heart +If he should stay at home today for fear. +No, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well +That Caesar is more dangerous than he. +We are two lions litter’d in one day, +And I the elder and more terrible, +And Caesar shall go forth. + +CALPHURNIA. +Alas, my lord, +Your wisdom is consum’d in confidence. +Do not go forth today: 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 today. +Let me upon my knee prevail in this. + +CAESAR. +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. + +CAESAR. +And you are come in very happy time +To bear my greeting to the Senators, +And tell them that I will not come today. +Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser: +I will not come today. Tell them so, Decius. + +CALPHURNIA. +Say he is sick. + +CAESAR. +Shall Caesar send a lie? +Have I in conquest stretch’d mine arm so far, +To be afeard to tell grey-beards 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. + +CAESAR. +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: +Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home. +She dreamt tonight she saw my statue, +Which like a fountain with an hundred spouts +Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans +Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. +And these does she apply for warnings and portents +And evils imminent; and on her knee +Hath begg’d that I will stay at home today. + +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 +For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. +This by Calphurnia’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 Caesar. +If you shall send them word you will not come, +Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock +Apt to be render’d, for someone to say, +“Break up the Senate till another time, +When Caesar’s wife shall meet with better dreams.” +If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper +“Lo, Caesar is afraid”? +Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear dear love +To your proceeding bids me tell you this, +And reason to my love is liable. + +CAESAR. +How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia! +I am ashamed I did yield to them. +Give me my robe, for I will go. + + Enter Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, Cinna and Publius. + +And look where Publius is come to fetch me. + +PUBLIUS. +Good morrow, Caesar. + +CAESAR. +Welcome, Publius. +What, Brutus, are you stirr’d so early too? +Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, +Caesar was ne’er so much your enemy +As that same ague which hath made you lean. +What is’t o’clock? + +BRUTUS. +Caesar, ’tis strucken eight. + +CAESAR. +I thank you for your pains and courtesy. + + Enter Antony. + +See! Antony, that revels long a-nights, +Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. + +ANTONY. +So to most noble Caesar. + +CAESAR. +Bid them prepare within. +I am to blame to be thus waited for. +Now, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius! +I have an hour’s talk in store for you: +Remember that you call on me today; +Be near me, that I may remember you. + +TREBONIUS. +Caesar, I will. [_Aside._] and so near will I be, +That your best friends shall wish I had been further. + +CAESAR. +Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; +And we, like friends, will straightway go together. + +BRUTUS. +[_Aside._] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, +The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A street near the Capitol. + + Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper. + +ARTEMIDORUS. +_“Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; +have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber; +Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wrong’d Caius Ligarius. There +is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar. If +thou be’st not immortal, look about you: security gives way to +conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! +Thy lover, Artemidorus.”_ +Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, +And as a suitor will I give him this. +My heart laments that virtue cannot live +Out of the teeth of emulation. +If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live; +If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. + + Enter Portia and Lucius. + +PORTIA. +I pr’ythee, boy, run to the Senate-house; +Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone. +Why dost thou stay? + +LUCIUS. +To know my errand, madam. + +PORTIA. +I would have had thee there and here again, +Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. +[_Aside._] O constancy, be strong upon my side, +Set a huge mountain ’tween my heart and tongue! +I have a man’s mind, but a woman’s might. +How hard it is for women to keep counsel! +Art thou here yet? + +LUCIUS. +Madam, what should I do? +Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? +And so return to you, and nothing else? + +PORTIA. +Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, +For he went sickly forth: and take good note +What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. +Hark, boy, what noise is that? + +LUCIUS. +I hear none, madam. + +PORTIA. +Pr’ythee, listen well. +I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, +And the wind brings it from the Capitol. + +LUCIUS. +Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. + + Enter the Soothsayer. + +PORTIA. +Come hither, fellow: +Which way hast thou been? + +SOOTHSAYER. +At mine own house, good lady. + +PORTIA. +What is’t o’clock? + +SOOTHSAYER. +About the ninth hour, lady. + +PORTIA. +Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Madam, not yet. I go to take my stand, +To see him pass on to the Capitol. + +PORTIA. +Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not? + +SOOTHSAYER. +That I have, lady, if it will please Caesar +To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, +I shall beseech him to befriend himself. + +PORTIA. +Why, know’st thou any harm’s intended towards him? + +SOOTHSAYER. +None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. +Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow. +The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, +Of Senators, of Praetors, common suitors, +Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: +I’ll get me to a place more void, and there +Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. + + [_Exit._] + +PORTIA. +I must go in. +[_Aside._] Ay me, how weak a thing +The heart of woman is! O Brutus, +The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! +Sure, the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit +That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint. +Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; +Say I am merry; come to me again, +And bring me word what he doth say to thee. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting. + + A crowd of people in the street leading to the Capitol. Flourish. + Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, + Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Artemidorus, Publius, Popilius and the + Soothsayer. + +CAESAR. +The Ides of March are come. + +SOOTHSAYER. +Ay, Caesar; but not gone. + +ARTEMIDORUS. +Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule. + +DECIUS. +Trebonius doth desire you to o’er-read, +At your best leisure, this his humble suit. + +ARTEMIDORUS. +O Caesar, read mine first; for mine’s a suit +That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar. + +CAESAR. +What touches us ourself shall be last serv’d. + +ARTEMIDORUS. +Delay not, Caesar. Read it instantly. + +CAESAR. +What, is the fellow mad? + +PUBLIUS. +Sirrah, give place. + +CASSIUS. +What, urge you your petitions in the street? +Come to the Capitol. + +Caesar enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the Senators rise. + +POPILIUS. +I wish your enterprise today may thrive. + +CASSIUS. +What enterprise, Popilius? + +POPILIUS. +Fare you well. + + [_Advances to Caesar._] + +BRUTUS. +What said Popilius Lena? + +CASSIUS. +He wish’d today 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. Caesar and the Senators take their + seats._] + +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 hand. + +CAESAR. +Are we all ready? 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. + + [_Kneeling._] + +CAESAR. +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, Caesar dost 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’d brother? + +BRUTUS. +I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; +Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may +Have an immediate freedom of repeal. + +CAESAR. +What, Brutus? + +CASSIUS. +Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: +As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, +To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. + +CAESAR. +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,— + +CAESAR. +Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? + +DECIUS. +Great Caesar,— + +CAESAR. +Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? + +CASCA. +Speak, hands, for me! + + [_Casca stabs Caesar in the neck. Caesar catches hold of his arm. He + is then stabbed by several other Conspirators, and at last by Marcus + Brutus._] + +CAESAR. +_Et tu, Brute?_—Then fall, Caesar! + + [_Dies. The Senators and People retire in confusion._] + +CINNA. +Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead! +Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. + +CASSIUS. +Some to the common pulpits and cry out, +“Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!” + +BRUTUS. +People and Senators, be not affrighted. +Fly not; stand still; ambition’s debt is paid. + +CASCA. +Go to the pulpit, Brutus. + +DECIUS. +And Cassius too. + +BRUTUS. +Where’s Publius? + +CINNA. +Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. + +METELLUS. +Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar’s +Should chance— + +BRUTUS. +Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer! +There is no harm intended to your person, +Nor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius. + +CASSIUS. +And leave us, Publius; lest that the people +Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. + +BRUTUS. +Do so; and let no man abide this deed +But we the doers. + + Enter Trebonius. + +CASSIUS. +Where’s 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. + +CASCA. +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: +So are we Caesar’s friends, that have abridg’d +His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, +And let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood +Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: +Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, +And waving our red weapons o’er our heads, +Let’s all cry, “Peace, freedom, and liberty!” + +CASSIUS. +Stoop then, and wash. 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. + +DECIUS. +What, shall we forth? + +CASSIUS. +Ay, every man away. +Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels +With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. + + Enter a Servant. + +BRUTUS. +Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony’s. + +SERVANT. +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. + +SERVANT. +I’ll fetch him presently. + + [_Exit._] + +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; and my misgiving still +Falls shrewdly to the purpose. + + Enter Antony. + +BRUTUS. +But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. + +ANTONY. +O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? +Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, +Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. +I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, +Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: +If I myself, there is no hour so fit +As Caesar’s death’s hour; nor no instrument +Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich +With the most noble blood of all this world. +I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, +Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, +Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, +I shall not find myself so apt to die. +No place will please me so, no means 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 +And this the bleeding business they have done. +Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; +And pity to the general wrong of Rome— +As fire drives out fire, so pity pity— +Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, +To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony; +Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts +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. + +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 lethe. +O world, thou wast the forest to this hart; +And this indeed, O world, the heart of thee. +How like a deer strucken by many princes, +Dost thou here lie! + +CASSIUS. +Mark Antony,— + +ANTONY. +Pardon me, Caius Cassius: +The enemies of Caesar shall say this; +Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. + +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 to Brutus._] 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? + +BRUTUS. +[_Aside to Cassius._] 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 rights and lawful ceremonies. +It shall advantage more than do us wrong. + +CASSIUS. +[_Aside to Brutus._] 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. + +ANTONY. +Be it so; +I do desire no more. + +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 ruins of the noblest man +That ever lived in the tide of times. +Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! +Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, +Which, like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips +To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, +A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; +Domestic fury and fierce civil strife +Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; +Blood and destruction shall be so in use, +And dreadful objects so familiar, +That mothers shall but smile when they behold +Their infants quartered 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. + + Enter a Servant. + +You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? + +SERVANT. +I do, Mark Antony. + +ANTONY. +Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. + +SERVANT. +He did receive his letters, and is coming, +And bid me say to you by word of mouth,— +[_Seeing the body._] O Caesar! + +ANTONY. +Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. +Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes, +Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, +Began to water. Is thy master coming? + +SERVANT. +He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome. + +ANTONY. +Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc’d. +Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, +No Rome of safety for Octavius yet. +Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay awhile; +Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse +Into the market-place: there shall I try, +In my oration, how the people take +The cruel issue of these bloody men; +According to the which thou shalt discourse +To young Octavius of the state of things. +Lend me your hand. + + [_Exeunt with Caesar’s body._] + +SCENE II. The same. The Forum. + + Enter Brutus and goes into the pulpit, and Cassius, with a throng of + Citizens. + +CITIZENS. +We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. + +BRUTUS. +Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. +Cassius, go you into the other street +And part the numbers. +Those that will hear me speak, let ’em stay here; +Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; +And public reasons shall be rendered +Of Caesar’s death. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +I will hear Brutus speak. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons, +When severally we hear them rendered. + + [_Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes into the + rostrum._] + +THIRD CITIZEN. +The noble Brutus is ascended: silence! + +BRUTUS. +Be patient till the last. +Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my cause; and be silent, +that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine +honour, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your +senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any in this +assembly, any dear friend of Caesar’s, to him I say that Brutus’ love +to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus +rose against Caesar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less, +but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die +all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men? As Caesar +loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he +was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There +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 have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would +not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so +vile, that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I +offended. I pause for a reply. + +CITIZENS. +None, Brutus, none. + +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 enroll’d in the Capitol, his +glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; nor his offences enforc’d, +for which he suffered death. + + Enter Antony and others, with Caesar’s body. + +Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand +in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the +commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart, that, as I +slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for +myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. + +CITIZENS. +Live, Brutus! live, live! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Bring him with triumph home unto his house. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Give him a statue with his ancestors. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Let him be Caesar. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +Caesar’s better parts +Shall be crown’d in Brutus. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +We’ll bring him to his house with shouts and clamours. + +BRUTUS. +My countrymen,— + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Peace! Silence! Brutus speaks. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Peace, ho! + +BRUTUS. +Good countrymen, let me depart alone, +And, 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 allow’d to make. +I do entreat you, not a man depart, +Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. + + [_Exit._] + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Let him go up into the public chair. +We’ll hear him. Noble Antony, go up. + +ANTONY. +For Brutus’ sake, I am beholding to you. + + [_Goes up._] + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +What does he say of Brutus? + +THIRD CITIZEN. +He says, for Brutus’ sake +He finds himself beholding to us all. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +’Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +This Caesar was a tyrant. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Nay, that’s certain. +We are blest that Rome is rid of him. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Peace! let us hear what Antony can say. + +ANTONY. +You gentle Romans,— + +CITIZENS. +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 ransoms 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. +You all did love him once, not without cause; +What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? +O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, +And men have lost their reason. Bear with me. +My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, +And I must pause till it come back to me. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +If thou consider rightly of the matter, +Caesar has had great wrong. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Has he, masters? +I fear there will a worse come in his place. + +FOURTH 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, +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. + +CITIZENS. +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 loved 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. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +They were traitors. Honourable men! + +CITIZENS. +The will! The testament! + +SECOND CITIZEN. +They were villains, murderers. 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? + +CITIZENS. +Come down. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Descend. + + [_He comes down._] + +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. + +CITIZENS. +Stand back; room! bear back. + +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 Caesar 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 statue +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 woeful day! + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +O traitors, villains! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +O most bloody sight! + +SECOND CITIZEN. +We will be revenged. + +CITIZENS. +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’re wise and honourable, +And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. +I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. +I am no orator, as Brutus is; +But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, +That love my friend; and that they know full well +That gave me public leave to speak of him. +For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, +Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, +To stir men’s blood. I only speak right on. +I tell you that which you yourselves do know, +Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, +And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, +And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony +Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue +In every wound of Caesar, that should move +The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. + +CITIZENS. +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. + +CITIZENS. +Peace, ho! Hear Antony; most noble Antony. + +ANTONY. +Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. +Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? +Alas, you know not; I must tell you then. +You have forgot the will I told you of. + +CITIZENS. +Most true; the will!—let’s stay, and hear the will. + +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. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +O, royal Caesar! + +ANTONY. +Hear me with patience. + +CITIZENS. +Peace, ho! + +ANTONY. +Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, +His private arbors, 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, anything. + + [_Exeunt Citizens, with the body._] + +ANTONY. +Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, +Take thou what course thou wilt! + + Enter a Servant. + +How now, fellow? + +SERVANT. +Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. + +ANTONY. +Where is he? + +SERVANT. +He and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house. + +ANTONY. +And thither will I straight to visit him. +He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, +And in this mood will give us anything. + +SERVANT. +I heard him say Brutus and Cassius +Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. + +ANTONY. +Belike they had some notice of the people, +How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A street. + + Enter Cinna, the poet, and after him the citizens. + +CINNA. +I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar, +And things unluckily charge my fantasy. +I have no will to wander forth of doors, +Yet something leads me forth. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +What is your name? + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Whither are you going? + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Where do you dwell? + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +Are you a married man or a bachelor? + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Answer every man directly. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Ay, and briefly. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +Ay, and wisely. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Ay, and truly, you were best. + +CINNA. +What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married +man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly, +wisely and truly. Wisely I say I am a bachelor. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +That’s as much as to say they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me a +bang for that, I fear. Proceed, directly. + +CINNA. +Directly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +As a friend, or an enemy? + +CINNA. +As a friend. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +That matter is answered directly. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +For your dwelling, briefly. + +CINNA. +Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Your name, sir, truly. + +CINNA. +Truly, my name is Cinna. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Tear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator. + +CINNA. +I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses. + +CINNA. +I am not Cinna the conspirator. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +It is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart, +and turn him going. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Tear him, tear him! Come; brands, ho! firebrands. To Brutus’, to +Cassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some to +Ligarius’. Away, go! + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Rome. A room in Antony’s house. + + Enter Antony, Octavius and Lepidus, seated at a table. + +ANTONY. +These many then shall die; their names are prick’d. + +OCTAVIUS. +Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus? + +LEPIDUS. +I do consent,— + +OCTAVIUS. +Prick him down, Antony. + +LEPIDUS. +Upon condition Publius shall not live, +Who is your sister’s son, Mark Antony. + +ANTONY. +He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him. +But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar’s house; +Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine +How to cut off some charge in legacies. + +LEPIDUS. +What, shall I find you here? + +OCTAVIUS. +Or here, or at the Capitol. + + [_Exit Lepidus._] + +ANTONY. +This is a slight unmeritable man, +Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit, +The three-fold world divided, he should stand +One of the three to share it? + +OCTAVIUS. +So you thought him, +And took his voice who should be prick’d to die +In our black sentence and proscription. + +ANTONY. +Octavius, I have seen more days than you; +And though we lay these honours on this man, +To ease ourselves of divers sland’rous loads, +He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, +To groan and sweat under the business, +Either led or driven, as we point the way; +And having brought our treasure where we will, +Then take we down his load, and turn him off, +Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, +And graze in commons. + +OCTAVIUS. +You may do your will; +But he’s a tried and valiant soldier. + +ANTONY. +So is my horse, Octavius; and for that +I do appoint him store of provender. +It is a creature that I teach to fight, +To wind, to stop, to run directly on, +His corporal motion govern’d by my spirit. +And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so: +He must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth: +A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds +On objects, arts, and imitations, +Which, out of use and stal’d by other men, +Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him +But as a property. And now, Octavius, +Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius +Are levying powers; we must straight make head. +Therefore let our alliance be combin’d, +Our best friends made, our means stretch’d; +And let us presently go sit in council, +How covert matters may be best disclos’d, +And open perils surest answered. + +OCTAVIUS. +Let us do so: for we are at the stake, +And bay’d about with many enemies; +And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, +Millions of mischiefs. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis. + + Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Titinius and Soldiers; Pindarus meeting + them; Lucius at some distance. + +BRUTUS. +Stand, ho! + +LUCILIUS. +Give the word, ho! and stand. + +BRUTUS. +What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near? + +LUCILIUS. +He is at hand, and Pindarus is come +To do you salutation from his master. + + [_Pindarus gives a 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. A word, Lucilius; +How he received you, let me be resolv’d. + +LUCILIUS. +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. + +BRUTUS. +Thou hast describ’d +A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, +When love begins to sicken and decay +It useth an enforced ceremony. +There are no tricks in plain and simple faith; +But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, +Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; + + [_Low march within._] + +But when they should endure the bloody spur, +They fall their crests, and like deceitful jades +Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? + +LUCILIUS. +They meant this night in Sardis to be quarter’d; +The greater part, the horse in general, +Are come with Cassius. + + Enter Cassius and Soldiers. + +BRUTUS. +Hark! he is arriv’d. +March gently on to meet him. + +CASSIUS. +Stand, ho! + +BRUTUS. +Stand, ho! Speak the word along. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Stand! + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Stand! + +THIRD SOLDIER. +Stand! + +CASSIUS. +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 softly, I do know you well. +Before the eyes of both our armies here, +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. +Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man +Come to our tent till we have done our conference. +Lucius and Titinius, guard our door. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Within the tent of Brutus. + + Enter 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 letters, praying on his side +Because I knew the man, were 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 speak this, +Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. + +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, bait 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 farther. + +BRUTUS. +Away, slight man! + +CASSIUS. +Is’t possible? + +BRUTUS. +Hear me, for I will speak. +Must I give way and room to your rash choler? +Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? + +CASSIUS. +O 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, +I 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. + +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 answer’d Caius Cassius so? +When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, +To lock such rascal counters from his friends, +Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, +Dash him to pieces! + +CASSIUS. +I denied you not. + +BRUTUS. +You did. + +CASSIUS. +I did not. He was but a fool +That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart. +A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities; +But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. + +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 a-weary 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 be’st a Roman, take it forth. +I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: +Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know, +When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better +Than ever thou lovedst 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? + +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 Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius and Lucius. + +POET. +[_Within._] Let me go in to see the generals, +There is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet +They be alone. + +LUCILIUS. +[_Within._] You shall not come to them. + +POET. +[_Within._] Nothing but death shall stay me. + +CASSIUS. +How now! What’s the matter? + +POET. +For shame, you generals! What do you mean? +Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; +For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye. + +CASSIUS. +Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme! + +BRUTUS. +Get you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence! + +CASSIUS. +Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion. + +BRUTUS. +I’ll know his humour when he knows his time. +What should the wars do with these jigging fools? +Companion, hence! + +CASSIUS. +Away, away, be gone! + + [_Exit Poet._] + +BRUTUS. +Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders +Prepare to lodge their companies tonight. + +CASSIUS. +And come yourselves and bring Messala with you +Immediately to us. + + [_Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius._] + +BRUTUS. +Lucius, a bowl of wine. + + [_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. + +CASSIUS. +And died so? + +BRUTUS. +Even so. + +CASSIUS. +O ye immortal gods! + + Enter Lucius, with wine and a taper. + +BRUTUS. +Speak no more of her. Give me 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. +I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love. + + [_Drinks._] + + [_Exit Lucius._] + + Enter Titinius and Messala. + +BRUTUS. +Come in, Titinius! +Welcome, good Messala. +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. +Messala, I have here received letters, +That young Octavius and Mark Antony +Come down upon us with a mighty power, +Bending their expedition toward Philippi. + +MESSALA. +Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor. + +BRUTUS. +With what addition? + +MESSALA. +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! + +MESSALA. +Cicero is dead, +And by that order of proscription. +Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? + +BRUTUS. +No, Messala. + +MESSALA. +Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? + +BRUTUS. +Nothing, Messala. + +MESSALA. +That, methinks, is strange. + +BRUTUS. +Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours? + +MESSALA. +No, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Now as you are a Roman, tell me true. + +MESSALA. +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, Messala. +With meditating that she must die once, +I have the patience to endure it now. + +MESSALA. +Even so great men great losses should endure. + +CASSIUS. +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 must of force give place to better. +The people ’twixt Philippi and this ground +Do stand but in a forced affection; +For they have grudg’d us contribution. +The enemy, marching along by them, +By them shall make a fuller number up, +Come on refresh’d, new-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 besides, +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 little rest. +There is no more to say? + +CASSIUS. +No more. Good night: +Early tomorrow will we rise, and hence. + + Enter Lucius. + +BRUTUS. +Lucius! My gown. + + [_Exit Lucius._] + +Farewell now, good Messala. +Good night, Titinius. 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. + + Enter Lucius with the gown. + +BRUTUS. +Everything is well. + +CASSIUS. +Good night, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Good night, good brother. + +TITINIUS and MESSALA. +Good night, Lord Brutus. + +BRUTUS. +Farewell, everyone. + + [_Exeunt Cassius, Titinius and Messala._] + +Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? + +LUCIUS. +Here in the tent. + +BRUTUS. +What, thou speak’st drowsily? +Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o’er-watch’d. +Call Claudius and some other of my men; +I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. + +LUCIUS. +Varro and Claudius! + + Enter Varro and Claudius. + +VARRO. +Calls my lord? + +BRUTUS. +I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; +It may be I shall raise you by-and-by +On business to my brother Cassius. + +VARRO. +So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure. + +BRUTUS. +I will not have it so; lie down, good sirs, +It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. +Look, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so; +I put it in the pocket of my gown. + + [_Servants lie down._] + +LUCIUS. +I was sure your lordship did not give it me. + +BRUTUS. +Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. +Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, +And touch thy instrument a strain or two? + +LUCIUS. +Ay, my lord, an’t please you. + +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. + +LUCIUS. +I have slept, my lord, already. + +BRUTUS. +It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; +I will not hold thee long. If I do live, +I will be good to thee. + + [_Lucius plays and sings till he falls asleep._] + +This is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber, +Layest 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. + + Enter the Ghost of Caesar. + +How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? +I think it is the weakness of mine eyes +That shapes this monstrous apparition. +It comes upon me. Art thou anything? +Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, +That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare? +Speak to me what thou art. + +GHOST. +Thy evil spirit, Brutus. + +BRUTUS. +Why com’st thou? + +GHOST. +To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. + +BRUTUS. +Well; then I shall see thee again? + +GHOST. +Ay, at Philippi. + +BRUTUS. +Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. + + [_Ghost vanishes._] + +Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. +Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. +Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius! + +LUCIUS. +The strings, my lord, are false. + +BRUTUS. +He thinks he still is at his instrument. +Lucius, awake! + +LUCIUS. +My lord? + +BRUTUS. +Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out? + +LUCIUS. +My lord, I do not know that I did cry. + +BRUTUS. +Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything? + +LUCIUS. +Nothing, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! +Fellow thou, awake! + +VARRO. +My lord? + +CLAUDIUS. +My lord? + +BRUTUS. +Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? + +VARRO. CLAUDIUS. +Did we, my lord? + +BRUTUS. +Ay. Saw you anything? + +VARRO. +No, my lord, I saw nothing. + +CLAUDIUS. +Nor I, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; +Bid him set on his powers betimes before, +And we will follow. + +VARRO. CLAUDIUS. +It shall be done, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The plains of Philippi. + + Enter Octavius, Antony and their Army. + +OCTAVIUS. +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 a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +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. + +ANTONY. +Why do you cross me in this exigent? + +OCTAVIUS. +I do not cross you; but I will do so. + + [_March._] + +Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala +and others. + +BRUTUS. +They stand, and would have parley. + +CASSIUS. +Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk. + +OCTAVIUS. +Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? + +ANTONY. +No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. +Make forth; the generals would have some words. + +OCTAVIUS. +Stir not until the signal. + +BRUTUS. +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 stol’n their buzzing, Antony, +And very wisely threat before you sting. + +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 today, +If Cassius might have rul’d. + +OCTAVIUS. +Come, come, the cause. If arguing makes 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 school-boy, worthless of such honour, +Join’d with a masker and a reveller. + +ANTONY. +Old Cassius still! + +OCTAVIUS. +Come, Antony; away! +Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. +If you dare fight today, come to the field; +If not, when you have stomachs. + + [_Exeunt Octavius, Antony and their Army._] + +CASSIUS. +Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! +The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. + +BRUTUS. +Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you. + +LUCILIUS. +My lord? + + [_Brutus and Lucilius talk apart._] + +CASSIUS. +Messala. + +MESSALA. +What says my General? + +CASSIUS. +Messala, +This is my birth-day; as this very day +Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: +Be thou my witness that against my will +As Pompey was, am I compell’d to set +Upon one battle all our liberties. +You know that I held Epicurus strong, +And his opinion. Now I change my mind, +And partly credit things that do presage. +Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign +Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d, +Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands, +Who to Philippi here consorted us. +This morning are they fled away and gone, +And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites +Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us, +As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem +A canopy most fatal, under which +Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. + +MESSALA. +Believe not so. + +CASSIUS. +I but believe it partly, +For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv’d +To meet all perils very constantly. + +BRUTUS. +Even so, Lucilius. + +CASSIUS. +Now, most noble Brutus, +The gods today 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? + +BRUTUS. +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? + +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! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. The field of battle. + + Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. + +BRUTUS. +Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills +Unto the legions on the other side. + + [_Loud alarum._] + +Let them set on at once; for I perceive +But cold demeanor in Octavius’ wing, +And sudden push gives them the overthrow. +Ride, ride, Messala; let them all come down. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the field. + + Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. + +CASSIUS. +O, look, Titinius, 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. + +TITINIUS. +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. + + Enter Pindarus. + +PINDARUS. +Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; +Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord. +Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. + +CASSIUS. +This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; +Are those my tents where I perceive the fire? + +TITINIUS. +They are, my lord. + +CASSIUS. +Titinius, if thou lovest 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. + +TITINIUS. +I will be here again, even with a thought. + + [_Exit._] + +CASSIUS. +Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill, +My sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius, +And tell me what thou notest 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? + +PINDARUS. +[_Above._] Titinius is enclosed round about +With horsemen, that make to him on the spur, +Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. +Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too. +He’s ta’en! + + [_Shout._] + +And, hark! they shout for joy. + +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 descends._] + +Come hither, sirrah. +In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; +And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, +That whatsoever I did bid thee do, +Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath. +Now be a freeman; and with this good sword, +That ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this bosom. +Stand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts; +And when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now, +Guide thou the sword.—Caesar, thou art reveng’d, +Even with the sword that kill’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._] + + Enter Titinius with Messala. + +MESSALA. +It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius +Is overthrown by noble Brutus’ power, +As Cassius’ legions are by Antony. + +TITINIUS. +These tidings would well comfort Cassius. + +MESSALA. +Where did you leave him? + +TITINIUS. +All disconsolate, +With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. + +MESSALA. +Is not that he that lies upon the ground? + +TITINIUS. +He lies not like the living. O my heart! + +MESSALA. +Is not that he? + +TITINIUS. +No, this was he, Messala, +But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, +As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, +So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set. +The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone; +Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done. +Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. + +MESSALA. +Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. +O hateful Error, Melancholy’s child! +Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men +The things that are not? O Error, soon conceiv’d, +Thou never com’st unto a happy birth, +But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee! + +TITINIUS. +What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus? + +MESSALA. +Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet +The noble Brutus, thrusting this report +Into his ears. I may say thrusting it; +For piercing steel and darts envenomed +Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus +As tidings of this sight. + +TITINIUS. +Hie you, Messala, +And I will seek for Pindarus the while. + + [_Exit Messala._] + +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 everything! +But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; +Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I +Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, +And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. +By your leave, gods. This is a Roman’s part. +Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart. + + [_Dies._] + + Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius and + Lucilius. + +BRUTUS. +Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? + +MESSALA. +Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. + +BRUTUS. +Titinius’ face is upward. + +CATO. +He is slain. + +BRUTUS. +O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! +Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords +In our own proper entrails. + + [_Low alarums._] + +CATO. +Brave Titinius! +Look whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius! + +BRUTUS. +Are yet two Romans living such as these? +The 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. +I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. +Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body. +His funerals shall not be in our camp, +Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come; +And come, young Cato; let us to the field. +Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on. +’Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere night +We shall try fortune in a second fight. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of the field. + + Alarum. Enter fighting soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Messala, + young Cato, Lucilius, Flavius and others. + +BRUTUS. +Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads! + +CATO. +What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? +I will proclaim my name about the field. +I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! +A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend. +I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! + + [_Charges the enemy._] + +LUCILIUS. +And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; +Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus! + + [_Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls._] + +LUCILIUS. +O young and noble Cato, art thou down? +Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius, +And mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Yield, or thou diest. + +LUCILIUS. +Only I yield to die: +There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight; + + [_Offering money_] + +Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +We must not. A noble prisoner! + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +I’ll tell the news. Here comes the General. + + Enter Antony. + +Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord. + +ANTONY. +Where is he? + +LUCILIUS. +Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough. +I dare assure thee that no enemy +Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus. +The gods defend him from so great a shame! +When you do find him, or alive or dead, +He will be found like Brutus, like himself. + +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. Go on, +And see whether Brutus be alive or dead; +And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent +How everything is chanc’d. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the field. + + Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius. + +BRUTUS. +Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. + +CLITUS. +Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord, +He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain. + +BRUTUS. +Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word; +It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. + + [_Whispering._] + +CLITUS. +What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. + +BRUTUS. +Peace then, no words. + +CLITUS. +I’ll rather kill myself. + +BRUTUS. +Hark thee, Dardanius. + + [_Whispers him._] + +DARDANIUS. +Shall I do such a deed? + +CLITUS. +O Dardanius! + +DARDANIUS. +O Clitus! + +CLITUS. +What ill request did Brutus make to thee? + +DARDANIUS. +To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. + +CLITUS. +Now is that noble vessel full of grief, +That it runs over even at his eyes. + +BRUTUS. +Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word. + +VOLUMNIUS. +What says my lord? + +BRUTUS. +Why, this, Volumnius: +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. + +VOLUMNIUS. +Not so, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. +Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; +Our enemies have beat us to the pit. + + [_Low alarums._] + +It is more worthy to leap in ourselves +Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, +Thou know’st that we two went to school together; +Even for that our love of old, I pr’ythee +Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. + +VOLUMNIUS. +That’s not an office for a friend, my lord. + + [_Alarums still._] + +CLITUS. +Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here. + +BRUTUS. +Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius. +Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; +Farewell to thee too, Strato.—Countrymen, +My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life +I found no man but he was true to me. +I shall have glory by this losing day +More than Octavius and Mark Antony +By this vile conquest shall attain unto. +So fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue +Hath almost ended his life’s history. +Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, +That have but labour’d to attain this hour. + + [_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”._] + +CLITUS. +Fly, my lord, fly! + +BRUTUS. +Hence! I will follow. + + [_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius._] + +I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. +Thou art a fellow of a good respect; +Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it. +Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, +While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? + +STRATO. +Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord. + +BRUTUS. +Farewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still: +I kill’d not thee with half so good a will. + + [_He runs on his sword, and dies._] + + Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the + Army. + +OCTAVIUS. +What man is that? + +MESSALA. +My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master? + +STRATO. +Free from the bondage you are in, Messala. +The conquerors can but make a fire of him; +For Brutus only overcame himself, +And no man else hath honour by his death. + +LUCILIUS. +So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus, +That thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true. + +OCTAVIUS. +All that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them. +Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? + +STRATO. +Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. + +OCTAVIUS. +Do so, good Messala. + +MESSALA. +How died my master, Strato? + +STRATO. +I held the sword, and he did run on it. + +MESSALA. +Octavius, then take him to follow thee, +That did the latest service to my 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!” + +OCTAVIUS. +According to his virtue let us use him +With all respect and rites of burial. +Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie, +Most like a soldier, order’d honourably. +So call the field to rest, and let’s away, +To part the glories of this happy day. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace. +Scene II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle. +Scene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace. +Scene IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace. +Scene V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester. +Scene II. Before Gloucester’s Castle. +Scene III. The open Country. +Scene IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle. + +ACT III +Scene I. A Heath. +Scene II. Another part of the heath. +Scene III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. +Scene IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel. +Scene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. +Scene VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle. +Scene VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. + +ACT IV +Scene I. The heath. +Scene II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace. +Scene III. The French camp near Dover. +Scene IV. The French camp. A Tent. +Scene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. +Scene VI. The country near Dover. +Scene VII. A Tent in the French Camp. + +ACT V +Scene I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover. +Scene II. A field between the two Camps. +Scene III. The British Camp near Dover. + + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +LEAR, King of Britain. +GONERIL, eldest daughter to Lear. +REGAN, second daughter to Lear. +CORDELIA, youngest daughter to Lear. +DUKE of ALBANY, married to Goneril. +DUKE of CORNWALL, married to Regan. +KING of FRANCE. +DUKE of BURGUNDY. +EARL of GLOUCESTER. +EDGAR, elder son to Gloucester. +EDMUND, younger bastard son to Gloucester. +EARL of KENT. +FOOL. +OSWALD, steward to Goneril. +CURAN, a Courtier. +OLD MAN, Tenant to Gloucester. +Physician. +An Officer employed by Edmund. +Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. +A Herald. +Servants to Cornwall. + +Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and +Attendants. + +SCENE: Britain. + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace. + + Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund. + +KENT. +I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. + +GLOUCESTER. +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 either’s moiety. + +KENT. +Is not this your son, my lord? + +GLOUCESTER. +His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush’d to +acknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t. + +KENT. +I cannot conceive you. + +GLOUCESTER. +Sir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew round-wombed, +and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her +bed. Do you smell a fault? + +KENT. +I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. + +GLOUCESTER. +But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who +yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something +saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; +there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be +acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? + +EDMUND. +No, my lord. + +GLOUCESTER. +My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. + +EDMUND. +My services to your lordship. + +KENT. +I must love you, and sue to know you better. + +EDMUND. +Sir, I shall study deserving. + +GLOUCESTER. +He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The King is +coming. + + [_Sennet within._] + + Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants. + +LEAR. +Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, +Gloucester. + +GLOUCESTER. +I shall, my lord. + + [_Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund._] + +LEAR. +Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. +Give me the map there. Know that we have divided +In three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intent +To shake all cares and business from our age; +Conferring them on younger strengths, while we +Unburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, +And you, our no less loving son of Albany, +We have this hour a constant will to publish +Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife +May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, +Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love, +Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, +And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,— +Since now we will divest us both of rule, +Interest of territory, cares of state,— +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. + +GONERIL. +Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter; +Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; +Beyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare; +No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; +As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found; +A love that makes breath poor and speech unable; +Beyond all manner of so much I love you. + +CORDELIA. +[_Aside._] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent. + +LEAR. +Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, +With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d, +With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, +We make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue +Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter, +Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak. + +REGAN. +Sir, I am made of the self mettle 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. + +CORDELIA. +[_Aside._] Then poor Cordelia, +And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s +More ponderous than my tongue. + +LEAR. +To thee and thine hereditary ever +Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; +No less in space, validity, and pleasure +Than that conferr’d on Goneril.—Now, our joy, +Although the last and least; to whose young love +The vines of France and milk of Burgundy +Strive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw +A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. + +CORDELIA. +Nothing, my lord. + +LEAR. +Nothing? + +CORDELIA. +Nothing. + +LEAR. +Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. + +CORDELIA. +Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave +My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty +According to my bond; no more nor less. + +LEAR. +How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, +Lest you may mar your fortunes. + +CORDELIA. +Good my lord, +You have begot me, bred me, lov’d me: I +Return those duties back as are right fit, +Obey you, love you, and most honour you. +Why have my sisters husbands if they say +They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, +That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry +Half my love with him, half my care and duty: +Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, +To love my father all. + +LEAR. +But goes thy heart with this? + +CORDELIA. +Ay, my good lord. + +LEAR. +So young, and so untender? + +CORDELIA. +So young, my lord, and true. + +LEAR. +Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dower: +For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, +The mysteries of Hecate and the night; +By all the operation of the orbs, +From whom we do exist and cease to be; +Here I disclaim all my paternal care, +Propinquity and property of blood, +And as a stranger to my heart and me +Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, +Or he that makes his generation messes +To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom +Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d, +As thou my sometime daughter. + +KENT. +Good my liege,— + +LEAR. +Peace, Kent! +Come not between the dragon and his wrath. +I lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest +On her kind nursery. [_To Cordelia._] Hence and avoid my sight! +So be my grave my peace, as here I give +Her father’s heart from her! Call France. Who stirs? +Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany, +With my two daughters’ dowers digest 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 sustain’d, shall our abode +Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain +The name, and all the addition to a king; the sway, +Revenue, execution of the rest, +Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, +This coronet part between you. + [_Giving the crown._] + +KENT. +Royal Lear, +Whom I have ever honour’d as my king, +Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d, +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? +Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, +When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound +When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state; +And in thy best consideration check +This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement, +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; ne’er 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._] + +ALBANY and CORNWALL. +Dear sir, forbear! + +KENT. +Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow +Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, +Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, +I’ll tell thee thou dost evil. + +LEAR. +Hear me, recreant! on thine allegiance, hear me! +Since thou hast sought to make us break our vows, +Which we durst never yet, and with strain’d pride +To come betwixt our sentences and our power, +Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear, +Our potency made good, take thy reward. +Five days we do allot thee for provision, +To shield thee from disasters of the world; +And on the sixth to turn thy hated back +Upon our kingdom: if, on the next day following, +Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions, +The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, +This shall not be revok’d. + +KENT. +Fare thee well, King: sith thus thou wilt appear, +Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. +[_To Cordelia._] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, +That justly think’st and hast most rightly said! +[_To Goneril and Regan._] And your large speeches may your deeds +approve, +That good effects may spring from words of love. +Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; +He’ll shape his old course in a country new. + + [_Exit._] + + Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Burgundy and Attendants. + +CORDELIA. +Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord. + +LEAR. +My Lord of Burgundy, +We first address toward you, who with this king +Hath rivall’d for our daughter: what in the least +Will you require in present dower with her, +Or cease your quest of love? + +BURGUNDY. +Most royal majesty, +I crave no more than hath your highness offer’d, +Nor will you tender less? + +LEAR. +Right noble Burgundy, +When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; +But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands: +If aught within that little-seeming substance, +Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d, +And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, +She’s there, and she is yours. + +BURGUNDY. +I know no answer. + +LEAR. +Will you, with those infirmities she owes, +Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, +Dower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath, +Take her or leave her? + +BURGUNDY. +Pardon me, royal sir; +Election makes not up in such conditions. + +LEAR. +Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, +I tell you all her wealth. [_To France_] For you, great king, +I would not from your love make such a stray +To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you +T’avert your liking a more worthier way +Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d +Almost t’acknowledge hers. + +FRANCE. +This is most strange, +That she, who even but now was your best object, +The argument of your praise, balm of your age, +The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time +Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle +So many folds of favour. Sure her offence +Must be of such unnatural degree +That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection +Fall into taint; which to believe of her +Must be a faith that reason without miracle +Should never plant in me. + +CORDELIA. +I yet beseech your majesty, +If for I want that glib and oily art +To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, +I’ll do’t before I speak,—that you make known +It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, +No unchaste action or dishonour’d step, +That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour; +But even for want of that for which I am richer, +A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue +As 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 pleas’d me better. + +FRANCE. +Is it but this?—a tardiness in nature +Which often leaves the history unspoke +That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, +What say you to the lady? Love’s not love +When it is mingled with regards that stands +Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? +She is herself a dowry. + +BURGUNDY. +Royal King, +Give but that portion which yourself propos’d, +And here I take Cordelia by the hand, +Duchess of Burgundy. + +LEAR. +Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. + +BURGUNDY. +I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father +That you must lose a husband. + +CORDELIA. +Peace be with Burgundy! +Since that respects of fortunes are his love, +I shall not be his wife. + +FRANCE. +Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; +Most choice forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d! +Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: +Be it lawful, I take up what’s cast away. +Gods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect +My love should kindle to inflam’d respect. +Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, +Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: +Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy +Can buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me. +Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: +Thou losest here, a better where to find. + +LEAR. +Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we +Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see +That face of hers again. Therefore be gone +Without our grace, our love, our benison. +Come, noble Burgundy. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester and + Attendants._] + +FRANCE. +Bid farewell to your sisters. + +CORDELIA. +The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes +Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; +And like a sister am most loath to call +Your faults as they are nam’d. Love well our father: +To your professed bosoms I commit him: +But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, +I would prefer him to a better place. +So farewell to you both. + +REGAN. +Prescribe not us our duties. + +GONERIL. +Let your study +Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you +At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, +And well are worth the want that you have wanted. + +CORDELIA. +Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides: +Who covers faults, at last shame derides. +Well may you prosper. + +FRANCE. +Come, my fair Cordelia. + + [_Exeunt France and Cordelia._] + +GONERIL. +Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains +to us both. I think our father will hence tonight. + +REGAN. +That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us. + +GONERIL. +You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of +it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what +poor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. + +REGAN. +’Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known +himself. + +GONERIL. +The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look +from his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted +condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and +choleric years bring with them. + +REGAN. +Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s +banishment. + +GONERIL. +There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. +Pray you let us hit together: if our father carry authority with such +disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. + +REGAN. +We shall further think of it. + +GONERIL. +We must do something, and i’ th’ heat. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle. + + Enter Edmund with a letter. + +EDMUND. +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 moonshines +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? Why brand they us +With base? With baseness? bastardy? Base, base? +Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take +More composition and fierce quality +Than doth within a dull stale tired bed +Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops +Got ’tween asleep and wake? Well then, +Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: +Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund +As to the legitimate: fine word: legitimate! +Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, +And my invention thrive, Edmund the base +Shall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper. +Now, gods, stand up for bastards! + + Enter Gloucester. + +GLOUCESTER. +Kent banish’d thus! and France in choler parted! +And the King gone tonight! Prescrib’d his pow’r! +Confin’d to exhibition! All this done +Upon the gad!—Edmund, how now! What news? + +EDMUND. +So please your lordship, none. + + [_Putting up the letter._] + +GLOUCESTER. +Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? + +EDMUND. +I know no news, my lord. + +GLOUCESTER. +What paper were you reading? + +EDMUND. +Nothing, my lord. + +GLOUCESTER. +No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The +quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, +if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. + +EDMUND. +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 perus’d, I find it +not fit for your o’er-looking. + +GLOUCESTER. +Give me the letter, sir. + +EDMUND. +I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I +understand them, are to blame. + +GLOUCESTER. +Let’s see, let’s see! + +EDMUND. +I hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as an essay, +or taste of my virtue. + +GLOUCESTER. +[_Reads._] ‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to +the best of our times; keeps 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.’ +Hum! Conspiracy? ‘Sleep till I wake 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? + +EDMUND. +It was not brought me, my lord, there’s the cunning of it. I found it +thrown in at the casement of my closet. + +GLOUCESTER. +You know the character to be your brother’s? + +EDMUND. +If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but in +respect of that, I would fain think it were not. + +GLOUCESTER. +It is his. + +EDMUND. +It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. + +GLOUCESTER. +Has he never before sounded you in this business? + +EDMUND. +Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that, +sons at perfect age, and fathers declined, the father should be as ward +to the son, and the son manage his revenue. + +GLOUCESTER. +O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! +Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, +seek him; I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain, Where is he? + +EDMUND. +I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your +indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better +testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you +violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a +great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his +obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to +feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger. + +GLOUCESTER. +Think you so? + +EDMUND. +If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us +confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction, +and that without any further delay than this very evening. + +GLOUCESTER. +He cannot be such a monster. + +EDMUND. +Nor is not, sure. + +GLOUCESTER. +To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and +earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the +business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due +resolution. + +EDMUND. +I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I shall find +means, and acquaint you withal. + +GLOUCESTER. +These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though +the wisdom of Nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds +itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls +off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in +palaces, treason; and the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This +villain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father: +the King falls from bias of nature; there’s father against child. We +have seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, +and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out +this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully.—And +the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! ’Tis +strange. + + [_Exit._] + +EDMUND. +This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in +fortune, often the surfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our +disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains on +necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers +by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an +enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, +by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to +lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star. My father +compounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail, and my nativity was +under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I +should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament +twinkled on my bastardizing. + + Enter Edgar. + +Pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is +villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’Bedlam.—O, these eclipses +do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi. + +EDGAR. +How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in? + +EDMUND. +I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what +should follow these eclipses. + +EDGAR. +Do you busy yourself with that? + +EDMUND. +I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as of +unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, +dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and +maledictions against King and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment +of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not +what. + +EDGAR. +How long have you been a sectary astronomical? + +EDMUND. +Come, come! when saw you my father last? + +EDGAR. +The night gone by. + +EDMUND. +Spake you with him? + +EDGAR. +Ay, two hours together. + +EDMUND. +Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him, by word nor +countenance? + +EDGAR. +None at all. + +EDMUND. +Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty +forbear his presence until 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. + +EDMUND. +That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed +of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, +from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; +there’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed. + +EDGAR. +Armed, brother? + +EDMUND. +Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man if there be any +good meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen and heard. +But faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away! + +EDGAR. +Shall I hear from you anon? + +EDMUND. +I do serve you in this business. + + [_Exit Edgar._] + +A credulous father! and a brother noble, +Whose nature is so far from doing harms +That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty +My practices ride easy! I see the business. +Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit; +All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace. + + Enter Goneril and Oswald. + +GONERIL. +Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? + +OSWALD. +Ay, madam. + +GONERIL. +By day and night, he wrongs me; every hour +He flashes into one gross crime or other, +That sets us all at odds; I’ll 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’ll answer. + + [_Horns within._] + +OSWALD. +He’s coming, madam; I hear him. + +GONERIL. +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 our sister, +Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, +Not to be overruled. Idle old man, +That still would manage those authorities +That he hath given away! Now, by my life, +Old fools are babes again; and must be us’d +With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d. +Remember what I have said. + +OSWALD. +Very well, madam. + +GONERIL. +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’ll write straight to my sister +To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace. + + Enter Kent, disguised. + +KENT. +If but as well I other accents borrow, +That can my speech defuse, my good intent +May carry through itself to that full issue +For which I rais’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent, +If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d, +So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st, +Shall find thee full of labours. + + Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights and Attendants. + +LEAR. +Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +How now! what art thou? + +KENT. +A man, sir. + +LEAR. +What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us? + +KENT. +I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will +put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that +is wise and says little; to fear judgement; to fight when I cannot +choose; and to eat no fish. + +LEAR. +What art thou? + +KENT. +A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King. + +LEAR. +If thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou art poor +enough. What wouldst thou? + +KENT. +Service. + +LEAR. +Who wouldst thou serve? + +KENT. +You. + +LEAR. +Dost thou know me, fellow? + +KENT. +No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call +master. + +LEAR. +What’s that? + +KENT. +Authority. + +LEAR. +What services canst thou do? + +KENT. +I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it +and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit +for, I am qualified in, and the best 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 an Attendant._] + + Enter Oswald. + +You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter? + +OSWALD. +So please you,— + + [_Exit._] + +LEAR. +What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. + + [_Exit a Knight._] + +Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep. + + Re-enter Knight. + +How now! where’s that mongrel? + +KNIGHT. +He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. + +LEAR. +Why came not the slave back to me when I called him? + +KNIGHT. +Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. + +LEAR. +He would not? + +KNIGHT. +My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgement your +highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were +wont; there’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the +general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter. + +LEAR. +Ha! say’st thou so? + +KNIGHT. +I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot +be silent when I think your highness wronged. + +LEAR. +Thou but rememberest me of mine 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. + +KNIGHT. +Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined +away. + +LEAR. +No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I +would speak with her. + + [_Exit Attendant._] + +Go you, call hither my fool. + + [_Exit another Attendant._] + + Re-enter Oswald. + +O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? + +OSWALD. +My lady’s father. + +LEAR. +My lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you +cur! + +OSWALD. +I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. + +LEAR. +Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? + + [_Striking him._] + +OSWALD. +I’ll not be struck, my lord. + +KENT. +Nor tripp’d neither, you base football player. + + [_Tripping up his heels._] + +LEAR. +I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee. + +KENT. +Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! If you +will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away! go to; have +you wisdom? So. + + [_Pushes Oswald out._] + +LEAR. +Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service. + + [_Giving Kent money._] + + Enter Fool. + +FOOL. +Let me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb. + + [_Giving Kent his cap._] + +LEAR. +How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou? + +FOOL. +Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. + +KENT. +Why, fool? + +FOOL. +Why, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not +smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly: there, take my +coxcomb: why, this fellow has banish’d two on’s daughters, and did the +third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs +wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two +daughters! + +LEAR. +Why, my boy? + +FOOL. +If I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s +mine; beg another of thy daughters. + +LEAR. +Take heed, sirrah, the whip. + +FOOL. +Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the Lady +Brach may stand by the fire and stink. + +LEAR. +A pestilent gall to me! + +FOOL. +Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech. + +LEAR. +Do. + +FOOL. +Mark it, nuncle: + Have more than thou showest, + Speak less than thou knowest, + Lend less than thou owest, + Ride more than thou goest, + Learn more than thou trowest, + Set less than thou throwest; + Leave thy drink and thy whore, + And keep in-a-door, + And thou shalt have more + Than two tens to a score. + +KENT. +This is nothing, fool. + +FOOL. +Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing +for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? + +LEAR. +Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. + +FOOL. +[_to Kent._] Prythee 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. + +FOOL. + That lord that counsell’d thee + To give away thy land, + Come place him here by me, + Do thou for him stand. + The sweet and bitter fool + Will presently appear; + The one in motley here, + The other found out there. + +LEAR. +Dost thou call me fool, boy? + +FOOL. +All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. + +KENT. +This is not altogether fool, my lord. + +FOOL. +No, faith; lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly +out, they would have part on’t and ladies too, they will not let me +have all the fool to myself; they’ll be snatching. Nuncle, give me an +egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns. + +LEAR. +What two crowns shall they be? + +FOOL. +Why, after I have cut the egg i’ the middle and eat up the meat, the +two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’ the middle and +gav’st away both parts, thou bor’st 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. +[_Singing._] + Fools had ne’er less grace in a year; + For wise men are grown foppish, + And know not how their wits to wear, + Their manners are so apish. + +LEAR. +When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? + +FOOL. +I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy daughters thy +mothers; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and put’st down thine own +breeches, +[_Singing._] + 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. +Prythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie; I +would fain learn to lie. + +LEAR. +An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped. + +FOOL. +I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they’ll have me whipped +for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I +am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o’thing than +a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit +o’both sides, and left nothing i’ the middle: here comes one o’ the +parings. + + Enter Goneril. + +LEAR. +How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too +much of late i’ the frown. + +FOOL. +Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her +frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art +now. I am a fool, thou art nothing. [_To Goneril._] Yes, forsooth, I +will hold my tongue. So your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, +mum, + He that keeps nor crust nor crum, + Weary of all, shall want some. +[_Pointing to Lear_.] That’s a shealed peascod. + +GONERIL. +Not only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool, +But other of your insolent retinue +Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth +In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, +I had thought, by making this well known unto you, +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; which if you should, the fault +Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, +Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, +Might in their working do you that offence +Which else were shame, that then necessity +Will call discreet proceeding. + +FOOL. +For you know, nuncle, + The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long + That it’s had it head bit off by it young. +So out went the candle, and we were left darkling. + +LEAR. +Are you our daughter? + +GONERIL. +Come, sir, +I would you would make use of that good wisdom, +Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away +These dispositions, which of late transform you +From what you rightly are. + +FOOL. +May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love +thee! + +LEAR. +Doth any here know me? This is not Lear; +Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? +Either his notion weakens, his discernings +Are lethargied. Ha! waking? ’Tis not so! +Who is it that can tell me who I am? + +FOOL. +Lear’s shadow. + +LEAR. +I would learn that; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and +reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters. + +FOOL. +Which they will make an obedient father. + +LEAR. +Your name, fair gentlewoman? + +GONERIL. +This admiration, sir, is much o’ the favour +Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you +To understand my purposes aright: +As you are old and reverend, you should be wise. +Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; +Men so disorder’d, so debosh’d and bold +That this our court, infected with their manners, +Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust +Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel +Than a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak +For instant remedy. Be, then, desir’d +By her that else will take the thing she begs +A little to disquantity your train; +And the remainder that shall still depend, +To be such men as may besort your age, +Which know themselves, and you. + +LEAR. +Darkness and devils! +Saddle my horses; call my train together. +Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee: +Yet have I left a daughter. + +GONERIL. +You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble +Make servants of their betters. + + Enter Albany. + +LEAR. +Woe that too late repents!— +[_To Albany._] O, sir, are you come? +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! + +ALBANY. +Pray, sir, be patient. + +LEAR. +[_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, wrench’d my frame of nature +From the fix’d 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 judgement out! Go, go, my people. + +ALBANY. +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 +Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend +To make this creature fruitful! +Into her womb convey sterility! +Dry up in her the organs of increase; +And from her derogate body never spring +A babe to honour her! If she must teem, +Create her child of spleen, that it may live +And be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her! +Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; +With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; +Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits +To laughter and contempt; that she may feel +How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is +To have a thankless child! Away, away! + + [_Exit._] + +ALBANY. +Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? + +GONERIL. +Never afflict yourself to know more of it; +But let his disposition have that scope +That dotage gives it. + + Re-enter Lear. + +LEAR. +What, fifty of my followers at a clap? +Within a fortnight? + +ALBANY. +What’s the matter, sir? + +LEAR. +I’ll tell thee. [_To Goneril._] Life and death! I am asham’d +That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; +That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, +Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! +Th’untented woundings of a father’s curse +Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, +Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out, +And cast you with the waters that you lose +To temper clay. Ha! Let it be so. +I have another daughter, +Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable: +When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails +She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find +That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think +I have cast off for ever. + + [_Exeunt Lear, Kent and Attendants._] + +GONERIL. +Do you mark that? + +ALBANY. +I cannot be so partial, Goneril, +To the great love I bear you,— + +GONERIL. +Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! +[_To the Fool._] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. + +FOOL. +Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. + A fox when one has caught her, + And such a daughter, + Should sure to the slaughter, + If my cap would buy a halter; + So the fool follows after. + + [_Exit._] + +GONERIL. +This man hath had good counsel.—A hundred knights! +’Tis politic and safe to let him keep +At point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream, +Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, +He may enguard his dotage with their powers, +And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say! + +ALBANY. +Well, you may fear too far. + +GONERIL. +Safer than trust too far: +Let me still take away the harms I fear, +Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. +What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister: +If she sustain him and his hundred knights, +When I have show’d th’unfitness,— + + Re-enter Oswald. + +How now, Oswald! +What, have you writ that letter to my sister? + +OSWALD. +Ay, madam. + +GONERIL. +Take you some company, and away to horse: +Inform her full of my particular fear; +And thereto add such reasons of your own +As may compact it more. Get you gone; +And hasten your return. + + [_Exit Oswald._] + +No, no, my lord! +This milky gentleness and course of yours, +Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, +You are much more attask’d for want of wisdom +Than prais’d for harmful mildness. + +ALBANY. +How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell: +Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well. + +GONERIL. +Nay then,— + +ALBANY. +Well, well; the event. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace. + + Enter Lear, Kent and Fool. + +LEAR. +Go you before to Gloucester with these letters: acquaint my daughter no +further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the +letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you. + +KENT. +I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. + + [_Exit._] + +FOOL. +If a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes? + +LEAR. +Ay, boy. + +FOOL. +Then I prythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod. + +LEAR. +Ha, ha, ha! + +FOOL. +Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as +like this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. + +LEAR. +What canst tell, boy? + +FOOL. +She’ll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why +one’s nose stands i’the middle on’s face? + +LEAR. +No. + +FOOL. +Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s nose, that what a man cannot +smell out, he may spy into. + +LEAR. +I did her wrong. + +FOOL. +Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? + +LEAR. +No. + +FOOL. +Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. + +LEAR. +Why? + +FOOL. +Why, to put’s head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave +his horns without a case. + +LEAR. +I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? + +FOOL. +Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no +more than seven is a pretty reason. + +LEAR. +Because they are not eight? + +FOOL. +Yes indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool. + +LEAR. +To tak’t again perforce!—Monster ingratitude! + +FOOL. +If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’ld have thee beaten for being old +before thy time. + +LEAR. +How’s that? + +FOOL. +Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. + +LEAR. +O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! +Keep me in temper; I would not be mad! + + Enter Gentleman. + +How now? are the horses ready? + +GENTLEMAN. +Ready, my lord. + +LEAR. +Come, boy. + +FOOL. +She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure, +Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester. + + Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting. + +EDMUND. +Save thee, Curan. + +CURAN. +And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that +the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be here with him this +night. + +EDMUND. +How comes that? + +CURAN. +Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the +whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? + +EDMUND. +Not I: pray you, what are they? + +CURAN. +Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the two dukes of +Cornwall and Albany? + +EDMUND. +Not a word. + +CURAN. +You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +EDMUND. +The Duke be here tonight? The better! best! +This weaves itself perforce into my business. +My father hath set guard to take my brother; +And I have one thing, of a queasy question, +Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work! +Brother, a word, descend, brother, I say! + + Enter Edgar. + +My father watches: O sir, fly this place; +Intelligence is given where you are hid; +You have now the good advantage of the night. +Have you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall? +He’s coming hither; now, i’ the night, i’ the haste, +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. + +EDMUND. +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. Light, ho, here! +Fly, brother. Torches, torches!—So farewell. + + [_Exit Edgar._] + +Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion +Of my more fierce endeavour: [_Wounds his arm._] +I have seen drunkards +Do more than this in sport. Father, father! +Stop, stop! No help? + + Enter Gloucester and Servants with torches. + +GLOUCESTER. +Now, Edmund, where’s the villain? + +EDMUND. +Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, +Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon +To stand auspicious mistress. + +GLOUCESTER. +But where is he? + +EDMUND. +Look, sir, I bleed. + +GLOUCESTER. +Where is the villain, Edmund? + +EDMUND. +Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could,— + +GLOUCESTER. +Pursue him, ho! Go after. + + [_Exeunt Servants._] + +—By no means what? + +EDMUND. +Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; +But that I told him the revenging gods +’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; +Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond +The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, +Seeing how loathly opposite I stood +To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion +With his prepared sword, he charges home +My unprovided body, latch’d mine arm; +But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits, +Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to th’encounter, +Or whether gasted by the noise I made, +Full suddenly he fled. + +GLOUCESTER. +Let him fly far; +Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; +And found—dispatch’d. The noble Duke my master, +My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight: +By his authority I will proclaim it, +That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, +Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; +He that conceals him, death. + +EDMUND. +When I dissuaded him from his intent, +And found him pight to do it, with curst speech +I threaten’d to discover him: he replied, +‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, +If I would stand against thee, would the reposal +Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee +Make thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny +As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce +My very character, I’d turn it all +To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: +And thou must make a dullard of the world, +If they not thought the profits of my death +Were very pregnant and potential spurs +To make thee seek it. + +GLOUCESTER. +O strange and fast’ned villain! +Would he deny his letter, said he? I never got him. + + [_Tucket within._] + +Hark, the Duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes. +All ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape; +The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture +I will send far and near, that all the kingdom +May have due note of him; and of my land, +Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means +To make thee capable. + + Enter Cornwall, Regan and Attendants. + +CORNWALL. +How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, +Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. + +REGAN. +If it be true, all vengeance comes too short +Which can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord? + +GLOUCESTER. +O madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d! + +REGAN. +What, did my father’s godson seek your life? +He whom my father nam’d? your Edgar? + +GLOUCESTER. +O lady, lady, shame would have it hid! + +REGAN. +Was he not companion with the riotous knights +That tend upon my father? + +GLOUCESTER. +I know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad. + +EDMUND. +Yes, madam, he was of that consort. + +REGAN. +No marvel then though he were ill affected: +’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death, +To have the expense and waste of his revenues. +I have this present evening from my sister +Been well inform’d of them; and with such cautions +That if they come to sojourn at my house, +I’ll not be there. + +CORNWALL. +Nor I, assure thee, Regan. +Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father +A childlike office. + +EDMUND. +It was my duty, sir. + +GLOUCESTER. +He did bewray his practice; and receiv’d +This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. + +CORNWALL. +Is he pursued? + +GLOUCESTER. +Ay, my good lord. + +CORNWALL. +If he be taken, he shall never more +Be fear’d 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. + +EDMUND. +I shall serve you, sir, truly, however else. + +GLOUCESTER. +For him I thank your grace. + +CORNWALL. +You know not why we came to visit you? + +REGAN. +Thus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night: +Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, +Wherein we must have use of your advice. +Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, +Of differences, which I best thought it fit +To answer from our home; the several messengers +From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, +Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow +Your needful counsel to our business, +Which craves the instant use. + +GLOUCESTER. +I serve you, madam: +Your graces are right welcome. + + [_Exeunt. Flourish._] + +SCENE II. Before Gloucester’s Castle. + + Enter Kent and Oswald, severally. + +OSWALD. +Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? + +KENT. +Ay. + +OSWALD. +Where may we set our horses? + +KENT. +I’ the mire. + +OSWALD. +Prythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me. + +KENT. +I love thee not. + +OSWALD. +Why then, I care not for thee. + +KENT. +If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. + +OSWALD. +Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. + +KENT. +Fellow, I know thee. + +OSWALD. +What dost thou know me for? + +KENT. +A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, +beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; +a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, +super-serviceable, finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting slave; one that +wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the +composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of +a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou +deniest the least syllable of thy addition. + +OSWALD. +Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s +neither known of thee nor knows thee? + +KENT. +What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two +days ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the King? +Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; I’ll +make a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly +barber-monger, draw! + + [_Drawing his sword._] + +OSWALD. +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’ll so carbonado your shanks:—draw, you rascal; come your +ways! + +OSWALD. +Help, ho! murder! help! + +KENT. +Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike! + + [_Beating him._] + +OSWALD. +Help, ho! murder! murder! + + Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants. + +EDMUND. +How now! What’s the matter? Part! + +KENT. +With you, goodman boy, if you please: come, I’ll flesh ye; come on, +young master. + +GLOUCESTER. +Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here? + +CORNWALL. +Keep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is the +matter? + +REGAN. +The messengers from our sister and the King. + +CORNWALL. +What is your difference? Speak. + +OSWALD. +I am scarce in breath, my lord. + +KENT. +No marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly rascal, +nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee. + +CORNWALL. +Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man? + +KENT. +Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him +so ill, though he had been but two years at the trade. + +CORNWALL. +Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? + +OSWALD. +This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey +beard,— + +KENT. +Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’ll give me +leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the +walls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail? + +CORNWALL. +Peace, sirrah! +You beastly knave, know you no reverence? + +KENT. +Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. + +CORNWALL. +Why art thou angry? + +KENT. +That such a slave as this should wear a sword, +Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, +Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain +Which are too intrince t’unloose; smooth every passion +That in the natures of their lords rebel; +Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; +Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks +With every gale and vary of their masters, +Knowing naught, like dogs, but following. +A plague upon your epileptic visage! +Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? +Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, +I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot. + +CORNWALL. +What, art thou mad, old fellow? + +GLOUCESTER. +How fell you out? Say that. + +KENT. +No contraries hold more antipathy +Than I and such a knave. + +CORNWALL. +Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault? + +KENT. +His countenance likes me not. + +CORNWALL. +No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers. + +KENT. +Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain: +I have seen better faces in my time +Than stands on any shoulder that I see +Before me at this instant. + +CORNWALL. +This is some fellow +Who, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect +A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb +Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, +An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! +An they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain. +These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness +Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends +Than twenty silly-ducking observants +That stretch their duties nicely. + +KENT. +Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, +Under th’allowance of your great aspect, +Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire +On flickering Phoebus’ front,— + +CORNWALL. +What mean’st by this? + +KENT. +To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I +am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain +knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your +displeasure to entreat me to’t. + +CORNWALL. +What was the offence you gave him? + +OSWALD. +I never gave him any: +It pleas’d the King his master very late +To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; +When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, +Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d +And put upon him such a deal of man, +That worthied him, got praises of the King +For him attempting who was self-subdu’d; +And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, +Drew on me here again. + +KENT. +None of these rogues and cowards +But Ajax is their fool. + +CORNWALL. +Fetch forth the stocks! +You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, +We’ll teach you. + +KENT. +Sir, I am too old to learn: +Call not your stocks for me: I serve the King; +On whose employment I was sent to you: +You shall do small respect, show too bold malice +Against the grace and person of my master, +Stocking his messenger. + +CORNWALL. +Fetch forth the stocks! +As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. + +REGAN. +Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too! + +KENT. +Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog, +You should not use me so. + +REGAN. +Sir, being his knave, I will. + + [_Stocks brought out._] + +CORNWALL. +This is a fellow of the selfsame colour +Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks! + +GLOUCESTER. +Let me beseech your grace not to do so: +His fault is much, and the good King his master +Will check him for’t: your purpos’d low correction +Is such as basest and contemned’st wretches +For pilferings and most common trespasses, +Are punish’d with. The King must take it ill +That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, +Should have him thus restrained. + +CORNWALL. +I’ll answer that. + +REGAN. +My sister may receive it much more worse, +To have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted, +For following her affairs. Put in his legs. + + [_Kent is put in the stocks._] + +CORNWALL. +Come, my good lord, away. + + [_Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent._] + +GLOUCESTER. +I am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the Duke’s pleasure, +Whose disposition, all the world well knows, +Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d; I’ll entreat for thee. + +KENT. +Pray do not, sir: I have watch’d, and travell’d hard; +Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle. +A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels: +Give you good morrow! + +GLOUCESTER. +The Duke’s to blame in this: ’twill be ill taken. + + [_Exit._] + +KENT. +Good King, that must approve the common saw, +Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st +To the warm sun. +Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, +That by thy comfortable beams I may +Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles +But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia, +Who hath most fortunately been inform’d +Of my obscured course. And shall find time +From this enormous state, seeking to give +Losses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatch’d, +Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold +This shameful lodging. +Fortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel! + + [_He sleeps._] + +SCENE III. The open Country. + + Enter Edgar. + +EDGAR. +I heard myself proclaim’d, +And by the happy hollow of a tree +Escap’d the hunt. No port is free, no place +That guard and most unusual vigilance +Does not attend my taking. While I may scape +I will preserve myself: and am bethought +To take the basest and most poorest shape +That ever penury in contempt of man, +Brought near to beast: my face I’ll grime with filth, +Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots, +And with presented nakedness outface +The winds and persecutions of the sky. +The country gives me proof and precedent +Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, +Strike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms +Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; +And with this horrible object, from low farms, +Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, +Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, +Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom, +That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle; Kent in the stocks. + + Enter Lear, Fool and Gentleman. + +LEAR. +’Tis strange that they should so depart from home, +And not send back my messenger. + +GENTLEMAN. +As I learn’d, +The night before there was no purpose in them +Of this remove. + +KENT. +Hail to thee, noble master! + +LEAR. +Ha! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime? + +KENT. +No, my lord. + +FOOL. +Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the heads; dogs and +bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a +man is overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks. + +LEAR. +What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook +To set thee here? + +KENT. +It is both he and she, +Your son and daughter. + +LEAR. +No. + +KENT. +Yes. + +LEAR. +No, I say. + +KENT. +I say, yea. + +LEAR. +No, no; they would not. + +KENT. +Yes, they have. + +LEAR. +By Jupiter, I swear no. + +KENT. +By Juno, I swear ay. + +LEAR. +They durst not do’t. +They could not, would not do’t; ’tis worse than murder, +To do upon respect such violent outrage: +Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way +Thou mightst deserve or they impose this usage, +Coming from us. + +KENT. +My lord, when at their home +I did commend your highness’ letters to them, +Ere I was risen from the place that show’d +My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, +Stew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth +From Goneril his mistress salutations; +Deliver’d letters, spite of intermission, +Which presently they read; on those contents, +They summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse; +Commanded me to follow and attend +The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks: +And meeting here the other messenger, +Whose welcome I perceiv’d had poison’d mine, +Being the very fellow which of late +Display’d so saucily against your highness, +Having more man than wit about me, drew; +He rais’d the house with loud and coward cries. +Your son and daughter found this trespass worth +The shame which here it suffers. + +FOOL. +Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. + Fathers that wear rags + Do make their children blind, + But fathers that bear bags + Shall see their children kind. + Fortune, that arrant whore, + Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor. +But for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as +thou canst tell in a year. + +LEAR. +O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! +_Hysterica passio_, down, thou climbing sorrow, +Thy element’s below! Where is this daughter? + +KENT. +With the earl, sir, here within. + +LEAR. +Follow me not; stay here. + + [_Exit._] + +GENTLEMAN. +Made you no more offence but what you speak of? + +KENT. +None. +How chance the King comes with so small a number? + +FOOL. +An thou hadst been set i’ the stocks for that question, thou hadst well +deserved it. + +KENT. +Why, fool? + +FOOL. +We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring +i’the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but +blind men; and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s +stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it +break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes upward, +let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, +give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a +fool gives it. + That sir which serves and seeks for gain, + And follows but for form, + Will pack when it begins to rain, + And leave thee in the storm. + But I will tarry; the fool will stay, + And let the wise man fly: + The knave turns fool that runs away; + The fool no knave perdy. + +KENT. +Where learn’d you this, fool? + +FOOL. +Not i’ the stocks, fool. + + Enter Lear and Gloucester. + +LEAR. +Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary? +They have travell’d all the night? Mere fetches; +The images of revolt and flying off. +Fetch me a better answer. + +GLOUCESTER. +My dear lord, +You know the fiery quality of the Duke; +How unremovable and fix’d he is +In his own course. + +LEAR. +Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! +Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, +I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. + +GLOUCESTER. +Well, my good lord, I have inform’d them so. + +LEAR. +Inform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man? + +GLOUCESTER. +Ay, my good lord. + +LEAR. +The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father +Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends, service, +Are they inform’d of this? My breath and blood! +Fiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that— +No, but not yet: maybe he is not well: +Infirmity doth still neglect all office +Whereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves +When nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind +To suffer with the body: I’ll forbear; +And am fallen out with my more headier will, +To take the indispos’d and sickly fit +For the sound man. [_Looking on Kent._] +Death on my state! Wherefore +Should he sit here? This act persuades me +That this remotion of the Duke and her +Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. +Go tell the Duke and’s wife I’d speak with them, +Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me, +Or at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum +Till it cry sleep to death. + +GLOUCESTER. +I would have all well betwixt you. + + [_Exit._] + +LEAR. +O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down! + +FOOL. +Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’ +the paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick and cried +‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his +horse buttered his hay. + + Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants. + +LEAR. +Good morrow to you both. + +CORNWALL. +Hail to your grace! + + [_Kent here set at liberty._] + +REGAN. +I am glad to see your highness. + +LEAR. +Regan, I think you are; I know what reason +I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad, +I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb, +Sepulchring an adultress. [_To Kent_] O, are you free? +Some other time for that.—Beloved Regan, +Thy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tied +Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here. + + [_Points to his heart._] + +I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe +With how deprav’d 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? + +REGAN. +I cannot think my sister in the least +Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance +She have restrain’d the riots of your followers, +’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, +As clears her from all blame. + +LEAR. +My curses on her. + +REGAN. +O, sir, you are old; +Nature in you stands on the very verge +Of her confine: you should be rul’d and led +By some discretion, that discerns your state +Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you, +That to our sister you do make return; +Say you have wrong’d her, sir. + +LEAR. +Ask her forgiveness? +Do you but mark how this becomes the house? +‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; +[_Kneeling._] +Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg +That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’ + +REGAN. +Good sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks: +Return you to my sister. + +LEAR. +[_Rising._] Never, Regan: +She hath abated me of half my train; +Look’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue, +Most serpent-like, upon the very heart. +All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall +On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, +You taking airs, with lameness! + +CORNWALL. +Fie, sir, fie! + +LEAR. +You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames +Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty, +You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, +To fall and blast her pride! + +REGAN. +O the blest gods! +So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on. + +LEAR. +No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse. +Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give +Thee o’er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; but thine +Do comfort, and not burn. ’Tis not in thee +To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, +To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, +And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt +Against my coming in. Thou better know’st +The offices of nature, bond of childhood, +Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; +Thy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot, +Wherein I thee endow’d. + +REGAN. +Good sir, to the purpose. + +LEAR. +Who put my man i’ the stocks? + + [_Tucket within._] + +CORNWALL. +What trumpet’s that? + +REGAN. +I know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter, +That she would soon be here. + + Enter Oswald. + +Is your lady come? + +LEAR. +This is a slave, whose easy borrowed pride +Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. +Out, varlet, from my sight! + +CORNWALL. +What means your grace? + +LEAR. +Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope +Thou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens! + + Enter Goneril. + +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! +[_To Goneril._] Art not asham’d to look upon this beard? +O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? + +GONERIL. +Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended? +All’s not offence that indiscretion finds +And dotage terms so. + +LEAR. +O sides, you are too tough! +Will you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks? + +CORNWALL. +I set him there, sir: but his own disorders +Deserv’d much less advancement. + +LEAR. +You? Did you? + +REGAN. +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 dismiss’d? +No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose +To wage against the enmity o’ the air; +To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, +Necessity’s sharp pinch! Return with her? +Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took +Our youngest born, I could as well be brought +To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg +To keep base life afoot. Return with her? +Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter +To this detested groom. + + [_Pointing to Oswald._] + +GONERIL. +At your choice, sir. + +LEAR. +I prythee, daughter, do not make me mad: +I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell: +We’ll no more meet, no more see one another. +But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; +Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh, +Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil, +A plague sore, or embossed carbuncle +In my corrupted blood. But I’ll 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 look’d not for you yet, nor am provided +For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister; +For those that mingle reason with your passion +Must be content to think you old, and so— +But she knows what she does. + +LEAR. +Is this well spoken? + +REGAN. +I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers? +Is it not well? What should you need of more? +Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger +Speak ’gainst so great a number? How in one house +Should many people, under two commands, +Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible. + +GONERIL. +Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance +From those that she calls servants, or from mine? + +REGAN. +Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack ye, +We could control 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-favour’d +When others are more wicked; not being the worst +Stands in some rank of praise. +[_To Goneril._] I’ll go with thee: +Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, +And thou art twice her love. + +GONERIL. +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? + +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 that 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 stirs these daughters’ hearts +Against their father, fool me not so much +To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, +And let not women’s weapons, water-drops, +Stain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, +I will have such revenges on you both +That all the world shall,—I will do such things,— +What they are yet, I know not; but they shall be +The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep; +No, I’ll not weep:— [_Storm and tempest._] +I have full cause of weeping; but this heart +Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws +Or ere I’ll weep.—O fool, I shall go mad! + + [_Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent and Fool._] + +CORNWALL. +Let us withdraw; ’twill be a storm. + +REGAN. +This house is little: the old man and his people +Cannot be well bestow’d. + +GONERIL. +’Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest +And must needs taste his folly. + +REGAN. +For his particular, I’ll receive him gladly, +But not one follower. + +GONERIL. +So am I purpos’d. +Where is my lord of Gloucester? + + Enter Gloucester. + +CORNWALL. +Followed the old man forth, he is return’d. + +GLOUCESTER. +The King is in high rage. + +CORNWALL. +Whither is he going? + +GLOUCESTER. +He calls to horse; but will I know not whither. + +CORNWALL. +’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself. + +GONERIL. +My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. + +GLOUCESTER. +Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds +Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about +There’s scarce a bush. + +REGAN. +O, sir, to wilful men +The injuries that they themselves procure +Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors. +He is attended with a desperate train, +And what they may incense him to, being apt +To have his ear abus’d, wisdom bids fear. + +CORNWALL. +Shut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night. +My Regan counsels well: come out o’ the storm. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A Heath. + + A storm with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent and a Gentleman, + severally. + +KENT. +Who’s there, besides foul weather? + +GENTLEMAN. +One minded like the weather, most unquietly. + +KENT. +I know you. Where’s the King? + +GENTLEMAN. +Contending with the fretful elements; +Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, +Or swell the curled waters ’bove the main, +That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, +Which the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage, +Catch in their fury and make nothing of; +Strives in his little world of man to outscorn +The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. +This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, +The lion and the belly-pinched wolf +Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, +And bids what will take all. + +KENT. +But who is with him? + +GENTLEMAN. +None but the fool, who labours to out-jest +His heart-struck injuries. + +KENT. +Sir, I do know you; +And dare, upon the warrant of my note +Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, +Although as yet the face of it be cover’d +With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall; +Who have, as who have not, that their great stars +Throne’d and set high; servants, who seem no less, +Which are to France the spies and speculations +Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen, +Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes; +Or the hard rein which both of them have borne +Against the old kind King; or something deeper, +Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings;— +But, true it is, from France there comes a power +Into this scatter’d kingdom; who already, +Wise in our negligence, have secret feet +In some of our best ports, and are at point +To show their open banner.—Now to you: +If on my credit you dare build so far +To make your speed to Dover, you shall find +Some that will thank you making just report +Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow +The King hath cause to plain. +I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; +And from some knowledge and assurance +Offer this office to you. + +GENTLEMAN. +I will talk further with you. + +KENT. +No, do not. +For confirmation that I am much more +Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take +What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, +As fear not but you shall, show her this ring; +And she will tell you who your fellow is +That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! +I will go seek the King. + +GENTLEMAN. +Give me your hand: have you no more to say? + +KENT. +Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet: +That, when we have found the King, in which your pain +That way, I’ll this; he that first lights on him +Holla the other. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another part of the heath. + + Storm continues. Enter Lear and Fool. + +LEAR. +Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! blow! +You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout +Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks! +You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, +Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, +Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, +Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world! +Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once, +That make ingrateful man! + +FOOL. +O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this +rain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in; and ask thy daughters +blessing: here’s a night pities neither wise men nor fools. + +LEAR. +Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! +Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters; +I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness. +I never gave you kingdom, call’d you children; +You owe me no subscription: then let fall +Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave, +A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man: +But yet I call you servile ministers, +That will with two pernicious daughters join +Your high-engender’d battles ’gainst a head +So old and white as this! O! O! ’tis foul! + +FOOL. +He that has a house to put’s head in has a good head-piece. + The codpiece that will house + Before the head has any, + The head and he shall louse: + So beggars marry many. + The man that makes his toe + What he his heart should make + Shall of a corn cry woe, + And turn his sleep to wake. +For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass. + +LEAR. +No, I will be the pattern of all patience; +I will say nothing. + + Enter Kent. + +KENT. +Who’s there? + +FOOL. +Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece; that’s a wise man and a fool. + +KENT. +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. Since I was man, +Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, +Such groans of roaring wind and rain I never +Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry +Th’affliction, nor the fear. + +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 undivulged crimes +Unwhipp’d of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand; +Thou perjur’d, and thou simular of virtue +That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake +That under covert and convenient seeming +Hast practis’d on man’s life: close pent-up guilts, +Rive your concealing continents, and cry +These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man +More sinn’d against than sinning. + +KENT. +Alack, bareheaded! +Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; +Some friendship will it lend you ’gainst the tempest: +Repose you there, whilst I to this hard house,— +More harder than the stones whereof ’tis rais’d; +Which even but now, demanding after you, +Denied me to come in,—return, and force +Their scanted courtesy. + +LEAR. +My wits begin to turn. +Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? +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. +[_Singing._] + He that has and a little tiny wit, + With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain, + Must make content with his fortunes fit, + Though the rain it raineth every day. + +LEAR. +True, boy. Come, bring us to this hovel. + + [_Exeunt Lear and Kent._] + +FOOL. +This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I +go: + When priests are more in word than matter; + When brewers mar their malt with water; + When nobles are their tailors’ tutors; + No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors; + When every case in law is right; + No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; + When slanders do not live in tongues; + Nor cut-purses come not to throngs; + When usurers tell their gold i’ the field; + And bawds and whores do churches build, + Then shall the realm of Albion + Come to great confusion: + Then comes the time, who lives to see’t, + That going shall be us’d with feet. +This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. + + Enter Gloucester and Edmund. + +GLOUCESTER. +Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired +their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine +own house; charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to +speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him. + +EDMUND. +Most savage and unnatural! + +GLOUCESTER. +Go to; say you nothing. There is division between the Dukes, and a +worse matter than that: I have received a letter this night;—’tis +dangerous to be spoken;—I have locked the letter in my closet: these +injuries the King now bears will be revenged home; there’s part of a +power already footed: we must incline to the King. I will look 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 some strange thing toward, Edmund; +pray you be careful. + + [_Exit._] + +EDMUND. +This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the Duke +Instantly know; and of that letter too. +This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me +That which my father loses, no less than all: +The younger rises when the old doth fall. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel. + + Storm continues. Enter Lear, Kent and Fool. + +KENT. +Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter: +The tyranny of the open night’s too rough +For nature to endure. + +LEAR. +Let me alone. + +KENT. +Good my lord, enter here. + +LEAR. +Wilt break my heart? + +KENT. +I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter. + +LEAR. +Thou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm +Invades us to the skin: so ’tis to thee, +But where the greater malady is fix’d, +The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear; +But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, +Thou’dst meet the bear i’ the mouth. When the mind’s free, +The body’s delicate: the tempest in my mind +Doth from my senses take all feeling else +Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude! +Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand +For lifting food to’t? But I will punish home; +No, I will weep no more. In such a night +To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure: +In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! +Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, +O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; +No more of that. + +KENT. +Good my lord, enter here. + +LEAR. +Prythee 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. +[_To the Fool._] In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty, +Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep. + + [_Fool goes in._] + +Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are, +That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, +How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, +Your loop’d and window’d 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 mayst shake the superflux to them +And show the heavens more just. + +EDGAR. +[_Within._] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! + + [_The Fool runs out from the hovel._] + +FOOL. +Come not in here, nuncle, here’s a spirit. +Help me, help me! + +KENT. +Give me thy hand. Who’s there? + +FOOL. +A spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom. + +KENT. +What art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw? +Come forth. + + Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. + +EDGAR. +Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the +cold wind. Humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. + +LEAR. +Didst thou give all to thy two daughters? +And art thou come to this? + +EDGAR. +Who gives anything to poor Tom? Whom the foul fiend hath led through +fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’er bog and +quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his +pew, set ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on +a bay trotting horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow +for a traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom’s a-cold. O, do, de, do, +de, do, de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do +poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have +him now, and there,—and there again, and there. + + [_Storm continues._] + +LEAR. +What, have his daughters brought him to this pass? +Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give ’em all? + +FOOL. +Nay, he reserv’d 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 light on thy daughters! + +KENT. +He hath no daughters, sir. + +LEAR. +Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu’d nature +To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. +Is it the fashion that discarded fathers +Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? +Judicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begot +Those pelican daughters. + +EDGAR. + Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, + Alow, alow, loo loo! + +FOOL. +This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. + +EDGAR. +Take heed o’ th’ 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; served the lust of my mistress’ heart, and did the +act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and +broke them in the sweet face of heaven. One that slept in the +contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice +dearly; and in woman out-paramour’d the Turk. False of heart, light of +ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, +dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the +rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of +brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender’s book, and +defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: +says suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa! let him trot by. + + [_Storm still continues._] + +LEAR. +Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered +body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider +him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no +wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here’s three on’s are sophisticated! Thou +art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, +bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come, unbutton +here. + + [_Tears off his clothes._] + +FOOL. +Prythee, nuncle, be contented; ’tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a +little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher’s heart, a small +spark, all the rest on’s body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire. + +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 harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature +of earth. + Swithold footed thrice the old; + He met the nightmare, and her nine-fold; + Bid her alight and her troth plight, + And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee! + +KENT. +How fares your grace? + + Enter Gloucester with a torch. + +LEAR. +What’s he? + +KENT. +Who’s there? What is’t you seek? + +GLOUCESTER. +What are you there? Your names? + +EDGAR. +Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the +wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul +fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the +ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped +from tithing to tithing, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who +hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, + Horse to ride, and weapon to wear. + But mice and rats and such small deer, + Have been Tom’s food for seven long year. +Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend! + +GLOUCESTER. +What, hath your grace no better company? + +EDGAR. +The prince of darkness is a gentleman: +Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu. + +GLOUCESTER. +Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile +That it doth hate what gets it. + +EDGAR. +Poor Tom’s a-cold. + +GLOUCESTER. +Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer +T’obey in all your daughters’ hard commands; +Though their injunction be to bar my doors, +And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, +Yet have I ventur’d to come seek you out, +And bring you where both fire and food is ready. + +LEAR. +First let me talk with this philosopher. +What is the cause of thunder? + +KENT. +Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house. + +LEAR. +I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. +What is your study? + +EDGAR. +How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin. + +LEAR. +Let me ask you one word in private. + +KENT. +Importune him once more to go, my lord; +His wits begin t’unsettle. + +GLOUCESTER. +Canst thou blame him? +His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent! +He said it would be thus, poor banish’d man! +Thou sayest the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, +I am almost mad myself. I had a son, +Now outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life +But lately, very late: I lov’d him, friend, +No father his son dearer: true to tell thee, + + [_Storm continues._] + +The grief hath craz’d my wits. What a night’s this! +I do beseech your grace. + +LEAR. +O, cry you mercy, sir. +Noble philosopher, your company. + +EDGAR. +Tom’s a-cold. + +GLOUCESTER. +In, fellow, there, into the hovel; keep thee warm. + +LEAR. +Come, let’s in all. + +KENT. +This way, my lord. + +LEAR. +With him; +I will keep still with my philosopher. + +KENT. +Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow. + +GLOUCESTER. +Take him you on. + +KENT. +Sirrah, come on; go along with us. + +LEAR. +Come, good Athenian. + +GLOUCESTER. +No words, no words, hush. + +EDGAR. + Child Rowland to the dark tower came, + His word was still—Fie, foh, and fum, + I smell the blood of a British man. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. + + Enter Cornwall and Edmund. + +CORNWALL. +I will have my revenge ere I depart his house. + +EDMUND. +How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, +something fears me to think of. + +CORNWALL. +I now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition +made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a +reproveable badness in himself. + +EDMUND. +How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the +letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the +advantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not; or not I +the detector! + +CORNWALL. +Go with me to the Duchess. + +EDMUND. +If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in +hand. + +CORNWALL. +True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy +father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension. + +EDMUND. +[_Aside._] If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his +suspicion more fully. I will persever in my course of loyalty, though +the conflict be sore between that and my blood. + +CORNWALL. +I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my +love. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle. + + Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool and Edgar. + +GLOUCESTER. +Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out +the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. + +KENT. +All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience:— the gods +reward your kindness! + + [_Exit Gloucester._] + +EDGAR. +Frateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of +darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend. + +FOOL. +Prythee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman. + +LEAR. +A king, a king! + +FOOL. +No, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad +yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him. + +LEAR. +To have a thousand with red burning spits +Come hissing in upon ’em. + +EDGAR. +The foul fiend bites my back. + +FOOL. +He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a +boy’s love, or a whore’s oath. + +LEAR. +It shall be done; I will arraign them straight. +[_To Edgar._] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; +[_To the Fool._] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes!— + +EDGAR. +Look, where he stands and glares! Want’st thou eyes at trial, madam? + Come o’er the bourn, Bessy, to me. + +FOOL. + Her boat hath a leak, + And she must not speak + Why she dares not come over to thee. + +EDGAR. +The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. +Hoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black +angel; I have no food for thee. + +KENT. +How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz’d; +Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions? + +LEAR. +I’ll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence. +[_To Edgar._] Thou, robed man of justice, take thy place. +[_To the Fool._] And thou, his yokefellow of equity, +Bench by his side. [_To Kent._] You are o’ the commission, +Sit you too. + +EDGAR. + Let us deal justly. + Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? + Thy sheep be in the corn; + And for one blast of thy minikin mouth + Thy sheep shall take no harm. +Purr! the cat is grey. + +LEAR. +Arraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath before this +honourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father. + +FOOL. +Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril? + +LEAR. +She cannot deny it. + +FOOL. +Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. + +LEAR. +And here’s another, whose warp’d looks proclaim +What store her heart is made on. 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? + +EDGAR. +[_Aside._] My tears begin to take his part so much +They mar my counterfeiting. + +LEAR. +The little dogs and all, +Trey, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me. + +EDGAR. +Tom will throw his head at them. 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 him, + Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail, + Tom will make them weep and wail; + For, with throwing thus my head, + Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. +Do, de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market towns. +Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. + +LEAR. +Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is +there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [_To Edgar._] +You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred; only I do not like the +fashion of your garments. You’ll say they are Persian; but let them be +changed. + +KENT. +Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile. + +LEAR. +Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains. +So, so. We’ll go to supper i’ the morning. + +FOOL. +And I’ll go to bed at noon. + + Enter Gloucester. + +GLOUCESTER. +Come hither, friend; +Where is the King my master? + +KENT. +Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone. + +GLOUCESTER. +Good friend, I prythee, take him in thy arms; +I have o’erheard a plot of death upon him; +There is a litter ready; lay him in’t +And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet +Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master; +If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, +With thine, and all that offer to defend him, +Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up; +And follow me, that will to some provision +Give thee quick conduct. + +KENT. +Oppressed nature sleeps. +This rest might yet have balm’d thy broken sinews, +Which, if convenience will not allow, +Stand in hard cure. Come, help to bear thy master; +[_To the Fool._] Thou must not stay behind. + +GLOUCESTER. +Come, come, away! + + [_Exeunt Kent, Gloucester and the Fool bearing off Lear._] + +EDGAR. +When we our betters see bearing our woes, +We scarcely think our miseries our foes. +Who alone suffers, suffers most i’ the mind, +Leaving free things and happy shows behind: +But then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip +When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. +How light and portable my pain seems now, +When that which makes me bend makes the King bow; +He childed as I fathered! Tom, away! +Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray, +When false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee, +In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. +What will hap more tonight, safe ’scape the King! +Lurk, lurk. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. + + Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund and Servants. + +CORNWALL. +Post speedily to my lord your husband, show him this letter: the army +of France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester. + + [_Exeunt some of the Servants._] + +REGAN. +Hang him instantly. + +GONERIL. +Pluck out his eyes. + +CORNWALL. +Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the +revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit +for your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most +festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be +swift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister, farewell, my +lord of Gloucester. + + Enter Oswald. + +How now! Where’s the King? + +OSWALD. +My lord of Gloucester hath convey’d him hence: +Some five or six and thirty of his knights, +Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; +Who, with some other of the lord’s dependants, +Are gone with him toward Dover: where they boast +To have well-armed friends. + +CORNWALL. +Get horses for your mistress. + +GONERIL. +Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. + +CORNWALL. +Edmund, farewell. + + [_Exeunt Goneril, Edmund and Oswald._] + +Go seek the traitor Gloucester, +Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. + + [_Exeunt other Servants._] + +Though well we may not pass upon his life +Without the form of justice, yet our power +Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men +May blame, but not control. Who’s there? The traitor? + + Enter Gloucester and Servants. + +REGAN. +Ingrateful fox! ’tis he. + +CORNWALL. +Bind fast his corky arms. + +GLOUCESTER. +What mean your graces? +Good my friends, consider you are my guests. +Do me no foul play, friends. + +CORNWALL. +Bind him, I say. + + [_Servants bind him._] + +REGAN. +Hard, hard. O filthy traitor! + +GLOUCESTER. +Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none. + +CORNWALL. +To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find— + + [_Regan plucks his beard._] + +GLOUCESTER. +By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done +To pluck me by the beard. + +REGAN. +So white, and such a traitor! + +GLOUCESTER. +Naughty lady, +These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin +Will quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host: +With robber’s hands my hospitable favours +You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? + +CORNWALL. +Come, sir, what letters had you late from France? + +REGAN. +Be simple answer’d, for we know the truth. + +CORNWALL. +And what confederacy have you with the traitors, +Late footed in the kingdom? + +REGAN. +To whose hands have you sent the lunatic King? +Speak. + +GLOUCESTER. +I have a letter guessingly set down, +Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, +And not from one oppos’d. + +CORNWALL. +Cunning. + +REGAN. +And false. + +CORNWALL. +Where hast thou sent the King? + +GLOUCESTER. +To Dover. + +REGAN. +Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg’d at peril,— + +CORNWALL. +Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that. + +GLOUCESTER. +I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course. + +REGAN. +Wherefore to Dover, sir? + +GLOUCESTER. +Because I would not see thy cruel nails +Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister +In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. +The sea, with such a storm as his bare head +In hell-black night endur’d, would have buoy’d up, +And quench’d the stelled fires; +Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. +If wolves had at thy gate howl’d that stern time, +Thou shouldst have said, ‘Good porter, turn the key.’ +All cruels else subscrib’d: but I shall see +The winged vengeance overtake such children. + +CORNWALL. +See’t shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair. +Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot. + + [_Gloucester is held down in his chair, while Cornwall plucks out one + of his eyes and sets his foot on it._] + +GLOUCESTER. +He that will think to live till he be old, +Give me some help!—O cruel! O you gods! + +REGAN. +One side will mock another; the other too! + +CORNWALL. +If you see vengeance— + +FIRST SERVANT. +Hold your hand, my lord: +I have serv’d you ever since I was a child; +But better service have I never done you +Than now to bid you hold. + +REGAN. +How now, you dog! + +FIRST SERVANT. +If you did wear a beard upon your chin, +I’d shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean? + +CORNWALL. +My villain? + + [_Draws, and runs at him._] + +FIRST SERVANT. +Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger. + + [_Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded._] + +REGAN. +[_To another servant._] Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus? + + [_Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him._] + +FIRST SERVANT. +O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left +To see some mischief on him. O! + + [_Dies._] + +CORNWALL. +Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! +Where is thy lustre now? + + [_Tears out Gloucester’s other eye and throws it on the ground._] + +GLOUCESTER. +All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund? +Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature +To quit this horrid act. + +REGAN. +Out, treacherous villain! +Thou call’st on him that hates thee: it was he +That made the overture of thy treasons to us; +Who is too good to pity thee. + +GLOUCESTER. +O my follies! Then Edgar was abus’d. +Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him! + +REGAN. +Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell +His way to Dover. How is’t, my lord? How look you? + +CORNWALL. +I have receiv’d a hurt: follow me, lady. +Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave +Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace: +Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm. + + [_Exit Cornwall, led by Regan; Servants unbind Gloucester and lead him + out._] + +SECOND SERVANT. +I’ll never care what wickedness I do, +If this man come to good. + +THIRD SERVANT. +If she live long, +And in the end meet the old course of death, +Women will all turn monsters. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Let’s follow the old Earl, and get the bedlam +To lead him where he would: his roguish madness +Allows itself to anything. + +THIRD SERVANT. +Go thou: I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs +To apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him! + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The heath. + + Enter Edgar. + +EDGAR. +Yet better thus, and known to be contemn’d, +Than still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst, +The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, +Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: +The lamentable change is from the best; +The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, +Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace; +The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst +Owes nothing to thy blasts. + + Enter Gloucester, led by an Old Man. + +But who comes here? My father, poorly led? +World, world, O world! +But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone. +Thy comforts can do me no good at all; +Thee they may hurt. + +OLD MAN. +You cannot see your way. + +GLOUCESTER. +I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; +I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen +Our means secure us, and our mere defects +Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, +The food of thy abused father’s wrath! +Might I but live to see thee in my touch, +I’d say I had eyes again! + +OLD MAN. +How now! Who’s there? + +EDGAR. +[_Aside._] O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst’? +I am worse than e’er I was. + +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? + +GLOUCESTER. +Is it a beggar-man? + +OLD MAN. +Madman, and beggar too. + +GLOUCESTER. +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. Bless thee, master! + +GLOUCESTER. +Is that the naked fellow? + +OLD MAN. +Ay, my lord. + +GLOUCESTER. +Then prythee get thee away. If for my sake +Thou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or twain, +I’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, +And bring some covering for this naked soul, +Which I’ll entreat to lead me. + +OLD MAN. +Alack, sir, he is mad. + +GLOUCESTER. +’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. +I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, +Come on’t what will. + + [_Exit._] + +GLOUCESTER. +Sirrah naked fellow. + +EDGAR. +Poor Tom’s a-cold. +[_Aside._] I cannot daub it further. + +GLOUCESTER. +Come hither, fellow. + +EDGAR. +[_Aside._] And yet I must. Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. + +GLOUCESTER. +Know’st thou the way to Dover? + +EDGAR. +Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared +out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man’s son, from the foul fiend! +Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; +Hobbididence, prince of darkness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; +Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses +chambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master! + +GLOUCESTER. +Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven’s plagues +Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched +Makes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still! +Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, +That slaves your ordinance, that will not see +Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; +So distribution should undo excess, +And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover? + +EDGAR. +Ay, master. + +GLOUCESTER. +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’ll 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._] + +SCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace. + + Enter Goneril, Edmund; Oswald meeting them. + +GONERIL. +Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband +Not met us on the way. Now, where’s your master? + +OSWALD. +Madam, within; but never man so chang’d. +I told him of the army that was landed; +He smil’d at it: I told him you were coming; +His answer was, ‘The worse.’ Of Gloucester’s treachery +And of the loyal service of his son +When I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot, +And told me I had turn’d the wrong side out. +What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him; +What like, offensive. + +GONERIL. +[_To Edmund._] Then shall you go no further. +It is the cowish terror of his spirit, +That dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs +Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way +May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother; +Hasten his musters and conduct his powers. +I must change names at home, and give the distaff +Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant +Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, +If you dare venture in your own behalf, +A mistress’s command. [_Giving a favour._] +Wear this; spare speech; +Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, +Would stretch thy spirits up into the air. +Conceive, and fare thee well. + +EDMUND. +Yours in the ranks of death. + + [_Exit Edmund._] + +GONERIL. +My most dear Gloucester. +O, the difference of man and man! +To thee a woman’s services are due; +My fool usurps my body. + +OSWALD. +Madam, here comes my lord. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Albany. + +GONERIL. +I have been worth the whistle. + +ALBANY. +O Goneril! +You are not worth the dust which the rude wind +Blows in your face! I fear your disposition; +That nature which contemns its origin +Cannot be bordered certain in itself. +She that herself will sliver and disbranch +From her material sap, perforce must wither +And come to deadly use. + +GONERIL. +No more; the text is foolish. + +ALBANY. +Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; +Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? +Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform’d? +A father, and a gracious aged man, +Whose reverence even the head-lugg’d bear would lick, +Most barbarous, most degenerate, have you madded. +Could my good brother suffer you to do it? +A man, a prince, by him so benefitted! +If that the heavens do not their visible spirits +Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, +It will come, +Humanity must perforce prey on itself, +Like monsters of the deep. + +GONERIL. +Milk-liver’d man! +That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; +Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning +Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st +Fools do those villains pity who are punish’d +Ere they have done their mischief. Where’s thy drum? +France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; +With plumed helm thy state begins to threat, +Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt’st still, and criest +‘Alack, why does he so?’ + +ALBANY. +See thyself, devil! +Proper deformity seems not in the fiend +So horrid as in woman. + +GONERIL. +O vain fool! + +ALBANY. +Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame! +Be-monster not thy feature! Were’t my fitness +To let these hands obey my blood. +They are apt enough to dislocate and tear +Thy flesh and bones. Howe’er thou art a fiend, +A woman’s shape doth shield thee. + +GONERIL. +Marry, your manhood, mew! + + Enter a Messenger. + +ALBANY. +What news? + +MESSENGER. +O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead; +Slain by his servant, going to put out +The other eye of Gloucester. + +ALBANY. +Gloucester’s eyes! + +MESSENGER. +A servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse, +Oppos’d against the act, bending his sword +To his great master; who, thereat enrag’d, +Flew on him, and amongst them fell’d him dead; +But not without that harmful stroke which since +Hath pluck’d him after. + +ALBANY. +This shows you are above, +You justicers, that these our nether crimes +So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester! +Lost he his other eye? + +MESSENGER. +Both, both, my lord. +This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; +’Tis from your sister. + +GONERIL. +[_Aside._] One way I like this well; +But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, +May all the building in my fancy pluck +Upon my hateful life. Another way +The news is not so tart. I’ll read, and answer. + + [_Exit._] + +ALBANY. +Where was his son when they did take his eyes? + +MESSENGER. +Come with my lady hither. + +ALBANY. +He is not here. + +MESSENGER. +No, my good lord; I met him back again. + +ALBANY. +Knows he the wickedness? + +MESSENGER. +Ay, my good lord. ’Twas he inform’d against him; +And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment +Might have the freer course. + +ALBANY. +Gloucester, I live +To thank thee for the love thou show’dst the King, +And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, +Tell me what more thou know’st. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The French camp near Dover. + + Enter Kent and a Gentleman. + +KENT. +Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back, know you no reason? + +GENTLEMAN. +Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth +is thought of, which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger +that his personal return was most required and necessary. + +KENT. +Who hath he left behind him general? + +GENTLEMAN. +The Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far. + +KENT. +Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? + +GENTLEMAN. +Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence; +And now and then an ample tear trill’d down +Her delicate cheek. It seem’d she was a queen +Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, +Sought to be king o’er her. + +KENT. +O, then it mov’d her. + +GENTLEMAN. +Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove +Who should express her goodliest. You have seen +Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears +Were like a better day. Those happy smilets +That play’d on her ripe lip seem’d not to know +What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence +As pearls from diamonds dropp’d. In brief, +Sorrow would be a rarity most belov’d, +If all could so become it. + +KENT. +Made she no verbal question? + +GENTLEMAN. +Faith, once or twice she heav’d the name of ‘father’ +Pantingly forth, as if it press’d her heart; +Cried ‘Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters! +Kent! father! sisters! What, i’ the storm? i’ the night? +Let pity not be believ’d!’ There she shook +The holy water from her heavenly eyes, +And clamour master’d her: then away she started +To deal with grief alone. + +KENT. +It is the stars, +The stars above us govern our conditions; +Else one self mate and make could not beget +Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? + +GENTLEMAN. +No. + +KENT. +Was this before the King return’d? + +GENTLEMAN. +No, since. + +KENT. +Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’ the town; +Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers +What we are come about, and by no means +Will yield to see his daughter. + +GENTLEMAN. +Why, good sir? + +KENT. +A sovereign shame so elbows him. His own unkindness, +That stripp’d her from his benediction, turn’d her +To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights +To his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting +His mind so venomously that burning shame +Detains him from Cordelia. + +GENTLEMAN. +Alack, poor gentleman! + +KENT. +Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not? + +GENTLEMAN. +’Tis so; they are afoot. + +KENT. +Well, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear +And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause +Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; +When I am known aright, you shall not grieve +Lending me this acquaintance. +I pray you, go along with me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The French camp. A Tent. + + Enter with drum and colours, Cordelia, Physician and Soldiers. + +CORDELIA. +Alack, ’tis he: why, he was met even now +As mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud; +Crown’d with rank fumiter and furrow weeds, +With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, +Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow +In our sustaining corn. A century send forth; +Search every acre in the high-grown field, +And bring him to our eye. + + [_Exit an Officer._] + +What can man’s wisdom +In the restoring his bereaved sense, +He that helps him take all my outward worth. + +PHYSICIAN. +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. + +CORDELIA. +All bless’d secrets, +All you unpublish’d virtues of the earth, +Spring with my tears! Be aidant and remediate +In the good man’s distress! Seek, seek for him; +Lest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life +That wants the means to lead it. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +News, madam; +The British powers are marching hitherward. + +CORDELIA. +’Tis known before. Our preparation stands +In expectation of them. O dear father, +It is thy business that I go about; +Therefore great France +My mourning and important tears hath pitied. +No blown ambition doth our arms incite, +But love, dear love, and our ag’d father’s right: +Soon may I hear and see him! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle. + + Enter Regan and Oswald. + +REGAN. +But are my brother’s powers set forth? + +OSWALD. +Ay, madam. + +REGAN. +Himself in person there? + +OSWALD. +Madam, with much ado. +Your sister is the better soldier. + +REGAN. +Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home? + +OSWALD. +No, madam. + +REGAN. +What might import my sister’s letter to him? + +OSWALD. +I know not, lady. + +REGAN. +Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. +It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out, +To let him live. Where he arrives he moves +All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone +In pity of his misery, to dispatch +His nighted life; moreover to descry +The strength o’ th’enemy. + +OSWALD. +I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. + +REGAN. +Our troops set forth tomorrow; stay with us; +The ways are dangerous. + +OSWALD. +I may not, madam: +My lady charg’d my duty in this business. + +REGAN. +Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you +Transport her purposes by word? Belike, +Somethings, I know not what, I’ll love thee much. +Let me unseal the letter. + +OSWALD. +Madam, I had rather— + +REGAN. +I know your lady does not love her husband; +I am sure of that; and at her late being here +She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks +To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom. + +OSWALD. +I, madam? + +REGAN. +I speak in understanding; y’are, I know’t: +Therefore I do advise you take this note: +My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk’d, +And more convenient is he for my hand +Than for your lady’s. You may gather more. +If you do find him, pray you give him this; +And when your mistress hears thus much from you, +I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. +So, fare you well. +If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, +Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. + +OSWALD. +Would I could meet him, madam! I should show +What party I do follow. + +REGAN. +Fare thee well. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. The country near Dover. + + Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a peasant. + +GLOUCESTER. +When shall I come to the top of that same hill? + +EDGAR. +You do climb up it now. Look how we labour. + +GLOUCESTER. +Methinks the ground is even. + +EDGAR. +Horrible steep. +Hark, do you hear the sea? + +GLOUCESTER. +No, truly. + +EDGAR. +Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect +By your eyes’ anguish. + +GLOUCESTER. +So may it be indeed. +Methinks thy voice is alter’d; and thou speak’st +In better phrase and matter than thou didst. + +EDGAR. +Y’are much deceiv’d: in nothing am I chang’d +But in my garments. + +GLOUCESTER. +Methinks you’re better spoken. + +EDGAR. +Come on, sir; here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful +And dizzy ’tis 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 yond tall anchoring bark, +Diminish’d to her cock; her cock a buoy +Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge +That on th’unnumber’d idle pebble chafes +Cannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more; +Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight +Topple down headlong. + +GLOUCESTER. +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +Let go my hand. +Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel +Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods +Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; +Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. + +EDGAR. +Now fare ye well, good sir. + + [_Seems to go._] + +GLOUCESTER. +With all my heart. + +EDGAR. +[_Aside._] Why I do trifle thus with his despair +Is done to cure it. + +GLOUCESTER. +O you mighty gods! +This world I do renounce, and in your sights, +Shake patiently my great affliction off: +If I could bear it longer, and not fall +To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, +My snuff and loathed part of nature should +Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him! +Now, fellow, fare thee well. + +EDGAR. +Gone, sir, farewell. + + [_Gloucester leaps, and falls along_] + +And yet I know not how conceit may rob +The treasury of life when life itself +Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, +By this had thought been past. Alive or dead? +Ho you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir? speak! +Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. +What are you, sir? + +GLOUCESTER. +Away, and let me die. + +EDGAR. +Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, +So many fathom down precipitating, +Thou’dst shiver’d like an egg: but thou dost breathe; +Hast heavy substance; bleed’st not; speak’st; art sound. +Ten masts at each make not the altitude +Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. +Thy life is a miracle. Speak yet again. + +GLOUCESTER. +But have I fall’n, or no? + +EDGAR. +From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. +Look up a-height, the shrill-gorg’d lark so far +Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up. + +GLOUCESTER. +Alack, I have no eyes. +Is wretchedness depriv’d that benefit +To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort +When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage +And frustrate his proud will. + +EDGAR. +Give me your arm. +Up, so. How is’t? Feel you your legs? You stand. + +GLOUCESTER. +Too well, too well. + +EDGAR. +This is above all strangeness. +Upon the crown o’ the cliff what thing was that +Which parted from you? + +GLOUCESTER. +A poor unfortunate beggar. + +EDGAR. +As I stood here below, methought his eyes +Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, +Horns whelk’d and waved like the enraged sea. +It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, +Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours +Of men’s impossibilities, have preserv’d thee. + +GLOUCESTER. +I do remember now: henceforth I’ll bear +Affliction till it do cry out itself +‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of, +I took it for a man; often ’twould say, +‘The fiend, the fiend’; he led me to that place. + +EDGAR. +Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here? + + Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers. + +The safer sense will ne’er accommodate +His master thus. + +LEAR. +No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself. + +EDGAR. +O thou side-piercing sight! + +LEAR. +Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press money. That +fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier’s yard. +Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will +do’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown +bills. O, well flown, bird! i’ the clout, i’ the clout. Hewgh! Give the +word. + +EDGAR. +Sweet marjoram. + +LEAR. +Pass. + +GLOUCESTER. +I know that voice. + +LEAR. +Ha! Goneril with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog; and told +me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say +‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good +divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me +chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found +’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to, they are not men o’ their words: +they told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. + +GLOUCESTER. +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 thy cause? +Adultery? Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No: +The wren goes to’t, and the small gilded fly +Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive; +For Gloucester’s bastard son was kinder to his father +Than my daughters got ’tween the lawful sheets. +To’t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers. +Behold yond simp’ring dame, +Whose face between her forks presages snow; +That minces virtue, and does shake the head +To hear of pleasure’s name. +The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t with a more riotous +appetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all +above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the +fiend’s; there’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit; +burning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give +me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination. +There’s money for thee. + +GLOUCESTER. +O, let me kiss that hand! + +LEAR. +Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. + +GLOUCESTER. +O ruin’d piece of nature, this great world +Shall so wear out to naught. 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. + +GLOUCESTER. +Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. + +EDGAR. +I would not take this from report, +It is, and my heart breaks at it. + +LEAR. +Read. + +GLOUCESTER. +What, with the case of eyes? + +LEAR. +O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in +your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light, yet +you see how this world goes. + +GLOUCESTER. +I see it feelingly. + +LEAR. +What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. Look with +thine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in +thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which +is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar? + +GLOUCESTER. +Ay, sir. + +LEAR. +And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great +image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office. +Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand! +Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; +Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind +For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. +Through tatter’d clothes great vices do appear; +Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, +And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; +Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it. +None does offend, none, I say none; I’ll able ’em; +Take that of me, my friend, who have the power +To seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes, +And like a scurvy politician, seem +To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now: +Pull off my boots: harder, harder, so. + +EDGAR. +O, matter and impertinency mix’d! +Reason in madness! + +LEAR. +If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. +I know thee well enough, thy name is Gloucester. +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +Alack, alack the day! + +LEAR. +When we are born, we cry that we are come +To this great stage of fools. This a good block: +It were a delicate stratagem to shoe +A troop of horse with felt. I’ll put’t in proof +And when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws, +Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill! + + Enter a Gentleman with Attendants. + +GENTLEMAN. +O, here he is: lay hand upon him. 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. + +GENTLEMAN. +You shall have anything. + +LEAR. +No seconds? All myself? +Why, this would make a man a man of salt, +To use his eyes for garden water-pots, +Ay, and for laying autumn’s dust. + +GENTLEMAN. +Good sir. + +LEAR. +I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. +What! I will be jovial. Come, come, +I am a king, my masters, know you that. + +GENTLEMAN. +You are a royal one, and we obey you. + +LEAR. +Then there’s life in’t. Come, and you get it, +You shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa! + + [_Exit running. Attendants follow._] + +GENTLEMAN. +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. + +EDGAR. +Hail, gentle sir. + +GENTLEMAN. +Sir, speed you. What’s your will? + +EDGAR. +Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward? + +GENTLEMAN. +Most sure and vulgar. +Everyone hears that, which can distinguish sound. + +EDGAR. +But, by your favour, +How near’s the other army? + +GENTLEMAN. +Near and on speedy foot; the main descry +Stands on the hourly thought. + +EDGAR. +I thank you sir, that’s all. + +GENTLEMAN. +Though that the queen on special cause is here, +Her army is mov’d on. + +EDGAR. +I thank you, sir. + + [_Exit Gentleman._] + +GLOUCESTER. +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +Now, good sir, what are you? + +EDGAR. +A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows; +Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, +Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, +I’ll lead you to some biding. + +GLOUCESTER. +Hearty thanks: +The bounty and the benison of heaven +To boot, and boot. + + Enter Oswald. + +OSWALD. +A proclaim’d prize! Most happy! +That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh +To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, +Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out +That must destroy thee. + +GLOUCESTER. +Now let thy friendly hand +Put strength enough to’t. + + [_Edgar interposes._] + +OSWALD. +Wherefore, bold peasant, +Dar’st thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence; +Lest that th’infection of his fortune take +Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. + +EDGAR. +Chill not let go, zir, without vurther ’casion. + +OSWALD. +Let go, slave, or thou diest! + +EDGAR. +Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volke pass. An chud ha’ bin +zwaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a +vortnight. Nay, come not near th’old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise +try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain +with you. + +OSWALD. +Out, dunghill! + +EDGAR. +Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins. + + [_They fight, and Edgar knocks him down._] + +OSWALD. +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 Gloucester. Seek him out +Upon the British party. O, untimely death! + + [_Dies._] + +EDGAR. +I know thee well. A serviceable villain, +As duteous to the vices of thy mistress +As badness would desire. + +GLOUCESTER. +What, is he dead? + +EDGAR. +Sit you down, father; rest you. +Let’s see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of +May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorry +He had no other deathsman. Let us see: +Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not. +To know our enemies’ minds, we rip their hearts, +Their papers is more lawful. +[_Reads._] ‘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 am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the +loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your +labour. ‘Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, ‘Goneril.’ +O indistinguish’d space of woman’s will! +A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, +And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands +Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified +Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time, +With this ungracious paper strike the sight +Of the death-practis’d Duke: for him ’tis well +That of thy death and business I can tell. + + [_Exit Edgar, dragging out the body._] + +GLOUCESTER. +The King is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, +That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling +Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: +So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs, +And woes by wrong imaginations lose +The knowledge of themselves. + + [_A drum afar off._] + +EDGAR. +Give me your hand. +Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. +Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp. + +Lear on a bed, asleep, soft music playing; Physician, Gentleman and +others attending. + + Enter Cordelia and Kent. + +CORDELIA. +O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work +To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, +And every measure fail me. + +KENT. +To be acknowledg’d, madam, is o’erpaid. +All my reports go with the modest truth; +Nor more, nor clipp’d, but so. + +CORDELIA. +Be better suited, +These weeds are memories of those worser hours: +I prythee put them off. + +KENT. +Pardon, dear madam; +Yet to be known shortens my made intent. +My boon I make it that you know me not +Till time and I think meet. + +CORDELIA. +Then be’t so, my good lord. [_To the Physician._] How, does the King? + +PHYSICIAN. +Madam, sleeps still. + +CORDELIA. +O you kind gods, +Cure this great breach in his abused nature! +The untun’d and jarring senses, O, wind up +Of this child-changed father. + +PHYSICIAN. +So please your majesty +That we may wake the King: he hath slept long. + +CORDELIA. +Be govern’d by your knowledge, and proceed +I’ the sway of your own will. Is he array’d? + +PHYSICIAN. +Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep +We put fresh garments on him. +Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; +I doubt not of his temperance. + +CORDELIA. +Very well. + +PHYSICIAN. +Please you draw near. Louder the music there! + +CORDELIA. +O my dear father! Restoration hang +Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss +Repair those violent harms that my two sisters +Have in thy reverence made! + +KENT. +Kind and dear princess! + +CORDELIA. +Had you not been their father, these white flakes +Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face +To be oppos’d against the warring winds? +To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? +In the most terrible and nimble stroke +Of quick cross lightning? to watch, poor perdu! +With this thin helm? Mine enemy’s dog, +Though he had bit me, should have stood that night +Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, +To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn +In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! +’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once +Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him. + +PHYSICIAN. +Madam, do you; ’tis fittest. + +CORDELIA. +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. + +CORDELIA. +Sir, do you know me? + +LEAR. +You are a spirit, I know: when did you die? + +CORDELIA. +Still, still, far wide! + +PHYSICIAN. +He’s scarce awake: let him alone awhile. + +LEAR. +Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight? +I am mightily abus’d. 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: let’s see; +I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur’d +Of my condition! + +CORDELIA. +O, look upon me, sir, +And hold your hands in benediction o’er me. +No, sir, you must not kneel. + +LEAR. +Pray, do not mock me: +I am a very foolish fond old man, +Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; +And to deal plainly, +I fear I am not in my perfect mind. +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. +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. + +CORDELIA. +No cause, no cause. + +LEAR. +Am I in France? + +KENT. +In your own kingdom, sir. + +LEAR. +Do not abuse me. + +PHYSICIAN. +Be comforted, good madam, the great rage, +You see, is kill’d in him: and yet it is danger +To make him even o’er the time he has lost. +Desire him to go in; trouble him no more +Till further settling. + +CORDELIA. +Will’t please your highness walk? + +LEAR. +You must bear with me: +Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish. + + [_Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician and Attendants._] + +GENTLEMAN. +Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain? + +KENT. +Most certain, sir. + +GENTLEMAN. +Who is conductor of his people? + +KENT. +As ’tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester. + +GENTLEMAN. +They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany. + +KENT. +Report is changeable. ’Tis time to look about; the powers of the +kingdom approach apace. + +GENTLEMAN. +The arbitrement is like to be bloody. +Fare you well, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +KENT. +My point and period will be throughly wrought, +Or well or ill, as this day’s battle’s fought. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover. + + Enter, with drum and colours Edmund, Regan, Officers, Soldiers and + others. + +EDMUND. +Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, +Or whether since he is advis’d by aught +To change the course, he’s full of alteration +And self-reproving, bring his constant pleasure. + + [_To an Officer, who goes out._] + +REGAN. +Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried. + +EDMUND. +’Tis to be doubted, madam. + +REGAN. +Now, sweet lord, +You know the goodness I intend upon you: +Tell me but truly, but then speak the truth, +Do you not love my sister? + +EDMUND. +In honour’d love. + +REGAN. +But have you never found my brother’s way +To the forfended place? + +EDMUND. +That thought abuses you. + +REGAN. +I am doubtful that you have been conjunct +And bosom’d with her, as far as we call hers. + +EDMUND. +No, by mine honour, madam. + +REGAN. +I never shall endure her, dear my lord, +Be not familiar with her. + +EDMUND. +Fear not, +She and the Duke her husband! + + Enter with drum and colours Albany, Goneril and Soldiers. + +GONERIL. +[_Aside._] I had rather lose the battle than that sister +Should loosen him and me. + +ALBANY. +Our very loving sister, well be-met. +Sir, this I heard: the King is come to his daughter, +With others whom the rigour of our state +Forc’d to cry out. Where I could not be honest, +I never yet was valiant. For this business, +It toucheth us as France invades our land, +Not bolds the King, with others whom I fear +Most just and heavy causes make oppose. + +EDMUND. +Sir, you speak nobly. + +REGAN. +Why is this reason’d? + +GONERIL. +Combine together ’gainst the enemy; +For these domestic and particular broils +Are not the question here. + +ALBANY. +Let’s, then, determine with the ancient of war +On our proceeding. + +EDMUND. +I shall attend you presently at your tent. + +REGAN. +Sister, you’ll go with us? + +GONERIL. +No. + +REGAN. +’Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us. + +GONERIL. +[_Aside_.] O, ho, I know the riddle. I will go. + + [_Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Soldiers and Attendants._] + + As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised. + +EDGAR. +If e’er your grace had speech with man so poor, +Hear me one word. + +ALBANY. +I’ll overtake you. Speak. + +EDGAR. +Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. +If you have victory, let the trumpet sound +For him that brought it: wretched though I seem, +I can produce a champion that will prove +What is avouched there. If you miscarry, +Your business of the world hath so an end, +And machination ceases. Fortune love you! + +ALBANY. +Stay till I have read the letter. + +EDGAR. +I was forbid it. +When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, +And I’ll appear again. + +ALBANY. +Why, fare thee well. I will o’erlook thy paper. + + [_Exit Edgar._] + + Enter Edmund. + +EDMUND. +The enemy’s in view; draw up your powers. +Here is the guess of their true strength and forces +By diligent discovery; but your haste +Is now urg’d on you. + +ALBANY. +We will greet the time. + + [_Exit._] + +EDMUND. +To both these sisters have I sworn my love; +Each jealous of the other, as the stung +Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? +Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enjoy’d, +If both remain alive. To take the widow +Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; +And hardly shall I carry out my side, +Her husband being alive. Now, then, we’ll use +His countenance for the battle; which being 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, +The battle done, and they within our power, +Shall never see his pardon: for my state +Stands on me to defend, not to debate. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. A field between the two Camps. + + Alarum within. Enter with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia and their + Forces, and exeunt. + + Enter Edgar and Gloucester. + +EDGAR. +Here, father, take the shadow of this tree +For your good host; pray that the right may thrive: +If ever I return to you again, +I’ll bring you comfort. + +GLOUCESTER. +Grace go with you, sir! + + [_Exit Edgar._] + + Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar. + +EDGAR. +Away, old man, give me thy hand, away! +King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en: +Give me thy hand; come on! + +GLOUCESTER. +No further, sir; a man may rot even here. + +EDGAR. +What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure +Their going hence, even as their coming hither; +Ripeness is all. Come on. + +GLOUCESTER. +And that’s true too. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The British Camp near Dover. + + Enter in conquest with drum and colours, Edmund, Lear and Cordelia as + prisoners; Officers, Soldiers, &c. + +EDMUND. +Some officers take them away: good guard +Until their greater pleasures first be known +That are to censure them. + +CORDELIA. +We are not the first +Who with best meaning have incurr’d the worst. +For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down; +Myself could else out-frown false fortune’s frown. +Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters? + +LEAR. +No, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison: +We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage: +When thou dost ask me blessing I’ll kneel down +And ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live, +And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh +At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues +Talk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too, +Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out; +And take upon’s the mystery of things, +As if we were God’s spies. And we’ll wear out, +In a wall’d prison, packs and sects of great ones +That ebb and flow by the moon. + +EDMUND. +Take them away. + +LEAR. +Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, +The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? +He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven, +And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes; +The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell, +Ere they shall make us weep! +We’ll see ’em starve first: come. + + [_Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded._] + +EDMUND. +Come hither, captain, hark. +Take thou this note [_giving a paper_]; go follow them to prison. +One step I have advanc’d thee; if thou dost +As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way +To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men +Are as the time is; to be tender-minded +Does not become a sword. Thy great employment +Will not bear question; either say thou’lt do’t, +Or thrive by other means. + +CAPTAIN. +I’ll do’t, my lord. + +EDMUND. +About it; and write happy when thou hast done. +Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so +As I have set it down. + +CAPTAIN. +I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats; +If it be man’s work, I’ll do’t. + + [_Exit._] + + Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Officers and Attendants. + +ALBANY. +Sir, you have show’d today your valiant strain, +And fortune led you well: you have the captives +Who were the opposites of this day’s strife: +I do require them of you, so to use them +As we shall find their merits and our safety +May equally determine. + +EDMUND. +Sir, I thought it fit +To send the old and miserable King +To some retention and appointed guard; +Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, +To pluck the common bosom on his side, +And turn our impress’d lances in our eyes +Which do command them. With him I sent the queen; +My reason all the same; and they are ready +Tomorrow, or at further space, to appear +Where you shall hold your session. At this time +We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend; +And the best quarrels in the heat are curs’d +By those that feel their sharpness. +The question of Cordelia and her father +Requires a fitter place. + +ALBANY. +Sir, by your patience, +I hold you but a subject of this war, +Not as a brother. + +REGAN. +That’s as we list to grace him. +Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded +Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers; +Bore the commission of my place and person; +The which immediacy may well stand up +And call itself your brother. + +GONERIL. +Not so hot: +In his own grace he doth exalt himself, +More than in your addition. + +REGAN. +In my rights, +By me invested, he compeers the best. + +ALBANY. +That were the most, if he should husband you. + +REGAN. +Jesters do oft prove prophets. + +GONERIL. +Holla, holla! +That eye that told you so look’d but asquint. + +REGAN. +Lady, I am not well; else I should answer +From a full-flowing stomach. General, +Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; +Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine: +Witness the world that I create thee here +My lord and master. + +GONERIL. +Mean you to enjoy him? + +ALBANY. +The let-alone lies not in your good will. + +EDMUND. +Nor in thine, lord. + +ALBANY. +Half-blooded fellow, yes. + +REGAN. +[_To Edmund._] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine. + +ALBANY. +Stay yet; hear reason: Edmund, I arrest thee +On capital treason; and, in thine arrest, +This gilded serpent. [_pointing to Goneril._] +For your claim, fair sister, +I bar it in the interest of my wife; +’Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, +And I her husband contradict your bans. +If you will marry, make your loves to me, +My lady is bespoke. + +GONERIL. +An interlude! + +ALBANY. +Thou art arm’d, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound: +If none appear to prove upon thy person +Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, +There is my pledge. [_Throwing down a glove._] +I’ll make it on thy heart, +Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less +Than I have here proclaim’d thee. + +REGAN. +Sick, O, sick! + +GONERIL. +[_Aside._] If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine. + +EDMUND. +There’s my exchange. [_Throwing down a 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. + +ALBANY. +A herald, ho! + + Enter a Herald. + +Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, +All levied in my name, have in my name +Took their discharge. + +REGAN. +My sickness grows upon me. + +ALBANY. +She is not well. Convey her to my tent. + + [_Exit Regan, led._] + +Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound +And read out this. + +OFFICER. +Sound, trumpet! + + [_A trumpet sounds._] + +HERALD. +[_Reads._] ‘If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the +army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is +a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet. +He is bold in his defence.’ + +EDMUND. +Sound! + + [_First trumpet._] + +HERALD. +Again! + + [_Second trumpet._] + +HERALD. +Again! + + Third trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by + a trumpet. + +ALBANY. +Ask him his purposes, why he appears +Upon this call o’ the trumpet. + +HERALD. +What are you? +Your name, your quality? and why you answer +This present summons? + +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. + +ALBANY. +Which is that adversary? + +EDGAR. +What’s he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester? + +EDMUND. +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. +Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours, +My oath, and my profession: I protest, +Maugre thy strength, youth, place, 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 beneath thy foot, +A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ‘No,’ +This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent +To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, +Thou liest. + +EDMUND. +In wisdom I should ask thy name; +But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, +And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, +What safe and nicely I might well delay +By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn. +Back do I toss those treasons to thy head, +With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart; +Which for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, +This sword of mine shall give them instant way, +Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak! + + [_Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls._] + +ALBANY. +Save him, save him! + +GONERIL. +This is mere practice, Gloucester: +By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer +An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d, +But cozen’d and beguil’d. + +ALBANY. +Shut your mouth, dame, +Or with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir; +Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil. +No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. + + [_Gives the letter to Edmund._] + +GONERIL. +Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine: +Who can arraign me for’t? + + [_Exit._] + +ALBANY. +Most monstrous! O! +Know’st thou this paper? + +EDMUND. +Ask me not what I know. + +ALBANY. +[_To an Officer, who goes out._] Go after her; she’s desperate; govern +her. + +EDMUND. +What you have charg’d me with, that have I done; +And more, much more; the time will bring it out. +’Tis 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; +If more, the more thou hast wrong’d me. +My name is Edgar and thy father’s son. +The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices +Make instruments to plague us: +The dark and vicious place where thee he got +Cost him his eyes. + +EDMUND. +Thou hast spoken right, ’tis true; +The wheel is come full circle; I am here. + +ALBANY. +Methought thy very gait did prophesy +A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee. +Let sorrow split my heart if ever I +Did hate thee or thy father. + +EDGAR. +Worthy prince, I know’t. + +ALBANY. +Where have you hid yourself? +How have you known the miseries of your father? + +EDGAR. +By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale; +And when ’tis told, O that my heart would burst! +The bloody proclamation to escape +That follow’d me so near,—O, our lives’ sweetness! +That with the pain of death we’d hourly die +Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift +Into a madman’s rags; t’assume a semblance +That very dogs disdain’d; and in this habit +Met I my father with his bleeding rings, +Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, +Led him, begg’d for him, sav’d him from despair; +Never,—O fault!—reveal’d myself unto him +Until some half hour past, when I was arm’d; +Not sure, though hoping of this good success, +I ask’d his blessing, and from first to last +Told him my pilgrimage. But his flaw’d heart, +Alack, too weak the conflict to support! +’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, +Burst smilingly. + +EDMUND. +This speech of yours hath mov’d me, +And shall perchance do good, but speak you on; +You look as you had something more to say. + +ALBANY. +If there be more, more woeful, hold it in; +For I am almost ready to dissolve, +Hearing of this. + +EDGAR. +This would have seem’d a period +To such as love not sorrow; but another, +To amplify too much, would make much more, +And top extremity. +Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man +Who, having seen me in my worst estate, +Shunn’d my abhorr’d society; but then finding +Who ’twas that so endur’d, with his strong arms +He fastened on my neck, and bellow’d out +As he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father; +Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him +That ever ear receiv’d, which in recounting +His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life +Began to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded, +And there I left him tranc’d. + +ALBANY. +But who was this? + +EDGAR. +Kent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in disguise +Follow’d his enemy king and did him service +Improper for a slave. + + Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. + +GENTLEMAN. +Help, help! O, help! + +EDGAR. +What kind of help? + +ALBANY. +Speak, man. + +EDGAR. +What means this bloody knife? + +GENTLEMAN. +’Tis hot, it smokes; +It came even from the heart of—O! she’s dead! + +ALBANY. +Who dead? Speak, man. + +GENTLEMAN. +Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister +By her is poisoned; she hath confesses it. + +EDMUND. +I was contracted to them both, all three +Now marry in an instant. + +EDGAR. +Here comes Kent. + + Enter Kent. + +ALBANY. +Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead. +This judgement of the heavens that makes us tremble +Touches us not with pity. O, is this he? +The time will not allow the compliment +Which very manners urges. + +KENT. +I am come +To bid my King and master aye good night: +Is he not here? + +ALBANY. +Great thing of us forgot! +Speak, Edmund, where’s the King? and where’s Cordelia? + + The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in. + +Seest thou this object, Kent? + +KENT. +Alack, why thus? + +EDMUND. +Yet Edmund was belov’d. +The one the other poisoned for my sake, +And after slew herself. + +ALBANY. +Even so. Cover their faces. + +EDMUND. +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; +Nay, send in time. + +ALBANY. +Run, run, O, run! + +EDGAR. +To who, my lord? Who has the office? Send +Thy token of reprieve. + +EDMUND. +Well thought on: take my sword, +Give it the captain. + +EDGAR. +Haste thee for thy life. + + [_Exit Edgar._] + +EDMUND. +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. + +ALBANY. +The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile. + + [_Edmund is borne off._] + + Enter Lear with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Officer and others + following. + +LEAR. +Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone. +Had I your tongues and eyes, I’ld use them so +That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever! +I know when one is dead, and when one lives; +She’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass; +If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, +Why, then she lives. + +KENT. +Is this the promis’d end? + +EDGAR. +Or image of that horror? + +ALBANY. +Fall, and cease! + +LEAR. +This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so, +It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows +That ever I have felt. + +KENT. +O, my good master! [_Kneeling._] + +LEAR. +Prythee, away! + +EDGAR. +’Tis noble Kent, your friend. + +LEAR. +A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! +I might have sav’d her; now she’s gone for ever! +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 kill’d the slave that was a-hanging thee. + +OFFICER. +’Tis true, my lords, he did. + +LEAR. +Did I not, fellow? +I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion +I would have made them skip. I am old now, +And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? +Mine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight. + +KENT. +If Fortune brag of two she lov’d 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. + +KENT. +No, my good lord; I am the very man. + +LEAR. +I’ll see that straight. + +KENT. +That from your first of difference and decay +Have follow’d your sad steps. + +LEAR. +You are welcome hither. + +KENT. +Nor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark and deadly. +Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, +And desperately are dead. + +LEAR. +Ay, so I think. + +ALBANY. +He knows not what he says; and vain is it +That we present us to him. + +EDGAR. +Very bootless. + + Enter an Officer. + +OFFICER. +Edmund is dead, my lord. + +ALBANY. +That’s but a trifle here. +You lords and noble friends, know our intent. +What comfort to this great decay may come +Shall be applied For us, we will resign, +During the life of this old majesty, +To him our absolute power; +[_to Edgar and Kent_] you to your rights; +With boot and such addition as your honours +Have more than merited. All friends shall taste +The wages of their virtue and all foes +The cup of their deservings. O, see, see! + +LEAR. +And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life! +Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, +And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more, +Never, never, never, never, never! +Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir. +Do you see this? Look on her: look, her lips, +Look there, look there! + + [_He dies._] + +EDGAR. +He faints! My lord, my lord! + +KENT. +Break, heart; I prythee break! + +EDGAR. +Look up, my lord. + +KENT. +Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! He hates him +That would upon the rack of this rough world +Stretch him out longer. + +EDGAR. +He is gone indeed. + +KENT. +The wonder is, he hath endur’d so long: +He but usurp’d his life. + +ALBANY. +Bear them from hence. Our present business +Is general woe. [_To Edgar and Kent._] Friends of my soul, you twain, +Rule in this realm and the gor’d state sustain. + +KENT. +I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; +My master calls me, I must not say no. + +EDGAR. +The weight of this sad time we must obey; +Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. +The oldest hath borne most; we that are young +Shall never see so much, nor live so long. + + [_Exeunt with a dead march._] + + + + + +LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST + +Dramatis Personae. + + FERDINAND, King of Navarre + BEROWNE, lord attending on the King + LONGAVILLE, " " " " " + DUMAIN, " " " " " + BOYET, lord attending on the Princess of France + MARCADE, " " " " " " " + DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO, fantastical Spaniard + SIR NATHANIEL, a curate + HOLOFERNES, a schoolmaster + DULL, a constable + COSTARD, a clown + MOTH, page to Armado + A FORESTER + + THE PRINCESS OF FRANCE + ROSALINE, lady attending on the Princess + MARIA, " " " " " + KATHARINE, lady attending on the Princess + JAQUENETTA, a country wench + + Lords, Attendants, etc. + +SCENE: Navarre + +ACT I. SCENE I. Navarre. The King's park + +Enter the King, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN + + KING. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, + Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs, + And then grace us in the disgrace of death; + When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, + Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy + That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, + And make us heirs of all eternity. + Therefore, brave conquerors- for so you are + That war against your own affections + And the huge army of the world's desires- + Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: + Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; + Our court shall be a little Academe, + Still and contemplative in living art. + You three, Berowne, Dumain, and Longaville, + Have sworn for three years' term to live with me + My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes + That are recorded in this schedule here. + Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names, + That his own hand may strike his honour down + That violates the smallest branch herein. + If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do, + Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. + LONGAVILLE. I am resolv'd; 'tis but a three years' fast. + The mind shall banquet, though the body pine. + Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits + Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. + DUMAIN. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified. + The grosser manner of these world's delights + He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves; + To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, + With all these living in philosophy. + BEROWNE. I can but say their protestation over; + So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, + That is, to live and study here three years. + But there are other strict observances, + As: not to see a woman in that term, + Which I hope well is not enrolled there; + And one day in a week to touch no food, + And but one meal on every day beside, + The which I hope is not enrolled there; + And then to sleep but three hours in the night + And not be seen to wink of all the day- + When I was wont to think no harm all night, + And make a dark night too of half the day- + Which I hope well is not enrolled there. + O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, + Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep! + KING. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. + BEROWNE. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please: + I only swore to study with your Grace, + And stay here in your court for three years' space. + LONGAVILLE. You swore to that, Berowne, and to the rest. + BEROWNE. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. + What is the end of study, let me know. + KING. Why, that to know which else we should not know. + BEROWNE. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense? + KING. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. + BEROWNE. Come on, then; I will swear to study so, + To know the thing I am forbid to know, + As thus: to study where I well may dine, + When I to feast expressly am forbid; + Or study where to meet some mistress fine, + When mistresses from common sense are hid; + Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, + Study to break it, and not break my troth. + If study's gain be thus, and this be so, + Study knows that which yet it doth not know. + Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. + KING. These be the stops that hinder study quite, + And train our intellects to vain delight. + BEROWNE. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain + Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain, + As painfully to pore upon a book + To seek the light of truth; while truth the while + Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look. + Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; + So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, + Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. + Study me how to please the eye indeed, + By fixing it upon a fairer eye; + Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, + And give him light that it was blinded by. + Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, + That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; + Small have continual plodders ever won, + Save base authority from others' books. + These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights + That give a name to every fixed star + Have no more profit of their shining nights + Than those that walk and wot not what they are. + Too much to know is to know nought but fame; + And every godfather can give a name. + KING. How well he's read, to reason against reading! + DUMAIN. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! + LONGAVILLE. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. + BEROWNE. The spring is near, when green geese are a-breeding. + DUMAIN. How follows that? + BEROWNE. Fit in his place and time. + DUMAIN. In reason nothing. + BEROWNE. Something then in rhyme. + LONGAVILLE. Berowne is like an envious sneaping frost + That bites the first-born infants of the spring. + BEROWNE. Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast + Before the birds have any cause to sing? + Why should I joy in any abortive birth? + At Christmas I no more desire a rose + Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; + But like of each thing that in season grows; + So you, to study now it is too late, + Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. + KING. Well, sit out; go home, Berowne; adieu. + BEROWNE. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you; + And though I have for barbarism spoke more + Than for that angel knowledge you can say, + Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore, + And bide the penance of each three years' day. + Give me the paper; let me read the same; + And to the strictest decrees I'll write my name. + KING. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame! + BEROWNE. [Reads] 'Item. That no woman shall come within a mile of + my court'- Hath this been proclaimed? + LONGAVILLE. Four days ago. + BEROWNE. Let's see the penalty. [Reads] '-on pain of losing her + tongue.' Who devis'd this penalty? + LONGAVILLE. Marry, that did I. + BEROWNE. Sweet lord, and why? + LONGAVILLE. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. + BEROWNE. A dangerous law against gentility. + [Reads] 'Item. If any man be seen to talk with a woman within + the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the + rest of the court can possibly devise.' + This article, my liege, yourself must break; + For well you know here comes in embassy + The French king's daughter, with yourself to speak- + A mild of grace and complete majesty- + About surrender up of Aquitaine + To her decrepit, sick, and bedrid father; + Therefore this article is made in vain, + Or vainly comes th' admired princess hither. + KING. What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot. + BEROWNE. So study evermore is over-shot. + While it doth study to have what it would, + It doth forget to do the thing it should; + And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, + 'Tis won as towns with fire- so won, so lost. + KING. We must of force dispense with this decree; + She must lie here on mere necessity. + BEROWNE. Necessity will make us all forsworn + Three thousand times within this three years' space; + For every man with his affects is born, + Not by might mast'red, but by special grace. + If I break faith, this word shall speak for me: + I am forsworn on mere necessity. + So to the laws at large I write my name; [Subscribes] + And he that breaks them in the least degree + Stands in attainder of eternal shame. + Suggestions are to other as to me; + But I believe, although I seem so loath, + I am the last that will last keep his oath. + But is there no quick recreation granted? + KING. Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted + With a refined traveller of Spain, + A man in all the world's new fashion planted, + That hath a mint of phrases in his brain; + One who the music of his own vain tongue + Doth ravish like enchanting harmony; + A man of complements, whom right and wrong + Have chose as umpire of their mutiny. + This child of fancy, that Armado hight, + For interim to our studies shall relate, + In high-born words, the worth of many a knight + From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate. + How you delight, my lords, I know not, I; + But I protest I love to hear him lie, + And I will use him for my minstrelsy. + BEROWNE. Armado is a most illustrious wight, + A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. + LONGAVILLE. Costard the swain and he shall be our sport; + And so to study three years is but short. + + Enter DULL, a constable, with a letter, and COSTARD + + DULL. Which is the Duke's own person? + BEROWNE. This, fellow. What wouldst? + DULL. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his Grace's + farborough; but I would see his own person in flesh and blood. + BEROWNE. This is he. + DULL. Signior Arme- Arme- commends you. There's villainy abroad; + this letter will tell you more. + COSTARD. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. + KING. A letter from the magnificent Armado. + BEROWNE. How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words. + LONGAVILLE. A high hope for a low heaven. God grant us patience! + BEROWNE. To hear, or forbear hearing? + LONGAVILLE. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or, to + forbear both. + BEROWNE. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb + in the merriness. + COSTARD. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta. + The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. + BEROWNE. In what manner? + COSTARD. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was + seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, + and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is in + manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner- it is the + manner of a man to speak to a woman. For the form- in some form. + BEROWNE. For the following, sir? + COSTARD. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the + right! + KING. Will you hear this letter with attention? + BEROWNE. As we would hear an oracle. + COSTARD. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. + KING. [Reads] 'Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent and sole + dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's god and body's fost'ring + patron'- + COSTARD. Not a word of Costard yet. + KING. [Reads] 'So it is'- + COSTARD. It may be so; but if he say it is so, he is, in telling + true, but so. + KING. Peace! + COSTARD. Be to me, and every man that dares not fight! + KING. No words! + COSTARD. Of other men's secrets, I beseech you. + KING. [Reads] 'So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I + did commend the black oppressing humour to the most wholesome + physic of thy health-giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook + myself to walk. The time When? About the sixth hour; when beasts + most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment + which is called supper. So much for the time When. Now for the + ground Which? which, I mean, I upon; it is ycleped thy park. Then + for the place Where? where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene + and most prepost'rous event that draweth from my snow-white pen + the ebon-coloured ink which here thou viewest, beholdest, + surveyest, or seest. But to the place Where? It standeth + north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy + curious-knotted garden. There did I see that low-spirited swain, + that base minnow of thy mirth,' + COSTARD. Me? + KING. 'that unlettered small-knowing soul,' + COSTARD. Me? + KING. 'that shallow vassal,' + COSTARD. Still me? + KING. 'which, as I remember, hight Costard,' + COSTARD. O, me! + KING. 'sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed + edict and continent canon; which, with, O, with- but with this I + passion to say wherewith-' + COSTARD. With a wench. + King. 'with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy + more sweet understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed + duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of + punishment, by thy sweet Grace's officer, Antony Dull, a man of + good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation.' + DULL. Me, an't shall please you; I am Antony Dull. + KING. 'For Jaquenetta- so is the weaker vessel called, which I + apprehended with the aforesaid swain- I keep her as a vessel of + thy law's fury; and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, + bring her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and + heart-burning heat of duty, + DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.' + + BEROWNE. This is not so well as I look'd for, but the best that + ever I heard. + KING. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to + this? + COSTARD. Sir, I confess the wench. + KING. Did you hear the proclamation? + COSTARD. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the + marking of it. + KING. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment to be taken with a + wench. + COSTARD. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken with a damsel. + KING. Well, it was proclaimed damsel. + COSTARD. This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin. + KING. It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed virgin. + COSTARD. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was taken with a maid. + KING. This 'maid' not serve your turn, sir. + COSTARD. This maid will serve my turn, sir. + KING. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week + with bran and water. + COSTARD. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. + KING. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. + My Lord Berowne, see him delivered o'er; + And go we, lords, to put in practice that + Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. + Exeunt KING, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN + BEROWNE. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat + These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. + Sirrah, come on. + COSTARD. I suffer for the truth, sir; for true it is I was taken + with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a true girl; and therefore + welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile + again; and till then, sit thee down, sorrow. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. The park + +Enter ARMADO and MOTH, his page + + ARMADO. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great spirit grows + melancholy? + MOTH. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. + ARMADO. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. + MOTH. No, no; O Lord, sir, no! + ARMADO. How canst thou part sadness and melancholy, my tender + juvenal? + MOTH. By a familiar demonstration of the working, my tough signior. + ARMADO. Why tough signior? Why tough signior? + MOTH. Why tender juvenal? Why tender juvenal? + ARMADO. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton + appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender. + MOTH. And I, tough signior, as an appertinent title to your old + time, which we may name tough. + ARMADO. Pretty and apt. + MOTH. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and + my saying pretty? + ARMADO. Thou pretty, because little. + MOTH. Little pretty, because little. Wherefore apt? + ARMADO. And therefore apt, because quick. + MOTH. Speak you this in my praise, master? + ARMADO. In thy condign praise. + MOTH. I will praise an eel with the same praise. + ARMADO. that an eel is ingenious? + MOTH. That an eel is quick. + ARMADO. I do say thou art quick in answers; thou heat'st my blood. + MOTH. I am answer'd, sir. + ARMADO. I love not to be cross'd. + MOTH. [Aside] He speaks the mere contrary: crosses love not him. + ARMADO. I have promised to study three years with the Duke. + MOTH. You may do it in an hour, sir. + ARMADO. Impossible. + MOTH. How many is one thrice told? + ARMADO. I am ill at reck'ning; it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. + MOTH. You are a gentleman and a gamester, sir. + ARMADO. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete + man. + MOTH. Then I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace + amounts to. + ARMADO. It doth amount to one more than two. + MOTH. Which the base vulgar do call three. + ARMADO. True. + MOTH. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three + studied ere ye'll thrice wink; and how easy it is to put 'years' + to the word 'three,' and study three years in two words, the + dancing horse will tell you. + ARMADO. A most fine figure! + MOTH. [Aside] To prove you a cipher. + ARMADO. I will hereupon confess I am in love. And as it is base for + a soldier to love, so am I in love with a base wench. If drawing + my sword against the humour of affection would deliver me from + the reprobate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and + ransom him to any French courtier for a new-devis'd curtsy. I + think scorn to sigh; methinks I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort + me, boy; what great men have been in love? + MOTH. Hercules, master. + ARMADO. Most sweet Hercules! More authority, dear boy, name more; + and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. + MOTH. Samson, master; he was a man of good carriage, great + carriage, for he carried the town gates on his back like a + porter; and he was in love. + ARMADO. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Samson! I do excel thee + in my rapier as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in + love too. Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth? + MOTH. A woman, master. + ARMADO. Of what complexion? + MOTH. Of all the four, or the three, or the two, or one of the + four. + ARMADO. Tell me precisely of what complexion. + MOTH. Of the sea-water green, sir. + ARMADO. Is that one of the four complexions? + MOTH. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. + ARMADO. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to have a love + of that colour, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He + surely affected her for her wit. + MOTH. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit. + ARMADO. My love is most immaculate white and red. + MOTH. Most maculate thoughts, master, are mask'd under such + colours. + ARMADO. Define, define, well-educated infant. + MOTH. My father's wit my mother's tongue assist me! + ARMADO. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical! + MOTH. If she be made of white and red, + Her faults will ne'er be known; + For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, + And fears by pale white shown. + Then if she fear, or be to blame, + By this you shall not know; + For still her cheeks possess the same + Which native she doth owe. + A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. + ARMADO. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar? + MOTH. The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages + since; but I think now 'tis not to be found; or if it were, it + would neither serve for the writing nor the tune. + ARMADO. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that I may + example my digression by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love + that country girl that I took in the park with the rational hind + Costard; she deserves well. + MOTH. [Aside] To be whipt; and yet a better love than my master. + ARMADO. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. + MOTH. And that's great marvel, loving a light wench. + ARMADO. I say, sing. + MOTH. Forbear till this company be past. + + Enter DULL, COSTARD, and JAQUENETTA + + DULL. Sir, the Duke's pleasure is that you keep Costard safe; and + you must suffer him to take no delight nor no penance; but 'a + must fast three days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at + the park; she is allow'd for the day-woman. Fare you well. + ARMADO. I do betray myself with blushing. Maid! + JAQUENETTA. Man! + ARMADO. I will visit thee at the lodge. + JAQUENETTA. That's hereby. + ARMADO. I know where it is situate. + JAQUENETTA. Lord, how wise you are! + ARMADO. I will tell thee wonders. + JAQUENETTA. With that face? + ARMADO. I love thee. + JAQUENETTA. So I heard you say. + ARMADO. And so, farewell. + JAQUENETTA. Fair weather after you! + DULL. Come, Jaquenetta, away. Exit with JAQUENETTA + ARMADO. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences ere thou be + pardoned. + COSTARD. Well, sir, I hope when I do it I shall do it on a full + stomach. + ARMADO. Thou shalt be heavily punished. + COSTARD. I am more bound to you than your fellows, for they are but + lightly rewarded. + ARMADO. Take away this villain; shut him up. + MOTH. Come, you transgressing slave, away. + COSTARD. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose. + MOTH. No, sir; that were fast, and loose. Thou shalt to prison. + COSTARD. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I + have seen, some shall see. + MOTH. What shall some see? + COSTARD. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what they look upon. It is + not for prisoners to be too silent in their words, and therefore + I will say nothing. I thank God I have as little patience as + another man, and therefore I can be quiet. + Exeunt MOTH and COSTARD + ARMADO. I do affect the very ground, which is base, where her shoe, + which is baser, guided by her foot, which is basest, doth tread. + I shall be forsworn- which is a great argument of falsehood- if I + love. And how can that be true love which is falsely attempted? + Love is a familiar; Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but + Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, and he had an excellent + strength; yet was Solomon so seduced, and he had a very good wit. + Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and therefore + too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause + will not serve my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello + he regards not; his disgrace is to be called boy, but his glory + is to subdue men. Adieu, valour; rust, rapier; be still, drum; + for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some + extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. + Devise, wit; write, pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. + Exit + +ACT II. SCENE II. The park + +Enter the PRINCESS OF FRANCE, with three attending ladies, +ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, and two other LORDS + + BOYET. Now, madam, summon up your dearest spirits. + Consider who the King your father sends, + To whom he sends, and what's his embassy: + Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, + To parley with the sole inheritor + Of all perfections that a man may owe, + Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight + Than Aquitaine, a dowry for a queen. + Be now as prodigal of all dear grace + As Nature was in making graces dear, + When she did starve the general world beside + And prodigally gave them all to you. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, + Needs not the painted flourish of your praise. + Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, + Not utt'red by base sale of chapmen's tongues; + I am less proud to hear you tell my worth + Than you much willing to be counted wise + In spending your wit in the praise of mine. + But now to task the tasker: good Boyet, + You are not ignorant all-telling fame + Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow, + Till painful study shall outwear three years, + No woman may approach his silent court. + Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course, + Before we enter his forbidden gates, + To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, + Bold of your worthiness, we single you + As our best-moving fair solicitor. + Tell him the daughter of the King of France, + On serious business, craving quick dispatch, + Importunes personal conference with his Grace. + Haste, signify so much; while we attend, + Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will. + BOYET. Proud of employment, willingly I go. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. + Exit BOYET + Who are the votaries, my loving lords, + That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? + FIRST LORD. Lord Longaville is one. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Know you the man? + MARIA. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast, + Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir + Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized + In Normandy, saw I this Longaville. + A man of sovereign parts, peerless esteem'd, + Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms; + Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. + The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, + If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil, + Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will, + Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills + It should none spare that come within his power. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so? + MARIA. They say so most that most his humours know. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. + Who are the rest? + KATHARINE. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth, + Of all that virtue love for virtue loved; + Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill, + For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, + And shape to win grace though he had no wit. + I saw him at the Duke Alencon's once; + And much too little of that good I saw + Is my report to his great worthiness. + ROSALINE. Another of these students at that time + Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. + Berowne they call him; but a merrier man, + Within the limit of becoming mirth, + I never spent an hour's talk withal. + His eye begets occasion for his wit, + For every object that the one doth catch + The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, + Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, + Delivers in such apt and gracious words + That aged ears play truant at his tales, + And younger hearings are quite ravished; + So sweet and voluble is his discourse. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God bless my ladies! Are they all in love, + That every one her own hath garnished + With such bedecking ornaments of praise? + FIRST LORD. Here comes Boyet. + + Re-enter BOYET + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Now, what admittance, lord? + BOYET. Navarre had notice of your fair approach, + And he and his competitors in oath + Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, + Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt: + He rather means to lodge you in the field, + Like one that comes here to besiege his court, + Than seek a dispensation for his oath, + To let you enter his unpeopled house. + [The LADIES-IN-WAITING mask] + + Enter KING, LONGAVILLE, DUMAIN, BEROWNE, + and ATTENDANTS + + Here comes Navarre. + KING. Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' I give you back again; and 'welcome' I + have not yet. The roof of this court is too high to be yours, and + welcome to the wide fields too base to be mine. + KING. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither. + KING. Hear me, dear lady: I have sworn an oath- + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Our Lady help my lord! He'll be forsworn. + KING. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing + else. + KING. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, + Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. + I hear your Grace hath sworn out house-keeping. + 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, + And sin to break it. + But pardon me, I am too sudden bold; + To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. + Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, + And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Giving a paper] + KING. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. YOU Will the sooner that I were away, + For you'll prove perjur'd if you make me stay. + BEROWNE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? + KATHARINE. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? + BEROWNE. I know you did. + KATHARINE. How needless was it then to ask the question! + BEROWNE. You must not be so quick. + KATHARINE. 'Tis long of you, that spur me with such questions. + BEROWNE. Your wit 's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. + KATHARINE. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. + BEROWNE. What time o' day? + KATHARINE. The hour that fools should ask. + BEROWNE. Now fair befall your mask! + KATHARINE. Fair fall the face it covers! + BEROWNE. And send you many lovers! + KATHARINE. Amen, so you be none. + BEROWNE. Nay, then will I be gone. + KING. Madam, your father here doth intimate + The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; + Being but the one half of an entire sum + Disbursed by my father in his wars. + But say that he or we, as neither have, + Receiv'd that sum, yet there remains unpaid + A hundred thousand more, in surety of the which, + One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, + Although not valued to the money's worth. + If then the King your father will restore + But that one half which is unsatisfied, + We will give up our right in Aquitaine, + And hold fair friendship with his Majesty. + But that, it seems, he little purposeth, + For here he doth demand to have repaid + A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, + On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, + To have his title live in Aquitaine; + Which we much rather had depart withal, + And have the money by our father lent, + Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is. + Dear Princess, were not his requests so far + From reason's yielding, your fair self should make + A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast, + And go well satisfied to France again. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You do the King my father too much wrong, + And wrong the reputation of your name, + In so unseeming to confess receipt + Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. + KING. I do protest I never heard of it; + And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back + Or yield up Aquitaine. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We arrest your word. + Boyet, you can produce acquittances + For such a sum from special officers + Of Charles his father. + KING. Satisfy me so. + BOYET. So please your Grace, the packet is not come, + Where that and other specialties are bound; + To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. + KING. It shall suffice me; at which interview + All liberal reason I will yield unto. + Meantime receive such welcome at my hand + As honour, without breach of honour, may + Make tender of to thy true worthiness. + You may not come, fair Princess, within my gates; + But here without you shall be so receiv'd + As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, + Though so denied fair harbour in my house. + Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell. + To-morrow shall we visit you again. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet health and fair desires consort your + Grace! + KING. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place. + Exit with attendants + BEROWNE. Lady, I will commend you to mine own heart. + ROSALINE. Pray you, do my commendations; + I would be glad to see it. + BEROWNE. I would you heard it groan. + ROSALINE. Is the fool sick? + BEROWNE. Sick at the heart. + ROSALINE. Alack, let it blood. + BEROWNE. Would that do it good? + ROSALINE. My physic says 'ay.' + BEROWNE. Will YOU prick't with your eye? + ROSALINE. No point, with my knife. + BEROWNE. Now, God save thy life! + ROSALINE. And yours from long living! + BEROWNE. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring] + DUMAIN. Sir, I pray you, a word: what lady is that same? + BOYET. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her name. + DUMAIN. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. Exit + LONGAVILLE. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white? + BOYET. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. + LONGAVILLE. Perchance light in the light. I desire her name. + BOYET. She hath but one for herself; to desire that were a shame. + LONGAVILLE. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? + BOYET. Her mother's, I have heard. + LONGAVILLE. God's blessing on your beard! + BOYET. Good sir, be not offended; + She is an heir of Falconbridge. + LONGAVILLE. Nay, my choler is ended. + She is a most sweet lady. + BOYET. Not unlike, sir; that may be. Exit LONGAVILLE + BEROWNE. What's her name in the cap? + BOYET. Rosaline, by good hap. + BEROWNE. Is she wedded or no? + BOYET. To her will, sir, or so. + BEROWNE. You are welcome, sir; adieu! + BOYET. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. + Exit BEROWNE. LADIES Unmask + MARIA. That last is Berowne, the merry mad-cap lord; + Not a word with him but a jest. + BOYET. And every jest but a word. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. It was well done of you to take him at his + word. + BOYET. I was as willing to grapple as he was to board. + KATHARINE. Two hot sheeps, marry! + BOYET. And wherefore not ships? + No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. + KATHARINE. You sheep and I pasture- shall that finish the jest? + BOYET. So you grant pasture for me. [Offering to kiss her] + KATHARINE. Not so, gentle beast; + My lips are no common, though several they be. + BOYET. Belonging to whom? + KATHARINE. To my fortunes and me. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, + agree; + This civil war of wits were much better used + On Navarre and his book-men, for here 'tis abused. + BOYET. If my observation, which very seldom lies, + By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with eyes, + Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. With what? + BOYET. With that which we lovers entitle 'affected.' + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Your reason? + BOYET. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire + To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire. + His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, + Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed; + His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, + Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be; + All senses to that sense did make their repair, + To feel only looking on fairest of fair. + Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye, + As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; + Who, tend'ring their own worth from where they were glass'd, + Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. + His face's own margent did quote such amazes + That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes. + I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his, + An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is dispos'd. + BOYET. But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclos'd; + I only have made a mouth of his eye, + By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. + MARIA. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. + KATHARINE. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. + ROSALINE. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but + grim. + BOYET. Do you hear, my mad wenches? + MARIA. No. + BOYET. What, then; do you see? + MARIA. Ay, our way to be gone. + BOYET. You are too hard for me. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. The park + +Enter ARMADO and MOTH + + ARMADO. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing. + [MOTH sings Concolinel] + ARMADO. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years, take this key, give + enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither; I must + employ him in a letter to my love. + MOTH. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl? + ARMADO. How meanest thou? Brawling in French? + MOTH. No, my complete master; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's + end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your + eyelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime through the + throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love, sometime + through the nose, as if you snuff'd up love by smelling love, + with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of your eyes, with + your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbit on a + spit, or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old + painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away. + These are complements, these are humours; these betray nice + wenches, that would be betrayed without these; and make them men + of note- do you note me?- that most are affected to these. + ARMADO. How hast thou purchased this experience? + MOTH. By my penny of observation. + ARMADO. But O- but O- + MOTH. The hobby-horse is forgot. + ARMADO. Call'st thou my love 'hobby-horse'? + MOTH. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love + perhaps a hackney. But have you forgot your love? + ARMADO. Almost I had. + MOTH. Negligent student! learn her by heart. + ARMADO. By heart and in heart, boy. + MOTH. And out of heart, master; all those three I will prove. + ARMADO. What wilt thou prove? + MOTH. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and without, upon the + instant. By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by + her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with + her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you + cannot enjoy her. + ARMADO. I am all these three. + MOTH. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all. + ARMADO. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter. + MOTH. A message well sympathiz'd- a horse to be ambassador for an + ass. + ARMADO. Ha, ha, what sayest thou? + MOTH. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is + very slow-gaited. But I go. + ARMADO. The way is but short; away. + MOTH. As swift as lead, sir. + ARMADO. The meaning, pretty ingenious? + Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? + MOTH. Minime, honest master; or rather, master, no. + ARMADO. I say lead is slow. + MOTH. You are too swift, sir, to say so: + Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun? + ARMADO. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! + He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he; + I shoot thee at the swain. + MOTH. Thump, then, and I flee. Exit + ARMADO. A most acute juvenal; volable and free of grace! + By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face; + Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. + My herald is return'd. + + Re-enter MOTH with COSTARD + + MOTH. A wonder, master! here's a costard broken in a shin. + ARMADO. Some enigma, some riddle; come, thy l'envoy; begin. + COSTARD. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the mail, sir. + O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no + salve, sir, but a plantain! + ARMADO. By virtue thou enforcest laughter; thy silly thought, my + spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous + smiling. O, pardon me, my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take + salve for l'envoy, and the word 'l'envoy' for a salve? + MOTH. Do the wise think them other? Is not l'envoy a salve? + ARMADO. No, page; it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain + Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. + I will example it: + The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, + Were still at odds, being but three. + There's the moral. Now the l'envoy. + MOTH. I will add the l'envoy. Say the moral again. + ARMADO. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, + Were still at odds, being but three. + MOTH. Until the goose came out of door, + And stay'd the odds by adding four. + Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy. + The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, + Were still at odds, being but three. + ARMADO. Until the goose came out of door, + Staying the odds by adding four. + MOTH. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; would you desire more? + COSTARD. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat. + Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. + To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose; + Let me see: a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. + ARMADO. Come hither, come hither. How did this argument begin? + MOTH. By saying that a costard was broken in a shin. + Then call'd you for the l'envoy. + COSTARD. True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in; + Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought; + And he ended the market. + ARMADO. But tell me: how was there a costard broken in a shin? + MOTH. I will tell you sensibly. + COSTARD. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that + l'envoy. + I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, + Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. + ARMADO. We will talk no more of this matter. + COSTARD. Till there be more matter in the shin. + ARMADO. Sirrah Costard. I will enfranchise thee. + COSTARD. O, Marry me to one Frances! I smell some l'envoy, some + goose, in this. + ARMADO. By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, + enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immured, restrained, + captivated, bound. + COSTARD. True, true; and now you will be my purgation, and let me + loose. + ARMADO. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from durance; and, in + lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this: bear this + significant [giving a letter] to the country maid Jaquenetta; + there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honour is + rewarding my dependents. Moth, follow. Exit + MOTH. Like the sequel, I. Signior Costard, adieu. + COSTARD. My sweet ounce of man's flesh, my incony Jew! + Exit MOTH + Now will I look to his remuneration. Remuneration! O, that's the + Latin word for three farthings. Three farthings- remuneration. + 'What's the price of this inkle?'- 'One penny.'- 'No, I'll give + you a remuneration.' Why, it carries it. Remuneration! Why, it is + a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of + this word. + + Enter BEROWNE + + BEROWNE. My good knave Costard, exceedingly well met! + COSTARD. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon may a man buy for + a remuneration? + BEROWNE. What is a remuneration? + COSTARD. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. + BEROWNE. Why, then, three-farthing worth of silk. + COSTARD. I thank your worship. God be wi' you! + BEROWNE. Stay, slave; I must employ thee. + As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, + Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. + COSTARD. When would you have it done, sir? + BEROWNE. This afternoon. + COSTARD. Well, I will do it, sir; fare you well. + BEROWNE. Thou knowest not what it is. + COSTARD. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. + BEROWNE. Why, villain, thou must know first. + COSTARD. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. + BEROWNE. It must be done this afternoon. + Hark, slave, it is but this: + The Princess comes to hunt here in the park, + And in her train there is a gentle lady; + When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, + And Rosaline they call her. Ask for her, + And to her white hand see thou do commend + This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go. + [Giving him a shilling] + COSTARD. Gardon, O sweet gardon! better than remuneration; a + 'leven-pence farthing better; most sweet gardon! I will do it, + sir, in print. Gardon- remuneration! Exit + BEROWNE. And I, forsooth, in love; I, that have been love's whip; + A very beadle to a humorous sigh; + A critic, nay, a night-watch constable; + A domineering pedant o'er the boy, + Than whom no mortal so magnificent! + This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, + This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; + Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, + Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, + Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, + Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, + Sole imperator, and great general + Of trotting paritors. O my little heart! + And I to be a corporal of his field, + And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop! + What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife- + A woman, that is like a German clock, + Still a-repairing, ever out of frame, + And never going aright, being a watch, + But being watch'd that it may still go right! + Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all; + And, among three, to love the worst of all, + A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, + With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; + Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, + Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard. + And I to sigh for her! to watch for her! + To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague + That Cupid will impose for my neglect + Of his almighty dreadful little might. + Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan: + Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. Exit + +ACT IV. SCENE I. The park + +Enter the PRINCESS, ROSALINE, MARIA, KATHARINE, BOYET, LORDS, +ATTENDANTS, and a FORESTER + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was that the King that spurr'd his horse so + hard + Against the steep uprising of the hill? + BOYET. I know not; but I think it was not he. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whoe'er 'a was, 'a show'd a mounting mind. + Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch; + On Saturday we will return to France. + Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush + That we must stand and play the murderer in? + FORESTER. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice; + A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I thank my beauty I am fair that shoot, + And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. + FORESTER. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What, what? First praise me, and again say no? + O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? Alack for woe! + FORESTER. Yes, madam, fair. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, never paint me now; + Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. + Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: + [ Giving him money] + Fair payment for foul words is more than due. + FORESTER. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. + O heresy in fair, fit for these days! + A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. + But come, the bow. Now mercy goes to kill, + And shooting well is then accounted ill; + Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: + Not wounding, pity would not let me do't; + If wounding, then it was to show my skill, + That more for praise than purpose meant to kill. + And, out of question, so it is sometimes: + Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, + When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, + We bend to that the working of the heart; + As I for praise alone now seek to spill + The poor deer's blood that my heart means no ill. + BOYET. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereignty + Only for praise sake, when they strive to be + Lords o'er their lords? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Only for praise; and praise we may afford + To any lady that subdues a lord. + + Enter COSTARD + + BOYET. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. + COSTARD. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the head lady? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that + have no heads. + COSTARD. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The thickest and the tallest. + COSTARD. The thickest and the tallest! It is so; truth is truth. + An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, + One o' these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. + Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What's your will, sir? What's your will? + COSTARD. I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one + Lady Rosaline. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O, thy letter, thy letter! He's a good friend + of mine. + Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can carve. + Break up this capon. + BOYET. I am bound to serve. + This letter is mistook; it importeth none here. + It is writ to Jaquenetta. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We will read it, I swear. + Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. + BOYET. [Reads] 'By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible; + true that thou art beauteous; truth itself that thou art lovely. + More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth + itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal. The + magnanimous and most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the + pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that + might rightly say, 'Veni, vidi, vici'; which to annothanize in + the vulgar,- O base and obscure vulgar!- videlicet, He came, saw, + and overcame. He came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came?- + the king. Why did he come?- to see. Why did he see?-to overcome. + To whom came he?- to the beggar. What saw he?- the beggar. Who + overcame he?- the beggar. The conclusion is victory; on whose + side?- the king's. The captive is enrich'd; on whose side?- the + beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial; on whose side?- the + king's. No, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king, for so + stands the comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy + lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may. Shall I enforce thy + love? I could. Shall I entreat thy love? I will. What shalt thou + exchange for rags?- robes, for tittles?- titles, for thyself? + -me. Thus expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my + eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. + Thine in the dearest design of industry, + DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. + + 'Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar + 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; + Submissive fall his princely feet before, + And he from forage will incline to play. + But if thou strive, poor soul, what are thou then? + Food for his rage, repasture for his den.' + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. What plume of feathers is he that indited this + letter? + What vane? What weathercock? Did you ever hear better? + BOYET. I am much deceived but I remember the style. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it + erewhile. + BOYET. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here in court; + A phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport + To the Prince and his book-mates. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou fellow, a word. + Who gave thee this letter? + COSTARD. I told you: my lord. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. To whom shouldst thou give it? + COSTARD. From my lord to my lady. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. From which lord to which lady? + COSTARD. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, + To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, + away. + [To ROSALINE] Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another + day. Exeunt PRINCESS and TRAIN + BOYET. Who is the shooter? who is the shooter? + ROSALINE. Shall I teach you to know? + BOYET. Ay, my continent of beauty. + ROSALINE. Why, she that bears the bow. + Finely put off! + BOYET. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry, + Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. + Finely put on! + ROSALINE. Well then, I am the shooter. + BOYET. And who is your deer? + ROSALINE. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near. + Finely put on indeed! + MARIA. You Still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the + brow. + BOYET. But she herself is hit lower. Have I hit her now? + ROSALINE. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man + when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit + it? + BOYET. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when + Queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit + it. + ROSALINE. [Singing] + Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, + Thou canst not hit it, my good man. + BOYET. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, + An I cannot, another can. + Exeunt ROSALINE and KATHARINE + COSTARD. By my troth, most pleasant! How both did fit it! + MARIA. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both did hit it. + BOYET. A mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady! + Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be. + MARIA. Wide o' the bow-hand! I' faith, your hand is out. + COSTARD. Indeed, 'a must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the + clout. + BOYET. An if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in. + COSTARD. Then will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin. + MARIA. Come, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul. + COSTARD. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge her to + bowl. + BOYET. I fear too much rubbing; good-night, my good owl. + Exeunt BOYET and MARIA + COSTARD. By my soul, a swain, a most simple clown! + Lord, Lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! + O' my troth, most sweet jests, most incony vulgar wit! + When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were, so fit. + Armado a th' t'one side- O, a most dainty man! + To see him walk before a lady and to bear her fan! + To see him kiss his hand, and how most sweetly 'a will swear! + And his page a t' other side, that handful of wit! + Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! + Sola, sola! Exit COSTARD + +SCENE II. The park + +From the shooting within, enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL + + NATHANIEL. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of + a good conscience. + HOLOFERNES. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, in blood; ripe as + the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo, + the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on + the face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth. + NATHANIEL. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly + varied, like a scholar at the least; but, sir, I assure ye it was + a buck of the first head. + HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. + DULL. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. + HOLOFERNES. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, + as it were, in via, in way, of explication; facere, as it were, + replication, or rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his + inclination, after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, + unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest + unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my haud credo for a deer. + DULL. I Said the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. + HOLOFERNES. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus! + O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! + NATHANIEL. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in + a book; + He hath not eat paper, as it were; he hath not drunk ink; his + intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible + in the duller parts; + And such barren plants are set before us that we thankful should + be- + Which we of taste and feeling are- for those parts that do + fructify in us more than he. + For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, or a fool, + So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in a school. + But, omne bene, say I, being of an old father's mind: + Many can brook the weather that love not the wind. + DULL. You two are book-men: can you tell me by your wit + What was a month old at Cain's birth that's not five weeks old as + yet? + HOLOFERNES. Dictynna, goodman Dull; Dictynna, goodman Dull. + DULL. What is Dictynna? + NATHANIEL. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. + HOLOFERNES. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more, + And raught not to five weeks when he came to five-score. + Th' allusion holds in the exchange. + DULL. 'Tis true, indeed; the collusion holds in the exchange. + HOLOFERNES. God comfort thy capacity! I say th' allusion holds in + the exchange. + DULL. And I say the polusion holds in the exchange; for the moon is + never but a month old; and I say, beside, that 'twas a pricket + that the Princess kill'd. + HOLOFERNES. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on + the death of the deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call the deer + the Princess kill'd a pricket. + NATHANIEL. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge, so it shall please + you to abrogate scurrility. + HOLOFERNES. I Will something affect the letter, for it argues + facility. + + The preyful Princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing + pricket. + Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting. + The dogs did yell; put el to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket- + Or pricket sore, or else sorel; the people fall a-hooting. + If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores o' sorel. + Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but one more L. + + NATHANIEL. A rare talent! + DULL. [Aside] If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him with a + talent. + HOLOFERNES. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a foolish + extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, + ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions. These are begot in + the ventricle of memory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater, and + delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. But the gift is good in + those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. + NATHANIEL. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my + parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by you, and their + daughters profit very greatly under you. You are a good member of + the commonwealth. + HOLOFERNES. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shall want + no instruction; if their daughters be capable, I will put it to + them; but, vir sapit qui pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth + us. + + Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD + + JAQUENETTA. God give you good morrow, Master Person. + HOLOFERNES. Master Person, quasi pers-one. And if one should be + pierc'd which is the one? + COSTARD. Marry, Master Schoolmaster, he that is likest to a + hogshead. + HOLOFERNES. Piercing a hogshead! A good lustre of conceit in a turf + of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine; 'tis + pretty; it is well. + JAQUENETTA. Good Master Parson, be so good as read me this letter; + it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armado. I + beseech you read it. + HOLOFERNES. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra + Ruminat- + and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as + the traveller doth of Venice: + Venetia, Venetia, + Chi non ti vede, non ti pretia. + Old Mantuan, old Mantuan! Who understandeth thee not, + loves thee not- + Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. + Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or rather as + Horace says in his- What, my soul, verses? + NATHANIEL. Ay, sir, and very learned. + HOLOFERNES. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a verse; lege, domine. + NATHANIEL. [Reads] 'If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to + love? + Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! + Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; + Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. + Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, + Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend. + If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; + Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend; + All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; + Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire. + Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, + Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. + Celestial as thou art, O, pardon love this wrong, + That singes heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.' + HOLOFERNES. You find not the apostrophas, and so miss the accent: + let me supervise the canzonet. Here are only numbers ratified; + but, for the elegancy, facility, and golden cadence of poesy, + caret. Ovidius Naso was the man. And why, indeed, 'Naso' but for + smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of + invention? Imitari is nothing: so doth the hound his master, the + ape his keeper, the tired horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, + was this directed to you? + JAQUENETTA. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Berowne, one of the strange + queen's lords. + HOLOFERNES. I will overglance the superscript: 'To the snow-white + hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.' I will look again on + the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party + writing to the person written unto: 'Your Ladyship's in all + desired employment, Berowne.' Sir Nathaniel, this Berowne is one + of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter + to a sequent of the stranger queen's which accidentally, or by + the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, my sweet; + deliver this paper into the royal hand of the King; it may + concern much. Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty. Adieu. + JAQUENETTA. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God save your life! + COSTARD. Have with thee, my girl. + Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA + NATHANIEL. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very + religiously; and, as a certain father saith- + HOLOFERNES. Sir, tell not me of the father; I do fear colourable + colours. But to return to the verses: did they please you, Sir + Nathaniel? + NATHANIEL. Marvellous well for the pen. + HOLOFERNES. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain pupil of + mine; where, if, before repast, it shall please you to gratify + the table with a grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the + parents of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben + venuto; where I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, + neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention. I beseech your + society. + NATHANIEL. And thank you too; for society, saith the text, is the + happiness of life. + HOLOFERNES. And certes, the text most infallibly concludes it. + [To DULL] Sir, I do invite you too; you shall not say me nay: + pauca verba. Away; the gentles are at their game, and we will to + our recreation. Exeunt + +SCENE III. The park + +Enter BEROWNE, with a paper his band, alone + + BEROWNE. The King he is hunting the deer: I am coursing myself. They + have pitch'd a toil: I am tolling in a pitch- pitch that defiles. + Defile! a foul word. Well, 'set thee down, sorrow!' for so they say + the fool said, and so say I, and I am the fool. Well proved, wit. By + the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me- I + a sheep. Well proved again o' my side. I will not love; if I do, hang + me. I' faith, I will not. O, but her eye! By this light, but for her + eye, I would not love her- yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing + in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love; and + it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of + my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets + already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: + sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not + care a pin if the other three were in. Here comes one with a paper; + God give him grace to groan! [Climbs into a tree] + + Enter the KING, with a paper + + KING. Ay me! + BEROWNE. Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd + him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets! + KING. [Reads] + 'So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not + To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, + As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote + The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows; + Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright + Through the transparent bosom of the deep, + As doth thy face through tears of mine give light. + Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; + No drop but as a coach doth carry thee; + So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. + Do but behold the tears that swell in me, + And they thy glory through my grief will show. + But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep + My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. + O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel + No thought can think nor tongue of mortal tell.' + How shall she know my griefs? I'll drop the paper- + Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here? + [Steps aside] + + Enter LONGAVILLE, with a paper + + What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, car. + BEROWNE. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool appear! + LONGAVILLE. Ay me, I am forsworn! + BEROWNE. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing papers. + KING. In love, I hope; sweet fellowship in shame! + BEROWNE. One drunkard loves another of the name. + LONGAVILLE. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? + BEROWNE. I could put thee in comfort: not by two that I know; + Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, + The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity. + LONGAVILLE. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move. + O sweet Maria, empress of my love! + These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. + BEROWNE. O, rhymes are guards on wanton Cupid's hose: + Disfigure not his slop. + LONGAVILLE. This same shall go. [He reads the sonnet] + 'Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, + 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, + Persuade my heart to this false perjury? + Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. + A woman I forswore; but I will prove, + Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: + My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; + Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. + Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is; + Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, + Exhal'st this vapour-vow; in thee it is. + If broken, then it is no fault of mine; + If by me broke, what fool is not so wise + To lose an oath to win a paradise?' + BEROWNE. This is the liver-vein, which makes flesh a deity, + A green goose a goddess- pure, pure idolatry. + God amend us, God amend! We are much out o' th' way. + + Enter DUMAIN, with a paper + + LONGAVILLE. By whom shall I send this?- Company! Stay. + [Steps aside] + BEROWNE. 'All hid, all hid'- an old infant play. + Like a demigod here sit I in the sky, + And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. + More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish! + Dumain transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish! + DUMAIN. O most divine Kate! + BEROWNE. O most profane coxcomb! + DUMAIN. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye! + BEROWNE. By earth, she is not, corporal: there you lie. + DUMAIN. Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted. + BEROWNE. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. + DUMAIN. As upright as the cedar. + BEROWNE. Stoop, I say; + Her shoulder is with child. + DUMAIN. As fair as day. + BEROWNE. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine. + DUMAIN. O that I had my wish! + LONGAVILLE. And I had mine! + KING. And I mine too,.good Lord! + BEROWNE. Amen, so I had mine! Is not that a good word? + DUMAIN. I would forget her; but a fever she + Reigns in my blood, and will rememb'red be. + BEROWNE. A fever in your blood? Why, then incision + Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision! + DUMAIN. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. + BEROWNE. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. + DUMAIN. [Reads] + 'On a day-alack the day!- + Love, whose month is ever May, + Spied a blossom passing fair + Playing in the wanton air. + Through the velvet leaves the wind, + All unseen, can passage find; + That the lover, sick to death, + Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. + "Air," quoth he "thy cheeks may blow; + Air, would I might triumph so! + But, alack, my hand is sworn + Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; + Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, + Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. + Do not call it sin in me + That I am forsworn for thee; + Thou for whom Jove would swear + Juno but an Ethiope were; + And deny himself for Jove, + Turning mortal for thy love."' + This will I send; and something else more plain + That shall express my true love's fasting pain. + O, would the King, Berowne and Longaville, + Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill, + Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note; + For none offend where all alike do dote. + LONGAVILLE. [Advancing] Dumain, thy love is far from charity, + That in love's grief desir'st society; + You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, + To be o'erheard and taken napping so. + KING. [Advancing] Come, sir, you blush; as his, your case is such. + You chide at him, offending twice as much: + You do not love Maria! Longaville + Did never sonnet for her sake compile; + Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart + His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. + I have been closely shrouded in this bush, + And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. + I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion, + Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion. + 'Ay me!' says one. 'O Jove!' the other cries. + One, her hairs were gold; crystal the other's eyes. + [To LONGAVILLE] You would for paradise break faith and troth; + [To Dumain] And Jove for your love would infringe an oath. + What will Berowne say when that he shall hear + Faith infringed which such zeal did swear? + How will he scorn, how will he spend his wit! + How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it! + For all the wealth that ever I did see, + I would not have him know so much by me. + BEROWNE. [Descending] Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy, + Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me. + Good heart, what grace hast thou thus to reprove + These worms for loving, that art most in love? + Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears + There is no certain princess that appears; + You'll not be perjur'd; 'tis a hateful thing; + Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. + But are you not ashamed? Nay, are you not, + All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? + You found his mote; the King your mote did see; + But I a beam do find in each of three. + O, what a scene of fool'ry have I seen, + Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! + O, me, with what strict patience have I sat, + To see a king transformed to a gnat! + To see great Hercules whipping a gig, + And profound Solomon to tune a jig, + And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, + And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! + Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumain? + And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? + And where my liege's? All about the breast. + A caudle, ho! + KING. Too bitter is thy jest. + Are we betrayed thus to thy over-view? + BEROWNE. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you. + I that am honest, I that hold it sin + To break the vow I am engaged in; + I am betrayed by keeping company + With men like you, men of inconstancy. + When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? + Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time + In pruning me? When shall you hear that I + Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, + A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, + A leg, a limb- + KING. Soft! whither away so fast? + A true man or a thief that gallops so? + BEROWNE. I post from love; good lover, let me go. + + Enter JAQUENETTA and COSTARD + + JAQUENETTA. God bless the King! + KING. What present hast thou there? + COSTARD. Some certain treason. + KING. What makes treason here? + COSTARD. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. + KING. If it mar nothing neither, + The treason and you go in peace away together. + JAQUENETTA. I beseech your Grace, let this letter be read; + Our person misdoubts it: 'twas treason, he said. + KING. Berowne, read it over. [BEROWNE reads the letter] + Where hadst thou it? + JAQUENETTA. Of Costard. + KING. Where hadst thou it? + COSTARD. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. + [BEROWNE tears the letter] + KING. How now! What is in you? Why dost thou tear it? + BEROWNE. A toy, my liege, a toy! Your Grace needs not fear it. + LONGAVILLE. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear + it. + DUMAIN. It is Berowne's writing, and here is his name. + [Gathering up the pieces] + BEROWNE. [ To COSTARD] Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, you were born + to do me shame. + Guilty, my lord, guilty! I confess, I confess. + KING. What? + BEROWNE. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess; + He, he, and you- and you, my liege!- and I + Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. + O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. + DUMAIN. Now the number is even. + BEROWNE. True, true, we are four. + Will these turtles be gone? + KING. Hence, sirs, away. + COSTARD. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors stay. + Exeunt COSTARD and JAQUENETTA + BEROWNE. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us embrace! + As true we are as flesh and blood can be. + The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; + Young blood doth not obey an old decree. + We cannot cross the cause why we were born, + Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. + KING. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine? + BEROWNE. 'Did they?' quoth you. Who sees the heavenly Rosaline + That, like a rude and savage man of Inde + At the first op'ning of the gorgeous east, + Bows not his vassal head and, strucken blind, + Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? + What peremptory eagle-sighted eye + Dares look upon the heaven of her brow + That is not blinded by her majesty? + KING. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? + My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; + She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. + BEROWNE. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. + O, but for my love, day would turn to night! + Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty + Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, + Where several worthies make one dignity, + Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. + Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues- + Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not! + To things of sale a seller's praise belongs: + She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. + A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, + Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye. + Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, + And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. + O, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine! + KING. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. + BEROWNE. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! + A wife of such wood were felicity. + O, who can give an oath? Where is a book? + That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, + If that she learn not of her eye to look. + No face is fair that is not full so black. + KING. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, + The hue of dungeons, and the school of night; + And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. + BEROWNE. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. + O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, + It mourns that painting and usurping hair + Should ravish doters with a false aspect; + And therefore is she born to make black fair. + Her favour turns the fashion of the days; + For native blood is counted painting now; + And therefore red that would avoid dispraise + Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. + DUMAIN. To look like her are chimney-sweepers black. + LONGAVILLE. And since her time are colliers counted bright. + KING. And Ethiopes of their sweet complexion crack. + DUMAIN. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. + BEROWNE. Your mistresses dare never come in rain + For fear their colours should be wash'd away. + KING. 'Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, + I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. + BEROWNE. I'll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. + KING. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. + DUMAIN. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. + LONGAVILLE. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her face see. + [Showing his shoe] + BEROWNE. O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, + Her feet were much too dainty for such tread! + DUMAIN. O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies + The street should see as she walk'd overhead. + KING. But what of this? Are we not all in love? + BEROWNE. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. + KING. Then leave this chat; and, good Berowne, now prove + Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. + DUMAIN. Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil. + LONGAVILLE. O, some authority how to proceed; + Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil! + DUMAIN. Some salve for perjury. + BEROWNE. 'Tis more than need. + Have at you, then, affection's men-at-arms. + Consider what you first did swear unto: + To fast, to study, and to see no woman- + Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. + Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young, + And abstinence engenders maladies. + And, where that you you have vow'd to study, lords, + In that each of you have forsworn his book, + Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? + For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, + Have found the ground of study's excellence + Without the beauty of a woman's face? + From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: + They are the ground, the books, the academes, + From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. + Why, universal plodding poisons up + The nimble spirits in the arteries, + As motion and long-during action tires + The sinewy vigour of the traveller. + Now, for not looking on a woman's face, + You have in that forsworn the use of eyes, + And study too, the causer of your vow; + For where is author in the world + Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? + Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, + And where we are our learning likewise is; + Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, + With ourselves. + Do we not likewise see our learning there? + O, we have made a vow to study, lords, + And in that vow we have forsworn our books. + For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, + In leaden contemplation have found out + Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes + Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd you with? + Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; + And therefore, finding barren practisers, + Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil; + But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, + Lives not alone immured in the brain, + But with the motion of all elements + Courses as swift as thought in every power, + And gives to every power a double power, + Above their functions and their offices. + It adds a precious seeing to the eye: + A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind. + A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, + When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd. + Love's feeling is more soft and sensible + Than are the tender horns of cockled snails: + Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. + For valour, is not Love a Hercules, + Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? + Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical + As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair. + And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods + Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. + Never durst poet touch a pen to write + Until his ink were temp'red with Love's sighs; + O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, + And plant in tyrants mild humility. + From women's eyes this doctrine I derive. + They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; + They are the books, the arts, the academes, + That show, contain, and nourish, all the world, + Else none at all in aught proves excellent. + Then fools you were these women to forswear; + Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. + For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love; + Or for Love's sake, a word that loves all men; + Or for men's sake, the authors of these women; + Or women's sake, by whom we men are men- + Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, + Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. + It is religion to be thus forsworn; + For charity itself fulfils the law, + And who can sever love from charity? + KING. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field! + BEROWNE. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords; + Pell-mell, down with them! be first advis'd, + In conflict, that you get the sun of them. + LONGAVILLE. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by. + Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? + KING. And win them too; therefore let us devise + Some entertainment for them in their tents. + BEROWNE. First, from the park let us conduct them thither; + Then homeward every man attach the hand + Of his fair mistress. In the afternoon + We will with some strange pastime solace them, + Such as the shortness of the time can shape; + For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, + Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. + KING. Away, away! No time shall be omitted + That will betime, and may by us be fitted. + BEROWNE. Allons! allons! Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn, + And justice always whirls in equal measure. + Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; + If so, our copper buys no better treasure. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. The park + +Enter HOLOFERNES, SIR NATHANIEL, and DULL + + HOLOFERNES. Satis quod sufficit. + NATHANIEL. I praise God for you, sir. Your reasons at dinner have + been sharp and sententious; pleasant without scurrility, witty + without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without + opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam + day with a companion of the King's who is intituled, nominated, + or called, Don Adriano de Armado. + HOLOFERNES. Novi hominem tanquam te. His humour is lofty, his + discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his + gait majestical and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous, and + thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, + as it were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. + NATHANIEL. A most singular and choice epithet. + [Draws out his table-book] + HOLOFERNES. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than + the staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, + such insociable and point-devise companions; such rackers of + orthography, as to speak 'dout' fine, when he should say 'doubt'; + 'det' when he should pronounce 'debt'- d, e, b, t, not d, e, t. + He clepeth a calf 'cauf,' half 'hauf'; neighbour vocatur + 'nebour'; 'neigh' abbreviated 'ne.' This is abhominable- which he + would call 'abbominable.' It insinuateth me of insanie: ne + intelligis, domine? to make frantic, lunatic. + NATHANIEL. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. + HOLOFERNES. 'Bone'?- 'bone' for 'bene.' Priscian a little + scratch'd; 'twill serve. + + Enter ARMADO, MOTH, and COSTARD + + NATHANIEL. Videsne quis venit? + HOLOFERNES. Video, et gaudeo. + ARMADO. [To MOTH] Chirrah! + HOLOFERNES. Quare 'chirrah,' not 'sirrah'? + ARMADO. Men of peace, well encount'red. + HOLOFERNES. Most military sir, salutation. + MOTH. [Aside to COSTARD] They have been at a great feast of + languages and stol'n the scraps. + COSTARD. O, they have liv'd long on the alms-basket of words. I + marvel thy master hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou are + not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus; thou art + easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. + MOTH. Peace! the peal begins. + ARMADO. [To HOLOFERNES] Monsieur, are you not lett'red? + MOTH. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the hornbook. What is a, b, spelt + backward with the horn on his head? + HOLOFERNES. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. + MOTH. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. You hear his learning. + HOLOFERNES. Quis, quis, thou consonant? + MOTH. The third of the five vowels, if You repeat them; or the + fifth, if I. + HOLOFERNES. I will repeat them: a, e, I- + MOTH. The sheep; the other two concludes it: o, U. + ARMADO. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediterraneum, a sweet touch, + a quick venue of wit- snip, snap, quick and home. It rejoiceth my + intellect. True wit! + MOTH. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which is wit-old. + HOLOFERNES. What is the figure? What is the figure? + MOTH. Horns. + HOLOFERNES. Thou disputes like an infant; go whip thy gig. + MOTH. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your + infamy circum circa- a gig of a cuckold's horn. + COSTARD. An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it + to buy ginger-bread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had + of thy master, thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of + discretion. O, an the heavens were so pleased that thou wert but + my bastard, what a joyful father wouldst thou make me! Go to; + thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' ends, as they say. + HOLOFERNES. O, I smell false Latin; 'dunghill' for unguem. + ARMADO. Arts-man, preambulate; we will be singuled from the + barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-house on the + top of the mountain? + HOLOFERNES. Or mons, the hill. + ARMADO. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. + HOLOFERNES. I do, sans question. + ARMADO. Sir, it is the King's most sweet pleasure and affection to + congratulate the Princess at her pavilion, in the posteriors of + this day; which the rude multitude call the afternoon. + HOLOFERNES. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is liable, + congruent, and measurable, for the afternoon. The word is well + cull'd, chose, sweet, and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. + ARMADO. Sir, the King is a noble gentleman, and my familiar, I do + assure ye, very good friend. For what is inward between us, let + it pass. I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy. I beseech + thee, apparel thy head. And among other importunate and most + serious designs, and of great import indeed, too- but let that + pass; for I must tell thee it will please his Grace, by the + world, sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder, and with his royal + finger thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio; but, + sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable: + some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart + to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world; + but let that pass. The very all of all is- but, sweet heart, I do + implore secrecy- that the King would have me present the + Princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or show, + or pageant, or antic, or firework. Now, understanding that the + curate and your sweet self are good at such eruptions and sudden + breaking-out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, + to the end to crave your assistance. + HOLOFERNES. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Worthies. + Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some entertainment of time, some + show in the posterior of this day, to be rend'red by our + assistance, the King's command, and this most gallant, + illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the Princess- I say + none so fit as to present the Nine Worthies. + NATHANIEL. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them? + HOLOFERNES. Joshua, yourself; myself, Alexander; this gallant + gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of his great + limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules. + ARMADO. Pardon, sir; error: he is not quantity enough for that + Worthy's thumb; he is not so big as the end of his club. + HOLOFERNES. Shall I have audience? He shall present Hercules in + minority: his enter and exit shall be strangling a snake; and I + will have an apology for that purpose. + MOTH. An excellent device! So, if any of the audience hiss, you may + cry 'Well done, Hercules; now thou crushest the snake!' That is + the way to make an offence gracious, though few have the grace to + do it. + ARMADO. For the rest of the Worthies? + HOLOFERNES. I will play three myself. + MOTH. Thrice-worthy gentleman! + ARMADO. Shall I tell you a thing? + HOLOFERNES. We attend. + ARMADO. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you, + follow. + HOLOFERNES. Via, goodman Dull! Thou has spoken no word all this + while. + DULL. Nor understood none neither, sir. + HOLOFERNES. Allons! we will employ thee. + DULL. I'll make one in a dance, or so, or I will play + On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them dance the hay. + HOLOFERNES. Most dull, honest Dull! To our sport, away. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. The park + +Enter the PRINCESS, MARIA, KATHARINE, and ROSALINE + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, + If fairings come thus plentifully in. + A lady wall'd about with diamonds! + Look you what I have from the loving King. + ROSALINE. Madam, came nothing else along with that? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nothing but this! Yes, as much love in rhyme + As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper + Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all, + That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. + ROSALINE. That was the way to make his godhead wax; + For he hath been five thousand year a boy. + KATHARINE. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. + ROSALINE. You'll ne'er be friends with him: 'a kill'd your sister. + KATHARINE. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; + And so she died. Had she been light, like you, + Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, + She might 'a been a grandam ere she died. + And so may you; for a light heart lives long. + ROSALINE. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word? + KATHARINE. A light condition in a beauty dark. + ROSALINE. We need more light to find your meaning out. + KATHARINE. You'll mar the light by taking it in snuff; + Therefore I'll darkly end the argument. + ROSALINE. Look what you do, you do it still i' th' dark. + KATHARINE. So do not you; for you are a light wench. + ROSALINE. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light. + KATHARINE. You weigh me not? O, that's you care not for me. + ROSALINE. Great reason; for 'past cure is still past care.' + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. + But, Rosaline, you have a favour too? + Who sent it? and what is it? + ROSALINE. I would you knew. + An if my face were but as fair as yours, + My favour were as great: be witness this. + Nay, I have verses too, I thank Berowne; + The numbers true, and, were the numb'ring too, + I were the fairest goddess on the ground. + I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. + O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Anything like? + ROSALINE. Much in the letters; nothing in the praise. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Beauteous as ink- a good conclusion. + KATHARINE. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. + ROSALINE. Ware pencils, ho! Let me not die your debtor, + My red dominical, my golden letter: + O that your face were not so full of O's! + KATHARINE. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair + Dumain? + KATHARINE. Madam, this glove. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Did he not send you twain? + KATHARINE. Yes, madam; and, moreover, + Some thousand verses of a faithful lover; + A huge translation of hypocrisy, + Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. + MARIA. This, and these pearl, to me sent Longaville; + The letter is too long by half a mile. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart + The chain were longer and the letter short? + MARIA. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. + ROSALINE. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. + That same Berowne I'll torture ere I go. + O that I knew he were but in by th' week! + How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek, + And wait the season, and observe the times, + And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes, + And shape his service wholly to my hests, + And make him proud to make me proud that jests! + So pertaunt-like would I o'ersway his state + That he should be my fool, and I his fate. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. None are so surely caught, when they are + catch'd, + As wit turn'd fool; folly, in wisdom hatch'd, + Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school, + And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. + ROSALINE. The blood of youth burns not with such excess + As gravity's revolt to wantonness. + MARIA. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note + As fool'ry in the wise when wit doth dote, + Since all the power thereof it doth apply + To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. + + Enter BOYET + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. + BOYET. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her Grace? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Thy news, Boyet? + BOYET. Prepare, madam, prepare! + Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are + Against your peace. Love doth approach disguis'd, + Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd. + Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; + Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they + That charge their breath against us? Say, scout, say. + BOYET. Under the cool shade of a sycamore + I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; + When, lo, to interrupt my purpos'd rest, + Toward that shade I might behold addrest + The King and his companions; warily + I stole into a neighbour thicket by, + And overheard what you shall overhear- + That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. + Their herald is a pretty knavish page, + That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage. + Action and accent did they teach him there: + 'Thus must thou speak' and 'thus thy body bear,' + And ever and anon they made a doubt + Presence majestical would put him out; + 'For' quoth the King 'an angel shalt thou see; + Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' + The boy replied 'An angel is not evil; + I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.' + With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder, + Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. + One rubb'd his elbow, thus, and fleer'd, and swore + A better speech was never spoke before. + Another with his finger and his thumb + Cried 'Via! we will do't, come what will come.' + The third he caper'd, and cried 'All goes well.' + The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. + With that they all did tumble on the ground, + With such a zealous laughter, so profound, + That in this spleen ridiculous appears, + To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. But what, but what, come they to visit us? + BOYET. They do, they do, and are apparell'd thus, + Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess. + Their purpose is to parley, court, and dance; + And every one his love-feat will advance + Unto his several mistress; which they'll know + By favours several which they did bestow. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And will they so? The gallants shall be task'd, + For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; + And not a man of them shall have the grace, + Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. + Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, + And then the King will court thee for his dear; + Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, + So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline. + And change you favours too; so shall your loves + Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. + ROSALINE. Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight. + KATHARINE. But, in this changing, what is your intent? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs. + They do it but in mocking merriment, + And mock for mock is only my intent. + Their several counsels they unbosom shall + To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal + Upon the next occasion that we meet + With visages display'd to talk and greet. + ROSALINE. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, to the death, we will not move a foot, + Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; + But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face. + BOYET. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, + And quite divorce his memory from his part. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Therefore I do it; and I make no doubt + The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. + There's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown, + To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own; + So shall we stay, mocking intended game, + And they well mock'd depart away with shame. + [Trumpet sounds within] + BOYET. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd; the maskers come. + [The LADIES mask] + + Enter BLACKAMOORS music, MOTH as Prologue, the + KING and his LORDS as maskers, in the guise of Russians + + MOTH. All hail, the richest heauties on the earth! + BOYET. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. + MOTH. A holy parcel of the fairest dames + [The LADIES turn their backs to him] + That ever turn'd their- backs- to mortal views! + BEROWNE. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. + MOTH. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! + Out- + BOYET. True; out indeed. + MOTH. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe + Not to behold- + BEROWNE. Once to behold, rogue. + MOTH. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes- with your + sun-beamed eyes- + BOYET. They will not answer to that epithet; + You were best call it 'daughter-beamed eyes.' + MOTH. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. + BEROWNE. Is this your perfectness? Be gone, you rogue. + Exit MOTH + ROSALINE. What would these strangers? Know their minds, Boyet. + If they do speak our language, 'tis our will + That some plain man recount their purposes. + Know what they would. + BOYET. What would you with the Princess? + BEROWNE. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. + ROSALINE. What would they, say they? + BOYET. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. + ROSALINE. Why, that they have; and bid them so be gone. + BOYET. She says you have it, and you may be gone. + KING. Say to her we have measur'd many miles + To tread a measure with her on this grass. + BOYET. They say that they have measur'd many a mile + To tread a measure with you on this grass. + ROSALINE. It is not so. Ask them how many inches + Is in one mile? If they have measured many, + The measure, then, of one is eas'ly told. + BOYET. If to come hither you have measur'd miles, + And many miles, the Princess bids you tell + How many inches doth fill up one mile. + BEROWNE. Tell her we measure them by weary steps. + BOYET. She hears herself. + ROSALINE. How many weary steps + Of many weary miles you have o'ergone + Are numb'red in the travel of one mile? + BEROWNE. We number nothing that we spend for you; + Our duty is so rich, so infinite, + That we may do it still without accompt. + Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, + That we, like savages, may worship it. + ROSALINE. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. + KING. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do. + Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine, + Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyne. + ROSALINE. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; + Thou now requests but moonshine in the water. + KING. Then in our measure do but vouchsafe one change. + Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. + ROSALINE. Play, music, then. Nay, you must do it soon. + Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon. + KING. Will you not dance? How come you thus estranged? + ROSALINE. You took the moon at full; but now she's changed. + KING. Yet still she is the Moon, and I the Man. + The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. + ROSALINE. Our ears vouchsafe it. + KING. But your legs should do it. + ROSALINE. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, + We'll not be nice; take hands. We will not dance. + KING. Why take we hands then? + ROSALINE. Only to part friends. + Curtsy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. + KING. More measure of this measure; be not nice. + ROSALINE. We can afford no more at such a price. + KING. Price you yourselves. What buys your company? + ROSALINE. Your absence only. + KING. That can never be. + ROSALINE. Then cannot we be bought; and so adieu- + Twice to your visor and half once to you. + KING. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. + ROSALINE. In private then. + KING. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart] + BEROWNE. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. + BEROWNE. Nay, then, two treys, an if you grow so nice, + Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; well run dice! + There's half a dozen sweets. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Seventh sweet, adieu! + Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. + BEROWNE. One word in secret. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Let it not be sweet. + BEROWNE. Thou grievest my gall. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Gall! bitter. + BEROWNE. Therefore meet. [They converse apart] + DUMAIN. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? + MARIA. Name it. + DUMAIN. Fair lady- + MARIA. Say you so? Fair lord- + Take that for your fair lady. + DUMAIN. Please it you, + As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. + [They converse apart] + KATHARINE. What, was your vizard made without a tongue? + LONGAVILLE. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. + KATHARINE. O for your reason! Quickly, sir; I long. + LONGAVILLE. You have a double tongue within your mask, + And would afford my speechless vizard half. + KATHARINE. 'Veal' quoth the Dutchman. Is not 'veal' a calf? + LONGAVILLE. A calf, fair lady! + KATHARINE. No, a fair lord calf. + LONGAVILLE. Let's part the word. + KATHARINE. No, I'll not be your half. + Take all and wean it; it may prove an ox. + LONGAVILLE. Look how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! + Will you give horns, chaste lady? Do not so. + KATHARINE. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. + LONGAVILLE. One word in private with you ere I die. + KATHARINE. Bleat softly, then; the butcher hears you cry. + [They converse apart] + BOYET. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen + As is the razor's edge invisible, + Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen, + Above the sense of sense; so sensible + Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, + Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. + ROSALINE. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. + BEROWNE. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! + KING. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. + Exeunt KING, LORDS, and BLACKAMOORS + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. + Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? + BOYET. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. + ROSALINE. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! + Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? + Or ever but in vizards show their faces? + This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite. + ROSALINE. They were all in lamentable cases! + The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Berowne did swear himself out of all suit. + MARIA. Dumain was at my service, and his sword. + 'No point' quoth I; my servant straight was mute. + KATHARINE. Lord Longaville said I came o'er his heart; + And trow you what he call'd me? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Qualm, perhaps. + KATHARINE. Yes, in good faith. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Go, sickness as thou art! + ROSALINE. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. + But will you hear? The King is my love sworn. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me. + KATHARINE. And Longaville was for my service born. + MARIA. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. + BOYET. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: + Immediately they will again be here + In their own shapes; for it can never be + They will digest this harsh indignity. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Will they return? + BOYET. They will, they will, God knows, + And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows; + Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair, + Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood. + BOYET. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their bud: + Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, + Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do + If they return in their own shapes to woo? + ROSALINE. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, + Let's mock them still, as well known as disguis'd. + Let us complain to them what fools were here, + Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; + And wonder what they were, and to what end + Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penn'd, + And their rough carriage so ridiculous, + Should be presented at our tent to us. + BOYET. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er land. + Exeunt PRINCESS, ROSALINE, KATHARINE, and MARIA + + Re-enter the KING, BEROWNE, LONGAVILLE, and DUMAIN, + in their proper habits + + KING. Fair sir, God save you! Where's the Princess? + BOYET. Gone to her tent. Please it your Majesty + Command me any service to her thither? + KING. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. + BOYET. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. Exit + BEROWNE. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease, + And utters it again when God doth please. + He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares + At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; + And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, + Have not the grace to grace it with such show. + This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; + Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. + 'A can carve too, and lisp; why this is he + That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; + This is the ape of form, Monsieur the Nice, + That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice + In honourable terms; nay, he can sing + A mean most meanly; and in ushering, + Mend him who can. The ladies call him sweet; + The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet. + This is the flow'r that smiles on every one, + To show his teeth as white as whales-bone; + And consciences that will not die in debt + Pay him the due of 'honey-tongued Boyet.' + KING. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, + That put Armado's page out of his part! + + Re-enter the PRINCESS, ushered by BOYET; ROSALINE, + MARIA, and KATHARINE + + BEROWNE. See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou + Till this man show'd thee? And what art thou now? + KING. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'Fair' in 'all hail' is foul, as I conceive. + KING. Construe my speeches better, if you may. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Then wish me better; I will give you leave. + KING. We came to visit you, and purpose now + To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow: + Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur'd men. + KING. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. + The virtue of your eye must break my oath. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. You nickname virtue: vice you should have + spoke; + For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. + Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure + As the unsullied lily, I protest, + A world of torments though I should endure, + I would not yield to be your house's guest; + So much I hate a breaking cause to be + Of heavenly oaths, vowed with integrity. + KING. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, + Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear; + We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; + A mess of Russians left us but of late. + KING. How, madam! Russians! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Ay, in truth, my lord; + Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. + ROSALINE. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord. + My lady, to the manner of the days, + In courtesy gives undeserving praise. + We four indeed confronted were with four + In Russian habit; here they stayed an hour + And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, + They did not bless us with one happy word. + I dare not call them fools; but this I think, + When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. + BEROWNE. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle sweet, + Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet, + With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, + By light we lose light; your capacity + Is of that nature that to your huge store + Wise things seem foolish and rich things but poor. + ROSALINE. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye- + BEROWNE. I am a fool, and full of poverty. + ROSALINE. But that you take what doth to you belong, + It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. + BEROWNE. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. + ROSALINE. All the fool mine? + BEROWNE. I cannot give you less. + ROSALINE. Which of the vizards was it that you wore? + BEROWNE. Where? when? what vizard? Why demand you this? + ROSALINE. There, then, that vizard; that superfluous case + That hid the worse and show'd the better face. + KING. We were descried; they'll mock us now downright. + DUMAIN. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad? + ROSALINE. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale? + Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. + BEROWNE. Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. + Can any face of brass hold longer out? + Here stand I, lady- dart thy skill at me, + Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout, + Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance, + Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; + And I will wish thee never more to dance, + Nor never more in Russian habit wait. + O, never will I trust to speeches penn'd, + Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue, + Nor never come in vizard to my friend, + Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song. + Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, + Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, + Figures pedantical- these summer-flies + Have blown me full of maggot ostentation. + I do forswear them; and I here protest, + By this white glove- how white the hand, God knows!- + Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd + In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes. + And, to begin, wench- so God help me, law!- + My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. + ROSALINE. Sans 'sans,' I pray you. + BEROWNE. Yet I have a trick + Of the old rage; bear with me, I am sick; + I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see- + Write 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three; + They are infected; in their hearts it lies; + They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes. + These lords are visited; you are not free, + For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. No, they are free that gave these tokens to us. + BEROWNE. Our states are forfeit; seek not to undo us. + ROSALINE. It is not so; for how can this be true, + That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? + BEROWNE. Peace; for I will not have to do with you. + ROSALINE. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. + BEROWNE. Speak for yourselves; my wit is at an end. + KING. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression + Some fair excuse. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The fairest is confession. + Were not you here but even now, disguis'd? + KING. Madam, I was. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. And were you well advis'd? + KING. I was, fair madam. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When you then were here, + What did you whisper in your lady's ear? + KING. That more than all the world I did respect her. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. When she shall challenge this, you will reject + her. + KING. Upon mine honour, no. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Peace, peace, forbear; + Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. + KING. Despise me when I break this oath of mine. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline, + What did the Russian whisper in your ear? + ROSALINE. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear + As precious eyesight, and did value me + Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, + That he would wed me, or else die my lover. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. God give thee joy of him! The noble lord + Most honourably doth uphold his word. + KING. What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth, + I never swore this lady such an oath. + ROSALINE. By heaven, you did; and, to confirm it plain, + You gave me this; but take it, sir, again. + KING. My faith and this the Princess I did give; + I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; + And Lord Berowne, I thank him, is my dear. + What, will you have me, or your pearl again? + BEROWNE. Neither of either; I remit both twain. + I see the trick on't: here was a consent, + Knowing aforehand of our merriment, + To dash it like a Christmas comedy. + Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, + Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, + That smiles his cheek in years and knows the trick + To make my lady laugh when she's dispos'd, + Told our intents before; which once disclos'd, + The ladies did change favours; and then we, + Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. + Now, to our perjury to add more terror, + We are again forsworn in will and error. + Much upon this it is; [To BOYET] and might not you + Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? + Do not you know my lady's foot by th' squier, + And laugh upon the apple of her eye? + And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, + Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? + You put our page out. Go, you are allow'd; + Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. + You leer upon me, do you? There's an eye + Wounds like a leaden sword. + BOYET. Full merrily + Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. + BEROWNE. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done. + + Enter COSTARD + + Welcome, pure wit! Thou part'st a fair fray. + COSTARD. O Lord, sir, they would know + Whether the three Worthies shall come in or no? + BEROWNE. What, are there but three? + COSTARD. No, sir; but it is vara fine, + For every one pursents three. + BEROWNE. And three times thrice is nine. + COSTARD. Not so, sir; under correction, sir, + I hope it is not so. + You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we + know; + I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir- + BEROWNE. Is not nine. + COSTARD. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil it doth amount. + BEROWNE. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. + COSTARD. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by + reck'ning, sir. + BEROWNE. How much is it? + COSTARD. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, sir, will + show whereuntil it doth amount. For mine own part, I am, as they + say, but to parfect one man in one poor man, Pompion the Great, + sir. + BEROWNE. Art thou one of the Worthies? + COSTARD. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompey the Great; + for mine own part, I know not the degree of the Worthy; but I am + to stand for him. + BEROWNE. Go, bid them prepare. + COSTARD. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take some care. + Exit COSTARD + KING. Berowne, they will shame us; let them not approach. + BEROWNE. We are shame-proof, my lord, and 'tis some policy + To have one show worse than the King's and his company. + KING. I say they shall not come. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule you now. + That sport best pleases that doth least know how; + Where zeal strives to content, and the contents + Dies in the zeal of that which it presents. + Their form confounded makes most form in mirth, + When great things labouring perish in their birth. + BEROWNE. A right description of our sport, my lord. + + Enter ARMADO + + ARMADO. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet + breath as will utter a brace of words. + [Converses apart with the KING, and delivers a paper] + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Doth this man serve God? + BEROWNE. Why ask you? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. 'A speaks not like a man of God his making. + ARMADO. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey monarch; for, I + protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantastical; too too vain, + too too vain; but we will put it, as they say, to fortuna de la + guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement! + Exit ARMADO + KING. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents + Hector of Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, + Alexander; Arinado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas + Maccabaeus. + And if these four Worthies in their first show thrive, + These four will change habits and present the other five. + BEROWNE. There is five in the first show. + KING. You are deceived, 'tis not so. + BEROWNE. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, the fool, and + the boy: + Abate throw at novum, and the whole world again + Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. + KING. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. + + Enter COSTARD, armed for POMPEY + + COSTARD. I Pompey am- + BEROWNE. You lie, you are not he. + COSTARD. I Pompey am- + BOYET. With libbard's head on knee. + BEROWNE. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee. + COSTARD. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the Big- + DUMAIN. The Great. + COSTARD. It is Great, sir. + Pompey surnam'd the Great, + That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to + sweat; + And travelling along this coast, I bere am come by chance, + And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France. + + If your ladyship would say 'Thanks, Pompey,' I had done. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Great thanks, great Pompey. + COSTARD. 'Tis not so much worth; but I hope I was perfect. + I made a little fault in Great. + BEROWNE. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best Worthy. + + Enter SIR NATHANIEL, for ALEXANDER + + NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander; + By east, west, north, and south, I spread my conquering might. + My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alisander- + BOYET. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands to right. + BEROWNE. Your nose smells 'no' in this, most tender-smelling + knight. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good + Alexander. + NATHANIEL. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander- + BOYET. Most true, 'tis right, you were so, Alisander. + BEROWNE. Pompey the Great! + COSTARD. Your servant, and Costard. + BEROWNE. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander. + COSTARD. [To Sir Nathaniel] O, Sir, you have overthrown Alisander + the conqueror! You will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for + this. Your lion, that holds his poleaxe sitting on a close-stool, + will be given to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror + and afeard to speak! Run away for shame, Alisander. + [Sir Nathaniel retires] There, an't shall please you, a foolish + mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon dash'd. He is a + marvellous good neighbour, faith, and a very good bowler; but for + Alisander- alas! you see how 'tis- a little o'erparted. But there + are Worthies a-coming will speak their mind in some other sort. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Stand aside, good Pompey. + + Enter HOLOFERNES, for JUDAS; and MOTH, for HERCULES + + HOLOFERNES. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, + Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus; + And when be was a babe, a child, a shrimp, + Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus. + Quoniam he seemeth in minority, + Ergo I come with this apology. + Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [MOTH retires] + Judas I am- + DUMAIN. A Judas! + HOLOFERNES. Not Iscariot, sir. + Judas I am, ycliped Maccabaeus. + DUMAIN. Judas Maccabaeus clipt is plain Judas. + BEROWNE. A kissing traitor. How art thou prov'd Judas? + HOLOFERNES. Judas I am- + DUMAIN. The more shame for you, Judas! + HOLOFERNES. What mean you, sir? + BOYET. To make Judas hang himself. + HOLOFERNES. Begin, sir; you are my elder. + BEROWNE. Well followed: Judas was hanged on an elder. + HOLOFERNES. I will not be put out of countenance. + BEROWNE. Because thou hast no face. + HOLOFERNES. What is this? + BOYET. A cittern-head. + DUMAIN. The head of a bodkin. + BEROWNE. A death's face in a ring. + LONGAVILLE. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. + BOYET. The pommel of Coesar's falchion. + DUMAIN. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. + BEROWNE. Saint George's half-cheek in a brooch. + DUMAIN. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. + BEROWNE. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. And now, + forward; for we have put thee in countenance. + HOLOFERNES. You have put me out of countenance. + BEROWNE. False: we have given thee faces. + HOLOFERNES. But you have outfac'd them all. + BEROWNE. An thou wert a lion we would do so. + BOYET. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. + And so adieu, sweet Jude! Nay, why dost thou stay? + DUMAIN. For the latter end of his name. + BEROWNE. For the ass to the Jude; give it him- Jud-as, away. + HOLOFERNES. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. + BOYET. A light for Monsieur Judas! It grows dark, he may stumble. + [HOLOFERNES retires] + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited! + + Enter ARMADO, for HECTOR + + BEROWNE. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector in arms. + DUMAIN. Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. + KING. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this. + BOYET. But is this Hector? + DUMAIN. I think Hector was not so clean-timber'd. + LONGAVILLE. His leg is too big for Hector's. + DUMAIN. More calf, certain. + BOYET. No; he is best indued in the small. + BEROWNE. This cannot be Hector. + DUMAIN. He's a god or a painter, for he makes faces. + ARMADO. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, + Gave Hector a gift- + DUMAIN. A gilt nutmeg. + BEROWNE. A lemon. + LONGAVILLE. Stuck with cloves. + DUMAIN. No, cloven. + ARMADO. Peace! + The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, + Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; + A man so breathed that certain he would fight ye, + From morn till night out of his pavilion. + I am that flower- + DUMAIN. That mint. + LONGAVILLE. That columbine. + ARMADO. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. + LONGAVILLE. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against + Hector. + DUMAIN. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. + ARMADO. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat + not the bones of the buried; when he breathed, he was a man. But + I will forward with my device. [To the PRINCESS] Sweet royalty, + bestow on me the sense of hearing. + + [BEROWNE steps forth, and speaks to COSTARD] + + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. + ARMADO. I do adore thy sweet Grace's slipper. + BOYET. [Aside to DUMAIN] Loves her by the foot. + DUMAIN. [Aside to BOYET] He may not by the yard. + ARMADO. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal- + COSTARD. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two + months on her way. + ARMADO. What meanest thou? + COSTARD. Faith, unless you play the honest Troyan, the poor wench + is cast away. She's quick; the child brags in her belly already; + 'tis yours. + ARMADO. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates? Thou shalt die. + COSTARD. Then shall Hector be whipt for Jaquenetta that is quick by + him, and hang'd for Pompey that is dead by him. + DUMAIN. Most rare Pompey! + BOYET. Renowned Pompey! + BEROWNE. Greater than Great! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the + Huge! + DUMAIN. Hector trembles. + BEROWNE. Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on! stir + them on! + DUMAIN. Hector will challenge him. + BEROWNE. Ay, if 'a have no more man's blood in his belly than will + sup a flea. + ARMADO. By the North Pole, I do challenge thee. + COSTARD. I will not fight with a pole, like a Northern man; I'll + slash; I'll do it by the sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my + arms again. + DUMAIN. Room for the incensed Worthies! + COSTARD. I'll do it in my shirt. + DUMAIN. Most resolute Pompey! + MOTH. Master, let me take you a buttonhole lower. Do you not see + Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? You will lose + your reputation. + ARMADO. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me; I will not combat in my + shirt. + DUMAIN. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. + ARMADO. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. + BEROWNE. What reason have you for 't? + ARMADO. The naked truth of it is: I have no shirt; I go woolward + for penance. + BOYET. True, and it was enjoined him in Rome for want of linen; + since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none but a dishclout of + Jaquenetta's, and that 'a wears next his heart for a favour. + + Enter as messenger, MONSIEUR MARCADE + + MARCADE. God save you, madam! + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Welcome, Marcade; + But that thou interruptest our merriment. + MARCADE. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring + Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father- + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Dead, for my life! + MARCADE. Even so; my tale is told. + BEROWNE. WOrthies away; the scene begins to cloud. + ARMADO. For mine own part, I breathe free breath. I have seen the + day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will + right myself like a soldier. Exeunt WORTHIES + KING. How fares your Majesty? + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. + KING. Madam, not so; I do beseech you stay. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gracious lords, + For all your fair endeavours, and entreat, + Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe + In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide + The liberal opposition of our spirits, + If over-boldly we have borne ourselves + In the converse of breath- your gentleness + Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord. + A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue. + Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks + For my great suit so easily obtain'd. + KING. The extreme parts of time extremely forms + All causes to the purpose of his speed; + And often at his very loose decides + That which long process could not arbitrate. + And though the mourning brow of progeny + Forbid the smiling courtesy of love + The holy suit which fain it would convince, + Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, + Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it + From what it purpos'd; since to wail friends lost + Is not by much so wholesome-profitable + As to rejoice at friends but newly found. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. I understand you not; my griefs are double. + BEROWNE. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief; + And by these badges understand the King. + For your fair sakes have we neglected time, + Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, + Hath much deformed us, fashioning our humours + Even to the opposed end of our intents; + And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, + As love is full of unbefitting strains, + All wanton as a child, skipping and vain; + Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, + Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, + Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll + To every varied object in his glance; + Which parti-coated presence of loose love + Put on by us, if in your heavenly eyes + Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, + Those heavenly eyes that look into these faults + Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, + Our love being yours, the error that love makes + Is likewise yours. We to ourselves prove false, + By being once false for ever to be true + To those that make us both- fair ladies, you; + And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, + Thus purifies itself and turns to grace. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love; + Your favours, the ambassadors of love; + And, in our maiden council, rated them + At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, + As bombast and as lining to the time; + But more devout than this in our respects + Have we not been; and therefore met your loves + In their own fashion, like a merriment. + DUMAIN. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. + LONGAVILLE. So did our looks. + ROSALINE. We did not quote them so. + KING. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, + Grant us your loves. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. A time, methinks, too short + To make a world-without-end bargain in. + No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur'd much, + Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this, + If for my love, as there is no such cause, + You will do aught- this shall you do for me: + Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed + To some forlorn and naked hermitage, + Remote from all the pleasures of the world; + There stay until the twelve celestial signs + Have brought about the annual reckoning. + If this austere insociable life + Change not your offer made in heat of blood, + If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds, + Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, + But that it bear this trial, and last love, + Then, at the expiration of the year, + Come, challenge me, challenge me by these deserts; + And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, + I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut + My woeful self up in a mournful house, + Raining the tears of lamentation + For the remembrance of my father's death. + If this thou do deny, let our hands part, + Neither intitled in the other's heart. + KING. If this, or more than this, I would deny, + To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, + The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! + Hence hermit then, my heart is in thy breast. + BEROWNE. And what to me, my love? and what to me? + ROSALINE. You must he purged too, your sins are rack'd; + You are attaint with faults and perjury; + Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, + A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, + But seek the weary beds of people sick. + DUMAIN. But what to me, my love? but what to me? + A wife? + KATHARINE. A beard, fair health, and honesty; + With threefold love I wish you all these three. + DUMAIN. O, shall I say I thank you, gentle wife? + KATHARINE. No so, my lord; a twelvemonth and a day + I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say. + Come when the King doth to my lady come; + Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. + DUMAIN. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. + KATHARINE. Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. + LONGAVILLE. What says Maria? + MARIA. At the twelvemonth's end + I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. + LONGAVILLE. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. + MARIA. The liker you; few taller are so young. + BEROWNE. Studies my lady? Mistress, look on me; + Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, + What humble suit attends thy answer there. + Impose some service on me for thy love. + ROSALINE. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord Berowne, + Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue + Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, + Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, + Which you on all estates will execute + That lie within the mercy of your wit. + To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain, + And therewithal to win me, if you please, + Without the which I am not to be won, + You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day + Visit the speechless sick, and still converse + With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, + With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, + To enforce the pained impotent to smile. + BEROWNE. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? + It cannot be; it is impossible; + Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. + ROSALINE. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, + Whose influence is begot of that loose grace + Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools. + A jest's prosperity lies in the ear + Of him that hears it, never in the tongue + Of him that makes it; then, if sickly ears, + Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, + Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, + And I will have you and that fault withal. + But if they will not, throw away that spirit, + And I shall find you empty of that fault, + Right joyful of your reformation. + BEROWNE. A twelvemonth? Well, befall what will befall, + I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. [ To the King] Ay, sweet my lord, and so I take + my leave. + KING. No, madam; we will bring you on your way. + BEROWNE. Our wooing doth not end like an old play: + Jack hath not Jill. These ladies' courtesy + Might well have made our sport a comedy. + KING. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth an' a day, + And then 'twill end. + BEROWNE. That's too long for a play. + + Re-enter ARMADO + + ARMADO. Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me- + PRINCESS OF FRANCE. Was not that not Hector? + DUMAIN. The worthy knight of Troy. + ARMADO. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a + votary: I have vow'd to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her + sweet love three year. But, most esteemed greatness, will you + hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled in + praise of the Owl and the Cuckoo? It should have followed in the + end of our show. + KING. Call them forth quickly; we will do so. + ARMADO. Holla! approach. + + Enter All + + This side is Hiems, Winter; this Ver, the Spring- the one + maintained by the Owl, th' other by the Cuckoo. Ver, begin. + + SPRING + When daisies pied and violets blue + And lady-smocks all silver-white + And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue + Do paint the meadows with delight, + The cuckoo then on every tree + Mocks married men, for thus sings he: + 'Cuckoo; + Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, + Unpleasing to a married ear! + + When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, + And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks; + When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, + And maidens bleach their summer smocks; + The cuckoo then on every tree + Mocks married men, for thus sings he: + 'Cuckoo; + Cuckoo, cuckoo'- O word of fear, + Unpleasing to a married ear! + + WINTER + + When icicles hang by the wall, + And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, + And Tom bears logs into the hall, + And milk comes frozen home in pail, + When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, + Then nightly sings the staring owl: + 'Tu-who; + Tu-whit, Tu-who'- A merry note, + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. + + When all aloud the wind doth blow, + And coughing drowns the parson's saw, + And birds sit brooding in the snow, + And Marian's nose looks red and raw, + When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, + Then nightly sings the staring owl: + 'Tu-who; + Tu-whit, To-who'- A merry note, + While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. + + ARMADO. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo. + You that way: we this way. Exeunt + + + + +MACBETH + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. An open Place. +Scene II. A Camp near Forres. +Scene III. A heath. +Scene IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace. +Scene V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle. +Scene VI. The same. Before the Castle. +Scene VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle. + + +ACT II +Scene I. Inverness. Court within the Castle. +Scene II. The same. +Scene III. The same. +Scene IV. The same. Without the Castle. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Forres. A Room in the Palace. +Scene II. The same. Another Room in the Palace. +Scene III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace. +Scene IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace. +Scene V. The heath. +Scene VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling. +Scene II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle. +Scene III. England. Before the King’s Palace. + + +ACT V +Scene I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. +Scene II. The Country near Dunsinane. +Scene III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. +Scene IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view. +Scene V. Dunsinane. Within the castle. +Scene VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle. +Scene VII. The same. Another part of the Plain. +Scene VIII. The same. Another part of the field. + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +DUNCAN, King of Scotland. +MALCOLM, his Son. +DONALBAIN, his Son. +MACBETH, General in the King’s Army. +BANQUO, General in the King’s Army. +MACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland. +LENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland. +ROSS, Nobleman of Scotland. +MENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland. +ANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland. +CAITHNESS, Nobleman of Scotland. +FLEANCE, Son to Banquo. +SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces. +YOUNG SIWARD, his Son. +SEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth. +BOY, Son to Macduff. +An English Doctor. +A Scottish Doctor. +A Soldier. +A Porter. +An Old Man. + +LADY MACBETH. +LADY MACDUFF. +Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. +HECATE, and three Witches. + +Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants and +Messengers. + +The Ghost of Banquo and several other Apparitions. + +SCENE: In the end of the Fourth Act, in England; through the rest of +the Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth’s Castle. + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. An open Place. + + Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches. + +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! + +SECOND WITCH. +Paddock calls. + +THIRD WITCH. +Anon. + +ALL. +Fair is foul, and foul is fair: +Hover through the fog and filthy air. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Camp near Forres. + + Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with + Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain. + +DUNCAN. +What bloody man is that? He can report, +As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt +The newest state. + +MALCOLM. +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. + +SOLDIER. +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 quarrel smiling, +Show’d like a rebel’s whore. But all’s too weak; +For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name), +Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish’d steel, +Which smok’d with bloody execution, +Like Valour’s minion, carv’d out his passage, +Till he fac’d the slave; +Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, +Till he unseam’d him from the nave to the chops, +And fix’d his head upon our battlements. + +DUNCAN. +O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! + +SOLDIER. +As whence the sun ’gins his reflection +Shipwracking storms and direful thunders break, +So from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to come +Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark: +No sooner justice had, with valour arm’d, +Compell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels, +But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, +With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men, +Began a fresh assault. + +DUNCAN. +Dismay’d not this +Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? + +SOLDIER. +Yes; +As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion. +If I say sooth, I must report they were +As cannons overcharg’d with double cracks; +So they +Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: +Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, +Or memorize another Golgotha, +I cannot tell— +But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. + +DUNCAN. +So well thy words become thee as thy wounds: +They smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons. + + [_Exit Captain, attended._] + + Enter Ross and Angus. + +Who comes here? + +MALCOLM. +The worthy Thane of Ross. + +LENNOX. +What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look +That seems to speak things strange. + +ROSS. +God save the King! + +DUNCAN. +Whence cam’st thou, worthy thane? + +ROSS. +From Fife, great King, +Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky +And fan our people cold. +Norway himself, with terrible numbers, +Assisted by that most disloyal traitor, +The Thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict; +Till that Bellona’s bridegroom, lapp’d in proof, +Confronted him with self-comparisons, +Point against point, rebellious arm ’gainst arm, +Curbing his lavish spirit: and, to conclude, +The victory fell on us. + +DUNCAN. +Great happiness! + +ROSS. +That now +Sweno, the Norways’ king, craves composition; +Nor would we deign him burial of his men +Till he disbursed at Saint Colme’s Inch +Ten thousand dollars to our general use. + +DUNCAN. +No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive +Our bosom interest. Go pronounce his present death, +And with his former title greet Macbeth. + +ROSS. +I’ll see it done. + +DUNCAN. +What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A heath. + + Thunder. Enter the three Witches. + +FIRST WITCH. +Where hast thou been, sister? + +SECOND WITCH. +Killing swine. + +THIRD WITCH. +Sister, where thou? + +FIRST WITCH. +A sailor’s wife had chestnuts in her lap, +And mounch’d, and mounch’d, and mounch’d. “Give me,” quoth I. +“Aroint thee, witch!” the rump-fed ronyon cries. +Her husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ th’ _Tiger:_ +But in a sieve I’ll thither sail, +And, like a rat without a tail, +I’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do. + +SECOND WITCH. +I’ll give thee a wind. + +FIRST WITCH. +Th’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 will drain him dry as hay: +Sleep shall neither night nor day +Hang upon his pent-house lid; +He shall live a man forbid. +Weary sev’n-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, +Wrack’d as homeward he did come. + + [_Drum within._] + +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. + + Enter Macbeth and Banquo. + +MACBETH. +So foul and fair a day I have not seen. + +BANQUO. +How far is’t call’d to Forres?—What are these, +So wither’d, and so wild in their attire, +That look not like the inhabitants o’ th’ 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. +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! + +BANQUO. +Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear +Things that do sound so fair?—I’ th’ name of truth, +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. + +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._] + +BANQUO. +The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, +And these are of them. Whither are they vanish’d? + +MACBETH. +Into the air; and what seem’d corporal, +Melted as breath into the wind. +Would they had stay’d! + +BANQUO. +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. + +BANQUO. +You shall be king. + +MACBETH. +And Thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? + +BANQUO. +To the selfsame tune and words. Who’s here? + + Enter Ross and Angus. + +ROSS. +The King hath happily receiv’d, 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: silenc’d with that, +In viewing o’er the rest o’ th’ selfsame day, +He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, +Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, +Strange images of death. As thick as tale +Came post with post; and everyone did bear +Thy praises in his kingdom’s great defence, +And pour’d them down before him. + +ANGUS. +We are sent +To give thee from our royal master thanks; +Only to herald thee into his sight, +Not pay thee. + +ROSS. +And, for an earnest of a greater honour, +He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor: +In which addition, hail, most worthy thane, +For it is thine. + +BANQUO. +What, can the devil speak true? + +MACBETH. +The Thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me +In borrow’d robes? + +ANGUS. +Who was the Thane lives yet, +But under heavy judgement bears that life +Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combin’d +With those of Norway, or did line the rebel +With hidden help and vantage, or that with both +He labour’d in his country’s wrack, I know not; +But treasons capital, confess’d and prov’d, +Have overthrown him. + +MACBETH. +[_Aside._] Glamis, and Thane of Cawdor: +The greatest is behind. [_To Ross and Angus._] Thanks for your pains. +[_To Banquo._] Do you not hope your children shall be kings, +When those that gave the Thane of Cawdor to me +Promis’d no less to them? + +BANQUO. +That, trusted home, +Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, +Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange: +And oftentimes to win us to our harm, +The instruments of darkness tell us truths; +Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s +In deepest consequence.— +Cousins, a word, I pray you. + +MACBETH. +[_Aside._] Two truths are told, +As happy prologues to the swelling act +Of the imperial theme.—I thank you, gentlemen.— +[_Aside._] This supernatural soliciting +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 is smother’d in surmise, +And nothing is but what is not. + +BANQUO. +Look, how our partner’s rapt. + +MACBETH. +[_Aside._] If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me +Without my stir. + +BANQUO. +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. + +BANQUO. +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 register’d where every day I turn +The leaf to read them.—Let us toward the King.— +Think upon what hath chanc’d; and at more time, +The interim having weigh’d it, let us speak +Our free hearts each to other. + +BANQUO. +Very gladly. + +MACBETH. +Till then, enough.—Come, friends. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace. + + Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox and Attendants. + +DUNCAN. +Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not +Those in commission yet return’d? + +MALCOLM. +My liege, +They are not yet come back. But I have spoke +With one that saw him die, who did report, +That very frankly he confess’d his treasons, +Implor’d your Highness’ pardon, and set forth +A deep repentance. Nothing in his life +Became him like the leaving it; he died +As one that had been studied in his death, +To throw away the dearest thing he ow’d +As ’twere a careless trifle. + +DUNCAN. +There’s no art +To find the mind’s construction in the face: +He was a gentleman on whom I built +An absolute trust. + + Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Ross and Angus. + +O worthiest cousin! +The sin of my ingratitude even now +Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before, +That swiftest wing of recompense is slow +To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserv’d; +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 +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. + +DUNCAN. +Welcome hither: +I have begun to plant thee, and will labour +To make thee full of growing.—Noble Banquo, +That hast no less deserv’d, nor must be known +No less to have done so, let me infold thee +And hold thee to my heart. + +BANQUO. +There if I grow, +The harvest is your own. + +DUNCAN. +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. + +MACBETH. +The rest is labour, which is not us’d for you: +I’ll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful +The hearing of my wife with your approach; +So, humbly take my leave. + +DUNCAN. +My worthy Cawdor! + +MACBETH. +[_Aside._] 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._] + +DUNCAN. +True, worthy Banquo! He is full so valiant; +And in his commendations I am fed. +It is a banquet to me. Let’s after him, +Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: +It is a peerless kinsman. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle. + + Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. + +LADY MACBETH. +“They met me in the day of success; and I have learned by the +perfect’st 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 +might’st not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what +greatness is promis’d thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.” + +Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be +What thou art promis’d. Yet do I fear thy nature; +It is too full o’ th’ 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, +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 crown’d withal. + + Enter a Messenger. + +What is your tidings? + +MESSENGER. +The King comes here tonight. + +LADY MACBETH. +Thou’rt mad to say it. +Is not thy master with him? who, were’t so, +Would have inform’d for preparation. + +MESSENGER. +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 MACBETH. +Give him tending. +He brings great news. + + [_Exit Messenger._] + +The raven himself is hoarse +That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan +Under my battlements. Come, you spirits +That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, +And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full +Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, +Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse, +That no compunctious visitings of nature +Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between +Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts, +And take my milk for gall, your murd’ring 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 tonight. + +LADY MACBETH. +And when goes hence? + +MACBETH. +Tomorrow, as he purposes. + +LADY MACBETH. +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’t. He that’s coming +Must be provided for; and you shall put +This night’s great business into my dispatch; +Which shall to all our nights and days to come +Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. + +MACBETH. +We will speak further. + +LADY MACBETH. +Only look up clear; +To alter favour ever is to fear. +Leave all the rest to me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle. + + Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. + + Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Ross, Angus + and Attendants. + +DUNCAN. +This castle hath a pleasant seat. The air +Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself +Unto our gentle senses. + +BANQUO. +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 coign of vantage, but this bird +hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle. +Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ’d +The air is delicate. + + Enter Lady Macbeth. + +DUNCAN. +See, see, our honour’d hostess!— +The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, +Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you +How you shall bid God ’ild us for your pains, +And thank us for your trouble. + +LADY MACBETH. +All our service, +In every point twice done, and then done double, +Were poor and single business to contend +Against those honours deep and broad wherewith +Your Majesty loads our house: for those of old, +And the late dignities heap’d up to them, +We rest your hermits. + +DUNCAN. +Where’s the Thane of Cawdor? +We cours’d him at the heels, and had a purpose +To be his purveyor: but he rides well; +And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him +To his home before us. Fair and noble hostess, +We are your guest tonight. + +LADY MACBETH. +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. + +DUNCAN. +Give me your hand; +Conduct me to mine host: we love him highly, +And shall continue our graces towards him. +By your leave, hostess. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle. + + Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers + Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth. + +MACBETH. +If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well +It were done quickly. If th’ assassination +Could trammel up the consequence, and catch +With his surcease success; that but this blow +Might be the be-all and the end-all—here, +But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, +We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases +We still have judgement here; that we but teach +Bloody instructions, which being taught, return +To plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice +Commends th’ ingredience of our poison’d chalice +To our own lips. He’s here in double trust: +First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, +Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, +Who should against his murderer shut the door, +Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan +Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been +So clear in his great office, that his virtues +Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against +The deep damnation of his taking-off; +And pity, like a naked new-born babe, +Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, hors’d +Upon the sightless couriers of the air, +Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, +That tears shall drown the wind.—I have no spur +To prick the sides of my intent, but only +Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself +And falls on th’ other— + + Enter Lady Macbeth. + +How now! what news? + +LADY MACBETH. +He has almost supp’d. Why have you left the chamber? + +MACBETH. +Hath he ask’d for me? + +LADY MACBETH. +Know you not he has? + +MACBETH. +We will proceed no further in this business: +He hath honour’d me of late; and I have bought +Golden opinions from all sorts of people, +Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, +Not cast aside so soon. + +LADY MACBETH. +Was the hope drunk +Wherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? +And wakes it now, to look so green and pale +At what it did so freely? From this time +Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard +To be the same in thine own act and valour +As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that +Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, +And live a coward in thine own esteem, +Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would,” +Like the poor cat i’ th’ adage? + +MACBETH. +Pr’ythee, peace! +I dare do all that may become a man; +Who dares do more is none. + +LADY MACBETH. +What beast was’t, then, +That made you break this enterprise to me? +When you durst do it, then you were a man; +And, to be more than what you were, you would +Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place +Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: +They have made themselves, and that their fitness now +Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know +How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: +I would, while it was smiling in my face, +Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums +And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you +Have done to this. + +MACBETH. +If we should fail? + +LADY MACBETH. +We fail? +But screw your courage to the sticking-place, +And we’ll not fail. When Duncan is asleep +(Whereto the rather shall his day’s hard journey +Soundly invite him), his two chamberlains +Will I with wine and wassail so convince +That memory, the warder of the brain, +Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason +A 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 receiv’d, +When we have mark’d with blood those sleepy two +Of his own chamber, and us’d their very daggers, +That they have done’t? + +LADY MACBETH. +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._] + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Inverness. Court within the Castle. + + Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch before him. + +BANQUO. +How goes the night, boy? + +FLEANCE. +The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. + +BANQUO. +And she goes down at twelve. + +FLEANCE. +I take’t, ’tis later, sir. + +BANQUO. +Hold, take my sword.—There’s husbandry in heaven; +Their candles are all out. Take thee that too. +A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, +And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers, +Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature +Gives way to in repose! + + Enter Macbeth and a Servant with a torch. + +Give me my sword.—Who’s there? + +MACBETH. +A friend. + +BANQUO. +What, sir, not yet at rest? The King’s abed: +He hath been in unusual pleasure and +Sent forth great largess to your offices. +This diamond he greets your wife withal, +By the name of most kind hostess, and shut up +In measureless content. + +MACBETH. +Being unprepar’d, +Our will became the servant to defect, +Which else should free have wrought. + +BANQUO. +All’s well. +I dreamt last night of the three Weird Sisters: +To you they have show’d some truth. + +MACBETH. +I think not of them: +Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, +We would spend it in some words upon that business, +If you would grant the time. + +BANQUO. +At your kind’st leisure. + +MACBETH. +If you shall cleave to my consent, when ’tis, +It shall make honour for you. + +BANQUO. +So I lose none +In seeking to augment it, but still keep +My bosom franchis’d, and allegiance clear, +I shall be counsell’d. + +MACBETH. +Good repose the while! + +BANQUO. +Thanks, sir: the like to you. + + [_Exeunt Banquo and Fleance._] + +MACBETH. +Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, +She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +Is this a dagger which I see before me, +The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:— +I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. +Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible +To feeling as to sight? or art thou but +A dagger of the mind, a false creation, +Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? +I see thee yet, in form as palpable +As this which now I draw. +Thou marshall’st me the way that I was going; +And such an instrument I was to use. +Mine eyes are made the fools o’ the other 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 curtain’d sleep. Witchcraft celebrates +Pale Hecate’s off’rings; and wither’d murder, +Alarum’d 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, +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.—Whiles I threat, he lives. +Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. + + [_A bell rings._] + +I go, and it is done. The bell invites me. +Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell +That summons thee to heaven or to hell. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Lady Macbeth. + +LADY MACBETH. +That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold: +What hath quench’d them hath given me fire.—Hark!—Peace! +It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman, +Which gives the stern’st good night. He is about it. +The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms +Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg’d their possets, +That death and nature do contend about them, +Whether they live or die. + +MACBETH. +[_Within._] Who’s there?—what, ho! + +LADY MACBETH. +Alack! I am afraid they have awak’d, +And ’tis not done. Th’ attempt and not the deed +Confounds us.—Hark!—I laid their daggers ready; +He could not miss ’em.—Had he not resembled +My father as he slept, I had done’t.—My husband! + + Enter Macbeth. + +MACBETH. +I have done the deed.—Didst thou not hear a noise? + +LADY MACBETH. +I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. +Did not you speak? + +MACBETH. +When? + +LADY MACBETH. +Now. + +MACBETH. +As I descended? + +LADY MACBETH. +Ay. + +MACBETH. +Hark!—Who lies i’ th’ second chamber? + +LADY MACBETH. +Donalbain. + +MACBETH. +This is a sorry sight. + + [_Looking on his hands._] + +LADY MACBETH. +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 address’d them +Again to sleep. + +LADY MACBETH. +There are two lodg’d together. + +MACBETH. +One cried, “God bless us!” and, “Amen,” the other, +As they had seen me with these hangman’s hands. +List’ning their fear, I could not say “Amen,” +When they did say, “God bless us.” + +LADY MACBETH. +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. + +LADY MACBETH. +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 ravell’d sleave of care, +The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath, +Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course, +Chief nourisher in life’s feast. + +LADY MACBETH. +What do you mean? + +MACBETH. +Still it cried, “Sleep no more!” to all the house: +“Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor +Shall sleep no more. Macbeth shall sleep no more!” + +LADY MACBETH. +Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane, +You do unbend your noble strength to think +So brainsickly of things. Go get some water, +And wash this filthy witness from your hand.— +Why did you bring these daggers from the place? +They must lie there: go carry them, and smear +The sleepy grooms with blood. + +MACBETH. +I’ll go no more: +I am afraid to think what I have done; +Look on’t again I dare not. + +LADY MACBETH. +Infirm of purpose! +Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead +Are but as pictures. ’Tis the eye of childhood +That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, +I’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal, +For it must seem their guilt. + + [_Exit. Knocking within._] + +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. + + Enter Lady Macbeth. + +LADY MACBETH. +My hands are of your color, but I shame +To wear a heart so white. [_Knocking within._] I hear knocking +At the south entry:—retire we to our chamber. +A little water clears us of this deed: +How easy is it then! Your constancy +Hath left you unattended.—[_Knocking within._] Hark, more knocking. +Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us +And show us to be watchers. Be not lost +So poorly in your thoughts. + +MACBETH. +To know my deed, ’twere best not know myself. [_Knocking within._] +Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. + + Enter a Porter. Knocking within. + +PORTER. +Here’s a knocking indeed! If a man were porter of hell gate, he should +have old turning the key. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock. Who’s +there, i’ th’ name of Belzebub? Here’s a farmer that hanged himself on +the expectation of plenty: come in time; have napkins enow about you; +here you’ll sweat for’t. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock! Who’s there, i’ +th’ other devil’s name? Faith, here’s an equivocator, that could swear +in both the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough +for God’s sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven: O, come in, +equivocator. [_Knocking._] Knock, knock, knock! Who’s there? Faith, +here’s an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French +hose: come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [_Knocking._] +Knock, knock. Never at quiet! What are you?—But this place is too cold +for hell. I’ll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in +some of all professions, that go the primrose way to th’ everlasting +bonfire. [_Knocking._] Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter. + + [_Opens the gate._] + + Enter Macduff and Lennox. + +MACDUFF. +Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, +That you do lie so late? + +PORTER. +Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock; and drink, sir, is +a great provoker of three things. + +MACDUFF. +What three things does drink especially provoke? + +PORTER. +Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes +and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the +performance. Therefore much drink may be said to be an equivocator with +lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes +him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and +not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him +the lie, leaves him. + +MACDUFF. +I believe drink gave thee the lie last night. + +PORTER. +That it did, sir, i’ the very throat on me; but I requited him for his +lie; and (I think) being too strong for him, though he took up my legs +sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. + +MACDUFF. +Is thy master stirring? + + Enter Macbeth. + +Our knocking has awak’d him; here he comes. + +LENNOX. +Good morrow, noble sir! + +MACBETH. +Good morrow, both! + +MACDUFF. +Is the King stirring, worthy thane? + +MACBETH. +Not yet. + +MACDUFF. +He did command me to call timely on him. +I have almost slipp’d the hour. + +MACBETH. +I’ll bring you to him. + +MACDUFF. +I know this is a joyful trouble to you; +But yet ’tis one. + +MACBETH. +The labour we delight in physics pain. +This is the door. + +MACDUFF. +I’ll make so bold to call. +For ’tis my limited service. + + [_Exit Macduff._] + +LENNOX. +Goes the King hence today? + +MACBETH. +He does. He did appoint so. + +LENNOX. +The night has been unruly: where we lay, +Our chimneys were blown down and, as they say, +Lamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death, +And prophesying, with accents terrible, +Of dire combustion and confus’d events, +New hatch’d to the woeful time. The obscure bird +Clamour’d the live-long night. Some say the earth +Was feverous, and did shake. + +MACBETH. +’Twas a rough night. + +LENNOX. +My young remembrance cannot parallel +A fellow to it. + + Enter Macduff. + +MACDUFF. +O horror, horror, horror! +Tongue nor heart cannot conceive nor name thee! + +MACBETH, LENNOX. +What’s the matter? + +MACDUFF. +Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! +Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope +The Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence +The life o’ th’ building. + +MACBETH. +What is’t you say? the life? + +LENNOX. +Mean you his majesty? + +MACDUFF. +Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight +With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak. +See, and then speak yourselves. + + [_Exeunt Macbeth and Lennox._] + +Awake, awake!— +Ring the alarum bell.—Murder and treason! +Banquo and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! +Shake off this downy sleep, death’s counterfeit, +And look on death itself! Up, up, and see +The great doom’s image. Malcolm! Banquo! +As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites +To countenance this horror! + + [_Alarum-bell rings._] + + Enter Lady Macbeth. + +LADY MACBETH. +What’s the business, +That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley +The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak! + +MACDUFF. +O gentle lady, +’Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: +The repetition, in a woman’s ear, +Would murder as it fell. + + Enter Banquo. + +O Banquo, Banquo! +Our royal master’s murder’d! + +LADY MACBETH. +Woe, alas! +What, in our house? + +BANQUO. +Too cruel anywhere.— +Dear Duff, I pr’ythee, contradict thyself, +And say it is not so. + + Enter Macbeth and Lennox with Ross. + +MACBETH. +Had I but died an hour before this chance, +I had liv’d 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. + + Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. + +DONALBAIN. +What is amiss? + +MACBETH. +You are, and do not know’t: +The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood +Is stopp’d; the very source of it is stopp’d. + +MACDUFF. +Your royal father’s murder’d. + +MALCOLM. +O, by whom? + +LENNOX. +Those of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done’t: +Their hands and faces were all badg’d with blood; +So were their daggers, which, unwip’d, we found +Upon their pillows. They star’d, and were distracted; +No man’s life was to be trusted with them. + +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, amaz’d, temperate, and furious, +Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man: +Th’ expedition of my violent love +Outrun the pauser, reason. Here lay Duncan, +His silver skin lac’d with his golden blood; +And his gash’d stabs look’d like a breach in nature +For ruin’s wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, +Steep’d in the colours of their trade, their daggers +Unmannerly breech’d with gore. Who could refrain, +That had a heart to love, and in that heart +Courage to make’s love known? + +LADY MACBETH. +Help me hence, ho! + +MACDUFF. +Look to the lady. + +MALCOLM. +Why do we hold our tongues, +That most may claim this argument for ours? + +DONALBAIN. +What should be spoken here, where our fate, +Hid in an auger hole, may rush, and seize us? +Let’s away. Our tears are not yet brew’d. + +MALCOLM. +Nor our strong sorrow +Upon the foot of motion. + +BANQUO. +Look to the lady:— + + [_Lady Macbeth is carried out._] + +And when we have our naked frailties hid, +That suffer in exposure, let us meet, +And question this most bloody piece of work +To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us: +In the great hand of God I stand; and thence +Against the undivulg’d pretence I fight +Of treasonous malice. + +MACDUFF. +And so do I. + +ALL. +So all. + +MACBETH. +Let’s briefly put on manly readiness, +And meet i’ th’ hall together. + +ALL. +Well contented. + + [_Exeunt all but Malcolm and Donalbain._] + +MALCOLM. +What will you do? Let’s not consort with them: +To show an unfelt sorrow is an office +Which the false man does easy. I’ll to England. + +DONALBAIN. +To Ireland, I. Our separated fortune +Shall keep us both the safer. Where we are, +There’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood, +The nearer bloody. + +MALCOLM. +This murderous shaft that’s shot +Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way +Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse; +And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, +But shift away. There’s warrant in that theft +Which steals itself, when there’s no mercy left. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The same. Without the Castle. + + Enter Ross and an Old Man. + +OLD MAN. +Threescore and ten I can remember well, +Within the volume of which time I have seen +Hours dreadful and things strange, but this sore night +Hath trifled former knowings. + +ROSS. +Ha, good father, +Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man’s act, +Threatens his bloody stage: by the clock ’tis day, +And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp. +Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame, +That darkness does the face of earth entomb, +When living light should kiss it? + +OLD MAN. +’Tis unnatural, +Even like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last, +A falcon, towering in her pride of place, +Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d. + +ROSS. +And Duncan’s horses (a thing most strange and certain) +Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, +Turn’d wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, +Contending ’gainst obedience, as they would make +War with mankind. + +OLD MAN. +’Tis said they eat each other. + +ROSS. +They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes, +That look’d upon’t. +Here comes the good Macduff. + + Enter Macduff. + +How goes the world, sir, now? + +MACDUFF. +Why, see you not? + +ROSS. +Is’t known who did this more than bloody deed? + +MACDUFF. +Those that Macbeth hath slain. + +ROSS. +Alas, the day! +What good could they pretend? + +MACDUFF. +They were suborn’d. +Malcolm and Donalbain, the King’s two sons, +Are stol’n away and fled; which puts upon them +Suspicion of the deed. + +ROSS. +’Gainst nature still: +Thriftless ambition, that will ravin up +Thine own life’s means!—Then ’tis most like +The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. + +MACDUFF. +He is already nam’d; and gone to Scone +To be invested. + +ROSS. +Where is Duncan’s body? + +MACDUFF. +Carried to Colmekill, +The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, +And guardian of their bones. + +ROSS. +Will you to Scone? + +MACDUFF. +No, cousin, I’ll to Fife. + +ROSS. +Well, I will thither. + +MACDUFF. +Well, may you see things well done there. Adieu! +Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! + +ROSS. +Farewell, father. + +OLD MAN. +God’s benison go with you; and with those +That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Forres. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Banquo. + +BANQUO. +Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, +As the Weird Women promis’d; and, I fear, +Thou play’dst most foully for’t; yet it was said +It should not stand in thy posterity; +But that myself should be the root and father +Of many kings. If there come truth from them +(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine) +Why, by the verities on thee made good, +May they not be my oracles as well, +And set me up in hope? But hush; no more. + + Sennet sounded. Enter Macbeth as King, Lady Macbeth as Queen; Lennox, + Ross, Lords, and Attendants. + +MACBETH. +Here’s our chief guest. + +LADY MACBETH. +If he had been forgotten, +It had been as a gap in our great feast, +And all-thing unbecoming. + +MACBETH. +Tonight we hold a solemn supper, sir, +And I’ll request your presence. + +BANQUO. +Let your Highness +Command upon me, to the which my duties +Are with a most indissoluble tie +For ever knit. + +MACBETH. +Ride you this afternoon? + +BANQUO. +Ay, my good lord. + +MACBETH. +We should have else desir’d your good advice +(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous) +In this day’s council; but we’ll take tomorrow. +Is’t far you ride? + +BANQUO. +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. + +BANQUO. +My lord, I will not. + +MACBETH. +We hear our bloody cousins are bestow’d +In England and in Ireland; not confessing +Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers +With strange invention. But of that tomorrow, +When therewithal we shall have cause of state +Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, +Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? + +BANQUO. +Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon’s. + +MACBETH. +I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; +And so I do commend you to their backs. +Farewell.— + + [_Exit Banquo._] + +Let every man be master of his time +Till seven at night; to make society +The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself +Till supper time alone: while then, God be with you. + + [_Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, &c._] + +Sirrah, a word with you. Attend those men +Our pleasure? + +SERVANT. +They are, my lord, without the palace gate. + +MACBETH. +Bring them before us. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +To be thus is nothing, +But to be safely thus. Our fears in Banquo +Stick deep, and in his royalty of nature +Reigns that which would be fear’d: ’tis much he dares; +And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, +He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour +To act in safety. There is none but he +Whose being I do fear: and under him +My genius is rebuk’d; as, it is said, +Mark Antony’s was by Caesar. He chid the sisters +When first they put the name of king upon me, +And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, +They hail’d him father to a line of kings: +Upon my head they plac’d a fruitless crown, +And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, +Thence to be wrench’d with an unlineal hand, +No son of mine succeeding. If’t be so, +For Banquo’s issue have I fil’d my mind; +For them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d; +Put rancours in the vessel of my peace +Only for them; and mine eternal jewel +Given to the common enemy of man, +To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! +Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, +And champion me to th’ utterance!—Who’s there?— + + Enter Servant with two Murderers. + +Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +Was it not yesterday we spoke together? + +FIRST MURDERER. +It was, so please your Highness. + +MACBETH. +Well then, now +Have you consider’d of my speeches? Know +That it was he, in the times past, which held you +So under fortune, which you thought had been +Our innocent self? This I made good to you +In our last conference, pass’d in probation with you +How you were borne in hand, how cross’d, the instruments, +Who wrought with them, and all things else that might +To half a soul and to a notion craz’d +Say, “Thus did Banquo.” + +FIRST MURDERER. +You made it known to us. + +MACBETH. +I did so; and went further, which is now +Our point of second meeting. Do you find +Your patience so predominant in your nature, +That you can let this go? Are you so gospell’d, +To pray for this good man and for his issue, +Whose heavy hand hath bow’d you to the grave, +And beggar’d yours forever? + +FIRST MURDERER. +We are men, my liege. + +MACBETH. +Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; +As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, +Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clept +All by the name of dogs: the valu’d file +Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, +The housekeeper, the hunter, every one +According to the gift which bounteous nature +Hath in him clos’d; whereby he does receive +Particular addition, from the bill +That writes them all alike: and so of men. +Now, if you have a station in the file, +Not i’ th’ worst rank of manhood, say’t; +And I will put that business in your bosoms, +Whose execution takes your enemy off, +Grapples you to the heart and love of us, +Who wear our health but sickly in his life, +Which in his death were perfect. + +SECOND MURDERER. +I am one, my liege, +Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world +Hath so incens’d that I am reckless what +I do to spite the world. + +FIRST MURDERER. +And I another, +So weary with disasters, tugg’d with fortune, +That I would set my life on any chance, +To mend it or be rid on’t. + +MACBETH. +Both of you +Know Banquo was your enemy. + +BOTH MURDERERS. +True, my 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 barefac’d power sweep him from my sight, +And bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, +For certain friends that are both his and mine, +Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall +Who I myself struck down: and thence it is +That I to your assistance do make love, +Masking the business from the common eye +For sundry weighty reasons. + +SECOND MURDERER. +We shall, my lord, +Perform what you command us. + +FIRST MURDERER. +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’ th’ time, +The moment on’t; for’t must be done tonight +And something from the palace; always thought +That I require a clearness. And with him +(To leave no rubs nor botches in the work) +Fleance his son, that keeps him company, +Whose absence is no less material to me +Than is his father’s, must embrace the fate +Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart. +I’ll come to you anon. + +BOTH MURDERERS. +We are resolv’d, my lord. + +MACBETH. +I’ll call upon you straight: abide within. + + [_Exeunt Murderers._] + +It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul’s flight, +If it find heaven, must find it out tonight. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The same. Another Room in the Palace. + + Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. + +LADY MACBETH. +Is Banquo gone from court? + +SERVANT. +Ay, madam, but returns again tonight. + +LADY MACBETH. +Say to the King, I would attend his leisure +For a few words. + +SERVANT. +Madam, I will. + + [_Exit._] + +LADY MACBETH. +Naught’s had, all’s spent, +Where our desire is got without content: +’Tis safer to be that which we destroy, +Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy. + + Enter Macbeth. + +How now, my lord, why do you keep alone, +Of sorriest fancies your companions making, +Using those thoughts which should indeed have died +With them they think on? Things without all remedy +Should be without regard: what’s done is done. + +MACBETH. +We have scorch’d the snake, not kill’d it. +She’ll 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 peace, have sent to peace, +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 MACBETH. +Come on, +Gently my lord, sleek o’er your rugged looks; +Be bright and jovial among your guests tonight. + +MACBETH. +So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you. +Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; +Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: +Unsafe the while, that we +Must lave our honours in these flattering streams, +And make our faces vizards to our hearts, +Disguising what they are. + +LADY MACBETH. +You must leave this. + +MACBETH. +O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! +Thou know’st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. + +LADY MACBETH. +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 cloister’d flight, ere to black Hecate’s summons +The shard-born beetle, with his drowsy hums, +Hath rung night’s yawning peal, there shall be done +A deed of dreadful note. + +LADY MACBETH. +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 th’ rooky wood. +Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, +Whiles night’s black agents to their preys 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._] + +SCENE III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace. + + Enter three Murderers. + +FIRST MURDERER. +But who did bid thee join with us? + +THIRD MURDERER. +Macbeth. + +SECOND MURDERER. +He needs not our mistrust; since he delivers +Our offices and what we have to do +To the direction just. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Then stand with us. +The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day. +Now spurs the lated traveller apace, +To gain the timely inn; and near approaches +The subject of our watch. + +THIRD MURDERER. +Hark! I hear horses. + +BANQUO. +[_Within._] Give us a light there, ho! + +SECOND MURDERER. +Then ’tis he; the rest +That are within the note of expectation +Already are i’ th’ court. + +FIRST MURDERER. +His horses go about. + +THIRD MURDERER. +Almost a mile; but he does usually, +So all men do, from hence to the palace gate +Make it their walk. + + Enter Banquo and Fleance with a torch. + +SECOND MURDERER. +A light, a light! + +THIRD MURDERER. +’Tis he. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Stand to’t. + +BANQUO. +It will be rain tonight. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Let it come down. + + [_Assaults Banquo._] + +BANQUO. +O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! +Thou mayst revenge—O slave! + + [_Dies. Fleance escapes._] + +THIRD MURDERER. +Who did strike out the light? + +FIRST MURDERER. +Was’t not the way? + +THIRD MURDERER. +There’s but one down: the son is fled. + +SECOND MURDERER. +We have lost best half of our affair. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Well, let’s away, and say how much is done. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace. + + A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Ross, Lennox, Lords + and Attendants. + +MACBETH. +You know your own degrees, sit down. At first +And last the hearty welcome. + +LORDS. +Thanks to your Majesty. + +MACBETH. +Ourself will mingle with society, +And play the humble host. +Our hostess keeps her state; but, in best time, +We will require her welcome. + +LADY MACBETH. +Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; +For my heart speaks they are welcome. + + Enter first Murderer to the door. + +MACBETH. +See, they encounter thee with their hearts’ thanks. +Both sides are even: here I’ll sit i’ th’ midst. + +Be large in mirth; anon we’ll drink a measure +The table round. There’s blood upon thy face. + +MURDERER. +’Tis Banquo’s then. + +MACBETH. +’Tis better thee without than he within. +Is he dispatch’d? + +MURDERER. +My lord, his throat is cut. That I did for him. + +MACBETH. +Thou art the best o’ th’ cut-throats; +Yet he’s good that did the like for Fleance: +If thou didst it, thou art the nonpareil. + +MURDERER. +Most royal sir, +Fleance is ’scap’d. + +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 cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d, bound in +To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo’s safe? + +MURDERER. +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 th’ present.—Get thee gone; tomorrow +We’ll hear, ourselves, again. + + [_Exit Murderer._] + +LADY MACBETH. +My royal lord, +You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold +That is not often vouch’d, while ’tis a-making, +’Tis given with welcome. To feed were best at home; +From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; +Meeting were bare without it. + + The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth’s place. + +MACBETH. +Sweet remembrancer!— +Now, good digestion wait on appetite, +And health on both! + +LENNOX. +May’t please your Highness sit. + +MACBETH. +Here had we now our country’s honour roof’d, +Were the grac’d person of our Banquo present; +Who may I rather challenge for unkindness +Than pity for mischance! + +ROSS. +His absence, sir, +Lays blame upon his promise. Please’t your Highness +To grace us with your royal company? + +MACBETH. +The table’s full. + +LENNOX. +Here is a place reserv’d, sir. + +MACBETH. +Where? + +LENNOX. +Here, my good lord. 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. + +ROSS. +Gentlemen, rise; his Highness is not well. + +LADY MACBETH. +Sit, worthy friends. My lord is often thus, +And hath been from his youth: pray you, keep seat; +The fit is momentary; upon a thought +He will again be well. If much you note him, +You shall offend him, and extend his passion. +Feed, and regard him not.—Are you a man? + +MACBETH. +Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that +Which might appal the devil. + +LADY MACBETH. +O proper stuff! +This is the very painting of your fear: +This is the air-drawn dagger which you said, +Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts +(Impostors to true fear), would well become +A woman’s story at a winter’s fire, +Authoris’d 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? +Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.— +If charnel houses and our graves must send +Those that we bury back, our monuments +Shall be the maws of kites. + + [_Ghost disappears._] + +LADY MACBETH. +What, quite unmann’d in folly? + +MACBETH. +If I stand here, I saw him. + +LADY MACBETH. +Fie, for shame! + +MACBETH. +Blood hath been shed ere now, i’ th’ olden time, +Ere humane statute purg’d the gentle weal; +Ay, and since too, murders have been perform’d +Too terrible for the ear: the time has 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 MACBETH. +My worthy lord, +Your noble friends do lack you. + +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’ll sit down.—Give me some wine, fill full.— +I drink to the general joy o’ th’ whole table, +And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss: +Would he were here. + + Ghost rises again. + +To all, and him, we thirst, +And all to all. + +LORDS. +Our duties, and the pledge. + +MACBETH. +Avaunt! and quit my sight! let the earth hide thee! +Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; +Thou hast no speculation in those eyes +Which thou dost glare with! + +LADY MACBETH. +Think of this, good peers, +But as a thing of custom: ’tis no other, +Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. + +MACBETH. +What man dare, I dare: +Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, +The arm’d rhinoceros, or th’ 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 mock’ry, hence! + + [_Ghost disappears._] + +Why, so;—being gone, +I am a man again.—Pray you, sit still. + +LADY MACBETH. +You have displaced the mirth, broke the good meeting +With most admir’d disorder. + +MACBETH. +Can such things be, +And overcome us like a summer’s cloud, +Without our special wonder? You make me strange +Even to the disposition that I owe, +When now I think you can behold such sights, +And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, +When mine are blanch’d with fear. + +ROSS. +What sights, my lord? + +LADY MACBETH. +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. + +LENNOX. +Good night; and better health +Attend his Majesty! + +LADY MACBETH. +A kind good night to all! + + [_Exeunt all Lords and Atendants._] + +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.—What is the night? + +LADY MACBETH. +Almost at odds with morning, which is which. + +MACBETH. +How say’st thou, that Macduff denies his person +At our great bidding? + +LADY MACBETH. +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 tomorrow +(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 +Stepp’d in so far that, should I wade no more, +Returning were as tedious as go o’er. +Strange things I have in head, that will to hand, +Which must be acted ere they may be scann’d. + +LADY MACBETH. +You lack the season of all natures, sleep. + +MACBETH. +Come, we’ll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse +Is the initiate fear that wants hard use. +We are yet but young in deed. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. The heath. + + Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting Hecate. + +FIRST WITCH. +Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly. + +HECATE. +Have I not reason, beldams as you are, +Saucy and overbold? How did you dare +To trade and traffic with Macbeth +In riddles and affairs of death; +And I, the mistress of your charms, +The close contriver of all harms, +Was never call’d to bear my part, +Or show the glory of our art? +And, which is worse, all you have done +Hath been but for a wayward son, +Spiteful and wrathful; who, as others do, +Loves for his own ends, not for you. +But make amends now: get you gone, +And at the pit of Acheron +Meet me i’ th’ morning: thither he +Will come to know his destiny. +Your vessels and your spells provide, +Your charms, and everything beside. +I am for th’ air; this night I’ll spend +Unto a dismal and a fatal end. +Great business must be wrought ere noon. +Upon the corner of the moon +There hangs a vap’rous drop profound; +I’ll catch it ere it come to ground: +And that, distill’d by magic sleights, +Shall raise such artificial sprites, +As, by the strength of their illusion, +Shall draw him on to his confusion. +He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear +His hopes ’bove wisdom, grace, and fear. +And you all know, security +Is mortals’ chiefest enemy. + + [_Music and song within, “Come away, come away” &c._] + +Hark! I am call’d; my little spirit, see, +Sits in a foggy cloud and stays for me. + + [_Exit._] + +FIRST WITCH. +Come, let’s make haste; she’ll soon be back again. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Lennox and another Lord. + +LENNOX. +My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, +Which can interpret farther: only, I say, +Thing’s have been strangely borne. The gracious Duncan +Was pitied of Macbeth:—marry, he was dead:— +And the right valiant Banquo walk’d too late; +Whom, you may say, if’t please you, Fleance kill’d, +For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. +Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous +It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain +To kill their gracious father? damned fact! +How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight, +In pious rage, the two delinquents tear +That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? +Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; +For ’twould have anger’d any heart alive, +To hear the men deny’t. So that, I say, +He has borne all things well: and I do think, +That had he Duncan’s sons under his key +(As, and’t please heaven, he shall not) they should find +What ’twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. +But, peace!—for from broad words, and ’cause he fail’d +His presence at the tyrant’s feast, I hear, +Macduff lives in disgrace. Sir, can you tell +Where he bestows himself? + +LORD. +The son of Duncan, +From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, +Lives in the English court and is receiv’d +Of the most pious Edward with such grace +That the malevolence of fortune nothing +Takes from his high respect. Thither Macduff +Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid +To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward +That, by the help of these (with Him above +To ratify the work), we may again +Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights; +Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives, +Do faithful homage, and receive free honours, +All which we pine for now. And this report +Hath so exasperate the King that he +Prepares for some attempt of war. + +LENNOX. +Sent he to Macduff? + +LORD. +He did: and with an absolute “Sir, not I,” +The cloudy messenger turns me his back, +And hums, as who should say, “You’ll rue the time +That clogs me with this answer.” + +LENNOX. +And that well might +Advise him to a caution, t’ hold what distance +His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel +Fly to the court of England, and unfold +His message ere he come, that a swift blessing +May soon return to this our suffering country +Under a hand accurs’d! + +LORD. +I’ll send my prayers with him. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling. + + Thunder. Enter the three Witches. + +FIRST WITCH. +Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d. + +SECOND WITCH. +Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whin’d. + +THIRD WITCH. +Harpier cries:—’Tis time, ’tis time. + +FIRST WITCH. +Round about the cauldron go; +In the poison’d entrails throw.— +Toad, that under cold stone +Days and nights has thirty-one +Swelter’d venom sleeping got, +Boil thou first i’ th’ charmed pot! + +ALL. +Double, double, toil and trouble; +Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble. + +SECOND WITCH. +Fillet of a fenny snake, +In the cauldron boil and bake; +Eye of newt, and toe of frog, +Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, +Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting, +Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing, +For a charm of powerful trouble, +Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. + +ALL. +Double, double, toil and trouble; +Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble. + +THIRD WITCH. +Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, +Witch’s mummy, maw and gulf +Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark, +Root of hemlock digg’d i’ th’ dark, +Liver of blaspheming Jew, +Gall of goat, and slips of yew +Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse, +Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips, +Finger of birth-strangled babe +Ditch-deliver’d by a drab, +Make the gruel thick and slab: +Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron, +For th’ ingredients of our cauldron. + +ALL. +Double, double, toil and trouble; +Fire, burn; and cauldron, bubble. + +SECOND WITCH. +Cool it with a baboon’s blood. +Then the charm is firm and good. + + Enter Hecate. + +HECATE. +O, well done! I commend your pains, +And everyone shall share i’ th’ gains. +And now about the cauldron sing, +Like elves and fairies in a ring, +Enchanting all that you put in. + + [_Music and a song: “Black Spirits,” &c._] + + [_Exit Hecate._] + +SECOND WITCH. +By the pricking of my thumbs, +Something wicked this way comes. +Open, locks, +Whoever knocks! + + Enter Macbeth. + +MACBETH. +How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! +What is’t you do? + +ALL. +A deed without a name. + +MACBETH. +I conjure you, by that which you profess, +(Howe’er you come to know it) answer me: +Though you untie the winds, and let them fight +Against the churches; though the yesty waves +Confound and swallow navigation up; +Though bladed corn be lodg’d, and trees blown down; +Though castles topple on their warders’ heads; +Though palaces and pyramids do slope +Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure +Of nature’s germens tumble all together, +Even till destruction sicken, answer me +To what I ask you. + +FIRST WITCH. +Speak. + +SECOND WITCH. +Demand. + +THIRD WITCH. +We’ll answer. + +FIRST WITCH. +Say, if thou’dst rather hear it from our mouths, +Or from our masters? + +MACBETH. +Call ’em, let me see ’em. + +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. + +ALL. +Come, high or low; +Thyself and office deftly show! + + [_Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises._] + +MACBETH. +Tell me, thou unknown power,— + +FIRST WITCH. +He knows thy thought: +Hear his speech, but say thou naught. + +APPARITION. +Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! Beware Macduff; +Beware the Thane of Fife.—Dismiss me.—Enough. + + [_Descends._] + +MACBETH. +Whate’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; +Thou hast harp’d my fear aright.—But one word more. + +FIRST WITCH. +He will not be commanded. Here’s another, +More potent than the first. + + [_Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises._] + +APPARITION. +Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! + +MACBETH. +Had I three ears, I’d hear thee. + +APPARITION. +Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn +The power of man, for none of woman born +Shall harm Macbeth. + + [_Descends._] + +MACBETH. +Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee? +But yet I’ll 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. + + [_Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand, + rises._] + +What is this, +That rises like the issue of a king, +And wears upon his baby brow the round +And top of sovereignty? + +ALL. +Listen, but speak not to’t. + +APPARITION. +Be lion-mettled, proud, and take no care +Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: +Macbeth shall never vanquish’d be, until +Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill +Shall come against him. + + [_Descends._] + +MACBETH. +That will never be: +Who can impress the forest; bid the tree +Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements, good! +Rebellious head, rise never till the wood +Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac’d Macbeth +Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath +To time and mortal custom.—Yet my heart +Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art +Can tell so much, shall Banquo’s issue ever +Reign in this kingdom? + +ALL. +Seek to know no more. + +MACBETH. +I will be satisfied: deny me this, +And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know. +Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? + + [_Hautboys._] + +FIRST WITCH. +Show! + +SECOND WITCH. +Show! + +THIRD WITCH. +Show! + +ALL. +Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; +Come like shadows, so depart! + + [_A show of eight kings appear, and pass over in order, the last with + a glass in his hand; Banquo following._] + +MACBETH. +Thou are too like the spirit of Banquo. Down! +Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs:—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 th’ crack of doom? +Another yet!—A seventh!—I’ll see no more:— +And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass +Which shows me many more; and some I see +That twofold balls and treble sceptres carry. +Horrible sight!—Now I see ’tis true; +For the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me, +And points at them for his.—What! is this so? + +FIRST WITCH. +Ay, sir, all this is so:—but why +Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?— +Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, +And show the best of our delights. +I’ll charm the air to give a sound, +While you perform your antic round; +That this great king may kindly say, +Our duties did his welcome pay. + + [_Music. The Witches dance, and vanish._] + +MACBETH. +Where are they? Gone?—Let this pernicious hour +Stand aye accursed in the calendar!— +Come in, without there! + + Enter Lennox. + +LENNOX. +What’s your Grace’s will? + +MACBETH. +Saw you the Weird Sisters? + +LENNOX. +No, my lord. + +MACBETH. +Came they not by you? + +LENNOX. +No, indeed, my lord. + +MACBETH. +Infected be the air whereon they ride; +And damn’d all those that trust them!—I did hear +The galloping of horse: who was’t came by? + +LENNOX. +’Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word +Macduff is fled to England. + +MACBETH. +Fled to England! + +LENNOX. +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 th’ edge o’ th’ sword +His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls +That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; +This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool: +But no more sights!—Where are these gentlemen? +Come, bring me where they are. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle. + + Enter Lady Macduff her Son and Ross. + +LADY MACDUFF. +What had he done, to make him fly the land? + +ROSS. +You must have patience, madam. + +LADY MACDUFF. +He had none: +His flight was madness: when our actions do not, +Our fears do make us traitors. + +ROSS. +You know not +Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. + +LADY MACDUFF. +Wisdom! to leave his wife, to leave his babes, +His mansion, and his titles, in a place +From whence himself does fly? He loves us not: +He wants the natural touch; for the poor wren, +The most diminutive of birds, will fight, +Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. +All is the fear, and nothing is the love; +As little is the wisdom, where the flight +So runs against all reason. + +ROSS. +My dearest coz, +I pray you, school yourself: but, for your husband, +He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows +The fits o’ th’ season. I dare not speak much further: +But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, +And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour +From what we fear, yet know not what we fear, +But float upon a wild and violent sea +Each way and move—I take my leave of you: +Shall not be long but I’ll be here again. +Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward +To what they were before.—My pretty cousin, +Blessing upon you! + +LADY MACDUFF. +Father’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless. + +ROSS. +I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, +It would be my disgrace and your discomfort: +I take my leave at once. + + [_Exit._] + +LADY MACDUFF. +Sirrah, your father’s dead. +And what will you do now? How will you live? + +SON. +As birds do, mother. + +LADY MACDUFF. +What, with worms and flies? + +SON. +With what I get, I mean; and so do they. + +LADY MACDUFF. +Poor bird! thou’dst never fear the net nor lime, +The pit-fall nor the gin. + +SON. +Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. +My father is not dead, for all your saying. + +LADY MACDUFF. +Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for a father? + +SON. +Nay, how will you do for a husband? + +LADY MACDUFF. +Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. + +SON. +Then you’ll buy ’em to sell again. + +LADY MACDUFF. +Thou speak’st with all thy wit; +And yet, i’ faith, with wit enough for thee. + +SON. +Was my father a traitor, mother? + +LADY MACDUFF. +Ay, that he was. + +SON. +What is a traitor? + +LADY MACDUFF. +Why, one that swears and lies. + +SON. +And be all traitors that do so? + +LADY MACDUFF. +Every one that does so is a traitor, and must be hanged. + +SON. +And must they all be hanged that swear and lie? + +LADY MACDUFF. +Every one. + +SON. +Who must hang them? + +LADY MACDUFF. +Why, the honest men. + +SON. +Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers +enow to beat the honest men and hang up them. + +LADY MACDUFF. +Now, God help thee, poor monkey! But how wilt thou do for a father? + +SON. +If he were dead, you’ld weep for him: if you would not, it were a good +sign that I should quickly have a new father. + +LADY MACDUFF. +Poor prattler, how thou talk’st! + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, +Though in your state of honour I am perfect. +I doubt some danger does approach you nearly: +If you will take a homely man’s advice, +Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. +To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; +To do worse to you were fell cruelty, +Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! +I dare abide no longer. + + [_Exit._] + +LADY MACDUFF. +Whither should I fly? +I have done no harm. But I remember now +I am in this earthly world, where to do harm +Is often laudable; to do good sometime +Accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, +Do I put up that womanly defence, +To say I have done no harm? What are these faces? + + Enter Murderers. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Where is your husband? + +LADY MACDUFF. +I hope, in no place so unsanctified +Where such as thou mayst find him. + +FIRST MURDERER. +He’s a traitor. + +SON. +Thou liest, thou shag-ear’d villain! + +FIRST MURDERER. +What, you egg! + + [_Stabbing him._] + +Young fry of treachery! + +SON. +He has kill’d me, mother: +Run away, I pray you! + + [_Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying “Murder!” and pursued by the + Murderers._] + +SCENE III. England. Before the King’s Palace. + + Enter Malcolm and Macduff. + +MALCOLM. +Let us seek out some desolate shade and there +Weep our sad bosoms empty. + +MACDUFF. +Let us rather +Hold fast the mortal sword, and, like good men, +Bestride our down-fall’n 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 yell’d out +Like syllable of dolour. + +MALCOLM. +What I believe, I’ll 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 touch’d you yet. I am young; but something +You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom +To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb +To appease an angry god. + +MACDUFF. +I am not treacherous. + +MALCOLM. +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. + +MALCOLM. +Perchance even there where I did find my doubts. +Why in that rawness left you wife and child, +Those precious motives, those strong knots of love, +Without leave-taking?—I pray you, +Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, +But mine own safeties. You may be rightly just, +Whatever I shall think. + +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 affeer’d.—Fare thee well, lord: +I would not be the villain that thou think’st +For the whole space that’s in the tyrant’s grasp +And the rich East to boot. + +MALCOLM. +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? + +MALCOLM. +It is myself I mean; in whom I know +All the particulars of vice so grafted +That, when they shall be open’d, black Macbeth +Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state +Esteem him as a lamb, being compar’d +With my confineless harms. + +MACDUFF. +Not in the legions +Of horrid hell can come a devil more damn’d +In evils to top Macbeth. + +MALCOLM. +I grant him bloody, +Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, +Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin +That has a name: but there’s no bottom, none, +In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, +Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up +The cistern of my lust; and my desire +All continent impediments would o’erbear, +That did oppose my will: better Macbeth +Than such an one to reign. + +MACDUFF. +Boundless intemperance +In nature is a tyranny; it hath been +Th’ untimely emptying of the happy throne, +And fall of many kings. But fear not yet +To take upon you what is yours: you may +Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, +And yet seem cold—the time you may so hoodwink. +We have willing dames enough; there cannot be +That vulture in you, to devour so many +As will to greatness dedicate themselves, +Finding it so inclin’d. + +MALCOLM. +With this there grows +In my most ill-compos’d affection such +A staunchless avarice, that, were I king, +I should cut off the nobles for their lands; +Desire his jewels, and this other’s house: +And my more-having would be as a sauce +To make me hunger more; that I should forge +Quarrels unjust against the good and loyal, +Destroying them for wealth. + +MACDUFF. +This avarice +Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root +Than summer-seeming lust; and it hath been +The sword of our slain kings: yet do not fear; +Scotland hath foisons to fill up your will, +Of your mere own. All these are portable, +With other graces weigh’d. + +MALCOLM. +But I have none: the king-becoming graces, +As justice, verity, temp’rance, stableness, +Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, +Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, +I have no relish of them; but abound +In the division of each several crime, +Acting it many ways. Nay, 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! + +MALCOLM. +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-scepter’d, +When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again, +Since that the truest issue of thy throne +By his own interdiction stands accus’d, +And does blaspheme his breed? Thy royal father +Was a most sainted king. The queen that bore thee, +Oft’ner upon her knees than on her feet, +Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! +These evils thou repeat’st upon thyself +Have banish’d me from Scotland.—O my breast, +Thy hope ends here! + +MALCOLM. +Macduff, this noble passion, +Child of integrity, hath from my soul +Wiped the black scruples, reconcil’d my thoughts +To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth +By many of these trains hath sought to win me +Into his power, and modest wisdom plucks me +From over-credulous haste: but God above +Deal between thee and me! for even now +I put myself to thy direction, and +Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure +The taints and blames I laid upon myself, +For strangers to my nature. I am yet +Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; +Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; +At no time broke my faith; would not betray +The devil to his fellow; and delight +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’ll together, and the chance of goodness +Be like our warranted quarrel. Why are you silent? + +MACDUFF. +Such welcome and unwelcome things at once +’Tis hard to reconcile. + + Enter a Doctor. + +MALCOLM. +Well; more anon.—Comes the King forth, I pray you? + +DOCTOR. +Ay, sir. There are a crew of wretched souls +That stay his cure: their malady convinces +The great assay of art; but at his touch, +Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, +They presently amend. + +MALCOLM. +I thank you, doctor. + + [_Exit Doctor._] + +MACDUFF. +What’s the disease he means? + +MALCOLM. +’Tis call’d the evil: +A most miraculous work in this good king; +Which often, since my here-remain in England, +I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, +Himself best knows, but strangely-visited people, +All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, +The mere despair of surgery, he cures; +Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, +Put on with holy prayers: and ’tis spoken, +To the succeeding royalty he leaves +The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, +He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy; +And sundry blessings hang about his throne, +That speak him full of grace. + + Enter Ross. + +MACDUFF. +See, who comes here? + +MALCOLM. +My countryman; but yet I know him not. + +MACDUFF. +My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. + +MALCOLM. +I know him now. Good God, betimes remove +The means that makes us strangers! + +ROSS. +Sir, amen. + +MACDUFF. +Stands Scotland where it did? + +ROSS. +Alas, poor country, +Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot +Be call’d our mother, but our grave, where nothing, +But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; +Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks, that rent the air, +Are made, not mark’d; where violent sorrow seems +A modern ecstasy. The dead man’s knell +Is there scarce ask’d for who; and good men’s lives +Expire before the flowers in their caps, +Dying or ere they sicken. + +MACDUFF. +O, relation +Too nice, and yet too true! + +MALCOLM. +What’s the newest grief? + +ROSS. +That of an hour’s age doth hiss the speaker; +Each minute teems a new one. + +MACDUFF. +How does my wife? + +ROSS. +Why, well. + +MACDUFF. +And all my children? + +ROSS. +Well too. + +MACDUFF. +The tyrant has not batter’d at their peace? + +ROSS. +No; they were well at peace when I did leave ’em. + +MACDUFF. +Be not a niggard of your speech: how goes’t? + +ROSS. +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 witness’d the rather, +For that I saw the tyrant’s power afoot. +Now is the time of help. Your eye in Scotland +Would create soldiers, make our women fight, +To doff their dire distresses. + +MALCOLM. +Be’t their comfort +We are coming thither. Gracious England hath +Lent us good Siward and ten thousand men; +An older and a better soldier none +That Christendom gives out. + +ROSS. +Would I could answer +This comfort with the like! But I have words +That would be howl’d out in the desert air, +Where hearing should not latch them. + +MACDUFF. +What concern they? +The general cause? or is it a fee-grief +Due to some single breast? + +ROSS. +No mind that’s honest +But in it shares some woe, though the main part +Pertains to you alone. + +MACDUFF. +If it be mine, +Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. + +ROSS. +Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, +Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound +That ever yet they heard. + +MACDUFF. +Humh! I guess at it. + +ROSS. +Your castle is surpris’d; your wife and babes +Savagely slaughter’d. To relate the manner +Were, on the quarry of these murder’d deer, +To add the death of you. + +MALCOLM. +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. + +MACDUFF. +My children too? + +ROSS. +Wife, children, servants, all +That could be found. + +MACDUFF. +And I must be from thence! +My wife kill’d too? + +ROSS. +I have said. + +MALCOLM. +Be comforted: +Let’s make us med’cines 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? + +MALCOLM. +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: heaven rest them now! + +MALCOLM. +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! + +MALCOLM. +This tune goes manly. +Come, go we to the King. Our power is ready; +Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth +Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above +Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; +The night is long that never finds the day. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. + + Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting-Gentlewoman. + +DOCTOR. +I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your +report. When was it she last walked? + +GENTLEWOMAN. +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’t, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to +bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. + +DOCTOR. +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? + +GENTLEWOMAN. +That, sir, which I will not report after her. + +DOCTOR. +You may to me; and ’tis most meet you should. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Neither to you nor anyone; having no witness to confirm my speech. + + Enter Lady Macbeth with a taper. + +Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, upon my life, fast +asleep. Observe her; stand close. + +DOCTOR. +How came she by that light? + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Why, it stood by her: she has light by her continually; ’tis her +command. + +DOCTOR. +You see, her eyes are open. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Ay, but their sense are shut. + +DOCTOR. +What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands. I +have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. + +LADY MACBETH. +Yet here’s a spot. + +DOCTOR. +Hark, she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my +remembrance the more strongly. + +LADY MACBETH. +Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; two. Why, then ’tis time to do’t. +Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we +fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who +would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? + +DOCTOR. +Do you mark that? + +LADY MACBETH. +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. + +DOCTOR. +Go to, go to. You have known what you should not. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: heaven knows what +she has known. + +LADY MACBETH. +Here’s the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will +not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh! + +DOCTOR. +What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whole +body. + +DOCTOR. +Well, well, well. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Pray God it be, sir. + +DOCTOR. +This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have +walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. + +LADY MACBETH. +Wash your hands, put on your nightgown; look not so pale. I tell you +yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s grave. + +DOCTOR. +Even so? + +LADY MACBETH. +To bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, +give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to +bed. + + [_Exit._] + +DOCTOR. +Will she go now to bed? + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Directly. + +DOCTOR. +Foul whisp’rings are abroad. Unnatural deeds +Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds +To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. +More needs she the divine than the physician.— +God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; +Remove from her the means of all annoyance, +And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night: +My mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight. +I think, but dare not speak. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Good night, good doctor. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The Country near Dunsinane. + + Enter, with drum and colours Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox and + Soldiers. + +MENTEITH. +The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, +His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. +Revenges burn in them; for their dear causes +Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm +Excite the mortified man. + +ANGUS. +Near Birnam wood +Shall we well meet them. That way are they coming. + +CAITHNESS. +Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? + +LENNOX. +For certain, sir, he is not. I have a file +Of all the gentry: there is Siward’s son +And many unrough youths, that even now +Protest their first of manhood. + +MENTEITH. +What does the tyrant? + +CAITHNESS. +Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies. +Some say he’s mad; others, that lesser hate him, +Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, +He cannot buckle his distemper’d cause +Within the belt of rule. + +ANGUS. +Now does he feel +His secret murders sticking on his hands; +Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; +Those he commands move only in command, +Nothing in love: now does he feel his title +Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe +Upon a dwarfish thief. + +MENTEITH. +Who, then, shall blame +His pester’d senses to recoil and start, +When all that is within him does condemn +Itself for being there? + +CAITHNESS. +Well, march we on, +To give obedience where ’tis truly ow’d: +Meet we the med’cine of the sickly weal; +And with him pour we, in our country’s purge, +Each drop of us. + +LENNOX. +Or so much as it needs +To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. +Make we our march towards Birnam. + + [_Exeunt, marching._] + +SCENE III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. + + Enter Macbeth, Doctor and Attendants. + +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 pronounc’d 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-fac’d loon! +Where gott’st thou that goose look? + +SERVANT. +There is ten thousand— + +MACBETH. +Geese, villain? + +SERVANT. +Soldiers, sir. + +MACBETH. +Go prick thy face and over-red thy fear, +Thou lily-liver’d boy. What soldiers, patch? +Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine +Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? + +SERVANT. +The English force, so please you. + +MACBETH. +Take thy face hence. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +Seyton!—I am sick at heart, +When I behold—Seyton, I say!—This push +Will cheer me ever or disseat me now. +I have liv’d long enough: my way of life +Is fall’n into the sere, 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. + +SEYTON. +What’s your gracious pleasure? + +MACBETH. +What news more? + +SEYTON. +All is confirm’d, my lord, which was reported. + +MACBETH. +I’ll fight till from my bones my flesh be hack’d. +Give me my armour. + +SEYTON. +’Tis not needed yet. + +MACBETH. +I’ll put it on. +Send out more horses, skirr the country round; +Hang those that talk of fear. Give me mine armour.— +How does your patient, doctor? + +DOCTOR. +Not so sick, my lord, +As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, +That keep her from her rest. + +MACBETH. +Cure her of that: +Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d, +Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, +Raze out the written troubles of the brain, +And with some sweet oblivious antidote +Cleanse the stuff’d bosom of that perilous stuff +Which weighs upon the heart? + +DOCTOR. +Therein the patient +Must minister to himself. + +MACBETH. +Throw physic to the dogs, I’ll none of it. +Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff: +Seyton, send out.—Doctor, the Thanes fly from me.— +Come, sir, despatch.—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.—Pull’t off, I say.— +What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, +Would scour these English hence? Hear’st thou of them? + +DOCTOR. +Ay, my good lord. Your royal preparation +Makes us hear something. + +MACBETH. +Bring it after me.— +I will not be afraid of death and bane, +Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. + + [_Exeunt all except Doctor._] + +DOCTOR. +Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, +Profit again should hardly draw me here. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view. + + Enter, with drum and colours Malcolm, old Siward and his Son, Macduff, + Menteith, Caithness, Angus, Lennox, Ross and Soldiers, marching. + +MALCOLM. +Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand +That chambers will be safe. + +MENTEITH. +We doubt it nothing. + +SIWARD. +What wood is this before us? + +MENTEITH. +The wood of Birnam. + +MALCOLM. +Let every soldier hew him down a bough, +And bear’t before him. Thereby shall we shadow +The numbers of our host, and make discovery +Err in report of us. + +SOLDIERS. +It shall be done. + +SIWARD. +We learn no other but the confident tyrant +Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure +Our setting down before’t. + +MALCOLM. +’Tis his main hope; +For where there is advantage to be given, +Both more and less have given him the revolt, +And none serve with him but constrained things, +Whose hearts are absent too. + +MACDUFF. +Let our just censures +Attend the true event, and put we on +Industrious soldiership. + +SIWARD. +The time approaches, +That will with due decision make us know +What we shall say we have, and what we owe. +Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate, +But certain issue strokes must arbitrate; +Towards which advance the war. + + [_Exeunt, marching._] + +SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle. + + Enter with drum and colours, Macbeth, Seyton and Soldiers. + +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 forc’d with those that should be ours, +We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, +And beat them backward home. + + [_A cry of women within._] + +What is that noise? + +SEYTON. +It is the cry of women, my good lord. + + [_Exit._] + +MACBETH. +I have almost forgot the taste of fears. +The time has been, my senses would have cool’d +To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair +Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir +As life were in’t. I have supp’d full with horrors; +Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts, +Cannot once start me. + + Enter Seyton. + +Wherefore was that cry? + +SEYTON. +The Queen, my lord, is dead. + +MACBETH. +She should have died hereafter. +There would have been a time for such a word. +Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, +Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, +To the last syllable of recorded time; +And all our yesterdays have lighted fools +The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! +Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player, +That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, +And then is heard no more: it is a tale +Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, +Signifying nothing. + + Enter a Messenger. + +Thou com’st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. + +MESSENGER. +Gracious my lord, +I should report that which I say I saw, +But know not how to do’t. + +MACBETH. +Well, say, sir. + +MESSENGER. +As I did stand my watch upon the hill, +I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought, +The wood began to move. + +MACBETH. +Liar, and slave! + +MESSENGER. +Let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so. +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.— +I pull in resolution; and begin +To doubt th’ equivocation of the fiend, +That lies like truth. “Fear not, till Birnam wood +Do come to Dunsinane;” and now a wood +Comes toward Dunsinane.—Arm, arm, and out!— +If this which he avouches does appear, +There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here. +I ’gin to be aweary of the sun, +And wish th’ estate o’ th’ world were now undone.— +Ring the alarum bell!—Blow, wind! come, wrack! +At least we’ll die with harness on our back. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle. + + Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, Macduff and their + Army, with boughs. + +MALCOLM. +Now near enough. Your leafy screens throw down, +And show like those you are.—You, worthy uncle, +Shall with my cousin, your right noble son, +Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff and we +Shall take upon’s what else remains to do, +According to our order. + +SIWARD. +Fare you well.— +Do we but find the tyrant’s power tonight, +Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. + +MACDUFF. +Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, +Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. The same. Another part of the Plain. + + Alarums. Enter Macbeth. + +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. + + Enter young Siward. + +YOUNG SIWARD. +What is thy name? + +MACBETH. +Thou’lt be afraid to hear it. + +YOUNG SIWARD. +No; though thou call’st thyself a hotter name +Than any is in hell. + +MACBETH. +My name’s Macbeth. + +YOUNG SIWARD. +The devil himself could not pronounce a title +More hateful to mine ear. + +MACBETH. +No, nor more fearful. + +YOUNG SIWARD. +Thou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my sword +I’ll prove the lie thou speak’st. + + [_They fight, and young Siward is slain._] + +MACBETH. +Thou wast born of woman. +But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, +Brandish’d by man that’s of a woman born. + + [_Exit._] + + Alarums. Enter Macduff. + +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 unbatter’d edge, +I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be; +By this great clatter, one of greatest note +Seems bruited. Let me find him, Fortune! +And more I beg not. + + [_Exit. Alarums._] + + Enter Malcolm and old Siward. + +SIWARD. +This way, my lord;—the castle’s gently render’d: +The tyrant’s people on both sides do fight; +The noble thanes do bravely in the war, +The day almost itself professes yours, +And little is to do. + +MALCOLM. +We have met with foes +That strike beside us. + +SIWARD. +Enter, sir, the castle. + + [_Exeunt. Alarums._] + +SCENE VIII. The same. Another part of the field. + + 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. + + Enter Macduff. + +MACDUFF. +Turn, hell-hound, turn! + +MACBETH. +Of all men else I have avoided thee: +But get thee back; my soul is too much charg’d +With blood of thine already. + +MACDUFF. +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 serv’d +Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother’s womb +Untimely ripp’d. + +MACBETH. +Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, +For it hath cow’d my better part of man! +And be these juggling fiends no more believ’d, +That palter with us in a double sense; +That keep the word of promise to our ear, +And break it to our hope!—I’ll not fight with thee. + +MACDUFF. +Then yield thee, coward, +And live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time. +We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, +Painted upon a pole, and underwrit, +“Here may you see the tyrant.” + +MACBETH. +I will not yield, +To kiss the ground before young Malcolm’s feet, +And to be baited with the rabble’s curse. +Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, +And thou oppos’d, being of no woman born, +Yet I will try the last. Before my body +I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; +And damn’d be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!” + + [_Exeunt fighting. Alarums._] + + Retreat. Flourish. Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, + Ross, Thanes and Soldiers. + +MALCOLM. +I would the friends we miss were safe arriv’d. + +SIWARD. +Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, +So great a day as this is cheaply bought. + +MALCOLM. +Macduff is missing, and your noble son. + +ROSS. +Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt: +He only liv’d but till he was a man; +The which no sooner had his prowess confirm’d +In the unshrinking station where he fought, +But like a man he died. + +SIWARD. +Then he is dead? + +FLEANCE. +Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow +Must not be measur’d by his worth, for then +It hath no end. + +SIWARD. +Had he his hurts before? + +ROSS. +Ay, on the front. + +SIWARD. +Why then, God’s soldier be he! +Had I as many sons as I have hairs, +I would not wish them to a fairer death: +And so his knell is knoll’d. + +MALCOLM. +He’s worth more sorrow, +And that I’ll spend for him. + +SIWARD. +He’s worth no more. +They say he parted well and paid his score: +And so, God be with him!—Here comes newer comfort. + + Enter Macduff with Macbeth’s head. + +MACDUFF. +Hail, King, for so thou art. Behold, where stands +Th’ usurper’s cursed head: the time is free. +I see thee compass’d with thy kingdom’s pearl, +That speak my salutation in their minds; +Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,— +Hail, King of Scotland! + +ALL. +Hail, King of Scotland! + + [_Flourish._] + +MALCOLM. +We shall not spend a large expense of time +Before we reckon with your several loves, +And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen, +Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland +In such an honour nam’d. What’s more to do, +Which would be planted newly with the time,— +As calling home our exil’d friends abroad, +That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; +Producing forth the cruel ministers +Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen, +Who, as ’tis thought, by self and violent hands +Took off her life;—this, and what needful else +That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, +We will perform in measure, time, and place. +So thanks to all at once, and to each one, +Whom we invite to see us crown’d at Scone. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + + + + + +MEASURE FOR MEASURE + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + VINCENTIO, the Duke + ANGELO, the Deputy + ESCALUS, an ancient Lord + CLAUDIO, a young gentleman + LUCIO, a fantastic + Two other like Gentlemen + VARRIUS, a gentleman, servant to the Duke + PROVOST + THOMAS, friar + PETER, friar + A JUSTICE + ELBOW, a simple constable + FROTH, a foolish gentleman + POMPEY, a clown and servant to Mistress Overdone + ABHORSON, an executioner + BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner + + ISABELLA, sister to Claudio + MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo + JULIET, beloved of Claudio + FRANCISCA, a nun + MISTRESS OVERDONE, a bawd + + Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants + +SCENE: Vienna + +ACT I. SCENE I. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE, ESCALUS, LORDS, and ATTENDANTS + + DUKE. Escalus! + ESCALUS. My lord. + DUKE. Of government the properties to unfold + Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse, + Since I am put to know that your own science + Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice + My strength can give you; then no more remains + But that to your sufficiency- as your worth is able- + And let them work. The nature of our people, + Our city's institutions, and the terms + For common justice, y'are as pregnant in + As art and practice hath enriched any + That we remember. There is our commission, + From which we would not have you warp. Call hither, + I say, bid come before us, Angelo. Exit an ATTENDANT + What figure of us think you he will bear? + For you must know we have with special soul + Elected him our absence to supply; + Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, + And given his deputation all the organs + Of our own power. What think you of it? + ESCALUS. If any in Vienna be of worth + To undergo such ample grace and honour, + It is Lord Angelo. + + Enter ANGELO + + DUKE. Look where he comes. + ANGELO. Always obedient to your Grace's will, + I come to know your pleasure. + DUKE. Angelo, + There is a kind of character in thy life + That to th' observer doth thy history + Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings + Are not thine own so proper as to waste + Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. + Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, + Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues + Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike + As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd + But to fine issues; nor Nature never lends + The smallest scruple of her excellence + But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines + Herself the glory of a creditor, + Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech + To one that can my part in him advertise. + Hold, therefore, Angelo- + In our remove be thou at full ourself; + Mortality and mercy in Vienna + Live in thy tongue and heart. Old Escalus, + Though first in question, is thy secondary. + Take thy commission. + ANGELO. Now, good my lord, + Let there be some more test made of my metal, + Before so noble and so great a figure + Be stamp'd upon it. + DUKE. No more evasion! + We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice + Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. + Our haste from hence is of so quick condition + That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd + Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, + As time and our concernings shall importune, + How it goes with us, and do look to know + What doth befall you here. So, fare you well. + To th' hopeful execution do I leave you + Of your commissions. + ANGELO. Yet give leave, my lord, + That we may bring you something on the way. + DUKE. My haste may not admit it; + Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do + With any scruple: your scope is as mine own, + So to enforce or qualify the laws + As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand; + I'll privily away. I love the people, + But do not like to stage me to their eyes; + Though it do well, I do not relish well + Their loud applause and Aves vehement; + Nor do I think the man of safe discretion + That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. + ANGELO. The heavens give safety to your purposes! + ESCALUS. Lead forth and bring you back in happiness! + DUKE. I thank you. Fare you well. Exit + ESCALUS. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave + To have free speech with you; and it concerns me + To look into the bottom of my place: + A pow'r I have, but of what strength and nature + I am not yet instructed. + ANGELO. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together, + And we may soon our satisfaction have + Touching that point. + ESCALUS. I'll wait upon your honour. Exeunt + +SCENE II. A street + +Enter Lucio and two other GENTLEMEN + + LUCIO. If the Duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition + with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the + King. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of + Hungary's! + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Amen. + LUCIO. Thou conclud'st like the sanctimonious pirate that went to + sea with the Ten Commandments, but scrap'd one out of the table. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Thou shalt not steal'? + LUCIO. Ay, that he raz'd. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain + and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal. + There's not a soldier of us all that, in the thanksgiving before + meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. I never heard any soldier dislike it. + LUCIO. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was + said. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. No? A dozen times at least. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. What, in metre? + LUCIO. In any proportion or in any language. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think, or in any religion. + LUCIO. Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy; as, + for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all + grace. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Well, there went but a pair of shears between us. + LUCIO. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet. + Thou art the list. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. And thou the velvet; thou art good velvet; thou'rt + a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of + an English kersey as be pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French + velvet. Do I speak feelingly now? + LUCIO. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of + thy speech. I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin + thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. I think I have done myself wrong, have I not? + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or + free. + + Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE + + LUCIO. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have + purchas'd as many diseases under her roof as come to- + SECOND GENTLEMAN. To what, I pray? + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Judge. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. To three thousand dolours a year. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, and more. + LUCIO. A French crown more. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Thou art always figuring diseases in me, but thou + art full of error; I am sound. + LUCIO. Nay, not, as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things + that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast + of thee. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. How now! which of your hips has the most profound + sciatica? + MRS. OVERDONE. Well, well! there's one yonder arrested and carried + to prison was worth five thousand of you all. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who's that, I pray thee? + MRS. OVERDONE. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. Claudio to prison? 'Tis not so. + MRS. OVERDONE. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested; saw him + carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his + head to be chopp'd off. + LUCIO. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art + thou sure of this? + MRS. OVERDONE. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting Madam + Julietta with child. + LUCIO. Believe me, this may be; he promis'd to meet me two hours + since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping. + SECOND GENTLEMAN. Besides, you know, it draws something near to the + speech we had to such a purpose. + FIRST GENTLEMAN. But most of all agreeing with the proclamation. + LUCIO. Away; let's go learn the truth of it. + Exeunt Lucio and GENTLEMEN + MRS. OVERDONE. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what + with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. + + Enter POMPEY + + How now! what's the news with you? + POMPEY. Yonder man is carried to prison. + MRS. OVERDONE. Well, what has he done? + POMPEY. A woman. + MRS. OVERDONE. But what's his offence? + POMPEY. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. + MRS. OVERDONE. What! is there a maid with child by him? + POMPEY. No; but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not + heard of the proclamation, have you? + MRS. OVERDONE. What proclamation, man? + POMPEY. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck'd down. + MRS. OVERDONE. And what shall become of those in the city? + POMPEY. They shall stand for seed; they had gone down too, but that + a wise burgher put in for them. + MRS. OVERDONE. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be + pull'd down? + POMPEY. To the ground, mistress. + MRS. OVERDONE. Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth! + What shall become of me? + POMPEY. Come, fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients. + Though you change your place you need not change your trade; I'll + be your tapster still. Courage, there will be pity taken on you; + you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will + be considered. + MRS. OVERDONE. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's withdraw. + POMPEY. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison; + and there's Madam Juliet. Exeunt + + Enter PROVOST, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and OFFICERS; + LUCIO following + + CLAUDIO. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th' world? + Bear me to prison, where I am committed. + PROVOST. I do it not in evil disposition, + But from Lord Angelo by special charge. + CLAUDIO. Thus can the demigod Authority + Make us pay down for our offence by weight + The words of heaven: on whom it will, it will; + On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just. + LUCIO. Why, how now, Claudio, whence comes this restraint? + CLAUDIO. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty; + As surfeit is the father of much fast, + So every scope by the immoderate use + Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, + Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, + A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die. + LUCIO. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for + certain of my creditors; and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief + have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. + What's thy offence, Claudio? + CLAUDIO. What but to speak of would offend again. + LUCIO. What, is't murder? + CLAUDIO. No. + LUCIO. Lechery? + CLAUDIO. Call it so. + PROVOST. Away, sir; you must go. + CLAUDIO. One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you. + LUCIO. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd + after? + CLAUDIO. Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract + I got possession of Julietta's bed. + You know the lady; she is fast my wife, + Save that we do the denunciation lack + Of outward order; this we came not to, + Only for propagation of a dow'r + Remaining in the coffer of her friends. + From whom we thought it meet to hide our love + Till time had made them for us. But it chances + The stealth of our most mutual entertainment, + With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. + LUCIO. With child, perhaps? + CLAUDIO. Unhappily, even so. + And the new deputy now for the Duke- + Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, + Or whether that the body public be + A horse whereon the governor doth ride, + Who, newly in the seat, that it may know + He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; + Whether the tyranny be in his place, + Or in his eminence that fills it up, + I stagger in. But this new governor + Awakes me all the enrolled penalties + Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by th' wall + So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round + And none of them been worn; and, for a name, + Now puts the drowsy and neglected act + Freshly on me. 'Tis surely for a name. + LUCIO. I warrant it is; and thy head stands so tickle on thy + shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. + Send after the Duke, and appeal to him. + CLAUDIO. I have done so, but he's not to be found. + I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service: + This day my sister should the cloister enter, + And there receive her approbation; + Acquaint her with the danger of my state; + Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends + To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him. + I have great hope in that; for in her youth + There is a prone and speechless dialect + Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art + When she will play with reason and discourse, + And well she can persuade. + LUCIO. I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like, + which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the + enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus + foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. + CLAUDIO. I thank you, good friend Lucio. + LUCIO. Within two hours. + CLAUDIO. Come, officer, away. Exeunt + +SCENE III. A monastery + +Enter DUKE and FRIAR THOMAS + + DUKE. No, holy father; throw away that thought; + Believe not that the dribbling dart of love + Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee + To give me secret harbour hath a purpose + More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends + Of burning youth. + FRIAR. May your Grace speak of it? + DUKE. My holy sir, none better knows than you + How I have ever lov'd the life removed, + And held in idle price to haunt assemblies + Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps. + I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, + A man of stricture and firm abstinence, + My absolute power and place here in Vienna, + And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; + For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, + And so it is received. Now, pious sir, + You will demand of me why I do this. + FRIAR. Gladly, my lord. + DUKE. We have strict statutes and most biting laws, + The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds, + Which for this fourteen years we have let slip; + Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, + That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, + Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, + Only to stick it in their children's sight + For terror, not to use, in time the rod + Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees, + Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead; + And liberty plucks justice by the nose; + The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart + Goes all decorum. + FRIAR. It rested in your Grace + To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd; + And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd + Than in Lord Angelo. + DUKE. I do fear, too dreadful. + Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, + 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them + For what I bid them do; for we bid this be done, + When evil deeds have their permissive pass + And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my father, + I have on Angelo impos'd the office; + Who may, in th' ambush of my name, strike home, + And yet my nature never in the fight + To do in slander. And to behold his sway, + I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, + Visit both prince and people. Therefore, I prithee, + Supply me with the habit, and instruct me + How I may formally in person bear me + Like a true friar. Moe reasons for this action + At our more leisure shall I render you. + Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise; + Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses + That his blood flows, or that his appetite + Is more to bread than stone. Hence shall we see, + If power change purpose, what our seemers be. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. A nunnery + +Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA + + ISABELLA. And have you nuns no farther privileges? + FRANCISCA. Are not these large enough? + ISABELLA. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more, + But rather wishing a more strict restraint + Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. + LUCIO. [ Within] Ho! Peace be in this place! + ISABELLA. Who's that which calls? + FRANCISCA. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, + Turn you the key, and know his business of him: + You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn; + When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men + But in the presence of the prioress; + Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, + Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. + He calls again; I pray you answer him. Exit FRANCISCA + ISABELLA. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls? + + Enter LUCIO + + LUCIO. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses + Proclaim you are no less. Can you so stead me + As bring me to the sight of Isabella, + A novice of this place, and the fair sister + To her unhappy brother Claudio? + ISABELLA. Why her 'unhappy brother'? Let me ask + The rather, for I now must make you know + I am that Isabella, and his sister. + LUCIO. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you. + Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. + ISABELLA. Woe me! For what? + LUCIO. For that which, if myself might be his judge, + He should receive his punishment in thanks: + He hath got his friend with child. + ISABELLA. Sir, make me not your story. + LUCIO. It is true. + I would not- though 'tis my familiar sin + With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, + Tongue far from heart- play with all virgins so: + I hold you as a thing enskied and sainted, + By your renouncement an immortal spirit, + And to be talk'd with in sincerity, + As with a saint. + ISABELLA. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. + LUCIO. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus: + Your brother and his lover have embrac'd. + As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time + That from the seedness the bare fallow brings + To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb + Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. + ISABELLA. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet? + LUCIO. Is she your cousin? + ISABELLA. Adoptedly, as school-maids change their names + By vain though apt affection. + LUCIO. She it is. + ISABELLA. O, let him marry her! + LUCIO. This is the point. + The Duke is very strangely gone from hence; + Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, + In hand, and hope of action; but we do learn, + By those that know the very nerves of state, + His givings-out were of an infinite distance + From his true-meant design. Upon his place, + And with full line of his authority, + Governs Lord Angelo, a man whose blood + Is very snow-broth, one who never feels + The wanton stings and motions of the sense, + But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge + With profits of the mind, study and fast. + He- to give fear to use and liberty, + Which have for long run by the hideous law, + As mice by lions- hath pick'd out an act + Under whose heavy sense your brother's life + Falls into forfeit; he arrests him on it, + And follows close the rigour of the statute + To make him an example. All hope is gone, + Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer + To soften Angelo. And that's my pith of business + 'Twixt you and your poor brother. + ISABELLA. Doth he so seek his life? + LUCIO. Has censur'd him + Already, and, as I hear, the Provost hath + A warrant for his execution. + ISABELLA. Alas! what poor ability's in me + To do him good? + LUCIO. Assay the pow'r you have. + ISABELLA. My power, alas, I doubt! + LUCIO. Our doubts are traitors, + And make us lose the good we oft might win + By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, + And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, + Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, + All their petitions are as freely theirs + As they themselves would owe them. + ISABELLA. I'll see what I can do. + LUCIO. But speedily. + ISABELLA. I will about it straight; + No longer staying but to give the Mother + Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you. + Commend me to my brother; soon at night + I'll send him certain word of my success. + LUCIO. I take my leave of you. + ISABELLA. Good sir, adieu. Exeunt + +ACT II. Scene I. A hall in ANGELO'S house + +Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, a JUSTICE, PROVOST, OFFICERS, and other +ATTENDANTS + + ANGELO. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, + Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, + And let it keep one shape till custom make it + Their perch, and not their terror. + ESCALUS. Ay, but yet + Let us be keen, and rather cut a little + Than fall and bruise to death. Alas! this gentleman, + Whom I would save, had a most noble father. + Let but your honour know, + Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, + That, in the working of your own affections, + Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, + Or that the resolute acting of our blood + Could have attain'd th' effect of your own purpose + Whether you had not sometime in your life + Err'd in this point which now you censure him, + And pull'd the law upon you. + ANGELO. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, + Another thing to fall. I not deny + The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, + May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two + Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice, + That justice seizes. What knows the laws + That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant, + The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't, + Because we see it; but what we do not see + We tread upon, and never think of it. + You may not so extenuate his offence + For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, + When I, that censure him, do so offend, + Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, + And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. + ESCALUS. Be it as your wisdom will. + ANGELO. Where is the Provost? + PROVOST. Here, if it like your honour. + ANGELO. See that Claudio + Be executed by nine to-morrow morning; + Bring him his confessor; let him be prepar'd; + For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. Exit PROVOST + ESCALUS. [Aside] Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all! + Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall; + Some run from breaks of ice, and answer none, + And some condemned for a fault alone. + + Enter ELBOW and OFFICERS with FROTH and POMPEY + + ELBOW. Come, bring them away; if these be good people in a + commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, + I know no law; bring them away. + ANGELO. How now, sir! What's your name, and what's the matter? + ELBOW. If it please your honour, I am the poor Duke's constable, + and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring + in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. + ANGELO. Benefactors! Well- what benefactors are they? Are they not + malefactors? + ELBOW. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are; but + precise villains they are, that I am sure of, and void of all + profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. + ESCALUS. This comes off well; here's a wise officer. + ANGELO. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why + dost thou not speak, Elbow? + POMPEY. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. + ANGELO. What are you, sir? + ELBOW. He, sir? A tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad + woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, pluck'd down in the + suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a + very ill house too. + ESCALUS. How know you that? + ELBOW. My Wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour- + ESCALUS. How! thy wife! + ELBOW. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an honest woman- + ESCALUS. Dost thou detest her therefore? + ELBOW. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that + this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, + for it is a naughty house. + ESCALUS. How dost thou know that, constable? + ELBOW. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman + cardinally given, might have been accus'd in fornication, + adultery, and all uncleanliness there. + ESCALUS. By the woman's means? + ELBOW. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means; but as she spit in + his face, so she defied him. + POMPEY. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. + ELBOW. Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man, + prove it. + ESCALUS. Do you hear how he misplaces? + POMPEY. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your + honour's reverence, for stew'd prunes. Sir, we had but two in the + house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a + fruit dish, a dish of some three pence; your honours have seen + such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes. + ESCALUS. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir. + POMPEY. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the + right; but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as + I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I + said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, + Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I + said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you + know, Master Froth, I could not give you three pence again- + FROTH. No, indeed. + POMPEY. Very well; you being then, if you be rememb'red, cracking + the stones of the foresaid prunes- + FROTH. Ay, so I did indeed. + POMPEY. Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be rememb'red, + that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you + wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you- + FROTH. All this is true. + POMPEY. Why, very well then- + ESCALUS. Come, you are a tedious fool. To the purpose: what was + done to Elbow's wife that he hath cause to complain of? Come me + to what was done to her. + POMPEY. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. + ESCALUS. No, sir, nor I mean it not. + POMPEY. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, + I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir, a man of + fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas- was't not + at Hallowmas, Master Froth? + FROTH. All-hallond eve. + POMPEY. Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as + I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, + where, indeed, you have a delight to sit, have you not? + FROTH. I have so; because it is an open room, and good for winter. + POMPEY. Why, very well then; I hope here be truths. + ANGELO. This will last out a night in Russia, + When nights are longest there; I'll take my leave, + And leave you to the hearing of the cause, + Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. + ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. + [Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow's wife, + once more? + POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once. + ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. + POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me. + ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her? + POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good + Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth + your honour mark his face? + ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well. + POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. + ESCALUS. Well, I do so. + POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? + ESCALUS. Why, no. + POMPEY. I'll be suppos'd upon a book his face is the worst thing + about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him, + how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would + know that of your honour. + ESCALUS. He's in the right, constable; what say you to it? + ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, + this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected + woman. + POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than + any of us all. + ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is + yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or + child. + POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. + ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this + true? + ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I + respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was + respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me + the poor Duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or + I'll have mine action of batt'ry on thee. + ESCALUS. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might have your + action of slander too. + ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your + worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff? + ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that + thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his + courses till thou know'st what they are. + ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked + varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to continue now, + thou varlet; thou art to continue. + ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend? + FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir. + ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year? + FROTH. Yes, an't please you, sir. + ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir? + POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow's tapster. + ESCALUS. Your mistress' name? + POMPEY. Mistress Overdone. + ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband? + POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. + ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I + would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you, + Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me + hear no more of you. + FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into + any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in. + ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH] + Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what's your name, Master + Tapster? + POMPEY. Pompey. + ESCALUS. What else? + POMPEY. Bum, sir. + ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so + that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, + you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a + tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better + for you. + POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. + ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey- by being a bawd? What do you + think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade? + POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir. + ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be + allowed in Vienna. + POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of + the city? + ESCALUS. No, Pompey. + POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If + your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you + need not to fear the bawds. + ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it + is but heading and hanging. + POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten + year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more + heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest + house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come + to pass, say Pompey told you so. + ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy, + hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon + any complaint whatsoever- no, not for dwelling where you do; if I + do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd + Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt. + So for this time, Pompey, fare you well. + POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I + shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. + Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade; + The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. Exit + ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master + Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable? + ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir. + ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had + continued in it some time. You say seven years together? + ELBOW. And a half, sir. + ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong + to put you so oft upon't. Are there not men in your ward + sufficient to serve it? + ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are + chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some + piece of money, and go through with all. + ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the + most sufficient of your parish. + ELBOW. To your worship's house, sir? + ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW] + What's o'clock, think you? + JUSTICE. Eleven, sir. + ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me. + JUSTICE. I humbly thank you. + ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; + But there's no remedy. + JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe. + ESCALUS. It is but needful: + Mercy is not itself that oft looks so; + Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. + But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy. + Come, sir. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Another room in ANGELO'S house + +Enter PROVOST and a SERVANT + + SERVANT. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight. + I'll tell him of you. + PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I'll know + His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, + He hath but as offended in a dream! + All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he + To die for 't! + + Enter ANGELO + + ANGELO. Now, what's the matter, Provost? + PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? + ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order? + Why dost thou ask again? + PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash; + Under your good correction, I have seen + When, after execution, judgment hath + Repented o'er his doom. + ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine. + Do you your office, or give up your place, + And you shall well be spar'd. + PROVOST. I crave your honour's pardon. + What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? + She's very near her hour. + ANGELO. Dispose of her + To some more fitter place, and that with speed. + + Re-enter SERVANT + + SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd + Desires access to you. + ANGELO. Hath he a sister? + PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, + And to be shortly of a sisterhood, + If not already. + ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted. Exit SERVANT + See you the fornicatress be remov'd; + Let her have needful but not lavish means; + There shall be order for't. + + Enter Lucio and ISABELLA + + PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour! + ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y'are welcome; what's + your will? + ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, + Please but your honour hear me. + ANGELO. Well; what's your suit? + ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor, + And most desire should meet the blow of justice; + For which I would not plead, but that I must; + For which I must not plead, but that I am + At war 'twixt will and will not. + ANGELO. Well; the matter? + ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn'd to die; + I do beseech you, let it be his fault, + And not my brother. + PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces. + ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it! + Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done; + Mine were the very cipher of a function, + To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, + And let go by the actor. + ISABELLA. O just but severe law! + I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour! + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give't not o'er so; to him again, entreat him, + Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; + You are too cold: if you should need a pin, + You could not with more tame a tongue desire it. + To him, I say. + ISABELLA. Must he needs die? + ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy. + ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him. + And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. + ANGELO. I will not do't. + ISABELLA. But can you, if you would? + ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. + ISABELLA. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, + If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse + As mine is to him? + ANGELO. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold. + ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word, + May call it back again. Well, believe this: + No ceremony that to great ones longs, + Not the king's crown nor the deputed sword, + The marshal's truncheon nor the judge's robe, + Become them with one half so good a grace + As mercy does. + If he had been as you, and you as he, + You would have slipp'd like him; but he, like you, + Would not have been so stern. + ANGELO. Pray you be gone. + ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency, + And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus? + No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge + And what a prisoner. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there's the vein. + ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, + And you but waste your words. + ISABELLA. Alas! Alas! + Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; + And He that might the vantage best have took + Found out the remedy. How would you be + If He, which is the top of judgment, should + But judge you as you are? O, think on that; + And mercy then will breathe within your lips, + Like man new made. + ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid. + It is the law, not I condemn your brother. + Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, + It should be thus with him. He must die to-morrow. + ISABELLA. To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him. + He's not prepar'd for death. Even for our kitchens + We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven + With less respect than we do minister + To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you. + Who is it that hath died for this offence? + There's many have committed it. + LUCIO. [Aside] Ay, well said. + ANGELO. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. + Those many had not dar'd to do that evil + If the first that did th' edict infringe + Had answer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake, + Takes note of what is done, and, like a prophet, + Looks in a glass that shows what future evils- + Either now or by remissness new conceiv'd, + And so in progress to be hatch'd and born- + Are now to have no successive degrees, + But here they live to end. + ISABELLA. Yet show some pity. + ANGELO. I show it most of all when I show justice; + For then I pity those I do not know, + Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall, + And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, + Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; + Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. + ISABELLA. So you must be the first that gives this sentence, + And he that suffers. O, it is excellent + To have a giant's strength! But it is tyrannous + To use it like a giant. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] That's well said. + ISABELLA. Could great men thunder + As Jove himself does, Jove would never be quiet, + For every pelting petty officer + Would use his heaven for thunder, + Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven, + Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, + Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak + Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man, + Dress'd in a little brief authority, + Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, + His glassy essence, like an angry ape, + Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven + As makes the angels weep; who, with our speens, + Would all themselves laugh mortal. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent; + He's coming; I perceive 't. + PROVOST. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him. + ISABELLA. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself. + Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them; + But in the less foul profanation. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Thou'rt i' th' right, girl; more o' that. + ISABELLA. That in the captain's but a choleric word + Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Art avis'd o' that? More on't. + ANGELO. Why do you put these sayings upon me? + ISABELLA. Because authority, though it err like others, + Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself + That skins the vice o' th' top. Go to your bosom, + Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know + That's like my brother's fault. If it confess + A natural guiltiness such as is his, + Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue + Against my brother's life. + ANGELO. [Aside] She speaks, and 'tis + Such sense that my sense breeds with it.- Fare you well. + ISABELLA. Gentle my lord, turn back. + ANGELO. I will bethink me. Come again to-morrow. + ISABELLA. Hark how I'll bribe you; good my lord, turn back. + ANGELO. How, bribe me? + ISABELLA. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA) You had marr'd all else. + ISABELLA. Not with fond sicles of the tested gold, + Or stones, whose rate are either rich or poor + As fancy values them; but with true prayers + That shall be up at heaven and enter there + Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls, + From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate + To nothing temporal. + ANGELO. Well; come to me to-morrow. + LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Go to; 'tis well; away. + ISABELLA. Heaven keep your honour safe! + ANGELO. [Aside] Amen; for I + Am that way going to temptation + Where prayers cross. + ISABELLA. At what hour to-morrow + Shall I attend your lordship? + ANGELO. At any time 'fore noon. + ISABELLA. Save your honour! Exeunt all but ANGELO + ANGELO. From thee; even from thy virtue! + What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine? + The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? + Ha! + Not she; nor doth she tempt; but it is I + That, lying by the violet in the sun, + Do as the carrion does, not as the flow'r, + Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be + That modesty may more betray our sense + Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, + Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, + And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie! + What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? + Dost thou desire her foully for those things + That make her good? O, let her brother live! + Thieves for their robbery have authority + When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her, + That I desire to hear her speak again, + And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on? + O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, + With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous + Is that temptation that doth goad us on + To sin in loving virtue. Never could the strumpet, + With all her double vigour, art and nature, + Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid + Subdues me quite. Ever till now, + When men were fond, I smil'd and wond'red how. Exit + +SCENE III. A prison + +Enter, severally, DUKE, disguised as a FRIAR, and PROVOST + + DUKE. Hail to you, Provost! so I think you are. + PROVOST. I am the Provost. What's your will, good friar? + DUKE. Bound by my charity and my blest order, + I come to visit the afflicted spirits + Here in the prison. Do me the common right + To let me see them, and to make me know + The nature of their crimes, that I may minister + To them accordingly. + PROVOST. I would do more than that, if more were needful. + + Enter JULIET + + Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine, + Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, + Hath blister'd her report. She is with child; + And he that got it, sentenc'd- a young man + More fit to do another such offence + Than die for this. + DUKE. When must he die? + PROVOST. As I do think, to-morrow. + [To JULIET] I have provided for you; stay awhile + And you shall be conducted. + DUKE. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? + JULIET. I do; and bear the shame most patiently. + DUKE. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, + And try your penitence, if it be sound + Or hollowly put on. + JULIET. I'll gladly learn. + DUKE. Love you the man that wrong'd you? + JULIET. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. + DUKE. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act + Was mutually committed. + JULIET. Mutually. + DUKE. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. + JULIET. I do confess it, and repent it, father. + DUKE. 'Tis meet so, daughter; but lest you do repent + As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, + Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven, + Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, + But as we stand in fear- + JULIET. I do repent me as it is an evil, + And take the shame with joy. + DUKE. There rest. + Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, + And I am going with instruction to him. + Grace go with you! Benedicite! Exit + JULIET. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious law, + That respites me a life whose very comfort + Is still a dying horror! + PROVOST. 'Tis pity of him. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. ANGELO'S house + +Enter ANGELO + + ANGELO. When I would pray and think, I think and pray + To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words, + Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, + Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth, + As if I did but only chew his name, + And in my heart the strong and swelling evil + Of my conception. The state whereon I studied + Is, like a good thing being often read, + Grown sere and tedious; yea, my gravity, + Wherein- let no man hear me- I take pride, + Could I with boot change for an idle plume + Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, + How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, + Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls + To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood. + Let's write 'good angel' on the devil's horn; + 'Tis not the devil's crest. + + Enter SERVANT + + How now, who's there? + SERVANT. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. + ANGELO. Teach her the way. [Exit SERVANT] O heavens! + Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, + Making both it unable for itself + And dispossessing all my other parts + Of necessary fitness? + So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; + Come all to help him, and so stop the air + By which he should revive; and even so + The general subject to a well-wish'd king + Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness + Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love + Must needs appear offence. + + Enter ISABELLA + + How now, fair maid? + ISABELLA. I am come to know your pleasure. + ANGELO. That you might know it would much better please me + Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. + ISABELLA. Even so! Heaven keep your honour! + ANGELO. Yet may he live awhile, and, it may be, + As long as you or I; yet he must die. + ISABELLA. Under your sentence? + ANGELO. Yea. + ISABELLA. When? I beseech you; that in his reprieve, + Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted + That his soul sicken not. + ANGELO. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good + To pardon him that hath from nature stol'n + A man already made, as to remit + Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image + In stamps that are forbid; 'tis all as easy + Falsely to take away a life true made + As to put metal in restrained means + To make a false one. + ISABELLA. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. + ANGELO. Say you so? Then I shall pose you quickly. + Which had you rather- that the most just law + Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, + Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness + As she that he hath stain'd? + ISABELLA. Sir, believe this: + I had rather give my body than my soul. + ANGELO. I talk not of your soul; our compell'd sins + Stand more for number than for accompt. + ISABELLA. How say you? + ANGELO. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak + Against the thing I say. Answer to this: + I, now the voice of the recorded law, + Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life; + Might there not be a charity in sin + To save this brother's life? + ISABELLA. Please you to do't, + I'll take it as a peril to my soul + It is no sin at all, but charity. + ANGELO. Pleas'd you to do't at peril of your soul, + Were equal poise of sin and charity. + ISABELLA. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, + Heaven let me bear it! You granting of my suit, + If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer + To have it added to the faults of mine, + And nothing of your answer. + ANGELO. Nay, but hear me; + Your sense pursues not mine; either you are ignorant + Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good. + ISABELLA. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good + But graciously to know I am no better. + ANGELO. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright + When it doth tax itself; as these black masks + Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder + Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me: + To be received plain, I'll speak more gross- + Your brother is to die. + ISABELLA. So. + ANGELO. And his offence is so, as it appears, + Accountant to the law upon that pain. + ISABELLA. True. + ANGELO. Admit no other way to save his life, + As I subscribe not that, nor any other, + But, in the loss of question, that you, his sister, + Finding yourself desir'd of such a person + Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, + Could fetch your brother from the manacles + Of the all-binding law; and that there were + No earthly mean to save him but that either + You must lay down the treasures of your body + To this supposed, or else to let him suffer- + What would you do? + ISABELLA. As much for my poor brother as myself; + That is, were I under the terms of death, + Th' impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, + And strip myself to death as to a bed + That longing have been sick for, ere I'd yield + My body up to shame. + ANGELO. Then must your brother die. + ISABELLA. And 'twere the cheaper way: + Better it were a brother died at once + Than that a sister, by redeeming him, + Should die for ever. + ANGELO. Were not you, then, as cruel as the sentence + That you have slander'd so? + ISABELLA. Ignominy in ransom and free pardon + Are of two houses: lawful mercy + Is nothing kin to foul redemption. + ANGELO. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; + And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother + A merriment than a vice. + ISABELLA. O, pardon me, my lord! It oft falls out, + To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: + I something do excuse the thing I hate + For his advantage that I dearly love. + ANGELO. We are all frail. + ISABELLA. Else let my brother die, + If not a fedary but only he + Owe and succeed thy weakness. + ANGELO. Nay, women are frail too. + ISABELLA. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves, + Which are as easy broke as they make forms. + Women, help heaven! Men their creation mar + In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; + For we are soft as our complexions are, + And credulous to false prints. + ANGELO. I think it well; + And from this testimony of your own sex, + Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger + Than faults may shake our frames, let me be bold. + I do arrest your words. Be that you are, + That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; + If you be one, as you are well express'd + By all external warrants, show it now + By putting on the destin'd livery. + ISABELLA. I have no tongue but one; gentle, my lord, + Let me intreat you speak the former language. + ANGELO. Plainly conceive, I love you. + ISABELLA. My brother did love Juliet, + And you tell me that he shall die for't. + ANGELO. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. + ISABELLA. I know your virtue hath a license in't, + Which seems a little fouler than it is, + To pluck on others. + ANGELO. Believe me, on mine honour, + My words express my purpose. + ISABELLA. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd, + And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming! + I will proclaim thee, Angelo, look for't. + Sign me a present pardon for my brother + Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world aloud + What man thou art. + ANGELO. Who will believe thee, Isabel? + My unsoil'd name, th' austereness of my life, + My vouch against you, and my place i' th' state, + Will so your accusation overweigh + That you shall stifle in your own report, + And smell of calumny. I have begun, + And now I give my sensual race the rein: + Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; + Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes + That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother + By yielding up thy body to my will; + Or else he must not only die the death, + But thy unkindness shall his death draw out + To ling'ring sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, + Or, by the affection that now guides me most, + I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, + Say what you can: my false o'erweighs your true. Exit + ISABELLA. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, + Who would believe me? O perilous mouths + That bear in them one and the self-same tongue + Either of condemnation or approof, + Bidding the law make curtsy to their will; + Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite, + To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother. + Though he hath fall'n by prompture of the blood, + Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour + That, had he twenty heads to tender down + On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up + Before his sister should her body stoop + To such abhorr'd pollution. + Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: + More than our brother is our chastity. + I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, + And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. Exit + +ACT III. SCENE I. The prison + +Enter DUKE, disguised as before, CLAUDIO, and PROVOST + + DUKE. So, then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? + CLAUDIO. The miserable have no other medicine + But only hope: + I have hope to Eve, and am prepar'd to die. + DUKE. Be absolute for death; either death or life + Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life. + If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing + That none but fools would keep. A breath thou art, + Servile to all the skyey influences, + That dost this habitation where thou keep'st + Hourly afflict. Merely, thou art Death's fool; + For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun + And yet run'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; + For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st + Are nurs'd by baseness. Thou 'rt by no means valiant; + For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork + Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, + And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st + Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; + For thou exists on many a thousand grains + That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; + For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get, + And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; + For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, + After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; + For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, + Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, + And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; + For thine own bowels which do call thee sire, + The mere effusion of thy proper loins, + Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, + For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, + But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, + Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth + Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms + Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, + Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, + To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this + That bears the name of life? Yet in this life + Lie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we fear, + That makes these odds all even. + CLAUDIO. I humbly thank you. + To sue to live, I find I seek to die; + And, seeking death, find life. Let it come on. + ISABELLA. [Within] What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company! + PROVOST. Who's there? Come in; the wish deserves a welcome. + DUKE. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. + CLAUDIO. Most holy sir, I thank you. + + Enter ISABELLA + + ISABELLA. My business is a word or two with Claudio. + PROVOST. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. + DUKE. Provost, a word with you. + PROVOST. As many as you please. + DUKE. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be conceal'd. + Exeunt DUKE and PROVOST + CLAUDIO. Now, sister, what's the comfort? + ISABELLA. Why, + As all comforts are; most good, most good, indeed. + Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, + Intends you for his swift ambassador, + Where you shall be an everlasting leiger. + Therefore, your best appointment make with speed; + To-morrow you set on. + CLAUDIO. Is there no remedy? + ISABELLA. None, but such remedy as, to save a head, + To cleave a heart in twain. + CLAUDIO. But is there any? + ISABELLA. Yes, brother, you may live: + There is a devilish mercy in the judge, + If you'll implore it, that will free your life, + But fetter you till death. + CLAUDIO. Perpetual durance? + ISABELLA. Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, + Though all the world's vastidity you had, + To a determin'd scope. + CLAUDIO. But in what nature? + ISABELLA. In such a one as, you consenting to't, + Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, + And leave you naked. + CLAUDIO. Let me know the point. + ISABELLA. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, + Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, + And six or seven winters more respect + Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? + The sense of death is most in apprehension; + And the poor beetle that we tread upon + In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great + As when a giant dies. + CLAUDIO. Why give you me this shame? + Think you I can a resolution fetch + From flow'ry tenderness? If I must die, + I will encounter darkness as a bride + And hug it in mine arms. + ISABELLA. There spake my brother; there my father's grave + Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: + Thou art too noble to conserve a life + In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, + Whose settled visage and deliberate word + Nips youth i' th' head, and follies doth enew + As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil; + His filth within being cast, he would appear + A pond as deep as hell. + CLAUDIO. The precise Angelo! + ISABELLA. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell + The damned'st body to invest and cover + In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio, + If I would yield him my virginity + Thou mightst be freed? + CLAUDIO. O heavens! it cannot be. + ISABELLA. Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence, + So to offend him still. This night's the time + That I should do what I abhor to name, + Or else thou diest to-morrow. + CLAUDIO. Thou shalt not do't. + ISABELLA. O, were it but my life! + I'd throw it down for your deliverance + As frankly as a pin. + CLAUDIO. Thanks, dear Isabel. + ISABELLA. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. + CLAUDIO. Yes. Has he affections in him + That thus can make him bite the law by th' nose + When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; + Or of the deadly seven it is the least. + ISABELLA. Which is the least? + CLAUDIO. If it were damnable, he being so wise, + Why would he for the momentary trick + Be perdurably fin'd?- O Isabel! + ISABELLA. What says my brother? + CLAUDIO. Death is a fearful thing. + ISABELLA. And shamed life a hateful. + CLAUDIO. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; + To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; + This sensible warm motion to become + A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit + To bathe in fiery floods or to reside + In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; + To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, + And blown with restless violence round about + The pendent world; or to be worse than worst + Of those that lawless and incertain thought + Imagine howling- 'tis too horrible. + The weariest and most loathed worldly life + That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment, + Can lay on nature is a paradise + To what we fear of death. + ISABELLA. Alas, alas! + CLAUDIO. Sweet sister, let me live. + What sin you do to save a brother's life, + Nature dispenses with the deed so far + That it becomes a virtue. + ISABELLA. O you beast! + O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! + Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? + Is't not a kind of incest to take life + From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? + Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! + For such a warped slip of wilderness + Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance; + Die; perish. Might but my bending down + Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. + I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, + No word to save thee. + CLAUDIO. Nay, hear me, Isabel. + ISABELLA. O fie, fie, fie! + Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. + Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd; + 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. + CLAUDIO. O, hear me, Isabella. + + Re-enter DUKE + + DUKE. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. + ISABELLA. What is your will? + DUKE. Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have + some speech with you; the satisfaction I would require is + likewise your own benefit. + ISABELLA. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out + of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. + [Walks apart] + DUKE. Son, I have overheard what hath pass'd between you and your + sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath + made an assay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the + disposition of natures. She, having the truth of honour in her, + hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to + receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; + therefore prepare yourself to death. Do not satisfy your + resolution with hopes that are fallible; to-morrow you must die; + go to your knees and make ready. + CLAUDIO. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life + that I will sue to be rid of it. + DUKE. Hold you there. Farewell. [Exit CLAUDIO] Provost, a word with + you. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. What's your will, father? + DUKE. That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while + with the maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch + her by my company. + PROVOST. In good time. Exit PROVOST + DUKE. The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good; the + goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; + but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body + of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, + fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty + hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How + will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother? + ISABELLA. I am now going to resolve him; I had rather my brother + die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how + much is the good Duke deceiv'd in Angelo! If ever he return, and + I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his + government. + DUKE. That shall not be much amiss; yet, as the matter now stands, + he will avoid your accusation: he made trial of you only. + Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in + doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe + that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited + benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to + your own gracious person; and much please the absent Duke, if + peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this + business. + ISABELLA. Let me hear you speak farther; I have spirit to do + anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. + DUKE. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not + heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great + soldier who miscarried at sea? + ISABELLA. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her + name. + DUKE. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by + oath, and the nuptial appointed; between which time of the + contract and limit of the solemnity her brother Frederick was + wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his + sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: + there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward + her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of + her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate + husband, this well-seeming Angelo. + ISABELLA. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? + DUKE. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his + comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries + of dishonour; in few, bestow'd her on her own lamentation, which + she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is + washed with them, but relents not. + ISABELLA. What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from + the world! What corruption in this life that it will let this man + live! But how out of this can she avail? + DUKE. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and the cure of it + not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in + doing it. + ISABELLA. Show me how, good father. + DUKE. This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her + first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should + have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, + made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his + requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to + the point; only refer yourself to this advantage: first, that + your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all + shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. + This being granted in course- and now follows all: we shall + advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your + place. If the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may + compel him to her recompense; and here, by this, is your brother + saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and + the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for + his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the + doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What + think you of it? + ISABELLA. The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it + will grow to a most prosperous perfection. + DUKE. It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to + Angelo; if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him + promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's; there, + at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that + place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be + quickly. + ISABELLA. I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. + Exeunt severally + +Scene II. The street before the prison + +Enter, on one side, DUKE disguised as before; on the other, ELBOW, and +OFFICERS with POMPEY + + ELBOW. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs + buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the + world drink brown and white bastard. + DUKE. O heavens! what stuff is here? + POMPEY. 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest + was put down, and the worser allow'd by order of law a furr'd + gown to keep him warm; and furr'd with fox on lamb-skins too, to + signify that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the + facing. + ELBOW. Come your way, sir. Bless you, good father friar. + DUKE. And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made + you, sir? + ELBOW. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law; and, sir, we take him + to be a thief too, sir, for we have found upon him, sir, a + strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy. + DUKE. Fie, sirrah, a bawd, a wicked bawd! + The evil that thou causest to be done, + That is thy means to live. Do thou but think + What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back + From such a filthy vice; say to thyself + 'From their abominable and beastly touches + I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.' + Canst thou believe thy living is a life, + So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. + POMPEY. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, + I would prove- + DUKE. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, + Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer; + Correction and instruction must both work + Ere this rude beast will profit. + ELBOW. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning. + The deputy cannot abide a whoremaster; if he be a whoremonger, + and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. + DUKE. That we were all, as some would seem to be, + From our faults, as his faults from seeming, free. + ELBOW. His neck will come to your waist- a cord, sir. + + Enter LUCIO + + POMPEY. I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman, and a friend + of mine. + LUCIO. How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? Art + thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, + newly made woman, to be had now for putting the hand in the + pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What say'st + thou to this tune, matter, and method? Is't not drown'd i' th' + last rain, ha? What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was, + man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The + trick of it? + DUKE. Still thus, and thus; still worse! + LUCIO. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, + ha? + POMPEY. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is + herself in the tub. + LUCIO. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so; ever + your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd- an unshunn'd + consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? + POMPEY. Yes, faith, sir. + LUCIO. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell; go, say I sent thee + thither. For debt, Pompey- or how? + ELBOW. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. + LUCIO. Well, then, imprison him. If imprisonment be the due of a + bawd, why, 'tis his right. Bawd is he doubtless, and of + antiquity, too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to + the prison, Pompey. You will turn good husband now, Pompey; you + will keep the house. + POMPEY. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. + LUCIO. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will + pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage. If you take it not + patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu trusty Pompey. + Bless you, friar. + DUKE. And you. + LUCIO. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? + ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come. + POMPEY. You will not bail me then, sir? + LUCIO. Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news? + ELBOW. Come your ways, sir; come. + LUCIO. Go to kennel, Pompey, go. + + Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and OFFICERS + + What news, friar, of the Duke? + DUKE. I know none. Can you tell me of any? + LUCIO. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is + in Rome; but where is he, think you? + DUKE. I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well. + LUCIO. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the + state and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo + dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't. + DUKE. He does well in't. + LUCIO. A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him; + something too crabbed that way, friar. + DUKE. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. + LUCIO. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is + well allied; but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till + eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not + made by man and woman after this downright way of creation. Is it + true, think you? + DUKE. How should he be made, then? + LUCIO. Some report a sea-maid spawn'd him; some, that he was begot + between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes + water his urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true. And he + is a motion generative; that's infallible. + DUKE. You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. + LUCIO. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion + of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the Duke that + is absent have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the + getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a + thousand. He had some feeling of the sport; he knew the service, + and that instructed him to mercy. + DUKE. I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was + not inclin'd that way. + LUCIO. O, sir, you are deceiv'd. + DUKE. 'Tis not possible. + LUCIO. Who- not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use + was to put a ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in + him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you. + DUKE. You do him wrong, surely. + LUCIO. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and + I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. + DUKE. What, I prithee, might be the cause? + LUCIO. No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth + and the lips; but this I can let you understand: the greater file + of the subject held the Duke to be wise. + DUKE. Wise? Why, no question but he was. + LUCIO. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. + DUKE. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistaking; the very + stream of his life, and the business he hath helmed, must, upon a + warranted need, give him a better proclamation. Let him be but + testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to + the envious a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. Therefore you + speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much + dark'ned in your malice. + LUCIO. Sir, I know him, and I love him. + DUKE. Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer + love. + LUCIO. Come, sir, I know what I know. + DUKE. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. + But, if ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me + desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you + have spoke, you have courage to maintain it; I am bound to call + upon you; and I pray you your name? + LUCIO. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke. + DUKE. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. + LUCIO. I fear you not. + DUKE. O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me + too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm: + you'll forswear this again. + LUCIO. I'll be hang'd first. Thou art deceiv'd in me, friar. But no + more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? + DUKE. Why should he die, sir? + LUCIO. Why? For filling a bottle with a tun-dish. I would the Duke + we talk of were return'd again. This ungenitur'd agent will + unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in + his house-eaves because they are lecherous. The Duke yet would + have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to + light. Would he were return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned + for untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee pray for me. The + Duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not + past it yet; and, I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar + though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so. + Farewell. Exit + DUKE. No might nor greatness in mortality + Can censure scape; back-wounding calumny + The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong + Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? + But who comes here? + + Enter ESCALUS, PROVOST, and OFFICERS with + MISTRESS OVERDONE + + ESCALUS. Go, away with her to prison. + MRS. OVERDONE. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is + accounted a merciful man; good my lord. + ESCALUS. Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the + same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. + PROVOST. A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your + honour. + MRS. OVERDONE. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. + Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke's time; + he promis'd her marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old + come Philip and Jacob; I have kept it myself; and see how he goes + about to abuse me. + ESCALUS. That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be call'd + before us. Away with her to prison. Go to; no more words. [Exeunt + OFFICERS with MISTRESS OVERDONE] Provost, my brother Angelo will + not be alter'd: Claudio must die to-morrow. Let him be furnish'd + with divines, and have all charitable preparation. If my brother + wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. + PROVOST. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advis'd + him for th' entertainment of death. + ESCALUS. Good even, good father. + DUKE. Bliss and goodness on you! + ESCALUS. Of whence are you? + DUKE. Not of this country, though my chance is now + To use it for my time. I am a brother + Of gracious order, late come from the See + In special business from his Holiness. + ESCALUS. What news abroad i' th' world? + DUKE. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness that the + dissolution of it must cure it. Novelty is only in request; and, + as it is, as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course as it is + virtuous to be constant in any undertakeing. There is scarce + truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough + to make fellowships accurst. Much upon this riddle runs the + wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every + day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the Duke? + ESCALUS. One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to + know himself. + DUKE. What pleasure was he given to? + ESCALUS. Rather rejoicing to see another merry than merry at + anything which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all + temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they + may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find + Claudio prepar'd. I am made to understand that you have lent him + visitation. + DUKE. He professes to have received no sinister measure from his + judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of + justice. Yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his + frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my good + leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is resolv'd to die. + ESCALUS. You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner + the very debt of your calling. I have labour'd for the poor + gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty; but my brother + justice have I found so severe that he hath forc'd me to tell him + he is indeed Justice. + DUKE. If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it + shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath + sentenc'd himself. + ESCALUS. I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well. + DUKE. Peace be with you! Exeunt ESCALUS and PROVOST + + He who the sword of heaven will bear + Should be as holy as severe; + Pattern in himself to know, + Grace to stand, and virtue go; + More nor less to others paying + Than by self-offences weighing. + Shame to him whose cruel striking + Kills for faults of his own liking! + Twice treble shame on Angelo, + To weed my vice and let his grow! + O, what may man within him hide, + Though angel on the outward side! + How may likeness, made in crimes, + Make a practice on the times, + To draw with idle spiders' strings + Most ponderous and substantial things! + Craft against vice I must apply. + With Angelo to-night shall lie + His old betrothed but despised; + So disguise shall, by th' disguised, + Pay with falsehood false exacting, + And perform an old contracting. Exit + +ACT IV. Scene I. The moated grange at Saint Duke's + +Enter MARIANA; and BOY singing + + SONG + + Take, O, take those lips away, + That so sweetly were forsworn; + And those eyes, the break of day, + Lights that do mislead the morn; + But my kisses bring again, bring again; + Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain. + + Enter DUKE, disguised as before + + MARIANA. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away; + Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice + Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. Exit BOY + I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish + You had not found me here so musical. + Let me excuse me, and believe me so, + My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. + DUKE. 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm + To make bad good and good provoke to harm. + I pray you tell me hath anybody inquir'd for me here to-day. Much + upon this time have I promis'd here to meet. + MARIANA. You have not been inquir'd after; I have sat here all day. + + Enter ISABELLA + + DUKE. I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I + shall crave your forbearance a little. May be I will call upon + you anon, for some advantage to yourself. + MARIANA. I am always bound to you. Exit + DUKE. Very well met, and well come. + What is the news from this good deputy? + ISABELLA. He hath a garden circummur'd with brick, + Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; + And to that vineyard is a planched gate + That makes his opening with this bigger key; + This other doth command a little door + Which from the vineyard to the garden leads. + There have I made my promise + Upon the heavy middle of the night + To call upon him. + DUKE. But shall you on your knowledge find this way? + ISABELLA. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't; + With whispering and most guilty diligence, + In action all of precept, he did show me + The way twice o'er. + DUKE. Are there no other tokens + Between you 'greed concerning her observance? + ISABELLA. No, none, but only a repair i' th' dark; + And that I have possess'd him my most stay + Can be but brief; for I have made him know + I have a servant comes with me along, + That stays upon me; whose persuasion is + I come about my brother. + DUKE. 'Tis well borne up. + I have not yet made known to Mariana + A word of this. What ho, within! come forth. + + Re-enter MARIANA + + I pray you be acquainted with this maid; + She comes to do you good. + ISABELLA. I do desire the like. + DUKE. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? + MARIANA. Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. + DUKE. Take, then, this your companion by the hand, + Who hath a story ready for your ear. + I shall attend your leisure; but make haste; + The vaporous night approaches. + MARIANA. Will't please you walk aside? + Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA + DUKE. O place and greatness! Millions of false eyes + Are stuck upon thee. Volumes of report + Run with these false, and most contrarious quest + Upon thy doings. Thousand escapes of wit + Make thee the father of their idle dream, + And rack thee in their fancies. + + Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA + + Welcome, how agreed? + ISABELLA. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, + If you advise it. + DUKE. It is not my consent, + But my entreaty too. + ISABELLA. Little have you to say, + When you depart from him, but, soft and low, + 'Remember now my brother.' + MARIANA. Fear me not. + DUKE. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. + He is your husband on a pre-contract. + To bring you thus together 'tis no sin, + Sith that the justice of your title to him + Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go; + Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. Exeunt + +SCENE II. The prison + +Enter PROVOST and POMPEY + + PROVOST. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head? + POMPEY. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a + married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut of a + woman's head. + PROVOST. Come, sir, leave me your snatches and yield me a direct + answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here + is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a + helper; if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem + you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of + imprisonment, and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for + you have been a notorious bawd. + POMPEY. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet + I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to + receive some instructions from my fellow partner. + PROVOST. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson there? + + Enter ABHORSON + + ABHORSON. Do you call, sir? + PROVOST. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your + execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, + and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present, + and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath + been a bawd. + ABHORSON. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him! He will discredit our mystery. + PROVOST. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the + scale. Exit + POMPEY. Pray, sir, by your good favour- for surely, sir, a good + favour you have but that you have a hanging look- do you call, + sir, your occupation a mystery? + ABHORSON. Ay, sir; a mystery. + POMPEY. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your + whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do + prove my occupation a mystery; but what mystery there should be + in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. + ABHORSON. Sir, it is a mystery. + POMPEY. Proof? + ABHORSON. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too + little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it + be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough; so + every true man's apparel fits your thief. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. Are you agreed? + POMPEY. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more + penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. + PROVOST. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow + four o'clock. + ABHORSON. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow. + POMPEY. I do desire to learn, sir; and I hope, if you have occasion + to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly, + sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn. + PROVOST. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio. + Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY + Th' one has my pity; not a jot the other, + Being a murderer, though he were my brother. + + Enter CLAUDIO + + Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death; + 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow + Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? + CLAUDIO. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour + When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones. + He will not wake. + PROVOST. Who can do good on him? + Well, go, prepare yourself. [Knocking within] But hark, what + noise? + Heaven give your spirits comfort! Exit CLAUDIO + [Knocking continues] By and by. + I hope it is some pardon or reprieve + For the most gentle Claudio. + + Enter DUKE, disguised as before + + Welcome, father. + DUKE. The best and wholesom'st spirits of the night + Envelop you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late? + PROVOST. None, since the curfew rung. + DUKE. Not Isabel? + PROVOST. No. + DUKE. They will then, ere't be long. + PROVOST. What comfort is for Claudio? + DUKE. There's some in hope. + PROVOST. It is a bitter deputy. + DUKE. Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd + Even with the stroke and line of his great justice; + He doth with holy abstinence subdue + That in himself which he spurs on his pow'r + To qualify in others. Were he meal'd with that + Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; + But this being so, he's just. [Knocking within] Now are they + come. Exit PROVOST + This is a gentle provost; seldom when + The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. [Knocking within] + How now, what noise! That spirit's possess'd with haste + That wounds th' unsisting postern with these strokes. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. There he must stay until the officer + Arise to let him in; he is call'd up. + DUKE. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet + But he must die to-morrow? + PROVOST. None, sir, none. + DUKE. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is, + You shall hear more ere morning. + PROVOST. Happily + You something know; yet I believe there comes + No countermand; no such example have we. + Besides, upon the very siege of justice, + Lord Angelo hath to the public ear + Profess'd the contrary. + + Enter a MESSENGER + This is his lordship's man. + DUKE. And here comes Claudio's pardon. + MESSENGER. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further + charge, that you swerve not from the smallest article of it, + neither in time, matter, or other circumstance. Good morrow; for + as I take it, it is almost day. + PROVOST. I shall obey him. Exit MESSENGER + DUKE. [Aside] This is his pardon, purchas'd by such sin + For which the pardoner himself is in; + Hence hath offence his quick celerity, + When it is borne in high authority. + When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended + That for the fault's love is th' offender friended. + Now, sir, what news? + PROVOST. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine + office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks + strangely, for he hath not us'd it before. + DUKE. Pray you, let's hear. + PROVOST. [Reads] 'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let + Claudio be executed by four of the clock, and, in the afternoon, + Barnardine. For my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's + head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed, with a thought + that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not + to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.' + What say you to this, sir? + DUKE. What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in th' + afternoon? + PROVOST. A Bohemian born; but here nurs'd up and bred. + One that is a prisoner nine years old. + DUKE. How came it that the absent Duke had not either deliver'd him + to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his + manner to do so. + PROVOST. His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and, indeed, + his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to + an undoubted proof. + DUKE. It is now apparent? + PROVOST. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. + DUKE. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to + be touch'd? + PROVOST. A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a + drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless, of what's past, + present, or to come; insensible of mortality and desperately + mortal. + DUKE. He wants advice. + PROVOST. He will hear none. He hath evermore had the liberty of the + prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not; drunk many + times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft + awak'd him, as if to carry him to execution, and show'd him a + seeming warrant for it; it hath not moved him at all. + DUKE. More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost, + honesty and constancy. If I read it not truly, my ancient skill + beguiles me; but in the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself + in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no + greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenc'd him. To + make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four + days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and + a dangerous courtesy. + PROVOST. Pray, sir, in what? + DUKE. In the delaying death. + PROVOST. Alack! How may I do it, having the hour limited, and an + express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view + of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the + smallest. + DUKE. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions + may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, + and his head borne to Angelo. + PROVOST. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour. + DUKE. O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave + the head and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the + penitent to be so bar'd before his death. You know the course is + common. If anything fall to you upon this more than thanks and + good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against + it with my life. + PROVOST. Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath. + DUKE. Were you sworn to the Duke, or to the deputy? + PROVOST. To him and to his substitutes. + DUKE. You will think you have made no offence if the Duke avouch + the justice of your dealing? + PROVOST. But what likelihood is in that? + DUKE. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you + fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion, can + with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck + all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of + the Duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is + not strange to you. + PROVOST. I know them both. + DUKE. The contents of this is the return of the Duke; you shall + anon over-read it at your pleasure, where you shall find within + these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows + not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenour, + perchance of the Duke's death, perchance entering into some + monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, th' + unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into + amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but + easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with + Barnardine's head. I will give him a present shrift, and advise + him for a better place. Yet you are amaz'd, but this shall + absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. + Exeunt + +SCENE III. The prison + +Enter POMPEY + + POMPEY. I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of + profession; one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own house, + for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young Master + Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, nine + score and seventeen pounds, of which he made five marks ready money. + Marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were + all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master + Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-colour'd satin, + which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and + young Master Deepvow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starvelackey, + the rapier and dagger man, and young Dropheir that kill'd lusty + Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shootie + the great traveller, and wild Halfcan that stabb'd Pots, and, I + think, forty more- all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the + Lord's sake.' + + Enter ABHORSON + + ABHORSON. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. + POMPEY. Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang'd, Master + Barnardine! + ABHORSON. What ho, Barnardine! + BARNARDINE. [Within] A pox o' your throats! Who makes that noise + there? What are you? + POMPEY. Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, + to rise and be put to death. + BARNARDINE. [ Within ] Away, you rogue, away; I am sleepy. + ABHORSON. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too. + POMPEY. Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and + sleep afterwards. + ABHORSON. Go in to him, and fetch him out. + POMPEY. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. + + Enter BARNARDINE + + ABHORSON. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? + POMPEY. Very ready, sir. + BARNARDINE. How now, Abhorson, what's the news with you? + ABHORSON. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; + for, look you, the warrant's come. + BARNARDINE. You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not + fitted for't. + POMPEY. O, the better, sir! For he that drinks all night and is + hanged betimes in the morning may sleep the sounder all the next + day. + + Enter DUKE, disguised as before + + ABHORSON. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father. + Do we jest now, think you? + DUKE. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are + to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with + you. + BARNARDINE. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and + I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my + brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that's + certain. + DUKE. O, Sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you + Look forward on the journey you shall go. + BARNARDINE. I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion. + DUKE. But hear you- + BARNARDINE. Not a word; if you have anything to say to me, come to + my ward; for thence will not I to-day. Exit + DUKE. Unfit to live or die. O gravel heart! + After him, fellows; bring him to the block. + Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY + + Enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? + DUKE. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death; + And to transport him in the mind he is + Were damnable. + PROVOST. Here in the prison, father, + There died this morning of a cruel fever + One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, + A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head + Just of his colour. What if we do omit + This reprobate till he were well inclin'd, + And satisfy the deputy with the visage + Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? + DUKE. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides! + Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on + Prefix'd by Angelo. See this be done, + And sent according to command; whiles I + Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. + PROVOST. This shall be done, good father, presently. + But Barnardine must die this afternoon; + And how shall we continue Claudio, + To save me from the danger that might come + If he were known alive? + DUKE. Let this be done: + Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio. + Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting + To the under generation, you shall find + Your safety manifested. + PROVOST. I am your free dependant. + DUKE. Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo. + Exit PROVOST + Now will I write letters to Angelo- + The Provost, he shall bear them- whose contents + Shall witness to him I am near at home, + And that, by great injunctions, I am bound + To enter publicly. Him I'll desire + To meet me at the consecrated fount, + A league below the city; and from thence, + By cold gradation and well-balanc'd form. + We shall proceed with Angelo. + + Re-enter PROVOST + + PROVOST. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself. + DUKE. Convenient is it. Make a swift return; + For I would commune with you of such things + That want no ear but yours. + PROVOST. I'll make all speed. Exit + ISABELLA. [ Within ] Peace, ho, be here! + DUKE. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know + If yet her brother's pardon be come hither; + But I will keep her ignorant of her good, + To make her heavenly comforts of despair + When it is least expected. + + Enter ISABELLA + + ISABELLA. Ho, by your leave! + DUKE. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. + ISABELLA. The better, given me by so holy a man. + Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? + DUKE. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world. + His head is off and sent to Angelo. + ISABELLA. Nay, but it is not so. + DUKE. It is no other. + Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience, + ISABELLA. O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes! + DUKE. You shall not be admitted to his sight. + ISABELLA. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! + Injurious world! Most damned Angelo! + DUKE. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot; + Forbear it, therefore; give your cause to heaven. + Mark what I say, which you shall find + By every syllable a faithful verity. + The Duke comes home to-morrow. Nay, dry your eyes. + One of our covent, and his confessor, + Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried + Notice to Escalus and Angelo, + Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, + There to give up their pow'r. If you can, pace your wisdom + In that good path that I would wish it go, + And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, + Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart, + And general honour. + ISABELLA. I am directed by you. + DUKE. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give; + 'Tis that he sent me of the Duke's return. + Say, by this token, I desire his company + At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours + I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you + Before the Duke; and to the head of Angelo + Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, + I am combined by a sacred vow, + And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter. + Command these fretting waters from your eyes + With a light heart; trust not my holy order, + If I pervert your course. Who's here? + + Enter LUCIO + + LUCIO. Good even. Friar, where's the Provost? + DUKE. Not within, sir. + LUCIO. O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes + so red. Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with + water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one + fruitful meal would set me to't. But they say the Duke will be + here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother. If the + old fantastical Duke of dark corners had been at home, he had + lived. Exit ISABELLA + DUKE. Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports; + but the best is, he lives not in them. + LUCIO. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do; he's a + better woodman than thou tak'st him for. + DUKE. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well. + LUCIO. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can tell thee pretty + tales of the Duke. + DUKE. You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be + true; if not true, none were enough. + LUCIO. I was once before him for getting a wench with child. + DUKE. Did you such a thing? + LUCIO. Yes, marry, did I; but I was fain to forswear it: they would + else have married me to the rotten medlar. + DUKE. Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well. + LUCIO. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy + talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a + kind of burr; I shall stick. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. ANGELO'S house + +Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS + + ESCALUS. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd other. + ANGELO. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much + like to madness; pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why + meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there? + ESCALUS. I guess not. + ANGELO. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his + ent'ring that, if any crave redress of injustice, they should + exhibit their petitions in the street? + ESCALUS. He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of + complaints; and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which + shall then have no power to stand against us. + ANGELO. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd; + Betimes i' th' morn I'll call you at your house; + Give notice to such men of sort and suit + As are to meet him. + ESCALUS. I shall, sir; fare you well. + ANGELO. Good night. Exit ESCALUS + This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant + And dull to all proceedings. A deflow'red maid! + And by an eminent body that enforc'd + The law against it! But that her tender shame + Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, + How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no; + For my authority bears a so credent bulk + That no particular scandal once can touch + But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, + Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, + Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, + By so receiving a dishonour'd life + With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had liv'd! + Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, + Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. Exit + +SCENE V. Fields without the town + +Enter DUKE in his own habit, and Friar PETER + + DUKE. These letters at fit time deliver me. [Giving letters] + The Provost knows our purpose and our plot. + The matter being afoot, keep your instruction + And hold you ever to our special drift; + Though sometimes you do blench from this to that + As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house, + And tell him where I stay; give the like notice + To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, + And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; + But send me Flavius first. + PETER. It shall be speeded well. Exit FRIAR + + Enter VARRIUS + + DUKE. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste. + Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends + Will greet us here anon. My gentle Varrius! Exeunt + +SCENE VI. A street near the city gate + +Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA + + ISABELLA. To speak so indirectly I am loath; + I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, + That is your part. Yet I am advis'd to do it; + He says, to veil full purpose. + MARIANA. Be rul'd by him. + ISABELLA. Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure + He speak against me on the adverse side, + I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic + That's bitter to sweet end. + MARIANA. I would Friar Peter- + + Enter FRIAR PETER + + ISABELLA. O, peace! the friar is come. + PETER. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, + Where you may have such vantage on the Duke + He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded; + The generous and gravest citizens + Have hent the gates, and very near upon + The Duke is ent'ring; therefore, hence, away. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. The city gate + +Enter at several doors DUKE, VARRIUS, LORDS; ANGELO, ESCALUS, Lucio, +PROVOST, OFFICERS, and CITIZENS + + DUKE. My very worthy cousin, fairly met! + Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. + ANGELO, ESCALUS. Happy return be to your royal Grace! + DUKE. Many and hearty thankings to you both. + We have made inquiry of you, and we hear + Such goodness of your justice that our soul + Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, + Forerunning more requital. + ANGELO. You make my bonds still greater. + DUKE. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it + To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, + When it deserves, with characters of brass, + A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time + And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand. + And let the subject see, to make them know + That outward courtesies would fain proclaim + Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus, + You must walk by us on our other hand, + And good supporters are you. + + Enter FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA + + PETER. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him. + ISABELLA. Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard + Upon a wrong'd- I would fain have said a maid! + O worthy Prince, dishonour not your eye + By throwing it on any other object + Till you have heard me in my true complaint, + And given me justice, justice, justice, justice. + DUKE. Relate your wrongs. In what? By whom? Be brief. + Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice; + Reveal yourself to him. + ISABELLA. O worthy Duke, + You bid me seek redemption of the devil! + Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak + Must either punish me, not being believ'd, + Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O, hear me, here! + ANGELO. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm; + She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, + Cut off by course of justice- + ISABELLA. By course of justice! + ANGELO. And she will speak most bitterly and strange. + ISABELLA. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak. + That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange? + That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange? + That Angelo is an adulterous thief, + An hypocrite, a virgin-violator, + Is it not strange and strange? + DUKE. Nay, it is ten times strange. + ISABELLA. It is not truer he is Angelo + Than this is all as true as it is strange; + Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth + To th' end of reck'ning. + DUKE. Away with her. Poor soul, + She speaks this in th' infirmity of sense. + ISABELLA. O Prince! I conjure thee, as thou believ'st + There is another comfort than this world, + That thou neglect me not with that opinion + That I am touch'd with madness. Make not impossible + That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible + But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, + May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, + As Angelo; even so may Angelo, + In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, + Be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal Prince, + If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, + Had I more name for badness. + DUKE. By mine honesty, + If she be mad, as I believe no other, + Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, + Such a dependency of thing on thing, + As e'er I heard in madness. + ISABELLA. O gracious Duke, + Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason + For inequality; but let your reason serve + To make the truth appear where it seems hid, + And hide the false seems true. + DUKE. Many that are not mad + Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say? + ISABELLA. I am the sister of one Claudio, + Condemn'd upon the act of fornication + To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo. + I, in probation of a sisterhood, + Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio + As then the messenger- + LUCIO. That's I, an't like your Grace. + I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her + To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo + For her poor brother's pardon. + ISABELLA. That's he, indeed. + DUKE. You were not bid to speak. + LUCIO. No, my good lord; + Nor wish'd to hold my peace. + DUKE. I wish you now, then; + Pray you take note of it; and when you have + A business for yourself, pray heaven you then + Be perfect. + LUCIO. I warrant your honour. + DUKE. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to't. + ISABELLA. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. + LUCIO. Right. + DUKE. It may be right; but you are i' the wrong + To speak before your time. Proceed. + ISABELLA. I went + To this pernicious caitiff deputy. + DUKE. That's somewhat madly spoken. + ISABELLA. Pardon it; + The phrase is to the matter. + DUKE. Mended again. The matter- proceed. + ISABELLA. In brief- to set the needless process by, + How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, + How he refell'd me, and how I replied, + For this was of much length- the vile conclusion + I now begin with grief and shame to utter: + He would not, but by gift of my chaste body + To his concupiscible intemperate lust, + Release my brother; and, after much debatement, + My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, + And I did yield to him. But the next morn betimes, + His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant + For my poor brother's head. + DUKE. This is most likely! + ISABELLA. O that it were as like as it is true! + DUKE. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not what thou speak'st, + Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour + In hateful practice. First, his integrity + Stands without blemish; next, it imports no reason + That with such vehemency he should pursue + Faults proper to himself. If he had so offended, + He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, + And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on; + Confess the truth, and say by whose advice + Thou cam'st here to complain. + ISABELLA. And is this all? + Then, O you blessed ministers above, + Keep me in patience; and, with ripened time, + Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up + In countenance! Heaven shield your Grace from woe, + As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! + DUKE. I know you'd fain be gone. An officer! + To prison with her! Shall we thus permit + A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall + On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. + Who knew of your intent and coming hither? + ISABELLA. One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. + DUKE. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick? + LUCIO. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar. + I do not like the man; had he been lay, my lord, + For certain words he spake against your Grace + In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. + DUKE. Words against me? This's a good friar, belike! + And to set on this wretched woman here + Against our substitute! Let this friar be found. + LUCIO. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, + I saw them at the prison; a saucy friar, + A very scurvy fellow. + PETER. Blessed be your royal Grace! + I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard + Your royal ear abus'd. First, hath this woman + Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute; + Who is as free from touch or soil with her + As she from one ungot. + DUKE. We did believe no less. + Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? + PETER. I know him for a man divine and holy; + Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, + As he's reported by this gentleman; + And, on my trust, a man that never yet + Did, as he vouches, misreport your Grace. + LUCIO. My lord, most villainously; believe it. + PETER. Well, he in time may come to clear himself; + But at this instant he is sick, my lord, + Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request- + Being come to knowledge that there was complaint + Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo- came I hither + To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know + Is true and false; and what he, with his oath + And all probation, will make up full clear, + Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman- + To justify this worthy nobleman, + So vulgarly and personally accus'd- + Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, + Till she herself confess it. + DUKE. Good friar, let's hear it. Exit ISABELLA guarded + Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? + O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools! + Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo; + In this I'll be impartial; be you judge + Of your own cause. + + Enter MARIANA veiled + + Is this the witness, friar? + FIRST let her show her face, and after speak. + MARIANA. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face + Until my husband bid me. + DUKE. What, are you married? + MARIANA. No, my lord. + DUKE. Are you a maid? + MARIANA. No, my lord. + DUKE. A widow, then? + MARIANA. Neither, my lord. + DUKE. Why, you are nothing then; neither maid, widow, nor wife. + LUCIO. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither + maid, widow, nor wife. + DUKE. Silence that fellow. I would he had some cause + To prattle for himself. + LUCIO. Well, my lord. + MARIANA. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married, + And I confess, besides, I am no maid. + I have known my husband; yet my husband + Knows not that ever he knew me. + LUCIO. He was drunk, then, my lord; it can be no better. + DUKE. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too! + LUCIO. Well, my lord. + DUKE. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. + MARIANA. Now I come to't, my lord: + She that accuses him of fornication, + In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; + And charges him, my lord, with such a time + When I'll depose I had him in mine arms, + With all th' effect of love. + ANGELO. Charges she moe than me? + MARIANA. Not that I know. + DUKE. No? You say your husband. + MARIANA. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, + Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, + But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. + ANGELO. This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face. + MARIANA. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. + [Unveiling] + This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, + Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on; + This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, + Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body + That took away the match from Isabel, + And did supply thee at thy garden-house + In her imagin'd person. + DUKE. Know you this woman? + LUCIO. Carnally, she says. + DUKE. Sirrah, no more. + LUCIO. Enough, my lord. + ANGELO. My lord, I must confess I know this woman; + And five years since there was some speech of marriage + Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, + Partly for that her promised proportions + Came short of composition; but in chief + For that her reputation was disvalued + In levity. Since which time of five years + I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, + Upon my faith and honour. + MARIANA. Noble Prince, + As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, + As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, + I am affianc'd this man's wife as strongly + As words could make up vows. And, my good lord, + But Tuesday night last gone, in's garden-house, + He knew me as a wife. As this is true, + Let me in safety raise me from my knees, + Or else for ever be confixed here, + A marble monument! + ANGELO. I did but smile till now. + Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; + My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive + These poor informal women are no more + But instruments of some more mightier member + That sets them on. Let me have way, my lord, + To find this practice out. + DUKE. Ay, with my heart; + And punish them to your height of pleasure. + Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, + Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths, + Though they would swear down each particular saint, + Were testimonies against his worth and credit, + That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, + Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains + To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd. + There is another friar that set them on; + Let him be sent for. + PETER. Would lie were here, my lord! For he indeed + Hath set the women on to this complaint. + Your provost knows the place where he abides, + And he may fetch him. + DUKE. Go, do it instantly. Exit PROVOST + And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, + Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, + Do with your injuries as seems you best + In any chastisement. I for a while will leave you; + But stir not you till you have well determin'd + Upon these slanderers. + ESCALUS. My lord, we'll do it throughly. Exit DUKE + Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be + a dishonest person? + LUCIO. 'Cucullus non facit monachum': honest in nothing but in his + clothes; and one that hath spoke most villainous speeches of the + Duke. + ESCALUS. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and + enforce them against him. We shall find this friar a notable + fellow. + LUCIO. As any in Vienna, on my word. + ESCALUS. Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with + her. [Exit an ATTENDANT] Pray you, my lord, give me leave to + question; you shall see how I'll handle her. + LUCIO. Not better than he, by her own report. + ESCALUS. Say you? + LUCIO. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would + sooner confess; perchance, publicly, she'll be asham'd. + + Re-enter OFFICERS with ISABELLA; and PROVOST with the + DUKE in his friar's habit + + ESCALUS. I will go darkly to work with her. + LUCIO. That's the way; for women are light at midnight. + ESCALUS. Come on, mistress; here's a gentlewoman denies all that + you have said. + LUCIO. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of, here with the + Provost. + ESCALUS. In very good time. Speak not you to him till we call upon + you. + LUCIO. Mum. + ESCALUS. Come, sir; did you set these women on to slander Lord + Angelo? They have confess'd you did. + DUKE. 'Tis false. + ESCALUS. How! Know you where you are? + DUKE. Respect to your great place! and let the devil + Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne! + Where is the Duke? 'Tis he should hear me speak. + ESCALUS. The Duke's in us; and we will hear you speak; + Look you speak justly. + DUKE. Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls, + Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox, + Good night to your redress! Is the Duke gone? + Then is your cause gone too. The Duke's unjust + Thus to retort your manifest appeal, + And put your trial in the villain's mouth + Which here you come to accuse. + LUCIO. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of. + ESCALUS. Why, thou unreverend and unhallowed friar, + Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women + To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth, + And in the witness of his proper ear, + To call him villain; and then to glance from him + To th' Duke himself, to tax him with injustice? + Take him hence; to th' rack with him! We'll touze you + Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. + What, 'unjust'! + DUKE. Be not so hot; the Duke + Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he + Dare rack his own; his subject am I not, + Nor here provincial. My business in this state + Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, + Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble + Till it o'errun the stew: laws for all faults, + But faults so countenanc'd that the strong statutes + Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, + As much in mock as mark. + ESCALUS. Slander to th' state! Away with him to prison! + ANGELO. What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio? + Is this the man that you did tell us of? + LUCIO. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-man bald-pate. + Do you know me? + DUKE. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice. I met you at + the prison, in the absence of the Duke. + LUCIO. O did you so? And do you remember what you said of the Duke? + DUKE. Most notedly, sir. + LUCIO. Do you so, sir? And was the Duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and + a coward, as you then reported him to be? + DUKE. You must, sir, change persons with me ere you make that my + report; you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse. + LUCIO. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for + thy speeches? + DUKE. I protest I love the Duke as I love myself. + ANGELO. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable + abuses! + ESCALUS. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal. Away with him to + prison! Where is the Provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts + enough upon him; let him speak no more. Away with those giglets + too, and with the other confederate companion! + [The PROVOST lays bands on the DUKE] + DUKE. Stay, sir; stay awhile. + ANGELO. What, resists he? Help him, Lucio. + LUCIO. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you + bald-pated lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your + knave's visage, with a pox to you! Show your sheep-biting face, + and be hang'd an hour! Will't not off? + [Pulls off the FRIAR'S bood and discovers the DUKE] + DUKE. Thou art the first knave that e'er mad'st a duke. + First, Provost, let me bail these gentle three. + [To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir, for the friar and you + Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. + LUCIO. This may prove worse than hanging. + DUKE. [To ESCALUS] What you have spoke I pardon; sit you down. + We'll borrow place of him. [To ANGELO] Sir, by your leave. + Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, + That yet can do thee office? If thou hast, + Rely upon it till my tale be heard, + And hold no longer out. + ANGELO. O my dread lord, + I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, + To think I can be undiscernible, + When I perceive your Grace, like pow'r divine, + Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good Prince, + No longer session hold upon my shame, + But let my trial be mine own confession; + Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, + Is all the grace I beg. + DUKE. Come hither, Mariana. + Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? + ANGELO. I was, my lord. + DUKE. Go, take her hence and marry her instantly. + Do you the office, friar; which consummate, + Return him here again. Go with him, Provost. + Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST + ESCALUS. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour + Than at the strangeness of it. + DUKE. Come hither, Isabel. + Your friar is now your prince. As I was then + Advertising and holy to your business, + Not changing heart with habit, I am still + Attorney'd at your service. + ISABELLA. O, give me pardon, + That I, your vassal have employ'd and pain'd + Your unknown sovereignty. + DUKE. You are pardon'd, Isabel. + And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. + Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; + And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, + Labouring to save his life, and would not rather + Make rash remonstrance of my hidden pow'r + Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, + It was the swift celerity of his death, + Which I did think with slower foot came on, + That brain'd my purpose. But peace be with him! + That life is better life, past fearing death, + Than that which lives to fear. Make it your comfort, + So happy is your brother. + ISABELLA. I do, my lord. + + Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and PROVOST + + DUKE. For this new-married man approaching here, + Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd + Your well-defended honour, you must pardon + For Mariana's sake; but as he adjudg'd your brother- + Being criminal in double violation + Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach, + Thereon dependent, for your brother's life- + The very mercy of the law cries out + Most audible, even from his proper tongue, + 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!' + Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; + Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. + Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested, + Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage. + We do condemn thee to the very block + Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. + Away with him! + MARIANA. O my most gracious lord, + I hope you will not mock me with a husband. + DUKE. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband. + Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, + I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, + For that he knew you, might reproach your life, + And choke your good to come. For his possessions, + Although by confiscation they are ours, + We do instate and widow you withal + To buy you a better husband. + MARIANA. O my dear lord, + I crave no other, nor no better man. + DUKE. Never crave him; we are definitive. + MARIANA. Gentle my liege- [Kneeling] + DUKE. You do but lose your labour. + Away with him to death! [To LUCIO] Now, sir, to you. + MARIANA. O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part; + Lend me your knees, and all my life to come + I'll lend you all my life to do you service. + DUKE. Against all sense you do importune her. + Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, + Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, + And take her hence in horror. + MARIANA. Isabel, + Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; + Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all. + They say best men moulded out of faults; + And, for the most, become much more the better + For being a little bad; so may my husband. + O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? + DUKE. He dies for Claudio's death. + ISABELLA. [Kneeling] Most bounteous sir, + Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, + As if my brother liv'd. I partly think + A due sincerity govern'd his deeds + Till he did look on me; since it is so, + Let him not die. My brother had but justice, + In that he did the thing for which he died; + For Angelo, + His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, + And must be buried but as an intent + That perish'd by the way. Thoughts are no subjects; + Intents but merely thoughts. + MARIANA. Merely, my lord. + DUKE. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say. + I have bethought me of another fault. + Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded + At an unusual hour? + PROVOST. It was commanded so. + DUKE. Had you a special warrant for the deed? + PROVOST. No, my good lord; it was by private message. + DUKE. For which I do discharge you of your office; + Give up your keys. + PROVOST. Pardon me, noble lord; + I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; + Yet did repent me, after more advice; + For testimony whereof, one in the prison, + That should by private order else have died, + I have reserv'd alive. + DUKE. What's he? + PROVOST. His name is Barnardine. + DUKE. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. + Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. Exit PROVOST + ESCALUS. I am sorry one so learned and so wise + As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, + Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood + And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. + ANGELO. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure; + And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart + That I crave death more willingly than mercy; + 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. + + Re-enter PROVOST, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO (muffled) + and JULIET + + DUKE. Which is that Barnardine? + PROVOST. This, my lord. + DUKE. There was a friar told me of this man. + Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, + That apprehends no further than this world, + And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd; + But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, + And pray thee take this mercy to provide + For better times to come. Friar, advise him; + I leave him to your hand. What muffl'd fellow's that? + PROVOST. This is another prisoner that I sav'd, + Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; + As like almost to Claudio as himself. [Unmuffles CLAUDIO] + DUKE. [To ISABELLA] If he be like your brother, for his sake + Is he pardon'd; and for your lovely sake, + Give me your hand and say you will be mine, + He is my brother too. But fitter time for that. + By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe; + Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye. + Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well. + Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours. + I find an apt remission in myself; + And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. + To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward, + One all of luxury, an ass, a madman! + Wherein have I so deserv'd of you + That you extol me thus? + LUCIO. Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick. + If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would + please you I might be whipt. + DUKE. Whipt first, sir, and hang'd after. + Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city, + If any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow- + As I have heard him swear himself there's one + Whom he begot with child, let her appear, + And he shall marry her. The nuptial finish'd, + Let him be whipt and hang'd. + LUCIO. I beseech your Highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your + Highness said even now I made you a duke; good my lord, do not + recompense me in making me a cuckold. + DUKE. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. + Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal + Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison; + And see our pleasure herein executed. + LUCIO. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, + and hanging. + DUKE. Slandering a prince deserves it. + Exeunt OFFICERS with LUCIO + She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. + Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo; + I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. + Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness; + There's more behind that is more gratulate. + Thanks, Provost, for thy care and secrecy; + We shall employ thee in a worthier place. + Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home + The head of Ragozine for Claudio's: + Th' offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, + I have a motion much imports your good; + Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, + What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. + So, bring us to our palace, where we'll show + What's yet behind that's meet you all should know. + Exeunt + + + + +THE MERCHANT OF VENICE + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Venice. A street. +Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. +Scene III. Venice. A public place. + + +ACT II +Scene I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. +Scene II. Venice. A street. +Scene III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house. +Scene IV. The same. A street. +Scene V. The same. Before Shylock’s house. +Scene VI. The same. +Scene VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. +Scene VIII. Venice. A street. +Scene IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Venice. A street. +Scene II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. +Scene III. Venice. A street. +Scene IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. +Scene V. The same. A garden. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. Venice. A court of justice. +Scene II. The same. A street. + + +ACT V +Scene I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house. + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +THE DUKE OF VENICE +THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO, suitor to Portia +THE PRINCE OF ARRAGON, suitor to Portia +ANTONIO, a merchant of Venice +BASSANIO, his friend, suitor to Portia +GRATIANO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio +SOLANIO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio +SALARINO, friend to Antonio and Bassanio +LORENZO, in love with Jessica +SHYLOCK, a rich Jew +TUBAL, a Jew, his friend +LAUNCELET GOBBO, a clown, servant to Shylock +OLD GOBBO, father to Launcelet +LEONARDO, servant to Bassanio +BALTHAZAR, servant to Portia +STEPHANO, servant to Portia +SALERIO, a messenger from Venice + +PORTIA, a rich heiress +NERISSA, her waiting-woman +JESSICA, daughter to Shylock + +Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, a Gaoler, +Servants and other Attendants + +SCENE: Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia on +the Continent + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Venice. A street. + + Enter Antonio, Salarino and Solanio. + +ANTONIO. +In sooth I know not why I am so sad, +It wearies me. you say it wearies you; +But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, +What stuff ’tis made of, whereof it is born, +I am to learn. +And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, +That I have much ado to know myself. + +SALARINO. +Your mind is tossing on the ocean, +There where your argosies, with portly sail +Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, +Or as it were the pageants of the sea, +Do overpeer the petty traffickers +That curtsy 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 +Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still +Plucking the grass to know where sits the wind, +Peering in maps for ports, and piers and roads; +And every object that might make me fear +Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt +Would make me sad. + +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 my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand, +Vailing her high top lower than her ribs +To kiss her burial. Should I go to church +And see the holy edifice of stone +And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, +Which, touching but my gentle vessel’s side, +Would scatter all her spices on the stream, +Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks, +And, in a word, but even now worth this, +And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought +To think on this, and shall I lack the thought +That such a thing bechanc’d would make me sad? +But tell not me, I know Antonio +Is sad to think upon his merchandise. + +ANTONIO. +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. + +ANTONIO. +Fie, fie! + +SALARINO. +Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad +Because you are not merry; and ’twere 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 fram’d strange fellows in her time: +Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, +And laugh like parrots at a bagpiper. +And other of such vinegar aspect +That they’ll not show their teeth in way of smile +Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. + + Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo and Gratiano. + +SOLANIO. +Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, +Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well. +We leave you now with better company. + +SALARINO. +I would have stay’d till I had made you merry, +If worthier friends had not prevented me. + +ANTONIO. +Your worth is very dear in my regard. +I take it your own business calls on you, +And you embrace th’ occasion to depart. + +SALARINO. +Good morrow, my good lords. + +BASSANIO. +Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? +You grow exceeding strange. Must it be so? + +SALARINO. +We’ll make our leisures to attend on yours. + + [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._] + +LORENZO. +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. + +BASSANIO. +I will not fail you. + +GRATIANO. +You look not well, Signior Antonio, +You have too much respect upon the world. +They lose it that do buy it with much care. +Believe me, you are marvellously chang’d. + +ANTONIO. +I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, +A stage, where every man must play a part, +And mine a sad one. + +GRATIANO. +Let me play the fool, +With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, +And let my liver rather heat with wine +Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. +Why should a man whose blood is warm within +Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? +Sleep when he wakes? And creep into the jaundice +By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio, +(I love thee, and ’tis my love that speaks): +There are a sort of men whose visages +Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, +And do a wilful stillness entertain, +With purpose to be dress’d in an opinion +Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit, +As who should say, “I am Sir Oracle, +And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.” +O my Antonio, I do know of these +That therefore only are reputed wise +For saying nothing; when, I am very sure, +If they should speak, would almost damn those ears +Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. +I’ll tell thee more of this another time. +But fish not with this melancholy bait +For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. +Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well a while. +I’ll end my exhortation after dinner. + +LORENZO. +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. + +GRATIANO. +Well, keep me company but two years moe, +Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. + +ANTONIO. +Fare you well. I’ll grow a talker for this gear. + +GRATIANO. +Thanks, i’ faith, for silence is only commendable +In a neat’s tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. + + [_Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo._] + +ANTONIO. +Is that anything now? + +BASSANIO. +Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all +Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of +chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them +they are not worth the search. + +ANTONIO. +Well, tell me now what lady is the same +To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, +That you today promis’d to tell me of? + +BASSANIO. +’Tis 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 abridg’d +From such a noble rate, but my chief care +Is to come fairly off from the great debts +Wherein my time, something too prodigal, +Hath left me gag’d. To you, Antonio, +I owe the most in money and in love, +And from your love I have a warranty +To unburden all my plots and purposes +How to get clear of all the debts I owe. + +ANTONIO. +I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; +And if it stand, as you yourself still do, +Within the eye of honour, be assur’d +My purse, my person, my extremest means +Lie all unlock’d to your occasions. + +BASSANIO. +In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, +I shot 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. + +ANTONIO. +You know me well, and herein spend but time +To wind about my love with circumstance; +And out of doubt you do me now more wrong +In making question of my uttermost +Than if you had made waste of all I have. +Then do but say to me what I should do +That in your knowledge may by me be done, +And I am prest unto it. Therefore, speak. + +BASSANIO. +In Belmont is a lady richly left, +And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, +Of wondrous virtues. Sometimes from her eyes +I did receive fair speechless messages: +Her name is Portia, nothing undervalu’d +To Cato’s daughter, Brutus’ Portia. +Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth, +For the four winds blow in from every coast +Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks +Hang on her temples like a golden fleece, +Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos’ strond, +And many Jasons come in quest of her. +O my Antonio, had I but the means +To hold a rival place with one of them, +I have a mind presages me such thrift +That I should questionless be fortunate. + +ANTONIO. +Thou know’st that all my fortunes are at sea; +Neither have I money nor commodity +To raise a present sum, therefore go forth +Try what my credit can in Venice do; +That shall be rack’d even to the uttermost, +To furnish thee to Belmont to fair Portia. +Go presently inquire, and so will I, +Where money is, and I no question make +To have it of my trust or for my sake. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + Enter Portia with her waiting-woman Nerissa. + +PORTIA. +By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. + +NERISSA. +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 +mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean. Superfluity come +sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. + +PORTIA. +Good sentences, and well pronounc’d. + +NERISSA. +They would be better if well followed. + +PORTIA. +If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been +churches, and poor men’s cottages princes’ palaces. It is a good divine +that follows his own instructions; I can easier teach twenty what were +good to be done than to be one of the twenty to follow mine own +teaching. The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper +leaps o’er a cold decree; such a hare is madness the youth, to skip +o’er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. But this reasoning is not +in the fashion to choose me a husband. O me, the word “choose”! I may +neither choose who I would nor refuse who I dislike, so is the will of +a living daughter curb’d by the will of a dead father. Is it not hard, +Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? + +NERISSA. +Your father was ever virtuous, and holy men at their death have good +inspirations. Therefore the lott’ry 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? + +PORTIA. +I pray thee over-name them, and as thou namest them, I will describe +them, and according to my description level at my affection. + +NERISSA. +First, there is the Neapolitan prince. + +PORTIA. +Ay, that’s a colt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse, +and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts that he can +shoe him himself. I am much afeard my lady his mother play’d false with +a smith. + +NERISSA. +Then is there the County Palatine. + +PORTIA. +He doth nothing but frown, as who should say “And you will not have me, +choose.” He hears merry tales and smiles not. I fear he will prove the +weeping philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly +sadness in his youth. I had rather be married to a death’s-head with a +bone in his mouth than to either of these. God defend me from these +two! + +NERISSA. +How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon? + +PORTIA. +God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. In truth, I know it +is a sin to be a mocker, but he! why, he hath a horse better than the +Neapolitan’s, a better bad habit of frowning than the Count Palatine. +He is every man in no man. If a throstle sing, he falls straight +a-cap’ring. He will fence with his own shadow. If I should marry him, I +should marry twenty husbands. If he would despise me, I would forgive +him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. + +NERISSA. +What say you then to Falconbridge, the young baron of England? + +PORTIA. +You know I say nothing to him, for he understands not me, nor I him: he +hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the +court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a +proper man’s picture; but alas, who can converse with a dumb-show? How +oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round +hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere. + +NERISSA. +What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? + +PORTIA. +That he hath a neighbourly charity in him, for he borrowed a box of the +ear of the Englishman, and swore he would pay him again when he was +able. I think the Frenchman became his surety, and seal’d under for +another. + +NERISSA. +How like you the young German, the Duke of Saxony’s nephew? + +PORTIA. +Very vilely in the morning when he is sober, and most vilely in the +afternoon when he is drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than +a man, and when he is worst, he is little better than a beast. And the +worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make shift to go without him. + +NERISSA. +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. + +PORTIA. +Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee set a deep glass of +Rhenish wine on the contrary casket, for if the devil be within and +that temptation without, I know he will choose it. I will do anything, +Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. + +NERISSA. +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. + +PORTIA. +If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die as chaste as Diana, +unless I be obtained by the manner of my father’s will. I am glad this +parcel of wooers are so reasonable, for there is not one among them but +I dote on his very absence. And I pray God grant them a fair departure. + +NERISSA. +Do you not remember, lady, in your father’s time, a Venetian, a scholar +and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of +Montferrat? + +PORTIA. +Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I think, so was he call’d. + +NERISSA. +True, madam. He, of all the men that ever my foolish eyes look’d upon, +was the best deserving a fair lady. + +PORTIA. +I remember him well, and I remember him worthy of thy praise. + + Enter a Servingman. + +How now! what news? + +SERVINGMAN. +The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave. And there +is a forerunner come from a fifth, the Prince of Morocco, who brings +word the Prince his master will be here tonight. + +PORTIA. +If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good heart as I can bid the +other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. If he have the +condition of a saint and the complexion of a devil, I had rather he +should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. Whiles +we shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at the door. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Venice. A public place. + + Enter Bassanio with Shylock the Jew. + +SHYLOCK. +Three thousand ducats, well. + +BASSANIO. +Ay, sir, for three months. + +SHYLOCK. +For three months, well. + +BASSANIO. +For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. + +SHYLOCK. +Antonio shall become bound, well. + +BASSANIO. +May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer? + +SHYLOCK. +Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound. + +BASSANIO. +Your answer to that. + +SHYLOCK. +Antonio is a good man. + +BASSANIO. +Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? + +SHYLOCK. +Ho, no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is a good man is to have +you understand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in +supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the +Indies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at +Mexico, a fourth for England, and other ventures he hath squandered +abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men; there be land-rats +and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves—I mean pirates—and then +there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, +notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand ducats. I think I may take +his bond. + +BASSANIO. +Be assured you may. + +SHYLOCK. +I will be assured I may. And that I may be assured, I will bethink me. +May I speak with Antonio? + +BASSANIO. +If it please you to dine with us. + +SHYLOCK. +Yes, to smell pork, to eat of the habitation which your prophet, the +Nazarite, conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, +talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with +you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto? Who is +he comes here? + + Enter Antonio. + +BASSANIO. +This is Signior Antonio. + +SHYLOCK. +[_Aside._] How like a fawning publican he looks! +I hate him for he is a Christian, +But more for that in low simplicity +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! + +BASSANIO. +Shylock, do you hear? + +SHYLOCK. +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? [_To Antonio._] Rest you fair, good signior, +Your worship was the last man in our mouths. + +ANTONIO. +Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow +By taking nor by giving of excess, +Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend, +I’ll break a custom. [_To Bassanio._] Is he yet possess’d +How much ye would? + +SHYLOCK. +Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. + +ANTONIO. +And for three months. + +SHYLOCK. +I had forgot, three months, you told me so. +Well then, your bond. And let me see, but hear you, +Methought you said you neither lend nor borrow +Upon advantage. + +ANTONIO. +I do never use it. + +SHYLOCK. +When Jacob graz’d his uncle Laban’s sheep,— +This Jacob from our holy Abram was +As his wise mother wrought in his behalf, +The third possessor; ay, he was the third. + +ANTONIO. +And what of him? Did he take interest? + +SHYLOCK. +No, not take interest, not, as you would say, +Directly interest; mark what Jacob did. +When Laban and himself were compromis’d +That all the eanlings which were streak’d and pied +Should fall as Jacob’s hire, the ewes being rank +In end of autumn turned to the rams, +And when the work of generation was +Between these woolly breeders in the act, +The skilful shepherd pill’d me certain wands, +And in the doing of the deed of kind, +He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes, +Who then conceiving did in eaning time +Fall parti-colour’d lambs, and those were Jacob’s. +This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; +And thrift is blessing if men steal it not. + +ANTONIO. +This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv’d for, +A thing not in his power to bring to pass, +But sway’d and fashion’d by the hand of heaven. +Was this inserted to make interest good? +Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? + +SHYLOCK. +I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast. +But note me, signior. + +ANTONIO. +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! + +SHYLOCK. +Three thousand ducats, ’tis a good round sum. +Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. + +ANTONIO. +Well, Shylock, shall we be beholding to you? + +SHYLOCK. +Signior Antonio, many a time and oft +In the Rialto you have rated me +About my moneys and my usances. +Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, +(For suff’rance is the badge of all our tribe.) +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 moneys.” You say so: +You that did void your rheum upon my beard, +And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur +Over your threshold, moneys is your suit. +What should I say to you? Should I not say +“Hath a dog money? Is it possible +A cur can lend three thousand ducats?” Or +Shall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key, +With bated breath and whisp’ring humbleness, +Say this: +“Fair sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last; +You spurn’d me such a day; another time +You call’d me dog; and for these courtesies +I’ll lend you thus much moneys”? + +ANTONIO. +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 for barren metal of his friend? +But lend it rather to thine enemy, +Who if he break, thou mayst with better face +Exact the penalty. + +SHYLOCK. +Why, look you how you storm! +I would be friends with you, and have your love, +Forget the shames that you have stain’d me with, +Supply your present wants, and take no doit +Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me, +This is kind I offer. + +BASSANIO. +This were kindness. + +SHYLOCK. +This kindness will I show. +Go with me to a notary, seal me there +Your single bond; and in a merry sport, +If you repay me not on such a day, +In such a place, such sum or sums as are +Express’d in the condition, let the forfeit +Be nominated for an equal pound +Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken +In what part of your body pleaseth me. + +ANTONIO. +Content, in faith, I’ll seal to such a bond, +And say there is much kindness in the Jew. + +BASSANIO. +You shall not seal to such a bond for me, +I’ll rather dwell in my necessity. + +ANTONIO. +Why, fear not, man, I will not forfeit it, +Within these two months, that’s a month before +This bond expires, I do expect return +Of thrice three times the value of this bond. + +SHYLOCK. +O father Abram, 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. + +ANTONIO. +Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. + +SHYLOCK. +Then meet me forthwith at the notary’s, +Give him direction for this merry bond, +And I will go and purse the ducats straight, +See to my house left in the fearful guard +Of an unthrifty knave, and presently +I’ll be with you. + +ANTONIO. +Hie thee, gentle Jew. + + [_Exit Shylock._] + +This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. + +BASSANIO. +I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind. + +ANTONIO. +Come on; in this there can be no dismay; +My ships come home a month before the day. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, a tawny Moor all in + white, and three or four followers accordingly, with Portia, Nerissa + and their train. + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +Mislike me not for my complexion, +The shadowed livery of the burnish’d sun, +To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. +Bring me the fairest creature northward born, +Where Phœbus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles, +And let us make incision for your love +To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. +I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine +Hath fear’d the valiant; by my love I swear +The best-regarded virgins of our clime +Have lov’d it too. I would not change this hue, +Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. + +PORTIA. +In terms of choice I am not solely led +By nice direction of a maiden’s eyes; +Besides, the lott’ry of my destiny +Bars me the right of voluntary choosing. +But if my father had not scanted me +And hedg’d me by his wit to yield myself +His wife who wins me by that means I told you, +Yourself, renowned Prince, then stood as fair +As any comer I have look’d on yet +For my affection. + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +Even for that I thank you. +Therefore I pray you lead me to the caskets +To try my fortune. By this scimitar +That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince, +That won three fields of Sultan Solyman, +I would o’erstare the sternest eyes that look, +Outbrave the heart most daring on the earth, +Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, +Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, +To win thee, lady. But, alas the while! +If Hercules and Lichas play at dice +Which is the better man, the greater throw +May turn by fortune from the weaker hand: +So is Alcides beaten by his rage, +And so may I, blind Fortune leading me, +Miss that which one unworthier may attain, +And die with grieving. + +PORTIA. +You must take your chance, +And either not attempt to choose at all, +Or swear before you choose, if you choose wrong +Never to speak to lady afterward +In way of marriage. Therefore be advis’d. + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +Nor will not. Come, bring me unto my chance. + +PORTIA. +First, forward to the temple. After dinner +Your hazard shall be made. + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +Good fortune then, +To make me blest or cursed’st among men! + + [_Cornets. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Venice. A street. + + Enter Launcelet Gobbo, the clown, alone. + +LAUNCELET. +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, +Launcelet Gobbo, good Launcelet” or “good Gobbo,” or “good Launcelet +Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away.” My conscience says +“No; take heed, honest Launcelet, take heed, honest Gobbo” or, as +aforesaid, “honest Launcelet Gobbo, do not run, scorn running with thy +heels.” Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack. “Fia!” 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 Launcelet, +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 “Launcelet, budge not.” “Budge,” says +the fiend. “Budge not,” says my conscience. “Conscience,” say I, “you +counsel well.” “Fiend,” say I, “you counsel well.” To be ruled by my +conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who, (God bless the +mark) is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be +ruled by the fiend, who (saving your reverence) is the devil himself. +Certainly the Jew is the very devil incarnation, and, in my conscience, +my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me +to stay with the Jew. The fiend gives the more friendly counsel. I will +run, fiend, my heels are at your commandment, I will run. + + Enter Old Gobbo with a basket. + +GOBBO. +Master young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to Master Jew’s? + +LAUNCELET. +[_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. + +GOBBO. +Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew’s? + +LAUNCELET. +Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning +of all on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, +but turn down indirectly to the Jew’s house. + +GOBBO. +Be God’s sonties, ’twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell me whether +one Launcelet, that dwells with him, dwell with him or no? + +LAUNCELET. +Talk you of young Master Launcelet? [_Aside._] Mark me now, now will I +raise the waters. Talk you of young Master Launcelet? + +GOBBO. +No master, sir, but a poor man’s son, his father, though I say’t, is an +honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. + +LAUNCELET. +Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young Master +Launcelet. + +GOBBO. +Your worship’s friend, and Launcelet, sir. + +LAUNCELET. +But I pray you, _ergo_, old man, _ergo_, I beseech you, talk you of +young Master Launcelet? + +GOBBO. +Of Launcelet, an’t please your mastership. + +LAUNCELET. +_Ergo_, Master Launcelet. Talk not of Master Launcelet, 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. + +GOBBO. +Marry, God forbid! The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. + +LAUNCELET. +[_Aside._] Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel-post, a staff or a prop? +Do you know me, father? + +GOBBO. +Alack the day! I know you not, young gentleman, but I pray you tell me, +is my boy, God rest his soul, alive or dead? + +LAUNCELET. +Do you not know me, father? + +GOBBO. +Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. + +LAUNCELET. +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. + +GOBBO. +Pray you, sir, stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy. + +LAUNCELET. +Pray you, let’s have no more fooling about it, but give me your +blessing. I am Launcelet, your boy that was, your son that is, your +child that shall be. + +GOBBO. +I cannot think you are my son. + +LAUNCELET. +I know not what I shall think of that; but I am Launcelet, the Jew’s +man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother. + +GOBBO. +Her name is Margery, indeed. I’ll be sworn if thou be Launcelet, 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 +fill-horse has on his tail. + +LAUNCELET. +It should seem, then, that Dobbin’s tail grows backward. I am sure he +had more hair on his tail than I have on my face when I last saw him. + +GOBBO. +Lord, how art thou changed! How dost thou and thy master agree? I have +brought him a present. How ’gree you now? + +LAUNCELET. +Well, well. But for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run +away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground. My master’s a +very Jew. Give him a present! Give him a halter. I am famished in his +service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am +glad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who +indeed gives rare new liveries. If I serve not him, I will run as far +as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man! To him, +father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. + + Enter Bassanio with Leonardo and a follower or two. + +BASSANIO. +You may do so, but let it be so hasted that supper be ready at the +farthest by five of the clock. See these letters delivered, put the +liveries to making, and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. + + [_Exit a Servant._] + +LAUNCELET. +To him, father. + +GOBBO. +God bless your worship! + +BASSANIO. +Gramercy, wouldst thou aught with me? + +GOBBO. +Here’s my son, sir, a poor boy. + +LAUNCELET. +Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew’s man, that would, sir, as my +father shall specify. + +GOBBO. +He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve. + +LAUNCELET. +Indeed the short and the long is, I serve the Jew, and have a desire, +as my father shall specify. + +GOBBO. +His master and he (saving your worship’s reverence) are scarce +cater-cousins. + +LAUNCELET. +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. + +GOBBO. +I have here a dish of doves that I would bestow upon your worship, and +my suit is— + +LAUNCELET. +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. + +BASSANIO. +One speak for both. What would you? + +LAUNCELET. +Serve you, sir. + +GOBBO. +That is the very defect of the matter, sir. + +BASSANIO. +I know thee well; thou hast obtain’d thy suit. +Shylock thy master spoke with me this day, +And hath preferr’d thee, if it be preferment +To leave a rich Jew’s service to become +The follower of so poor a gentleman. + +LAUNCELET. +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”. + +BASSANIO. +Thou speak’st it well. Go, father, with thy son. +Take leave of thy old master, and inquire +My lodging out. [_To a Servant._] Give him a livery +More guarded than his fellows’; see it done. + +LAUNCELET. +Father, in. I cannot get a service, no! I have ne’er a tongue in my +head! [_Looking on his palm._] Well, 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’ll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling. + + [_Exeunt Launcelet and Old Gobbo._] + +BASSANIO. +I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. +These things being bought and orderly bestow’d, +Return in haste, for I do feast tonight +My best esteem’d acquaintance; hie thee, go. + +LEONARDO. +My best endeavours shall be done herein. + + Enter Gratiano. + +GRATIANO. +Where’s your master? + +LEONARDO. +Yonder, sir, he walks. + + [_Exit._] + +GRATIANO. +Signior Bassanio! + +BASSANIO. +Gratiano! + +GRATIANO. +I have suit to you. + +BASSANIO. +You have obtain’d it. + +GRATIANO. +You must not deny me, I must go with you to Belmont. + +BASSANIO. +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 misconst’red in the place I go to, +And lose my hopes. + +GRATIANO. +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. + +BASSANIO. +Well, we shall see your bearing. + +GRATIANO. +Nay, but I bar tonight, you shall not gauge me +By what we do tonight. + +BASSANIO. +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. + +GRATIANO. +And I must to Lorenzo and the rest, +But we will visit you at supper-time. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A room in Shylock’s house. + + Enter Jessica and Launcelet. + +JESSICA. +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, Launcelet, 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. + +LAUNCELET. +Adieu! tears exhibit my tongue, most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew! +If a Christian do not play the knave and get thee, I am much deceived. +But, adieu! These foolish drops do something drown my manly spirit. +Adieu! + +JESSICA. +Farewell, good Launcelet. + + [_Exit Launcelet._] + +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._] + +SCENE IV. The same. A street. + + Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino and Solanio. + +LORENZO. +Nay, we will slink away in supper-time, +Disguise us at my lodging, and return +All in an hour. + +GRATIANO. +We have not made good preparation. + +SALARINO. +We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. + +SOLANIO. +’Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order’d, +And better in my mind not undertook. + +LORENZO. +’Tis now but four o’clock, we have two hours +To furnish us. + + Enter Launcelet with a letter. + +Friend Launcelet, what’s the news? + +LAUNCELET. +And it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. + +LORENZO. +I know the hand, in faith ’tis a fair hand, +And whiter than the paper it writ on +Is the fair hand that writ. + +GRATIANO. +Love news, in faith. + +LAUNCELET. +By your leave, sir. + +LORENZO. +Whither goest thou? + +LAUNCELET. +Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to sup tonight with my new +master the Christian. + +LORENZO. +Hold here, take this. Tell gentle Jessica +I will not fail her, speak it privately. +Go, gentlemen, + + [_Exit Launcelet._] + +Will you prepare you for this masque tonight? +I am provided of a torch-bearer. + +SALARINO. +Ay, marry, I’ll be gone about it straight. + +SOLANIO. +And so will I. + +LORENZO. +Meet me and Gratiano +At Gratiano’s lodging some hour hence. + +SALARINO. +’Tis good we do so. + + [_Exeunt Salarino and Solanio._] + +GRATIANO. +Was not that letter from fair Jessica? + +LORENZO. +I must needs tell thee all. She hath directed +How I shall take her from her father’s house, +What gold and jewels she is furnish’d with, +What page’s suit she hath in readiness. +If e’er the Jew her father come to heaven, +It will be for his gentle daughter’s sake; +And never dare misfortune cross her foot, +Unless she do it under this excuse, +That she is issue to a faithless Jew. +Come, go with me, peruse this as thou goest; +Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. The same. Before Shylock’s house. + + Enter Shylock the Jew and Launcelet his man that was the clown. + +SHYLOCK. +Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, +The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio.— +What, Jessica!—Thou shalt not gormandize +As thou hast done with me;—What, Jessica!— +And sleep, and snore, and rend apparel out. +Why, Jessica, I say! + +LAUNCELET. +Why, Jessica! + +SHYLOCK. +Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. + +LAUNCELET. +Your worship was wont to tell me I could do nothing without bidding. + + Enter Jessica. + +JESSICA. +Call you? What is your will? + +SHYLOCK. +I am bid forth to supper, Jessica. +There are my keys. But wherefore should I go? +I am not bid for love, they flatter me. +But yet I’ll go in hate, to feed upon +The prodigal Christian. Jessica, my girl, +Look to my house. I am right loath to go; +There is some ill a-brewing towards my rest, +For I did dream of money-bags tonight. + +LAUNCELET. +I beseech you, sir, go. My young master doth expect your reproach. + +SHYLOCK. +So do I his. + +LAUNCELET. +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’ th’ morning, falling +out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in th’ afternoon. + +SHYLOCK. +What, are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica, +Lock up my doors, and when you hear the drum +And the vile squealing of the wry-neck’d fife, +Clamber not you up to the casements then, +Nor thrust your head into the public street +To gaze on Christian fools with varnish’d faces, +But stop my house’s ears, I mean my casements. +Let not the sound of shallow fopp’ry enter +My sober house. By Jacob’s staff I swear +I have no mind of feasting forth tonight. +But I will go. Go you before me, sirrah. +Say I will come. + +LAUNCELET. +I will go before, sir. +Mistress, look out at window for all this. + There will come a Christian by + Will be worth a Jewess’ eye. + + [_Exit Launcelet._] + +SHYLOCK. +What says that fool of Hagar’s offspring, ha? + +JESSICA. +His words were “Farewell, mistress,” nothing else. + +SHYLOCK. +The patch is kind enough, but a huge feeder, +Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day +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._] + +JESSICA. +Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost, +I have a father, you a daughter, lost. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VI. The same. + + Enter the masquers, Gratiano and Salarino. + +GRATIANO. +This is the penthouse under which Lorenzo +Desired us to make stand. + +SALARINO. +His hour is almost past. + +GRATIANO. +And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, +For lovers ever run before the clock. + +SALARINO. +O ten times faster Venus’ pigeons fly +To seal love’s bonds new-made than they are wont +To keep obliged faith unforfeited! + +GRATIANO. +That ever holds: who riseth from a feast +With that keen appetite that he sits down? +Where is the horse that doth untread again +His tedious measures with the unbated fire +That he did pace them first? All things that are, +Are with more spirit chased than enjoy’d. +How like a younger or a prodigal +The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, +Hugg’d and embraced by the strumpet wind! +How like the prodigal doth she return +With over-weather’d ribs and ragged sails, +Lean, rent, and beggar’d by the strumpet wind! + + Enter Lorenzo. + +SALARINO. +Here comes Lorenzo, more of this hereafter. + +LORENZO. +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 wives, +I’ll watch as long for you then. Approach. +Here dwells my father Jew. Ho! who’s within? + + Enter Jessica above, in boy’s clothes. + +JESSICA. +Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, +Albeit I’ll swear that I do know your tongue. + +LORENZO. +Lorenzo, and thy love. + +JESSICA. +Lorenzo certain, and my love indeed, +For who love I so much? And now who knows +But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? + +LORENZO. +Heaven and thy thoughts are witness that thou art. + +JESSICA. +Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. +I am glad ’tis night, you do not look on me, +For I am much asham’d of my exchange. +But love is blind, and lovers cannot see +The pretty follies that themselves commit, +For if they could, Cupid himself would blush +To see me thus transformed to a boy. + +LORENZO. +Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. + +JESSICA. +What! must I hold a candle to my shames? +They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. +Why, ’tis an office of discovery, love, +And I should be obscur’d. + +LORENZO. +So are you, sweet, +Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. +But come at once, +For the close night doth play the runaway, +And we are stay’d for at Bassanio’s feast. + +JESSICA. +I will make fast the doors, and gild myself +With some moe ducats, and be with you straight. + + [_Exit above._] + +GRATIANO. +Now, by my hood, a gentle, and no Jew. + +LORENZO. +Beshrew me but I love her heartily, +For she is wise, if I can judge of her, +And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, +And true she is, as she hath prov’d herself. +And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, +Shall she be placed in my constant soul. + + Enter Jessica. + +What, art thou come? On, gentlemen, away! +Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. + + [_Exit with Jessica and Salarino._] + + Enter Antonio. + +ANTONIO. +Who’s there? + +GRATIANO. +Signior Antonio! + +ANTONIO. +Fie, fie, Gratiano! where are all the rest? +’Tis nine o’clock, our friends all stay for you. +No masque tonight, the wind is come about; +Bassanio presently will go aboard. +I have sent twenty out to seek for you. + +GRATIANO. +I am glad on’t. I desire no more delight +Than to be under sail and gone tonight. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia with the Prince of Morocco and both + their trains. + +PORTIA. +Go, draw aside the curtains and discover +The several caskets to this noble prince. +Now make your choice. + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +The first, of gold, who this inscription bears, +“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.” +The second, silver, which this promise carries, +“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” +This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt, +“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.” +How shall I know if I do choose the right? + +PORTIA. +The one of them contains my picture, prince. +If you choose that, then I am yours withal. + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +Some god direct my judgment! Let me see. +I will survey the inscriptions back again. +What says this leaden casket? +“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.” +Must give, for what? For lead? Hazard for lead! +This casket threatens; men that hazard all +Do it in hope of fair advantages: +A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross, +I’ll then nor give nor hazard aught for lead. +What says the silver with her virgin hue? +“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” +As much as he deserves! Pause there, Morocco, +And weigh thy value with an even hand. +If thou be’st rated by thy estimation +Thou dost deserve enough, and yet enough +May not extend so far as to the lady. +And yet to be afeard of my deserving +Were but a weak disabling of myself. +As much as I deserve! Why, that’s the lady: +I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, +In graces, and in qualities of breeding; +But more than these, in love I do deserve. +What if I stray’d no farther, but chose here? +Let’s see once more this saying grav’d in gold: +“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.” +Why, that’s the lady, all the world desires her. +From the four corners of the earth they come +To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. +The Hyrcanian deserts and the vasty wilds +Of wide Arabia are as throughfares now +For princes to come view fair Portia. +The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head +Spets in the face of heaven, is no bar +To stop the foreign spirits, but they come +As o’er a brook to see fair Portia. +One of these three contains her heavenly picture. +Is’t like that lead contains her? ’Twere damnation +To think so base a thought. It were too gross +To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. +Or shall I think in silver she’s immur’d +Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? +O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem +Was set in worse than gold. They have in England +A coin that bears the figure of an angel +Stamped in gold; but that’s insculp’d upon; +But here an angel in a golden bed +Lies all within. Deliver me the key. +Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may. + +PORTIA. +There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, +Then I am yours. + + [_He unlocks the golden casket._] + +PRINCE OF MOROCCO. +O hell! what have we here? +A carrion Death, within whose empty eye +There is a written scroll. I’ll read the writing. + + _All that glisters is not gold, + Often have you heard that told. + Many a man his life hath sold + But my outside to behold. + Gilded tombs do worms infold. + Had you been as wise as bold, + Young in limbs, in judgment old, + Your answer had not been inscroll’d, + Fare you well, your suit is cold._ + + Cold indeed and labour lost, + Then farewell heat, and welcome frost. +Portia, adieu! I have too griev’d a heart +To take a tedious leave. Thus losers part. + + [_Exit with his train. Flourish of cornets._] + +PORTIA. +A gentle riddance. Draw the curtains, go. +Let all of his complexion choose me so. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. Venice. A street. + + Enter Salarino and Solanio. + +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 rais’d 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 confus’d, +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! +A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, +Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter! +And jewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones, +Stol’n by my daughter! Justice! find the girl, +She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.” + +SALARINO. +Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, +Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. + +SOLANIO. +Let good Antonio look he keep his day +Or he shall pay for this. + +SALARINO. +Marry, well rememb’red. +I reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday, +Who told me, in the narrow seas that part +The French and English, there miscarried +A vessel of our country richly fraught. +I thought upon Antonio when he told me, +And wish’d in silence that it were not his. + +SOLANIO. +You were best to tell Antonio what you hear, +Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. + +SALARINO. +A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. +I saw Bassanio and Antonio part, +Bassanio told him he would make some speed +Of his return. He answered “Do not so, +Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, +But stay the very riping of the time, +And for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me, +Let it not enter in your mind of love: +Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts +To courtship, and such fair ostents of love +As shall conveniently become you there.” +And even there, his eye being big with tears, +Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, +And with affection wondrous sensible +He wrung Bassanio’s hand, and so they parted. + +SOLANIO. +I think he only loves the world for him. +I pray thee, let us go and find him out +And quicken his embraced heaviness +With some delight or other. + +SALARINO. +Do we so. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IX. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + Enter Nerissa and a Servitor. + +NERISSA. +Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain straight. +The Prince of Arragon hath ta’en his oath, +And comes to his election presently. + + Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, his train, and + Portia. + +PORTIA. +Behold, there stand the caskets, noble Prince, +If you choose that wherein I am contain’d, +Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz’d. +But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, +You must be gone from hence immediately. + +ARRAGON. +I am enjoin’d by oath to observe three things: +First, never to unfold to anyone +Which casket ’twas I chose; next, if I fail +Of the right casket, never in my life +To woo a maid in way of marriage; +Lastly, +If I do fail in fortune of my choice, +Immediately to leave you and be gone. + +PORTIA. +To these injunctions everyone doth swear +That comes to hazard for my worthless self. + +ARRAGON. +And so have I address’d me. Fortune now +To my heart’s hope! Gold, silver, and base lead. +“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.” +You shall look fairer ere I give or hazard. +What says the golden chest? Ha! let me see: +“Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.” +What many men desire! that “many” may be meant +By the fool multitude, that choose by show, +Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach, +Which pries not to th’ interior, but like the martlet +Builds in the weather on the outward wall, +Even in the force and road of casualty. +I will not choose what many men desire, +Because I will not jump with common spirits +And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. +Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house, +Tell me once more what title thou dost bear. +“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” +And well said too; for who shall go about +To cozen fortune, and be honourable +Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume +To wear an undeserved dignity. +O that estates, degrees, and offices +Were not deriv’d corruptly, and that clear honour +Were purchas’d by the merit of the wearer! +How many then should cover that stand bare? +How many be commanded that command? +How much low peasantry would then be gleaned +From the true seed of honour? And how much honour +Pick’d from the chaff and ruin of the times, +To be new varnish’d? Well, but to my choice. +“Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.” +I will assume desert. Give me a key for this, +And instantly unlock my fortunes here. + + [_He opens the silver casket._] + +PORTIA. +Too long a pause for that which you find there. + +ARRAGON. +What’s here? The portrait of a blinking idiot +Presenting me a schedule! I will read it. +How much unlike art thou to Portia! +How much unlike my hopes and my deservings! +“Who chooseth me shall have as much as he deserves.” +Did I deserve no more than a fool’s head? +Is that my prize? Are my deserts no better? + +PORTIA. +To offend and judge are distinct offices, +And of opposed natures. + +ARRAGON. +What is here? + + _The fire seven times tried this; + Seven times tried that judgment is + That did never choose amiss. + Some there be that shadows kiss; + Such have but a shadow’s bliss. + There be fools alive, I wis, + Silver’d o’er, and so was this. + Take what wife you will to bed, + I will ever be your head: + So be gone; you are sped._ + +Still more fool I shall appear +By the time I linger here. +With one fool’s head I came to woo, +But I go away with two. +Sweet, adieu! I’ll keep my oath, +Patiently to bear my wroth. + + [_Exit Aragon with his train._] + +PORTIA. +Thus hath the candle sing’d the moth. +O, these deliberate fools! When they do choose, +They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. + +NERISSA. +The ancient saying is no heresy: +Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. + +PORTIA. +Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Where is my lady? + +PORTIA. +Here, what would my lord? + +MESSENGER. +Madam, there is alighted at your gate +A young Venetian, one that comes before +To signify th’ approaching of his lord, +From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; +To wit (besides commends and courteous breath) +Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen +So likely an ambassador of love. +A day in April never came so sweet, +To show how costly summer was at hand, +As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. + +PORTIA. +No more, I pray thee. I am half afeard +Thou wilt say anon he is some kin to thee, +Thou spend’st such high-day wit in praising him. +Come, come, Nerissa, for I long to see +Quick Cupid’s post that comes so mannerly. + +NERISSA. +Bassanio, Lord Love, if thy will it be! + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Venice. A street. + + Enter Solanio and Salarino. + +SOLANIO. +Now, what news on the Rialto? + +SALARINO. +Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich +lading wrack’d 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. + +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, without any slips of prolixity or crossing the plain +highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,—O that I +had a title good enough to keep his name company!— + +SALARINO. +Come, the full stop. + +SOLANIO. +Ha, what sayest thou? 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. + + Enter Shylock. + +How now, Shylock, what news among the merchants? + +SHYLOCK. +You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter’s flight. + +SALARINO. +That’s certain, I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she +flew withal. + +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. + +SHYLOCK. +She is damn’d for it. + +SALARINO. +That’s certain, if the devil may be her judge. + +SHYLOCK. +My own flesh and blood to rebel! + +SOLANIO. +Out upon it, old carrion! Rebels it at these years? + +SHYLOCK. +I say my daughter is my flesh and my blood. + +SALARINO. +There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet +and ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and +Rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at +sea or no? + +SHYLOCK. +There I have another bad match, a bankrupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce +show his head on the Rialto, a beggar that used to come so smug upon +the mart; let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let +him look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian cur’sy; +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? + +SHYLOCK. +To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my +revenge. He hath disgrac’d me and hind’red me half a million, laugh’d +at my losses, mock’d 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, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same +means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian +is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not +laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we +not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in +that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? 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. + + Enter a man from Antonio. + +SERVANT. +Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with +you both. + +SALARINO. +We have been up and down to seek him. + + Enter Tubal. + +SOLANIO. +Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be match’d, unless the +devil himself turn Jew. + + [_Exeunt Solanio, Salarino and the Servant._] + +SHYLOCK. +How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Hast thou found my daughter? + +TUBAL. +I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. + +SHYLOCK. +Why there, there, there, there! A diamond gone cost me two thousand +ducats in Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now, I +never felt it till now. Two thousand ducats in that, and other +precious, precious jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot, +and the jewels in her ear; would she were hearsed at my foot, and the +ducats in her coffin. No news of them? Why so? And I know not what’s +spent in the search. Why, thou—loss upon loss! The thief gone with so +much, and so much to find the thief, and no satisfaction, no revenge, +nor no ill luck stirring but what lights o’ my shoulders, no sighs but +o’ my breathing, no tears but o’ my shedding. + +TUBAL. +Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa— + +SHYLOCK. +What, what, what? Ill luck, ill luck? + +TUBAL. +—hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis. + +SHYLOCK. +I thank God! I thank God! Is it true, is it true? + +TUBAL. +I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wrack. + +SHYLOCK. +I thank thee, good Tubal. Good news, good news! Ha, ha, heard in Genoa? + +TUBAL. +Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats. + +SHYLOCK. +Thou stick’st a dagger in me. I shall never see my gold again. +Fourscore ducats at a sitting! Fourscore ducats! + +TUBAL. +There came divers of Antonio’s creditors in my company to Venice that +swear he cannot choose but break. + +SHYLOCK. +I am very glad of it. I’ll plague him, I’ll torture him. I am glad of +it. + +TUBAL. +One of them showed me a ring that he had of your daughter for a monkey. + +SHYLOCK. +Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my turquoise, I had it +of Leah when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it for a +wilderness of monkeys. + +TUBAL. +But Antonio is certainly undone. + +SHYLOCK. +Nay, that’s true, that’s very true. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer; +bespeak him a fortnight 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 +synagogue, Tubal. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa and all their trains. + +PORTIA. +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. +But lest you should not understand me well,— +And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,— +I would detain you here some month or two +Before you venture for me. I could teach you +How to choose right, but then I am forsworn. +So will I never be. So may you miss me. +But if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin, +That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, +They have o’erlook’d me and divided me. +One half of me is yours, the other half yours, +Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, +And so all yours. O these naughty times +Puts bars between the owners and their rights! +And so though yours, not yours. Prove it so, +Let Fortune go to hell for it, not I. +I speak too long, but ’tis to peise the time, +To eche it, and to draw it out in length, +To stay you from election. + +BASSANIO. +Let me choose, +For as I am, I live upon the rack. + +PORTIA. +Upon the rack, Bassanio! Then confess +What treason there is mingled with your love. + +BASSANIO. +None but that ugly treason of mistrust, +Which makes me fear th’ enjoying of my love. +There may as well be amity and life +’Tween snow and fire as treason and my love. + +PORTIA. +Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack +Where men enforced do speak anything. + +BASSANIO. +Promise me life, and I’ll confess the truth. + +PORTIA. +Well then, confess and live. + +BASSANIO. +“Confess and love” +Had been the very sum of my confession: +O happy torment, when my torturer +Doth teach me answers for deliverance! +But let me to my fortune and the caskets. + +PORTIA. +Away, then! I am lock’d in one of them. +If you do love me, you will find me out. +Nerissa and the rest, stand all aloof. +Let music sound while he doth make his choice. +Then if he lose he makes a swan-like end, +Fading in music. That the comparison +May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream +And wat’ry death-bed for him. He may win, +And what is music then? Then music is +Even as the flourish when true subjects bow +To a new-crowned monarch. Such it is +As are those dulcet sounds in break of day +That creep into the dreaming bridegroom’s ear +And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, +With no less presence, but with much more love +Than young Alcides when he did redeem +The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy +To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice; +The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, +With bleared visages come forth to view +The issue of th’ exploit. Go, Hercules! +Live thou, I live. With much much more dismay +I view the fight than thou that mak’st the fray. + + A song, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself. + + _Tell me where is fancy bred, + Or in the heart or in the head? + How begot, how nourished? + Reply, reply. + It is engend’red in the eyes, + With gazing fed, and fancy dies + In the cradle where it lies. + Let us all ring fancy’s knell: + I’ll begin it.—Ding, dong, bell._ + +ALL. + _Ding, dong, bell._ + +BASSANIO. +So may the outward shows be least themselves. +The world is still deceiv’d with ornament. +In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt +But, being season’d with a gracious voice, +Obscures the show of evil? In religion, +What damned error but some sober brow +Will bless it, and approve it with a text, +Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? +There is no vice so simple but assumes +Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. +How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false +As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins +The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, +Who inward search’d, have livers white as milk, +And these assume but valour’s excrement +To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, +And you shall see ’tis purchas’d by the weight, +Which therein works a miracle in nature, +Making them lightest that wear most of it: +So are those crisped snaky golden locks +Which make such wanton gambols with the wind +Upon supposed fairness, often known +To be the dowry of a second head, +The skull that bred them in the sepulchre. +Thus ornament is but the guiled shore +To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf +Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, +The seeming truth which cunning times put on +To entrap the wisest. Therefore thou gaudy gold, +Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee, +Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge +’Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead, +Which rather threaten’st than dost promise aught, +Thy palenness moves me more than eloquence, +And here choose I, joy be the consequence! + +PORTIA. +[_Aside._] How all the other passions fleet to air, +As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac’d despair, +And shudd’ring fear, and green-ey’d jealousy. +O love, be moderate; allay thy ecstasy, +In measure rain thy joy; scant this excess! +I feel too much thy blessing, make it less, +For fear I surfeit. + +BASSANIO. +What find I here? [_Opening the leaden casket_.] +Fair Portia’s counterfeit! What demi-god +Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? +Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, +Seem they in motion? Here are sever’d lips, +Parted with sugar breath, so sweet a bar +Should sunder such sweet friends. Here in her hairs +The painter plays the spider, and hath woven +A golden mesh t’entrap the hearts of men +Faster than gnats in cobwebs. But her eyes!— +How could he see to do them? Having made one, +Methinks it should have power to steal both his +And leave itself unfurnish’d. Yet look how far +The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow +In underprizing it, so far this shadow +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. + If you be well pleas’d with this, + And hold your fortune for your bliss, + Turn to where your lady is, + And claim her with a loving kiss._ + +A gentle scroll. Fair lady, by your leave, [_Kissing her_.] +I come by note to give and to receive. +Like one of two contending in a prize +That thinks he hath done well in people’s eyes, +Hearing applause and universal shout, +Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt +Whether those peals of praise be his or no, +So, thrice-fair lady, stand I even so, +As doubtful whether what I see be true, +Until confirm’d, sign’d, ratified by you. + +PORTIA. +You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, +Such as I am; though for myself alone +I would not be ambitious in my wish +To wish myself much better, yet for you +I would be trebled twenty times myself, +A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times +More rich, +That only to stand high in your account, +I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, +Exceed account. But the full sum of me +Is sum of something, which, to term in gross, +Is an unlesson’d girl, unschool’d, unpractis’d; +Happy in this, she is not yet so old +But she may learn; happier than this, +She is not bred so dull but she can learn; +Happiest of all, is that her gentle spirit +Commits itself to yours to be directed, +As from her lord, her governor, her king. +Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours +Is now converted. But now I was the lord +Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, +Queen o’er myself; and even now, but now, +This house, these servants, and this same myself +Are yours,—my lord’s. I give them with this ring, +Which when you part from, lose, or give away, +Let it presage the ruin of your love, +And be my vantage to exclaim on you. + +BASSANIO. +Madam, you have bereft me of all words, +Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, +And there is such confusion in my powers +As after some oration fairly spoke +By a beloved prince, there doth appear +Among the buzzing pleased multitude, +Where every something being blent together, +Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy +Express’d and not express’d. But when this ring +Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence. +O then be bold to say Bassanio’s dead! + +NERISSA. +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! + +GRATIANO. +My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, +I wish you all the joy that you can wish; +For I am sure you can wish none from me. +And when your honours mean to solemnize +The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you +Even at that time I may be married too. + +BASSANIO. +With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. + +GRATIANO. +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 lov’d, I lov’d; for intermission +No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. +Your fortune stood upon the caskets there, +And so did mine too, as the matter falls. +For wooing here until I sweat again, +And swearing till my very roof was dry +With oaths of love, at last, (if promise last) +I got a promise of this fair one here +To have her love, provided that your fortune +Achiev’d her mistress. + +PORTIA. +Is this true, Nerissa? + +NERISSA. +Madam, it is, so you stand pleas’d withal. + +BASSANIO. +And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? + +GRATIANO. +Yes, faith, my lord. + +BASSANIO. +Our feast shall be much honoured in your marriage. + +GRATIANO. +We’ll play with them the first boy for a thousand ducats. + +NERISSA. +What! and stake down? + +GRATIANO. +No, we shall ne’er win at that sport and stake down. +But who comes here? Lorenzo and his infidel? +What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio! + + Enter Lorenzo, Jessica and Salerio. + +BASSANIO. +Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither, +If that the youth of my new int’rest here +Have power to bid you welcome. By your leave, +I bid my very friends and countrymen, +Sweet Portia, welcome. + +PORTIA. +So do I, my lord, +They are entirely welcome. + +LORENZO. +I thank your honour. 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._] + +BASSANIO. +Ere I ope his letter, +I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. + +SALERIO. +Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind, +Nor well, unless in mind. His letter there +Will show you his estate. + + [_Bassanio opens the letter._] + +GRATIANO. +Nerissa, cheer yond stranger, bid her welcome. +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. + +PORTIA. +There are some shrewd contents in yond same paper +That steals 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 anything +That this same paper brings you. + +BASSANIO. +O sweet Portia, +Here are a few of the unpleasant’st words +That ever blotted paper. Gentle lady, +When I did first impart my love to you, +I freely told you all the wealth I had +Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman. +And then I told you true. And yet, dear lady, +Rating myself at nothing, you shall see +How much I was a braggart. When I told you +My state was nothing, I should then have told you +That I was worse than nothing; for indeed +I have engag’d myself to a dear friend, +Engag’d my friend to his mere enemy, +To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady, +The paper as the body of my friend, +And every word in it a gaping wound +Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Salerio? +Hath all his ventures fail’d? What, not one hit? +From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, +From Lisbon, Barbary, and India, +And not one vessel scape the dreadful touch +Of merchant-marring rocks? + +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. + +JESSICA. +When I was with him, I have heard him swear +To Tubal and to Chus, his countrymen, +That he would rather have Antonio’s flesh +Than twenty times the value of the sum +That he did owe him. And I know, my lord, +If law, authority, and power deny not, +It will go hard with poor Antonio. + +PORTIA. +Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? + +BASSANIO. +The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, +The best condition’d and unwearied spirit +In doing courtesies, and one in whom +The ancient Roman honour more appears +Than any that draws breath in Italy. + +PORTIA. +What sum owes he the Jew? + +BASSANIO. +For me three thousand ducats. + +PORTIA. +What, no more? +Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond. +Double six thousand, and then treble that, +Before a friend of this description +Shall lose a hair through Bassanio’s fault. +First go with me to church and call me wife, +And then away to Venice to your friend. +For never shall you lie by Portia’s side +With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold +To pay the petty debt twenty 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. + +BASSANIO. +_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 clear’d +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._ + +PORTIA. +O love, dispatch all business and be gone! + +BASSANIO. +Since I have your good leave to go away, +I will make haste; but, till I come again, +No bed shall e’er be guilty of my stay, +Nor rest be interposer ’twixt us twain. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Venice. A street. + + Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio and Gaoler. + +SHYLOCK. +Gaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy. +This is the fool that lent out money gratis. +Gaoler, look to him. + +ANTONIO. +Hear me yet, good Shylock. + +SHYLOCK. +I’ll have my bond, speak not against my bond. +I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond. +Thou call’dst me dog before thou hadst a cause, +But since I am a dog, beware my fangs; +The Duke shall grant me justice. I do wonder, +Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond +To come abroad with him at his request. + +ANTONIO. +I pray thee hear me speak. + +SHYLOCK. +I’ll have my bond. I will not hear thee speak. +I’ll have my bond, and therefore speak no more. +I’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool, +To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield +To Christian intercessors. Follow not, +I’ll have no speaking, I will have my bond. + + [_Exit._] + +SALARINO. +It is the most impenetrable cur +That ever kept with men. + +ANTONIO. +Let him alone. +I’ll follow him no more with bootless prayers. +He seeks my life, his reason well I know: +I oft deliver’d from his forfeitures +Many that have at times made moan to me. +Therefore he hates me. + +SALARINO. +I am sure the Duke +Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. + +ANTONIO. +The Duke cannot deny the course of law, +For the commodity that strangers have +With us in Venice, if it be denied, +’Twill much impeach the justice of the state, +Since that the trade and profit of the city +Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go. +These griefs and losses have so bated me +That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh +Tomorrow to my bloody creditor. +Well, gaoler, on, pray God Bassanio come +To see me pay his debt, and then I care not. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Belmont. A room in Portia’s house. + + Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica and Balthazar. + +LORENZO. +Madam, although I speak it in your presence, +You have a noble and a true conceit +Of godlike amity, which appears most strongly +In bearing thus the absence of your lord. +But if you knew to whom you show this honour, +How true a gentleman you send relief, +How dear a lover of my lord your husband, +I know you would be prouder of the work +Than customary bounty can enforce you. + +PORTIA. +I never did repent for doing good, +Nor shall not now; for in companions +That do converse and waste the time together, +Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, +There must be needs a like proportion +Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit; +Which makes me think that this Antonio, +Being the bosom lover of my lord, +Must needs be like my lord. If it be so, +How little is the cost I have bestowed +In purchasing the semblance of my soul +From out the state of hellish cruelty! +This comes too near the praising of myself; +Therefore no more of it. Hear other things. +Lorenzo, I commit into your hands +The husbandry and manage of my house +Until my lord’s return. For mine own part, +I have toward heaven breath’d a secret vow +To live in prayer and contemplation, +Only attended by Nerissa here, +Until her husband and my lord’s return. +There is a monastery two miles off, +And there we will abide. I do desire you +Not to deny this imposition, +The which my love and some necessity +Now lays upon you. + +LORENZO. +Madam, with all my heart +I shall obey you in all fair commands. + +PORTIA. +My people do already know my mind, +And will acknowledge you and Jessica +In place of Lord Bassanio and myself. +So fare you well till we shall meet again. + +LORENZO. +Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you! + +JESSICA. +I wish your ladyship all heart’s content. + +PORTIA. +I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas’d +To wish it back on you. Fare you well, Jessica. + + [_Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo._] + +Now, Balthazar, +As I have ever found thee honest-true, +So let me find thee still. Take this same letter, +And use thou all th’ endeavour of a man +In speed to Padua, see thou render this +Into my cousin’s hands, Doctor Bellario; +And look what notes and garments he doth give thee, +Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin’d speed +Unto the traject, to the common ferry +Which trades to Venice. Waste no time in words, +But get thee gone. I shall be there before thee. + +BALTHAZAR. +Madam, I go with all convenient speed. + + [_Exit._] + +PORTIA. +Come on, Nerissa, I have work in hand +That you yet know not of; we’ll see our husbands +Before they think of us. + +NERISSA. +Shall they see us? + +PORTIA. +They shall, Nerissa, but in such a habit +That they shall think we are accomplished +With that we lack. I’ll hold thee any wager, +When we are both accoutered like young men, +I’ll prove the prettier fellow of the two, +And wear my dagger with the braver grace, +And speak between the change of man and boy +With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps +Into a manly stride; and speak of frays +Like a fine bragging youth; and tell quaint lies +How honourable ladies sought my love, +Which I denying, they fell sick and died; +I could not do withal. Then I’ll repent, +And wish for all that, that I had not kill’d them. +And twenty of these puny lies I’ll tell, +That men shall swear I have discontinued school +About a twelvemonth. I have within my mind +A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, +Which I will practise. + +NERISSA. +Why, shall we turn to men? + +PORTIA. +Fie, what a question’s that, +If thou wert near a lewd interpreter! +But come, I’ll tell thee all my whole device +When I am in my coach, which stays for us +At the park gate; and therefore haste away, +For we must measure twenty miles today. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. The same. A garden. + + Enter Launcelet and Jessica. + +LAUNCELET. +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 damn’d. There is but one hope +in it that can do you any good, and that is but a kind of bastard hope +neither. + +JESSICA. +And what hope is that, I pray thee? + +LAUNCELET. +Marry, you may partly hope that your father got you not, that you are +not the Jew’s daughter. + +JESSICA. +That were a kind of bastard hope indeed; so the sins of my mother +should be visited upon me. + +LAUNCELET. +Truly then I fear you are damn’d both by father and mother; thus when I +shun Scylla your father, I fall into Charybdis your mother. Well, you +are gone both ways. + +JESSICA. +I shall be saved by my husband. He hath made me a Christian. + +LAUNCELET. +Truly the more to blame he, we were Christians enow before, e’en as +many as could well live one by another. This making of Christians will +raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not +shortly have a rasher on the coals for money. + + Enter Lorenzo. + +JESSICA. +I’ll tell my husband, Launcelet, what you say. Here he comes. + +LORENZO. +I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelet, if you thus get my wife +into corners! + +JESSICA. +Nay, you need nor fear us, Lorenzo. Launcelet and I are out. He tells +me flatly there’s no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew’s +daughter; and he says you are no good member of the commonwealth, for +in converting Jews to Christians you raise the price of pork. + +LORENZO. +I shall answer that better to the commonwealth than you can the getting +up of the negro’s belly! The Moor is with child by you, Launcelet. + +LAUNCELET. +It is much that the Moor should be more than reason; but if she be less +than an honest woman, she is indeed more than I took her for. + +LORENZO. +How every fool can play upon the word! I think the best grace of wit +will shortly turn into silence, and discourse grow commendable in none +only but parrots. Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner. + +LAUNCELET. +That is done, sir, they have all stomachs. + +LORENZO. +Goodly Lord, what a wit-snapper are you! Then bid them prepare dinner. + +LAUNCELET. +That is done too, sir, only “cover” is the word. + +LORENZO. +Will you cover, then, sir? + +LAUNCELET. +Not so, sir, neither. I know my duty. + +LORENZO. +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. + +LAUNCELET. +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._] + +LORENZO. +O dear discretion, how his words are suited! +The fool hath planted in his memory +An army of good words, and I do know +A many fools that stand in better place, +Garnish’d like him, that for a tricksy word +Defy the matter. How cheer’st thou, Jessica? +And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, +How dost thou like the Lord Bassanio’s wife? + +JESSICA. +Past all expressing. It is very meet +The Lord Bassanio live an upright life, +For having such a blessing in his lady, +He finds the joys of heaven here on earth, +And if on earth he do not merit it, +In reason he should never come to heaven. +Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match, +And on the wager lay two earthly women, +And Portia one, there must be something else +Pawn’d with the other, for the poor rude world +Hath not her fellow. + +LORENZO. +Even such a husband +Hast thou of me as she is for a wife. + +JESSICA. +Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. + +LORENZO. +I will anon. First let us go to dinner. + +JESSICA. +Nay, let me praise you while I have a stomach. + +LORENZO. +No pray thee, let it serve for table-talk. +Then howsome’er thou speak’st, ’mong other things +I shall digest it. + +JESSICA. +Well, I’ll set you forth. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Venice. A court of justice. + + Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salerio + and others. + +DUKE. +What, is Antonio here? + +ANTONIO. +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. + +ANTONIO. +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 arm’d +To suffer with a quietness of spirit +The very tyranny and rage of his. + +DUKE. +Go one and call the Jew into the court. + +SALARINO. +He is ready at the door. He comes, my lord. + + Enter Shylock. + +DUKE. +Make room, and let him stand before our face. +Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, +That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice +To the last hour of act, and then, ’tis thought, +Thou’lt show thy mercy and remorse more strange +Than is thy strange apparent cruelty; +And where thou now exacts the penalty, +Which is a pound of this poor merchant’s flesh, +Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, +But, touch’d with human gentleness and love, +Forgive a moiety of the principal, +Glancing an eye of pity on his losses +That have of late so huddled on his back, +Enow to press a royal merchant down, +And pluck commiseration of his state +From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, +From stubborn Turks and Tartars never train’d +To offices of tender courtesy. +We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. + +SHYLOCK. +I have possess’d your Grace of what I purpose, +And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn +To have the due and forfeit of my bond. +If you deny it, let the danger light +Upon your charter and your city’s freedom! +You’ll ask me why I rather choose to have +A weight of carrion flesh than to receive +Three thousand ducats. I’ll not answer that, +But say it is my humour. Is it answer’d? +What if my house be troubled with a rat, +And I be pleas’d to give ten thousand ducats +To have it ban’d? What, are you answer’d yet? +Some men there are love not a gaping pig; +Some that are mad if they behold a cat; +And others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the nose, +Cannot contain their urine; for affection +Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood +Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer: +As there is no firm reason to be render’d +Why he cannot abide a gaping pig, +Why he a harmless necessary cat, +Why he a woollen bagpipe, but of force +Must yield to such inevitable shame +As to offend, himself being offended, +So can I give no reason, nor I will not, +More than a lodg’d hate and a certain loathing +I bear Antonio, that I follow thus +A losing suit against him. Are you answered? + +BASSANIO. +This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, +To excuse the current of thy cruelty. + +SHYLOCK. +I am not bound to please thee with my answer. + +BASSANIO. +Do all men kill the things they do not love? + +SHYLOCK. +Hates any man the thing he would not kill? + +BASSANIO. +Every offence is not a hate at first. + +SHYLOCK. +What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice? + +ANTONIO. +I pray you, think you question with the Jew. +You may as well go stand upon the beach +And bid the main flood bate his usual height; +You 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 fretten with the gusts of heaven; +You may as well do anything most hard +As seek to soften that—than which what’s harder?— +His Jewish heart. Therefore, I do beseech you, +Make no moe offers, use no farther means, +But with all brief and plain conveniency. +Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. + +BASSANIO. +For thy three thousand ducats here is six. + +SHYLOCK. +If every ducat in six thousand ducats +Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, +I would not draw them, I would have my bond. + +DUKE. +How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend’ring none? + +SHYLOCK. +What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? +You have among you many a purchas’d slave, +Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, +You use in abject and in slavish parts, +Because you bought them. Shall I say to you +“Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? +Why sweat they under burdens? Let their beds +Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates +Be season’d with such viands”? You will answer +“The slaves are ours.” So do I answer you: +The pound of flesh which I demand of him +Is dearly bought; ’tis mine and I will have it. +If you deny me, fie upon your law! +There is no force in the decrees of Venice. +I stand for judgment. Answer; shall I have it? + +DUKE. +Upon my power I may dismiss this court, +Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, +Whom I have sent for to determine this, +Come here today. + +SALARINO. +My lord, here stays without +A messenger with letters from the doctor, +New come from Padua. + +DUKE. +Bring us the letters. Call the messenger. + +BASSANIO. +Good cheer, Antonio! What, man, courage yet! +The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, +Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. + +ANTONIO. +I am a tainted wether of the flock, +Meetest for death, the weakest kind of fruit +Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. +You cannot better be employ’d, Bassanio, +Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. + + Enter Nerissa dressed like a lawyer’s clerk. + +DUKE. +Came you from Padua, from Bellario? + +NERISSA. +From both, my lord. Bellario greets your Grace. + + [_Presents a letter._] + +BASSANIO. +Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? + +SHYLOCK. +To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. + +GRATIANO. +Not on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew, +Thou mak’st thy knife keen. But no metal can, +No, not the hangman’s axe, bear half the keenness +Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? + +SHYLOCK. +No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. + +GRATIANO. +O, be thou damn’d, inexecrable dog! +And for thy life let justice be accus’d; +Thou almost mak’st me waver in my faith, +To hold opinion with Pythagoras +That souls of animals infuse themselves +Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit +Govern’d a wolf who, hang’d for human slaughter, +Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, +And whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam, +Infus’d itself in thee; for thy desires +Are wolfish, bloody, starv’d and ravenous. + +SHYLOCK. +Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, +Thou but offend’st thy lungs to speak so loud. +Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall +To cureless ruin. I stand here for law. + +DUKE. +This letter from Bellario doth commend +A young and learned doctor to our court. +Where is he? + +NERISSA. +He attendeth here hard by, +To know your answer, whether you’ll admit him. + +DUKE OF VENICE. +With all my heart: some three or four of you +Go give him courteous conduct to this place. +Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario’s letter. + +[_Reads._] _Your Grace shall understand that at the receipt of your +letter I am very sick, but in the instant that your messenger came, in +loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome. His name is +Balthazar. I acquainted him with the cause in controversy between the +Jew and Antonio the merchant. We turn’d o’er many books together. 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 acceptance, whose trial shall better publish +his commendation._ + +You hear the learn’d Bellario what he writes, +And here, I take it, is the doctor come. + + Enter Portia dressed like a doctor of laws. + +Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario? + +PORTIA. +I did, my lord. + +DUKE. +You are welcome. Take your place. +Are you acquainted with the difference +That holds this present question in the court? + +PORTIA. +I am informed throughly of the cause. +Which is the merchant here? And which the Jew? + +DUKE. +Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. + +PORTIA. +Is your name Shylock? + +SHYLOCK. +Shylock is my name. + +PORTIA. +Of a strange nature is the suit you follow, +Yet in such rule that the Venetian law +Cannot impugn you as you do proceed. +[_To Antonio_.] You stand within his danger, do you not? + +ANTONIO. +Ay, so he says. + +PORTIA. +Do you confess the bond? + +ANTONIO. +I do. + +PORTIA. +Then must the Jew be merciful. + +SHYLOCK. +On what compulsion must I? Tell me that. + +PORTIA. +The quality of mercy is not strain’d, +It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven +Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest, +It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. +’Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes +The throned monarch better than his crown. +His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, +The attribute to awe and majesty, +Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; +But mercy is above this sceptred sway, +It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, +It is an attribute to God himself; +And earthly power doth then show likest God’s +When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, +Though justice be thy plea, consider this, +That in the course of justice none of us +Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy, +And that same prayer doth teach us all to render +The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much +To mitigate the justice of thy plea, +Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice +Must needs give sentence ’gainst the merchant there. + +SHYLOCK. +My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, +The penalty and forfeit of my bond. + +PORTIA. +Is he not able to discharge the money? + +BASSANIO. +Yes, here I tender it for him in the court, +Yea, twice the sum, if that will not suffice, +I will be bound to pay it ten times o’er +On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. +If this will not suffice, it must appear +That malice bears down truth. And I beseech 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. + +PORTIA. +It must not be, there is no power in Venice +Can alter a decree established; +’Twill be recorded for a precedent, +And many an error by the same example +Will rush into the state. It cannot be. + +SHYLOCK. +A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel! +O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! + +PORTIA. +I pray you let me look upon the bond. + +SHYLOCK. +Here ’tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. + +PORTIA. +Shylock, there’s thrice thy money offered thee. + +SHYLOCK. +An oath, an oath! I have an oath in heaven. +Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? +No, not for Venice. + +PORTIA. +Why, this bond is forfeit, +And lawfully by this the Jew may claim +A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off +Nearest the merchant’s heart. Be merciful, +Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. + +SHYLOCK. +When it is paid according to the tenour. +It doth appear you are a worthy judge; +You know the law; your exposition +Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law, +Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, +Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear +There is no power in the tongue of man +To alter me. I stay here on my bond. + +ANTONIO. +Most heartily I do beseech the court +To give the judgment. + +PORTIA. +Why then, thus it is: +You must prepare your bosom for his knife. + +SHYLOCK. +O noble judge! O excellent young man! + +PORTIA. +For the intent and purpose of the law +Hath full relation to the penalty, +Which here appeareth due upon the bond. + +SHYLOCK. +’Tis very true. O wise and upright judge, +How much more elder art thou than thy looks! + +PORTIA. +Therefore lay bare your bosom. + +SHYLOCK. +Ay, his breast +So says the bond, doth it not, noble judge? +“Nearest his heart”: those are the very words. + +PORTIA. +It is so. Are there balance here to weigh +The flesh? + +SHYLOCK. +I have them ready. + +PORTIA. +Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, +To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. + +SHYLOCK. +Is it so nominated in the bond? + +PORTIA. +It is not so express’d, but what of that? +’Twere good you do so much for charity. + +SHYLOCK. +I cannot find it; ’tis not in the bond. + +PORTIA. +You, merchant, have you anything to say? + +ANTONIO. +But little. I am arm’d and well prepar’d. +Give me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well, +Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you, +For herein Fortune shows herself more kind +Than is her custom: it is still her use +To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, +To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow +An age of poverty, from which ling’ring penance +Of such misery doth she cut me off. +Commend me to your honourable wife, +Tell her the process of Antonio’s end, +Say how I lov’d you, speak me fair in death. +And when the tale is told, bid her be judge +Whether Bassanio had not once a love. +Repent but 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’ll pay it instantly with all my heart. + +BASSANIO. +Antonio, I am married to a wife +Which is as dear to me as life itself, +But life itself, my wife, and all the world, +Are not with me esteem’d above thy life. +I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all +Here to this devil, to deliver you. + +PORTIA. +Your wife would give you little thanks for that +If she were by to hear you make the offer. + +GRATIANO. +I have a wife who I protest I love. +I would she were in heaven, so she could +Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. + +NERISSA. +’Tis well you offer it behind her back, +The wish would make else an unquiet house. + +SHYLOCK. +These be the Christian husbands! I have a daughter— +Would any of the stock of Barabbas +Had been her husband, rather than a Christian! +We trifle time, I pray thee, pursue sentence. + +PORTIA. +A pound of that same merchant’s flesh is thine, +The court awards it and the law doth give it. + +SHYLOCK. +Most rightful judge! + +PORTIA. +And you must cut this flesh from off his breast. +The law allows it and the court awards it. + +SHYLOCK. +Most learned judge! A sentence! Come, prepare. + +PORTIA. +Tarry a little, there is something else. +This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood. +The words expressly are “a pound of flesh”: +Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh, +But in the cutting 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. + +GRATIANO. +O upright judge! Mark, Jew. O learned judge! + +SHYLOCK. +Is that the law? + +PORTIA. +Thyself shalt see the act. +For, as thou urgest justice, be assur’d +Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir’st. + +GRATIANO. +O learned judge! Mark, Jew, a learned judge! + +SHYLOCK. +I take this offer then. Pay the bond thrice +And let the Christian go. + +BASSANIO. +Here is the money. + +PORTIA. +Soft! +The Jew shall have all justice. Soft! no haste! +He shall have nothing but the penalty. + +GRATIANO. +O Jew, an upright judge, a learned judge! + +PORTIA. +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. + +GRATIANO. +A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! +Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. + +PORTIA. +Why doth the Jew pause? Take thy forfeiture. + +SHYLOCK. +Give me my principal, and let me go. + +BASSANIO. +I have it ready for thee. Here it is. + +PORTIA. +He hath refus’d it in the open court, +He shall have merely justice and his bond. + +GRATIANO. +A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel! +I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. + +SHYLOCK. +Shall I not have barely my principal? + +PORTIA. +Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture +To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. + +SHYLOCK. +Why, then the devil give him good of it! +I’ll stay no longer question. + +PORTIA. +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 +That by direct or indirect attempts +He seek the life of any citizen, +The party ’gainst the which he doth contrive +Shall seize one half his goods; the other half +Comes to the privy coffer of the state, +And the offender’s life lies in the mercy +Of the Duke only, ’gainst all other voice. +In which predicament I say thou stand’st; +For it appears by manifest proceeding +That indirectly, and directly too, +Thou hast contrived against the very life +Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr’d +The danger formerly by me rehears’d. +Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. + +GRATIANO. +Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself, +And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, +Thou hast not left the value of a cord; +Therefore thou must be hang’d at the state’s charge. + +DUKE. +That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, +I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. +For half thy wealth, it is Antonio’s; +The other half comes to the general state, +Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. + +PORTIA. +Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. + +SHYLOCK. +Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that. +You take my house when you do take the prop +That doth sustain my house; you take my life +When you do take the means whereby I live. + +PORTIA. +What mercy can you render him, Antonio? + +GRATIANO. +A halter gratis, nothing else, for God’s sake! + +ANTONIO. +So please my lord the Duke and all the court +To quit the fine for one half of his goods, +I am content, so he will let me have +The other half in use, to render it +Upon his death unto the gentleman +That lately stole his daughter. +Two things provided more, that for this favour, +He presently become a Christian; +The other, that he do record a gift, +Here in the court, of all he dies possess’d +Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. + +DUKE. +He shall do this, or else I do recant +The pardon that I late pronounced here. + +PORTIA. +Art thou contented, Jew? What dost thou say? + +SHYLOCK. +I am content. + +PORTIA. +Clerk, draw a deed of gift. + +SHYLOCK. +I pray you give me leave to go from hence; +I am not well; send the deed after me +And I will sign it. + +DUKE. +Get thee gone, but do it. + +GRATIANO. +In christ’ning shalt thou have two god-fathers. +Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more, +To bring thee to the gallows, not to the font. + + [_Exit Shylock._] + +DUKE. +Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. + +PORTIA. +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 his train._] + +BASSANIO. +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. + +ANTONIO. +And stand indebted, over and above +In love and service to you evermore. + +PORTIA. +He is well paid that is well satisfied, +And I delivering you, am satisfied, +And therein do account myself well paid, +My mind was never yet more mercenary. +I pray you know me when we meet again, +I wish you well, and so I take my leave. + +BASSANIO. +Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further. +Take some remembrance of us as a tribute, +Not as fee. Grant me two things, I pray you, +Not to deny me, and to pardon me. + +PORTIA. +You press me far, and therefore I will yield. +[_To Antonio_.] Give me your gloves, I’ll wear them for your sake. +[_To Bassanio_.] And, 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. + +BASSANIO. +This ring, good sir? Alas, it is a trifle, +I will not shame myself to give you this. + +PORTIA. +I will have nothing else but only this, +And now methinks I have a mind to it. + +BASSANIO. +There’s more depends on this than on the value. +The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, +And find it out by proclamation, +Only for this I pray you pardon me. + +PORTIA. +I see, sir, you are liberal in offers. +You taught me first to beg, and now methinks +You teach me how a beggar should be answer’d. + +BASSANIO. +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. + +PORTIA. +That ’scuse serves many men to save their gifts. +And if your wife be not a mad-woman, +And know how well I have deserv’d this ring, +She would not hold out enemy for ever +For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! + + [_Exeunt Portia and Nerissa._] + +ANTONIO. +My Lord Bassanio, let him have the ring. +Let his deservings and my love withal +Be valued ’gainst your wife’s commandment. + +BASSANIO. +Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him; +Give him the ring, and bring him if thou canst +Unto Antonio’s house. Away, make haste. + + [_Exit Gratiano._] + +Come, you and I will thither presently, +And in the morning early will we both +Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A street. + + Enter Portia and Nerissa. + +PORTIA. +Inquire the Jew’s house out, give him this deed, +And let him sign it, we’ll away tonight, +And be a day before our husbands home. +This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. + + Enter Gratiano. + +GRATIANO. +Fair sir, you are well o’erta’en. +My Lord Bassanio upon more advice, +Hath sent you here this ring, and doth entreat +Your company at dinner. + +PORTIA. +That cannot be; +His ring I do accept most thankfully, +And so I pray you tell him. Furthermore, +I pray you show my youth old Shylock’s house. + +GRATIANO. +That will I do. + +NERISSA. +Sir, I would speak with you. +[_Aside to Portia_.] +I’ll see if I can get my husband’s ring, +Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. + +PORTIA. +[_To Nerissa_.] Thou mayst, I warrant. We shall have old swearing +That they did give the rings away to men; +But we’ll outface them, and outswear them too. +Away! make haste! Thou know’st where I will tarry. + +NERISSA. +Come, good sir, will you show me to this house? + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Belmont. The avenue to Portia’s house. + + Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. + +LORENZO. +The moon shines bright. In such a night as this, +When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, +And they did make no noise, in such a night, +Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls, +And sigh’d his soul toward the Grecian tents +Where Cressid lay that night. + +JESSICA. +In such a night +Did Thisby fearfully o’ertrip the dew, +And saw the lion’s shadow ere himself, +And ran dismay’d away. + +LORENZO. +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. + +JESSICA. +In such a night +Medea gathered the enchanted herbs +That did renew old Æson. + +LORENZO. +In such a night +Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, +And with an unthrift love did run from Venice +As far as Belmont. + +JESSICA. +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. + +LORENZO. +In such a night +Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, +Slander her love, and he forgave it her. + +JESSICA. +I would out-night you did no body come; +But hark, I hear the footing of a man. + + Enter Stephano. + +LORENZO. +Who comes so fast in silence of the night? + +STEPHANO. +A friend. + +LORENZO. +A friend! What friend? Your name, I pray you, friend? + +STEPHANO. +Stephano is my name, and I bring word +My mistress will before the break of day +Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about +By holy crosses where she kneels and prays +For happy wedlock hours. + +LORENZO. +Who comes with her? + +STEPHANO. +None but a holy hermit and her maid. +I pray you is my master yet return’d? + +LORENZO. +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. + + Enter Launcelet. + +LAUNCELET. Sola, sola! wo ha, ho! sola, sola! + +LORENZO. +Who calls? + +LAUNCELET. +Sola! Did you see Master Lorenzo? Master Lorenzo! Sola, sola! + +LORENZO. +Leave holloaing, man. Here! + +LAUNCELET. +Sola! Where, where? + +LORENZO. +Here! + +LAUNCELET. +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._] + +LORENZO. +Sweet soul, let’s in, and there expect their coming. +And yet no matter; why should we go in? +My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, +Within the house, your mistress is at hand, +And bring your music forth into the air. + + [_Exit Stephano._] + +How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! +Here will we sit and let the sounds of music +Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night +Become the touches of sweet harmony. +Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven +Is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold. +There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st +But in his motion like an angel sings, +Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; +Such harmony is in immortal souls, +But whilst this muddy vesture of decay +Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. + + Enter Musicians. + +Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn. +With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear, +And draw her home with music. + + [_Music._] + +JESSICA. +I am never merry when I hear sweet music. + +LORENZO. +The reason is, your spirits are attentive. +For do but note a wild and wanton herd +Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, +Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, +Which is the hot condition of their blood, +If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, +Or any air of music touch their ears, +You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, +Their savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze +By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet +Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods, +Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, +But music for the time doth change his nature. +The man that hath no music in himself, +Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, +Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; +The motions of his spirit are dull as night, +And his affections dark as Erebus. +Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. + + Enter Portia and Nerissa. + +PORTIA. +That light we see is burning in my hall. +How far that little candle throws his beams! +So shines a good deed in a naughty world. + +NERISSA. +When the moon shone we did not see the candle. + +PORTIA. +So doth the greater glory dim the less. +A substitute shines brightly as a king +Until a king be by, and then his state +Empties itself, as doth an inland brook +Into the main of waters. Music! hark! + +NERISSA. +It is your music, madam, of the house. + +PORTIA. +Nothing is good, I see, without respect. +Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. + +NERISSA. +Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. + +PORTIA. +The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark +When neither is attended; and I think +The nightingale, if she should sing by day +When every goose is cackling, would be thought +No better a musician than the wren. +How many things by season season’d are +To their right praise and true perfection! +Peace! How the moon sleeps with Endymion, +And would not be awak’d! + + [_Music ceases._] + +LORENZO. +That is the voice, +Or I am much deceiv’d, of Portia. + +PORTIA. +He knows me as the blind man knows the cuckoo, +By the bad voice. + +LORENZO. +Dear lady, welcome home. + +PORTIA. +We have been praying for our husbands’ welfare, +Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. +Are they return’d? + +LORENZO. +Madam, they are not yet; +But there is come a messenger before +To signify their coming. + +PORTIA. +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. + + [_A tucket sounds._] + +LORENZO. +Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet. +We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not. + +PORTIA. +This night methinks is but the daylight sick, +It looks a little paler. ’Tis a day +Such as the day is when the sun is hid. + + Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano and their Followers. + +BASSANIO. +We should hold day with the Antipodes, +If you would walk in absence of the sun. + +PORTIA. +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. + +BASSANIO. +I thank you, madam. Give welcome to my friend. +This is the man, this is Antonio, +To whom I am so infinitely bound. + +PORTIA. +You should in all sense be much bound to him, +For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. + +ANTONIO. +No more than I am well acquitted of. + +PORTIA. +Sir, you are very welcome to our house. +It must appear in other ways than words, +Therefore I scant this breathing courtesy. + +GRATIANO. +[_To Nerissa_.] By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong, +In faith, I gave it to the judge’s clerk. +Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, +Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. + +PORTIA. +A quarrel, ho, already! What’s the matter? + +GRATIANO. +About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring +That she did give me, whose posy was +For all the world like cutlers’ poetry +Upon a knife, “Love me, and leave me not.” + +NERISSA. +What talk you of the posy, or the value? +You swore to me when I did give it you, +That you would wear it till your hour of death, +And that it should lie with you in your grave. +Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, +You should have been respective and have kept it. +Gave it a judge’s clerk! No, God’s my judge, +The clerk will ne’er wear hair on’s face that had it. + +GRATIANO. +He will, and if he live to be a man. + +NERISSA. +Ay, if a woman live to be a man. + +GRATIANO. +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 begg’d it as a fee, +I could not for my heart deny it him. + +PORTIA. +You were to blame,—I must be plain with you,— +To part so slightly with your wife’s first gift, +A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, +And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. +I gave my love a ring, and made him swear +Never to part with it, and here he stands. +I dare be sworn for him he would not leave it +Nor pluck it from his finger for the wealth +That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, +You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief, +An ’twere to me I should be mad at it. + +BASSANIO. +[_Aside._] Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, +And swear I lost the ring defending it. + +GRATIANO. +My Lord Bassanio gave his ring away +Unto the judge that begg’d it, and indeed +Deserv’d it too. And then the boy, his clerk, +That took some pains in writing, he begg’d mine, +And neither man nor master would take aught +But the two rings. + +PORTIA. +What ring gave you, my lord? +Not that, I hope, which you receiv’d of me. + +BASSANIO. +If I could add a lie unto a fault, +I would deny it, but you see my finger +Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. + +PORTIA. +Even so void is your false heart of truth. +By heaven, I will ne’er come in your bed +Until I see the ring. + +NERISSA. +Nor I in yours +Till I again see mine! + +BASSANIO. +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. + +PORTIA. +If you had known the virtue of the ring, +Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, +Or your own honour to contain the ring, +You would not then have parted with the ring. +What man is there so much unreasonable, +If you had pleas’d to have defended it +With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty +To urge the thing held as a ceremony? +Nerissa teaches me what to believe: +I’ll die for’t but some woman had the ring. + +BASSANIO. +No, by my honour, madam, by my soul, +No woman had it, but a civil doctor, +Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, +And begg’d the ring, the which I did deny him, +And suffer’d him to go displeas’d away, +Even he that had held up the very life +Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? +I was enforc’d to send it after him. +I was beset with shame and courtesy. +My honour would not let ingratitude +So much besmear it. Pardon me, good lady; +For by these blessed candles of the night, +Had you been there, I think you would have begg’d +The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. + +PORTIA. +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, +No, not my body, nor my husband’s bed. +Know him I shall, I am well sure of it. +Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argus, +If you do not, if I be left alone, +Now by mine honour which is yet mine own, +I’ll have that doctor for mine bedfellow. + +NERISSA. +And I his clerk. Therefore be well advis’d +How you do leave me to mine own protection. + +GRATIANO. +Well, do you so. Let not me take him then, +For if I do, I’ll mar the young clerk’s pen. + +ANTONIO. +I am th’ unhappy subject of these quarrels. + +PORTIA. +Sir, grieve not you. You are welcome notwithstanding. + +BASSANIO. +Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong, +And in the hearing of these many friends +I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, +Wherein I see myself— + +PORTIA. +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. + +BASSANIO. +Nay, but hear me. +Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear +I never more will break an oath with thee. + +ANTONIO. +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. + +PORTIA. +Then you shall be his surety. Give him this, +And bid him keep it better than the other. + +ANTONIO. +Here, Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring. + +BASSANIO. +By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! + +PORTIA. +I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio, +For by this ring, the doctor lay with me. + +NERISSA. +And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano, +For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor’s clerk, +In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. + +GRATIANO. +Why, this is like the mending of highways +In summer, where the ways are fair enough. +What, are we cuckolds ere we have deserv’d it? + +PORTIA. +Speak not so grossly. You are all amaz’d. +Here is a letter; read it at your leisure. +It comes from Padua from Bellario. +There you shall find that Portia was the doctor, +Nerissa there, her clerk. Lorenzo here +Shall witness I set forth as soon as you, +And even but now return’d. I have not yet +Enter’d my house. Antonio, you are welcome, +And I have better news in store for you +Than you expect: unseal this letter soon. +There you shall find three of your argosies +Are richly come to harbour suddenly. +You shall not know by what strange accident +I chanced on this letter. + +ANTONIO. +I am dumb. + +BASSANIO. +Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? + +GRATIANO. +Were you the clerk that is to make me cuckold? + +NERISSA. +Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, +Unless he live until he be a man. + +BASSANIO. +Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow. +When I am absent, then lie with my wife. + +ANTONIO. +Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; +For here I read for certain that my ships +Are safely come to road. + +PORTIA. +How now, Lorenzo! +My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. + +NERISSA. +Ay, and I’ll give them him without a fee. +There do I give to you and Jessica, +From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, +After his death, of all he dies possess’d of. + +LORENZO. +Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way +Of starved people. + +PORTIA. +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. + +GRATIANO. +Let it be so. The first inter’gatory +That my Nerissa shall be sworn on is, +Whether till the next night she had rather stay, +Or go to bed now, being two hours to day. +But were the day come, I should wish it dark +Till I were couching with the doctor’s clerk. +Well, while I live, I’ll fear no other thing +So sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR + +Dramatis Personae + + SIR JOHN FALSTAFF + FENTON, a young gentleman + SHALLOW, a country justice + SLENDER, cousin to Shallow + + Gentlemen of Windsor + FORD + PAGE + WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page + SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson + DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician + HOST of the Garter Inn + + Followers of Falstaff + BARDOLPH + PISTOL + NYM + ROBIN, page to Falstaff + SIMPLE, servant to Slender + RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius + + MISTRESS FORD + MISTRESS PAGE + MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter + MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius + SERVANTS to Page, Ford, etc. + +SCENE: Windsor, and the neighbourhood + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +Windsor. Before PAGE'S house + +Enter JUSTICE SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + SHALLOW. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star + Chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, + he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire. + SLENDER. In the county of Gloucester, Justice of Peace, and + Coram. + SHALLOW. Ay, cousin Slender, and Custalorum. + SLENDER. Ay, and Ratolorum too; and a gentleman born, + Master Parson, who writes himself 'Armigero' in any bill, + warrant, quittance, or obligation-'Armigero.' + SHALLOW. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three + hundred years. + SLENDER. All his successors, gone before him, hath done't; + and all his ancestors, that come after him, may: they may + give the dozen white luces in their coat. + SHALLOW. It is an old coat. + EVANS. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well; + it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to man, and + signifies love. + SHALLOW. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old + coat. + SLENDER. I may quarter, coz. + SHALLOW. You may, by marrying. + EVANS. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. + SHALLOW. Not a whit. + EVANS. Yes, py'r lady! If he has a quarter of your coat, there + is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures; + but that is all one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed + disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be + glad to do my benevolence, to make atonements and + compremises between you. + SHALLOW. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot. + EVANS. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is no + fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, shall desire + to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; take your + vizaments in that. + SHALLOW. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword + should end it. + EVANS. It is petter that friends is the sword and end it; + and there is also another device in my prain, which + peradventure prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne + Page, which is daughter to Master George Page, which is + pretty virginity. + SLENDER. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and + speaks small like a woman. + EVANS. It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as you + will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys, and + gold, and silver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed-Got + deliver to a joyful resurrections!-give, when she is able to + overtake seventeen years old. It were a goot motion if we + leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage + between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne Page. + SHALLOW. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound? + EVANS. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. + SHALLOW. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good + gifts. + EVANS. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts. + SHALLOW. Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff + there? + EVANS. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do + despise one that is false; or as I despise one that is not + true. The knight Sir John is there; and, I beseech you, be + ruled by your well-willers. I will peat the door for Master + Page. + [Knocks] What, hoa! Got pless your house here! + PAGE. [Within] Who's there? + + Enter PAGE + + EVANS. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice + Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures + shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your + likings. + PAGE. I am glad to see your worships well. I thank you for + my venison, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do + it your good heart! I wish'd your venison better; it was ill + kill'd. How doth good Mistress Page?-and I thank you + always with my heart, la! with my heart. + PAGE. Sir, I thank you. + SHALLOW. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. + PAGE. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender. + SLENDER. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say + he was outrun on Cotsall. + PAGE. It could not be judg'd, sir. + SLENDER. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. + SHALLOW. That he will not. 'Tis your fault; 'tis your fault; + 'tis a good dog. + PAGE. A cur, sir. + SHALLOW. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog. Can there be + more said? He is good, and fair. Is Sir John Falstaff here? + PAGE. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office + between you. + EVANS. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak. + SHALLOW. He hath wrong'd me, Master Page. + PAGE. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. + SHALLOW. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not that + so, Master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed he hath; at a + word, he hath, believe me; Robert Shallow, esquire, saith + he is wronged. + PAGE. Here comes Sir John. + + Enter SIR JOHN FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL + + FALSTAFF. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to + the King? + SHALLOW. Knight, you have beaten my men, kill'd my deer, + and broke open my lodge. + FALSTAFF. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. + SHALLOW. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd. + FALSTAFF. I will answer it straight: I have done all this. + That is now answer'd. + SHALLOW. The Council shall know this. + FALSTAFF. 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel: + you'll be laugh'd at. + EVANS. Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts. + FALSTAFF. Good worts! good cabbage! Slender, I broke your + head; what matter have you against me? + SLENDER. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you; + and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph, Nym, + and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me + drunk, and afterwards pick'd my pocket. + BARDOLPH. You Banbury cheese! + SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter. + PISTOL. How now, Mephostophilus! + SLENDER. Ay, it is no matter. + NYM. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! That's my humour. + SLENDER. Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin? + EVANS. Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is + three umpires in this matter, as I understand: that is, + Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is myself, + fidelicet myself; and the three party is, lastly and + finally, mine host of the Garter. + PAGE. We three to hear it and end it between them. + EVANS. Fery goot. I will make a prief of it in my note-book; + and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with as great + discreetly as we can. + FALSTAFF. Pistol! + PISTOL. He hears with ears. + EVANS. The tevil and his tam! What phrase is this, 'He hears + with ear'? Why, it is affectations. + FALSTAFF. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse? + SLENDER. Ay, by these gloves, did he-or I would I might + never come in mine own great chamber again else!-of + seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward + shovel-boards that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece + of Yead Miller, by these gloves. + FALSTAFF. Is this true, Pistol? + EVANS. No, it is false, if it is a pick-purse. + PISTOL. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and master + mine, + I combat challenge of this latten bilbo. + Word of denial in thy labras here! + Word of denial! Froth and scum, thou liest. + SLENDER. By these gloves, then, 'twas he. + NYM. Be avis'd, sir, and pass good humours; I will say + 'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's humour on + me; that is the very note of it. + SLENDER. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for + though I cannot remember what I did when you made me + drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. + FALSTAFF. What say you, Scarlet and John? + BARDOLPH. Why, sir, for my part, I say the gentleman had + drunk himself out of his five sentences. + EVANS. It is his five senses; fie, what the ignorance is! + BARDOLPH. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashier'd; + and so conclusions pass'd the careers. + SLENDER. Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no matter; + I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, + civil, godly company, for this trick. If I be drunk, I'll be + drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with + drunken knaves. + EVANS. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind. + FALSTAFF. You hear all these matters deni'd, gentlemen; you + hear it. + + Enter MISTRESS ANNE PAGE with wine; MISTRESS + FORD and MISTRESS PAGE, following + + PAGE. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within. + Exit ANNE PAGE + SLENDER. O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page. + PAGE. How now, Mistress Ford! + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well + met; by your leave, good mistress. [Kisses her] + PAGE. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a + hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we + shall drink down all unkindness. + Exeunt all but SHALLOW, SLENDER, and EVANS + SLENDER. I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of + Songs and Sonnets here. + + Enter SIMPLE + + How, Simple! Where have you been? I must wait on + myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles about you, + have you? + SIMPLE. Book of Riddles! Why, did you not lend it to Alice + Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore + Michaelmas? + SHALLOW. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word + with you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a + tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do + you understand me? + SLENDER. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I + shall do that that is reason. + SHALLOW. Nay, but understand me. + SLENDER. So I do, sir. + EVANS. Give ear to his motions: Master Slender, I will + description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. + SLENDER. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says; I pray + you pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country, + simple though I stand here. + EVANS. But that is not the question. The question is + concerning your marriage. + SHALLOW. Ay, there's the point, sir. + EVANS. Marry is it; the very point of it; to Mistress Anne + Page. + SLENDER. Why, if it be so, I will marry her upon any + reasonable demands. + EVANS. But can you affection the oman? Let us command to + know that of your mouth or of your lips; for divers philosophers + hold that the lips is parcel of the mouth. Therefore, + precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid? + SHALLOW. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? + SLENDER. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall become one that + would do reason. + EVANS. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies! you must speak possitable, + if you can carry her your desires towards her. + SHALLOW. That you must. Will you, upon good dowry, + marry her? + SLENDER. I will do a greater thing than that upon your request, + cousin, in any reason. + SHALLOW. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what + I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can you love the maid? + SLENDER. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there + be no great love in the beginning, yet heaven may decrease + it upon better acquaintance, when we are married and + have more occasion to know one another. I hope upon + familiarity will grow more contempt. But if you say + 'marry her,' I will marry her; that I am freely dissolved, + and dissolutely. + EVANS. It is a fery discretion answer, save the fall is in the + ord 'dissolutely': the ort is, according to our meaning, + 'resolutely'; his meaning is good. + SHALLOW. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. + SLENDER. Ay, or else I would I might be hang'd, la! + + Re-enter ANNE PAGE + + SHALLOW. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. Would I were + young for your sake, Mistress Anne! + ANNE. The dinner is on the table; my father desires your + worships' company. + SHALLOW. I will wait on him, fair Mistress Anne! + EVANS. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the grace. + Exeunt SHALLOW and EVANS + ANNE. Will't please your worship to come in, sir? + SLENDER. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very + well. + ANNE. The dinner attends you, sir. + SLENDER. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. Go, + sirrah, for all you are my man, go wait upon my cousin + Shallow. [Exit SIMPLE] A justice of peace sometime may + be beholding to his friend for a man. I keep but three men + and a boy yet, till my mother be dead. But what though? + Yet I live like a poor gentleman born. + ANNE. I may not go in without your worship; they will not + sit till you come. + SLENDER. I' faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as + though I did. + ANNE. I pray you, sir, walk in. + SLENDER. I had rather walk here, I thank you. I bruis'd my + shin th' other day with playing at sword and dagger with + a master of fence-three veneys for a dish of stew'd prunes + -and, I with my ward defending my head, he hot my shin, + and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat + since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i' th' + town? + ANNE. I think there are, sir; I heard them talk'd of. + SLENDER. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at + it as any man in England. You are afraid, if you see the + bear loose, are you not? + ANNE. Ay, indeed, sir. + SLENDER. That's meat and drink to me now. I have seen + Sackerson loose twenty times, and have taken him by the + chain; but I warrant you, the women have so cried and + shriek'd at it that it pass'd; but women, indeed, cannot + abide 'em; they are very ill-favour'd rough things. + + Re-enter PAGE + + PAGE. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; we stay for you. + SLENDER. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. + PAGE. By cock and pie, you shall not choose, sir! Come, + come. + SLENDER. Nay, pray you lead the way. + PAGE. Come on, sir. + SLENDER. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. + ANNE. Not I, sir; pray you keep on. + SLENDER. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la! I will not do + you that wrong. + ANNE. I pray you, sir. + SLENDER. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome. You + do yourself wrong indeed, la! Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +Before PAGE'S house + +Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE + + EVANS. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' house which + is the way; and there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which + is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, + or his laundry, his washer, and his wringer. + SIMPLE. Well, sir. + EVANS. Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter; for it is a + oman that altogether's acquaintance with Mistress Anne + Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit + your master's desires to Mistress Anne Page. I pray you + be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there's pippins + and cheese to come. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN + + FALSTAFF. Mine host of the Garter! + HOST. What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and + wisely. + FALSTAFF. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my + followers. + HOST. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot, + trot. + FALSTAFF. I sit at ten pounds a week. + HOST. Thou'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I + will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I + well, bully Hector? + FALSTAFF. Do so, good mine host. + HOST. I have spoke; let him follow. [To BARDOLPH] Let me + see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow. Exit HOST + FALSTAFF. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade; + an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither'd serving-man a + fresh tapster. Go; adieu. + BARDOLPH. It is a life that I have desir'd; I will thrive. + PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot + wield? Exit BARDOLPH + NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited? + FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his + thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful + singer-he kept not time. + NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest. + PISTOL. 'Convey' the wise it call. 'Steal' foh! A fico for the + phrase! + FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. + PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue. + FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must + shift. + PISTOL. Young ravens must have food. + FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town? + PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. + FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. + PISTOL. Two yards, and more. + FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist + two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about + thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I + spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she + gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her + familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be + English'd rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.' + PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out + of honesty into English. + NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass? + FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her + husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels. + PISTOL. As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I. + NYM. The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels. + FALSTAFF. I have writ me here a letter to her; and here + another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes + too, examin'd my parts with most judicious oeillades; + sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my + portly belly. + PISTOL. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. + NYM. I thank thee for that humour. + FALSTAFF. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such + a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to + scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's another letter to + her. She bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all + gold and bounty. I will be cheaters to them both, and they + shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West + Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this + letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We + will thrive, lads, we will thrive. + PISTOL. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, + And by my side wear steel? Then Lucifer take all! + NYM. I will run no base humour. Here, take the + humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation. + FALSTAFF. [To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters + tightly; + Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. + Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go; + Trudge, plod away i' th' hoof; seek shelter, pack! + Falstaff will learn the humour of the age; + French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page. + Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN + PISTOL. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam + holds, + And high and low beguiles the rich and poor; + Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack, + Base Phrygian Turk! + NYM. I have operations in my head which be humours of + revenge. + PISTOL. Wilt thou revenge? + NYM. By welkin and her star! + PISTOL. With wit or steel? + NYM. With both the humours, I. + I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. + PISTOL. And I to Ford shall eke unfold + How Falstaff, varlet vile, + His dove will prove, his gold will hold, + And his soft couch defile. + NYM. My humour shall not cool; I will incense Page to deal + with poison; I will possess him with yellowness; for the + revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour. + PISTOL. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second thee; + troop on. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +DOCTOR CAIUS'S house + +Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY, SIMPLE, and RUGBY + + QUICKLY. What, John Rugby! I pray thee go to the casement + and see if you can see my master, Master Doctor + Caius, coming. If he do, i' faith, and find anybody in the + house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience and + the King's English. + RUGBY. I'll go watch. + QUICKLY. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in + faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. [Exit RUGBY] An + honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come in + house withal; and, I warrant you, no tell-tale nor no + breed-bate; his worst fault is that he is given to prayer; he is + something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault; + but let that pass. Peter Simple you say your name is? + SIMPLE. Ay, for fault of a better. + QUICKLY. And Master Slender's your master? + SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth. + QUICKLY. Does he not wear a great round beard, like a + glover's paring-knife? + SIMPLE. No, forsooth; he hath but a little whey face, with a + little yellow beard, a Cain-colour'd beard. + QUICKLY. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? + SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth; but he is as tall a man of his hands as + any is between this and his head; he hath fought with a + warrener. + QUICKLY. How say you? O, I should remember him. Does + he not hold up his head, as it were, and strut in his gait? + SIMPLE. Yes, indeed, does he. + QUICKLY. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! + Tell Master Parson Evans I will do what I can for your + master. Anne is a good girl, and I wish- + + Re-enter RUGBY + + RUGBY. Out, alas! here comes my master. + QUICKLY. We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young + man; go into this closet. [Shuts SIMPLE in the closet] He + will not stay long. What, John Rugby! John! what, John, + I say! Go, John, go inquire for my master; I doubt he be + not well that he comes not home. [Singing] + And down, down, adown-a, etc. + + Enter DOCTOR CAIUS + + CAIUS. Vat is you sing? I do not like des toys. Pray you, go + and vetch me in my closet un boitier vert-a box, a green-a + box. Do intend vat I speak? A green-a box. + QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. [Aside] I am glad + he went not in himself; if he had found the young man, + he would have been horn-mad. + CAIUS. Fe, fe, fe fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais a + la cour-la grande affaire. + QUICKLY. Is it this, sir? + CAIUS. Oui; mette le au mon pocket: depeche, quickly. Vere + is dat knave, Rugby? + QUICKLY. What, John Rugby? John! + RUGBY. Here, sir. + CAIUS. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby. + Come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to the + court. + RUGBY. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. + CAIUS. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od's me! Qu'ai j'oublie? + Dere is some simples in my closet dat I vill not for the + varld I shall leave behind. + QUICKLY. Ay me, he'll find the young man there, and be + mad! + CAIUS. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet? Villainy! larron! + [Pulling SIMPLE out] Rugby, my rapier! + QUICKLY. Good master, be content. + CAIUS. Wherefore shall I be content-a? + QUICKLY. The young man is an honest man. + CAIUS. What shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is + no honest man dat shall come in my closet. + QUICKLY. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic; hear the + truth of it. He came of an errand to me from Parson Hugh. + CAIUS. Vell? + SIMPLE. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to- + QUICKLY. Peace, I pray you. + CAIUS. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a your tale. + SIMPLE. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to + speak a good word to Mistress Anne Page for my master, + in the way of marriage. + QUICKLY. This is all, indeed, la! but I'll ne'er put my finger + in the fire, and need not. + CAIUS. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, baillez me some paper. + Tarry you a little-a-while. [Writes] + QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] I am glad he is so quiet; if he + had been throughly moved, you should have heard him + so loud and so melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll + do you your master what good I can; and the very yea and + the no is, the French doctor, my master-I may call him + my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash, + wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the + beds, and do all myself- + SIMPLE. [Aside to QUICKLY] 'Tis a great charge to come + under one body's hand. + QUICKLY. [Aside to SIMPLE] Are you avis'd o' that? You + shall find it a great charge; and to be up early and down + late; but notwithstanding-to tell you in your ear, I would + have no words of it-my master himself is in love with + Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know + Anne's mind-that's neither here nor there. + CAIUS. You jack'nape; give-a this letter to Sir Hugh; by gar, + it is a shallenge; I will cut his troat in de park; and I will + teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You + may be gone; it is not good you tarry here. By gar, I will + cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone + to throw at his dog. Exit SIMPLE + QUICKLY. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. + CAIUS. It is no matter-a ver dat. Do not you tell-a me dat I + shall have Anne Page for myself? By gar, I vill kill de Jack + priest; and I have appointed mine host of de Jarteer to + measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself have Anne + Page. + QUICKLY. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well. We + must give folks leave to prate. What the good-year! + CAIUS. Rugby, come to the court with me. By gar, if I have + not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door. + Follow my heels, Rugby. Exeunt CAIUS and RUGBY + QUICKLY. You shall have-An fool's-head of your own. No, + I know Anne's mind for that; never a woman in Windsor + knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more + than I do with her, I thank heaven. + FENTON. [Within] Who's within there? ho! + QUICKLY. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray + you. + + Enter FENTON + + FENTON. How now, good woman, how dost thou? + QUICKLY. The better that it pleases your good worship to + ask. + FENTON. What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne? + QUICKLY. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and + gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by + the way; I praise heaven for it. + FENTON. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I not lose + my suit? + QUICKLY. Troth, sir, all is in His hands above; but + notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book + she loves you. Have not your worship a wart above your eye? + FENTON. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? + QUICKLY. Well, thereby hangs a tale; good faith, it is such + another Nan; but, I detest, an honest maid as ever broke + bread. We had an hour's talk of that wart; I shall never + laugh but in that maid's company! But, indeed, she is + given too much to allicholy and musing; but for you-well, + go to. + FENTON. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, there's money + for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest + her before me, commend me. + QUICKLY. Will I? I' faith, that we will; and I will tell your + worship more of the wart the next time we have confidence; + and of other wooers. + FENTON. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. + QUICKLY. Farewell to your worship. [Exit FENTON] Truly, + an honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know + Anne's mind as well as another does. Out upon 't, what + have I forgot? Exit + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +Before PAGE'S house + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE, with a letter + + MRS. PAGE. What! have I scap'd love-letters in the holiday-time + of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let + me see. [Reads] + 'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though Love use + Reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his counsellor. + You are not young, no more am I; go to, then, there's + sympathy. You are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's + more sympathy. You love sack, and so do I; would you + desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page + at the least, if the love of soldier can suffice-that I love + thee. I will not say, Pity me: 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; + but I say, Love me. By me, + Thine own true knight, + By day or night, + Or any kind of light, + With all his might, + For thee to fight, + JOHN FALSTAFF.' + What a Herod of Jewry is this! O wicked, wicked world! + One that is well-nigh worn to pieces with age to show + himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour + hath this Flemish drunkard pick'd-with the devil's name! + -out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner + assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! + What should I say to him? I was then frugal of my mirth. + Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament + for the putting down of men. How shall I be + reveng'd on him? for reveng'd I will be, as sure as his guts + are made of puddings. + + Enter MISTRESS FORD + + MRS. FORD. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your + house. + MRS. PAGE. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look + very ill. + MRS. FORD. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to show to + the contrary. + MRS. PAGE. Faith, but you do, in my mind. + MRS. FORD. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show you to + the contrary. O Mistress Page, give me some counsel. + MRS. PAGE. What's the matter, woman? + MRS. FORD. O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, + I could come to such honour! + MRS. PAGE. Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What + is it? Dispense with trifles; what is it? + MRS. FORD. If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment + or so, I could be knighted. + MRS. PAGE. What? Thou liest. Sir Alice Ford! These knights + will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the article of thy + gentry. + MRS. FORD. We burn daylight. Here, read, read; perceive + how I might be knighted. I shall think the worse of fat + men as long as I have an eye to make difference of men's + liking. And yet he would not swear; prais'd women's + modesty, and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof + to all uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition + would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no + more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth + Psalm to the tune of 'Greensleeves.' What tempest, I trow, + threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, + ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I + think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till + the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease. + Did you ever hear the like? + MRS. PAGE. Letter for letter, but that the name of Page and + Ford differs. To thy great comfort in this mystery of ill + opinions, here's the twin-brother of thy letter; but let thine + inherit first, for, I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he + hath a thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for + different names-sure, more!-and these are of the second + edition. He will print them, out of doubt; for he cares not + what he puts into the press when he would put us two. I + had rather be a giantess and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, + I will find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one chaste + man. + MRS. FORD. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the + very words. What doth he think of us? + MRS. PAGE. Nay, I know not; it makes me almost ready to + wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like + one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he + know some strain in me that I know not myself, he would + never have boarded me in this fury. + MRS. FORD. 'Boarding' call you it? I'll be sure to keep him + above deck. + MRS. PAGE. So will I; if he come under my hatches, I'll never + to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him; let's appoint him a + meeting, give him a show of comfort in his suit, and lead + him on with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his + horses to mine host of the Garter. + MRS. FORD. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy against + him that may not sully the chariness of our honesty. O + that my husband saw this letter! It would give eternal food + to his jealousy. + MRS. PAGE. Why, look where he comes; and my good man + too; he's as far from jealousy as I am from giving him + cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance. + MRS. FORD. You are the happier woman. + MRS. PAGE. Let's consult together against this greasy knight. + Come hither. [They retire] + + Enter FORD with PISTOL, and PAGE with Nym + + FORD. Well, I hope it be not so. + PISTOL. Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs. + Sir John affects thy wife. + FORD. Why, sir, my wife is not young. + PISTOL. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, + Both young and old, one with another, Ford; + He loves the gallimaufry. Ford, perpend. + FORD. Love my wife! + PISTOL. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or go thou, + Like Sir Actaeon he, with Ringwood at thy heels. + O, odious is the name! + FORD. What name, sir? + PISTOL. The horn, I say. Farewell. + Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot by night; + Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing. + Away, Sir Corporal Nym. + Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. Exit PISTOL + FORD. [Aside] I will be patient; I will find out this. + NYM. [To PAGE] And this is true; I like not the humour of + lying. He hath wronged me in some humours; I should + have borne the humour'd letter to her; but I have a sword, + and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife; + there's the short and the long. + My name is Corporal Nym; I speak, and I avouch; + 'Tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. + Adieu! I love not the humour of bread and cheese; and + there's the humour of it. Adieu. Exit Nym + PAGE. 'The humour of it,' quoth 'a! Here's a fellow frights + English out of his wits. + FORD. I will seek out Falstaff. + PAGE. I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue. + FORD. If I do find it-well. + PAGE. I will not believe such a Cataian though the priest o' + th' town commended him for a true man. + FORD. 'Twas a good sensible fellow. Well. + + MISTRESS PAGE and MISTRESS FORD come forward + + PAGE. How now, Meg! + MRS. PAGE. Whither go you, George? Hark you. + MRS. FORD. How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy? + FORD. I melancholy! I am not melancholy. Get you home; + go. + MRS. FORD. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now. + Will you go, Mistress Page? + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + MRS. PAGE. Have with you. You'll come to dinner, George? + [Aside to MRS. FORD] Look who comes yonder; she shall + be our messenger to this paltry knight. + MRS. FORD. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] Trust me, I thought on + her; she'll fit it. + MRS. PAGE. You are come to see my daughter Anne? + QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne? + MRS. PAGE. Go in with us and see; we have an hour's talk + with you. Exeunt MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and + MISTRESS QUICKLY + PAGE. How now, Master Ford! + FORD. You heard what this knave told me, did you not? + PAGE. Yes; and you heard what the other told me? + FORD. Do you think there is truth in them? + PAGE. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight would offer it; + but these that accuse him in his intent towards our + wives are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now + they be out of service. + FORD. Were they his men? + PAGE. Marry, were they. + FORD. I like it never the better for that. Does he lie at the + Garter? + PAGE. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend this voyage + toward my wife, I would turn her loose to him; and what + he gets more of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head. + FORD. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to + turn them together. A man may be too confident. I would + have nothing lie on my head. I cannot be thus satisfied. + + Enter HOST + + PAGE. Look where my ranting host of the Garter comes. + There is either liquor in his pate or money in his purse + when he looks so merrily. How now, mine host! + HOST. How now, bully rook! Thou'rt a gentleman. [To + SHALLOW following] Cavaleiro Justice, I say. + + Enter SHALLOW + + SHALLOW. I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even and + twenty, good Master Page! Master Page, will you go with + us? We have sport in hand. + HOST. Tell him, Cavaleiro Justice; tell him, bully rook. + SHALLOW. Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh + the Welsh priest and Caius the French doctor. + FORD. Good mine host o' th' Garter, a word with you. + HOST. What say'st thou, my bully rook? [They go aside] + SHALLOW. [To PAGE] Will you go with us to behold it? My + merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and, + I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe + me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you + what our sport shall be. [They converse apart] + HOST. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest-cavaleiro. + FORD. None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt + sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is + Brook-only for a jest. + HOST. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress- + said I well?-and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry + knight. Will you go, Mynheers? + SHALLOW. Have with you, mine host. + PAGE. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his + rapier. + SHALLOW. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. In these + times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and + I know not what. 'Tis the heart, Master Page; 'tis here, + 'tis here. I have seen the time with my long sword I would + have made you four tall fellows skip like rats. + HOST. Here, boys, here, here! Shall we wag? + PAGE. Have with you. I had rather hear them scold than + fight. Exeunt all but FORD + FORD. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on + his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so + easily. She was in his company at Page's house, and what + they made there I know not. Well, I will look further into + 't, and I have a disguise to sound Falstaff. If I find her + honest, I lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour + well bestowed. Exit + +SCENE 2. + +A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF and PISTOL + + FALSTAFF. I will not lend thee a penny. + PISTOL. I will retort the sum in equipage. + FALSTAFF. Not a penny. + PISTOL. Why, then the world's mine oyster. Which I with + sword will open. + FALSTAFF. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should + lay my countenance to pawn. I have grated upon my good + friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow, + Nym; or else you had look'd through the grate, like a + geminy of baboons. I am damn'd in hell for swearing to + gentlemen my friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows; + and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, + I took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not. + PISTOL. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence? + FALSTAFF. Reason, you rogue, reason. Think'st thou I'll + endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me, + I am no gibbet for you. Go-a short knife and a throng!- + to your manor of Pickt-hatch; go. You'll not bear a letter + for me, you rogue! You stand upon your honour! Why, + thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do to + keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I myself + sometimes, leaving the fear of God on the left hand, and hiding + mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, + and to lurch; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce your rags, + your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and + your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your honour! + You will not do it, you! + PISTOL. I do relent; what would thou more of man? + + Enter ROBIN + + ROBIN. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. + FALSTAFF. Let her approach. + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + QUICKLY. Give your worship good morrow. + FALSTAFF. Good morrow, good wife. + QUICKLY. Not so, an't please your worship. + FALSTAFF. Good maid, then. + QUICKLY. I'll be sworn; + As my mother was, the first hour I was born. + FALSTAFF. I do believe the swearer. What with me? + QUICKLY. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two? + FALSTAFF. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouchsafe + thee the hearing. + QUICKLY. There is one Mistress Ford, sir-I pray, come a little + nearer this ways. I myself dwell with Master Doctor + Caius. + FALSTAFF. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say- + QUICKLY. Your worship says very true. I pray your worship + come a little nearer this ways. + FALSTAFF. I warrant thee nobody hears-mine own people, + mine own people. + QUICKLY. Are they so? God bless them, and make them his + servants! + FALSTAFF. Well; Mistress Ford, what of her? + QUICKLY. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, Lord, your + worship's a wanton! Well, heaven forgive you, and all of + us, I pray. + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford; come, Mistress Ford- + QUICKLY. Marry, this is the short and the long of it: you + have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful. + The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor, + could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet + there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with + their coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter after + letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so + rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligant + terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best and the + fairest, that would have won any woman's heart; and I + warrant you, they could never get an eye-wink of her. + I had myself twenty angels given me this morning; but I + defy all angels, in any such sort, as they say, but in the + way of honesty; and, I warrant you, they could never get + her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all; + and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, + pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. + FALSTAFF. But what says she to me? Be brief, my good she- + Mercury. + QUICKLY. Marry, she hath receiv'd your letter; for the + which she thanks you a thousand times; and she gives you + to notify that her husband will be absence from his house + between ten and eleven. + FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven? + QUICKLY. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and see + the picture, she says, that you wot of. Master Ford, her + husband, will be from home. Alas, the sweet woman leads + an ill life with him! He's a very jealousy man; she leads a + very frampold life with him, good heart. + FALSTAFF. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend me to her; I + will not fail her. + QUICKLY. Why, you say well. But I have another messenger + to your worship. Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations + to you too; and let me tell you in your ear, she's as + fartuous a civil modest wife, and one, I tell you, that will + not miss you morning nor evening prayer, as any is in + Windsor, whoe'er be the other; and she bade me tell your + worship that her husband is seldom from home, but she + hopes there will come a time. I never knew a woman so + dote upon a man: surely I think you have charms, la! Yes, + in truth. + FALSTAFF. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my + good parts aside, I have no other charms. + QUICKLY. Blessing on your heart for 't! + FALSTAFF. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife and + Page's wife acquainted each other how they love me? + QUICKLY. That were a jest indeed! They have not so little + grace, I hope-that were a trick indeed! But Mistress Page + would desire you to send her your little page of all loves. + Her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page; + and truly Master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in + Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what she will, + say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when she + list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and truly she + deserves it; for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she + is one. You must send her your page; no remedy. + FALSTAFF. Why, I will. + QUICKLY. Nay, but do so then; and, look you, he may come + and go between you both; and in any case have a + nay-word, that you may know one another's mind, and the boy + never need to understand any thing; for 'tis not good that + children should know any wickedness. Old folks, you + know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world. + FALSTAFF. Fare thee well; commend me to them both. + There's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. Boy, go along with + this woman. [Exeunt QUICKLY and ROBIN] This news + distracts me. + PISTOL. [Aside] This punk is one of Cupid's carriers; + Clap on more sails; pursue; up with your fights; + Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! Exit + FALSTAFF. Say'st thou so, old Jack; go thy ways; I'll make + more of thy old body than I have done. Will they yet look + after thee? Wilt thou, after the expense of so much money, + be now a gainer? Good body, I thank thee. Let them say + 'tis grossly done; so it be fairly done, no matter. + + Enter BARDOLPH + + BARDOLPH. Sir John, there's one Master Brook below would + fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath + sent your worship a moming's draught of sack. + FALSTAFF. Brook is his name? + BARDOLPH. Ay, sir. + FALSTAFF. Call him in. [Exit BARDOLPH] Such Brooks are + welcome to me, that o'erflows such liquor. Ah, ha! Mistress + Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompass'd you? Go to; + via! + + Re-enter BARDOLPH, with FORD disguised + + FORD. Bless you, sir! FALSTAFF. And you, sir! Would you speak with + me? FORD. I make bold to press with so little preparation upon you. + FALSTAFF. You're welcome. What's your will? Give us leave, drawer. + Exit BARDOLPH FORD. Sir, I am a + gentleman that have spent much; my name is Brook. FALSTAFF. Good + Master Brook, I desire more acquaintance of you. FORD. Good Sir John, + I sue for yours-not to charge you; for I must let you understand I + think myself in better plight for a lender than you are; the which + hath something embold'ned me to this unseason'd intrusion; for they + say, if money go before, all ways do lie open. FALSTAFF. Money is a + good soldier, sir, and will on. FORD. Troth, and I have a bag of + money here troubles me; if you will help to bear it, Sir John, take + all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. FALSTAFF. Sir, I know + not how I may deserve to be your porter. FORD. I will tell you, sir, + if you will give me the hearing. FALSTAFF. Speak, good Master Brook; + I shall be glad to be your servant. FORD. Sir, I hear you are a + scholar-I will be brief with you -and you have been a man long known + to me, though I had never so good means as desire to make myself + acquainted with you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must + very much lay open mine own imperfection; but, good Sir John, as you + have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another + into the register of your own, that I may pass with a reproof the + easier, sith you yourself know how easy is it to be such an offender. + FALSTAFF. Very well, sir; proceed. FORD. There is a gentlewoman in + this town, her husband's name is Ford. FALSTAFF. Well, sir. FORD. I + have long lov'd her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her; + followed her with a doting observance; engross'd opportunities to + meet her; fee'd every slight occasion that could but niggardly give + me sight of her; not only bought many presents to give her, but have + given largely to many to know what she would have given; briefly, I + have pursu'd her as love hath pursued me; which hath been on the wing + of all occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or + in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience + be a jewel; that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath + taught me to say this: 'Love like a shadow flies when substance love + pursues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.' + FALSTAFF. Have you receiv'd no promise of satisfaction at her hands? + FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose? + FORD. Never. FALSTAFF. Of what quality was your love, then? FORD. + Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so that I have lost + my edifice by mistaking the place where erected it. FALSTAFF. To what + purpose have you unfolded this to me? FORD. When I have told you + that, I have told you all. Some say that though she appear honest to + me, yet in other places she enlargeth her mirth so far that there is + shrewd construction made of her. Now, Sir John, here is the heart of + my purpose: you are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable + discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your place and person, + generally allow'd for your many war-like, courtlike, and learned + preparations. FALSTAFF. O, sir! FORD. Believe it, for you know it. + There is money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have; + only give me so much of your time in exchange of it as to lay an + amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife; use your art of + wooing, win her to consent to you; if any man may, you may as soon as + any. FALSTAFF. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your + affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? Methinks you + prescribe to yourself very preposterously. FORD. O, understand my + drift. She dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour that + the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to + be look'd against. Now, could I come to her with any detection in my + hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend themselves; I + could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her reputation, her + marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which now are too + too strongly embattl'd against me. What say you to't, Sir John? + FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money; next, + give me your hand; and last, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you + will, enjoy Ford's wife. FORD. O good sir! FALSTAFF. I say you shall. + FORD. Want no money, Sir John; you shall want none. FALSTAFF. Want no + Mistress Ford, Master Brook; you shall want none. I shall be with + her, I may tell you, by her own appointment; even as you came in to + me her assistant, or go-between, parted from me; I say I shall be + with her between ten and eleven; for at that time the jealous + rascally knave, her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night; + you shall know how I speed. FORD. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do + you know Ford, Sir? FALSTAFF. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know + him not; yet I wrong him to call him poor; they say the jealous + wittolly knave hath masses of money; for the which his wife seems to + me well-favour'd. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's + coffer; and there's my harvest-home. FORD. I would you knew Ford, + sir, that you might avoid him if you saw him. FALSTAFF. Hang him, + mechanical salt-butter rogue! I will stare him out of his wits; I + will awe him with my cudgel; it shall hang like a meteor o'er the + cuckold's horns. Master Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate + over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his wife. Come to me soon + at night. Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his style; thou, + Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and cuckold. Come to me soon + at night. Exit FORD. What a damn'd + Epicurean rascal is this! My heart is ready to crack with impatience. + Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to him; the + hour is fix'd; the match is made. Would any man have thought this? + See the hell of having a false woman! My bed shall be abus'd, my + coffers ransack'd, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only + receive this villainous wrong, but stand under the adoption of + abominable terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms! names! + Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are + devils' additions, the names of fiends. But cuckold! Wittol! Cuckold! + the devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; + he will trust his wife; he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a + Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an + Irishman with my aqua-vitae bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling + gelding, than my wife with herself. Then she plots, then she + ruminates, then she devises; and what they think in their hearts they + may effect, they will break their hearts but they will effect. God be + prais'd for my jealousy! Eleven o'clock the hour. I will prevent + this, detect my wife, be reveng'd on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I + will about it; better three hours too soon than a minute too late. + Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! Exit + +SCENE 3. + +A field near Windsor + +Enter CAIUS and RUGBY + + CAIUS. Jack Rugby! + RUGBY. Sir? + CAIUS. Vat is de clock, Jack? + RUGBY. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promis'd to + meet. + CAIUS. By gar, he has save his soul dat he is no come; he has + pray his Pible well dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby, + he is dead already, if he be come. + RUGBY. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship would kill + him if he came. + CAIUS. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill him. Take + your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you how I vill kill him. + RUGBY. Alas, sir, I cannot fence! + CAIUS. Villainy, take your rapier. + RUGBY. Forbear; here's company. + + Enter HOST, SHALLOW, SLENDER, and PAGE + + HOST. Bless thee, bully doctor! + SHALLOW. Save you, Master Doctor Caius! + PAGE. Now, good Master Doctor! + SLENDER. Give you good morrow, sir. + CAIUS. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? + HOST. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see thee traverse; + to see thee here, to see thee there; to see thee pass thy + punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant. + Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha, + bully! What says my Aesculapius? my Galen? my heart + of elder? Ha! is he dead, bully stale? Is he dead? + CAIUS. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de world; he is + not show his face. + HOST. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. Hector of Greece, + my boy! + CAIUS. I pray you, bear witness that me have stay six or + seven, two tree hours for him, and he is no come. + SHALLOW. He is the wiser man, Master Doctor: he is a curer + of souls, and you a curer of bodies; if you should fight, + you go against the hair of your professions. Is it not true, + Master Page? + PAGE. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, + though now a man of peace. + SHALLOW. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and + of the peace, if I see a sword out, my finger itches to make + one. Though we are justices, and doctors, and churchmen, + Master Page, we have some salt of our youth in us; we are + the sons of women, Master Page. + PAGE. 'Tis true, Master Shallow. + SHALLOW. It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor + CAIUS, I come to fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace; + you have show'd yourself a wise physician, and Sir Hugh + hath shown himself a wise and patient churchman. You + must go with me, Master Doctor. + HOST. Pardon, Guest Justice. A word, Mounseur Mockwater. + CAIUS. Mock-vater! Vat is dat? + HOST. Mockwater, in our English tongue, is valour, bully. + CAIUS. By gar, then I have as much mockvater as de Englishman. + Scurvy jack-dog priest! By gar, me vill cut his ears. + HOST. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. + CAIUS. Clapper-de-claw! Vat is dat? + HOST. That is, he will make thee amends. + CAIUS. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw me; for, + by gar, me vill have it. + HOST. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. + CAIUS. Me tank you for dat. + HOST. And, moreover, bully-but first: [Aside to the others] + Master Guest, and Master Page, and eke Cavaleiro Slender, + go you through the town to Frogmore. + PAGE. [Aside] Sir Hugh is there, is he? + HOST. [Aside] He is there. See what humour he is in; and + I will bring the doctor about by the fields. Will it do well? + SHALLOW. [Aside] We will do it. + PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER. Adieu, good Master Doctor. + Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + CAIUS. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack- + an-ape to Anne Page. + HOST. Let him die. Sheathe thy impatience; throw cold water + on thy choler; go about the fields with me through Frogmore; + I will bring thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a a + farm-house, a-feasting; and thou shalt woo her. Cried + game! Said I well? + CAIUS. By gar, me dank you vor dat; by gar, I love you; and + I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de + lords, de gentlemen, my patients. + HOST. For the which I will be thy adversary toward Anne + Page. Said I well? + CAIUS. By gar, 'tis good; vell said. + HOST. Let us wag, then. + CAIUS. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. Exeunt + +ACT III SCENE 1. + +A field near Frogmore + +Enter SIR HUGH EVANS and SIMPLE + + EVANS. I pray you now, good Master Slender's serving-man, + and friend Simple by your name, which way have you + look'd for Master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of + Physic? + SIMPLE. Marry, sir, the pittie-ward, the park-ward; every + way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way. + EVANS. I most fehemently desire you you will also look that + way. + SIMPLE. I will, Sir. Exit + EVANS. Pless my soul, how full of chollors I am, and trempling + of mind! I shall be glad if he have deceived me. How + melancholies I am! I will knog his urinals about his knave's + costard when I have goot opportunities for the ork. Pless + my soul! [Sings] + To shallow rivers, to whose falls + Melodious birds sings madrigals; + There will we make our peds of roses, + And a thousand fragrant posies. + To shallow- + Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. [Sings] + Melodious birds sing madrigals- + Whenas I sat in Pabylon- + And a thousand vagram posies. + To shallow, etc. + + Re-enter SIMPLE + + SIMPLE. Yonder he is, coming this way, Sir Hugh. + EVANS. He's welcome. [Sings] + To shallow rivers, to whose falls- + Heaven prosper the right! What weapons is he? + SIMPLE. No weapons, sir. There comes my master, Master + Shallow, and another gentleman, from Frogmore, over the + stile, this way. + EVANS. Pray you give me my gown; or else keep it in your + arms. [Takes out a book] + + Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + + SHALLOW. How now, Master Parson! Good morrow, good + Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student + from his book, and it is wonderful. + SLENDER. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page! + PAGE. Save you, good Sir Hugh! + EVANS. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you! + SHALLOW. What, the sword and the word! Do you study + them both, Master Parson? + PAGE. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, this raw + rheumatic day! + EVANS. There is reasons and causes for it. + PAGE. We are come to you to do a good office, Master + Parson. + EVANS. Fery well; what is it? + PAGE. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who, belike having + received wrong by some person, is at most odds with + his own gravity and patience that ever you saw. + SHALLOW. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never + heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of + his own respect. + EVANS. What is he? + PAGE. I think you know him: Master Doctor Caius, the + renowned French physician. + EVANS. Got's will and his passion of my heart! I had as lief + you would tell me of a mess of porridge. + PAGE. Why? + EVANS. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and + Galen, and he is a knave besides-a cowardly knave as you + would desires to be acquainted withal. + PAGE. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him. + SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page! + SHALLOW. It appears so, by his weapons. Keep them asunder; + here comes Doctor Caius. + + Enter HOST, CAIUS, and RUGBY + + PAGE. Nay, good Master Parson, keep in your weapon. + SHALLOW. So do you, good Master Doctor. + HOST. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep + their limbs whole and hack our English. + CAIUS. I pray you, let-a me speak a word with your ear. + Verefore will you not meet-a me? + EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you use your patience; in + good time. + CAIUS. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape. + EVANS. [Aside to CAIUS] Pray you, let us not be + laughing-stocks to other men's humours; I desire you in + friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends. + [Aloud] I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb + for missing your meetings and appointments. + CAIUS. Diable! Jack Rugby-mine Host de Jarteer-have I + not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did + appoint? + EVANS. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the + place appointed. I'll be judgment by mine host of the + Garter. + HOST. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh, + soul-curer and body-curer. + CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent! + HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I + politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my + doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I + lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me + the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial; + so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have + deceiv'd you both; I have directed you to wrong places; + your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt + sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow + me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow. + SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow. + SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page! + Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS + CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us, + ha, ha? + EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I + desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains + together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging + companion, the host of the Garter. + CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart. He promise to bring me + where is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me too. + EVANS. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray you follow. + Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +The street in Windsor + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN + + MRS. PAGE. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were + wont to be a follower, but now you are a leader. Whether + had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels? + ROBIN. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a man than + follow him like a dwarf. + MRS. PAGE. O, you are a flattering boy; now I see you'll be a + courtier. + + Enter FORD + + FORD. Well met, Mistress Page. Whither go you? + MRS. PAGE. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is she at home? + FORD. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of + company. I think, if your husbands were dead, you two + would marry. + MRS. PAGE. Be sure of that-two other husbands. + FORD. Where had you this pretty weathercock? + MRS. PAGE. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my + husband had him of. What do you call your knight's + name, sirrah? + ROBIN. Sir John Falstaff. + FORD. Sir John Falstaff! + MRS. PAGE. He, he; I can never hit on's name. There is such + a league between my good man and he! Is your wife at + home indeed? + FORD. Indeed she is. + MRS. PAGE. By your leave, sir. I am sick till I see her. + Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ROBIN + FORD. Has Page any brains? Hath he any eyes? Hath he any + thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no use of them. Why, + this boy will carry a letter twenty mile as easy as a cannon + will shoot pointblank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's + inclination; he gives her folly motion and advantage; and + now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A + man may hear this show'r sing in the wind. And Falstaff's + boy with her! Good plots! They are laid; and our revolted + wives share damnation together. Well; I will take him, + then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty + from the so seeming Mistress Page, divulge Page himself + for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these violent proceedings + all my neighbours shall cry aim. [Clock strikes] + The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance bids me + search; there I shall find Falstaff. I shall be rather prais'd + for this than mock'd; for it is as positive as the earth is firm + that Falstaff is there. I will go. + + Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, SLENDER, HOST, SIR HUGH EVANS, + CAIUS, and RUGBY + + SHALLOW, PAGE, &C. Well met, Master Ford. + FORD. Trust me, a good knot; I have good cheer at home, + and I pray you all go with me. + SHALLOW. I must excuse myself, Master Ford. + SLENDER. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with + Mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more + money than I'll speak of. + SHALLOW. We have linger'd about a match between Anne + Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we shall have + our answer. + SLENDER. I hope I have your good will, father Page. + PAGE. You have, Master Slender; I stand wholly for you. But + my wife, Master Doctor, is for you altogether. + CAIUS. Ay, be-gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a + Quickly tell me so mush. + HOST. What say you to young Master Fenton? He capers, + he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks + holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry 't, he will + carry 't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry 't. + PAGE. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentleman is + of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and + Poins; he is of too high a region, he knows too much. No, + he shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of + my substance; if he take her, let him take her simply; the + wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes + not that way. + FORD. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me + to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will + show you a monster. Master Doctor, you shall go; so shall + you, Master Page; and you, Sir Hugh. + SHALLOW. Well, fare you well; we shall have the freer + wooing at Master Page's. Exeunt SHALLOW and SLENDER + CAIUS. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. Exit RUGBY + HOST. Farewell, my hearts; I will to my honest knight + Falstaff, and drink canary with him. Exit HOST + FORD. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe-wine first with + him. I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles? + ALL. Have with you to see this monster. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +FORD'S house + +Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. FORD. What, John! what, Robert! + MRS. PAGE. Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket- + MRS. FORD. I warrant. What, Robin, I say! + + Enter SERVANTS with a basket + + MRS. PAGE. Come, come, come. + MRS. FORD. Here, set it down. + MRS. PAGE. Give your men the charge; we must be brief. + MRS. FORD. Marry, as I told you before, John and Robert, be + ready here hard by in the brew-house; and when I suddenly + call you, come forth, and, without any pause or + staggering, take this basket on your shoulders. That done, + trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters + in Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch + close by the Thames side. + Mrs. PAGE. You will do it? + MRS. FORD. I ha' told them over and over; they lack no + direction. Be gone, and come when you are call'd. + Exeunt SERVANTS + MRS. PAGE. Here comes little Robin. + + Enter ROBIN + + MRS. FORD. How now, my eyas-musket, what news with + you? + ROBIN. My Master Sir John is come in at your back-door, + Mistress Ford, and requests your company. + MRS. PAGE. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us? + ROBIN. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows not of your + being here, and hath threat'ned to put me into everlasting + liberty, if I tell you of it; for he swears he'll turn me away. + MRS. PAGE. Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of thine shall + be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a new doublet and + hose. I'll go hide me. + MRS. FORD. Do so. Go tell thy master I am alone. [Exit + ROBIN] Mistress Page, remember you your cue. + MRS. PAGE. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss me. + Exit MRS. PAGE + MRS. FORD. Go to, then; we'll use this unwholesome + humidity, this gross wat'ry pumpion; we'll teach him to + know turtles from jays. + + Enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? + Why, now let me die, for I have liv'd long enough; this is + the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour! + MRS. FORD. O sweet Sir John! + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, + Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy + husband were dead; I'll speak it before the best lord, I + would make thee my lady. + MRS. FORD. I your lady, Sir John? Alas, I should be a pitiful + lady. + FALSTAFF. Let the court of France show me such another. I + see how thine eye would emulate the diamond; thou hast + the right arched beauty of the brow that becomes the + ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of Venetian admittance. + MRS. FORD. A plain kerchief, Sir John; my brows become + nothing else, nor that well neither. + FALSTAFF. By the Lord, thou art a tyrant to say so; thou + wouldst make an absolute courtier, and the firm fixture of + thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait in a + semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, if Fortune + thy foe were, not Nature, thy friend. Come, thou canst not + hide it. + MRS. FORD. Believe me, there's no such thing in me. + FALSTAFF. What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee + there's something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot + cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these + lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's + apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I + cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv'st it. + MRS. FORD. Do not betray me, sir; I fear you love Mistress + Page. + FALSTAFF. Thou mightst as well say I love to walk by the + Counter-gate, which is as hateful to me as the reek of a + lime-kiln. + MRS. FORD. Well, heaven knows how I love you; and you + shall one day find it. + FALSTAFF. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it. + MRS. FORD. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could + not be in that mind. + ROBIN. [Within] Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! here's + Mistress Page at the door, sweating and blowing and looking + wildly, and would needs speak with you presently. + FALSTAFF. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me behind + the arras. + MRS. FORD. Pray you, do so; she's a very tattling woman. + [FALSTAFF hides himself] + + Re-enter MISTRESS PAGE and ROBIN + + What's the matter? How now! + MRS. PAGE. O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You're + sham'd, y'are overthrown, y'are undone for ever. + MRS. FORD. What's the matter, good Mistress Page? + MRS. PAGE. O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest + man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion! + MRS. FORD. What cause of suspicion? + MRS. PAGE. What cause of suspicion? Out upon you, how + am I mistook in you! + MRS. FORD. Why, alas, what's the matter? + MRS. PAGE. Your husband's coming hither, woman, with all + the officers in Windsor, to search for a gentleman that he + says is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an + ill advantage of his absence. You are undone. + MRS. FORD. 'Tis not so, I hope. + MRS. PAGE. Pray heaven it be not so that you have such a + man here; but 'tis most certain your husband's coming, + with half Windsor at his heels, to search for such a one. I + come before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, why, + I am glad of it; but if you have a friend here, convey, + convey him out. Be not amaz'd; call all your senses to you; + defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good life + for ever. + MRS. FORD. What shall I do? There is a gentleman, my dear + friend; and I fear not mine own shame as much as his peril. + I had rather than a thousand pound he were out of the + house. + MRS. PAGE. For shame, never stand 'you had rather' and 'you + had rather'! Your husband's here at hand; bethink you of + some conveyance; in the house you cannot hide him. O, + how have you deceiv'd me! Look, here is a basket; if he be + of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and throw + foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking, or-it is + whiting-time-send him by your two men to Datchet + Mead. + MRS. FORD. He's too big to go in there. What shall I do? + FALSTAFF. [Coming forward] Let me see 't, let me see 't. O, + let me see 't! I'll in, I'll in; follow your friend's counsel; + I'll in. + MRS. PAGE. What, Sir John Falstaff! [Aside to FALSTAFF] + Are these your letters, knight? + FALSTAFF. [Aside to MRS. PAGE] I love thee and none but + thee; help me away.-Let me creep in here; I'll never- + [Gets into the basket; they cover him with foul linen] + MRS. PAGE. Help to cover your master, boy. Call your men, + Mistress Ford. You dissembling knight! + MRS. FORD. What, John! Robert! John! Exit ROBIN + + Re-enter SERVANTS + + Go, take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the cowl-staff? + Look how you drumble. Carry them to the laundress in Datchet Mead; + quickly, come. + + Enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + FORD. Pray you come near. If I suspect without cause, why + then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve + it. How now, whither bear you this? + SERVANT. To the laundress, forsooth. + MRS. FORD. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? + You were best meddle with buck-washing. + FORD. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the buck! + Buck, buck, buck! ay, buck! I warrant you, buck; and of + the season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt SERVANTS with + basket] Gentlemen, I have dream'd to-night; I'll tell you my + dream. Here, here, here be my keys; ascend my chambers, + search, seek, find out. I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox. + Let me stop this way first. [Locking the door] So, now + uncape. + PAGE. Good Master Ford, be contented; you wrong yourself + too much. + FORD. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen, you shall see sport + anon; follow me, gentlemen. Exit + EVANS. This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies. + CAIUS. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; it is not jealous + in France. + PAGE. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his + search. Exeunt EVANS, PAGE, and CAIUS + MRS. PAGE. Is there not a double excellency in this? + MRS. FORD. I know not which pleases me better, that my + husband is deceived, or Sir John. + MRS. PAGE. What a taking was he in when your husband + ask'd who was in the basket! + MRS. FORD. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so + throwing him into the water will do him a benefit. + MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the + same strain were in the same distress. + MRS. FORD. I think my husband hath some special suspicion + of Falstaff's being here, for I never saw him so gross in his + jealousy till now. + MRS. PAGE. I Will lay a plot to try that, and we will yet have + more tricks with Falstaff. His dissolute disease will scarce + obey this medicine. + MRS. FORD. Shall we send that foolish carrion, Mistress + Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water, + and give him another hope, to betray him to another + punishment? + MRS. PAGE. We will do it; let him be sent for to-morrow + eight o'clock, to have amends. + + Re-enter FORD, PAGE, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + FORD. I cannot find him; may be the knave bragg'd of that + he could not compass. + MRS. PAGE. [Aside to MRS. FORD] Heard you that? + MRS. FORD. You use me well, Master Ford, do you? + FORD. Ay, I do so. + MRS. FORD. Heaven make you better than your thoughts! + FORD. Amen. + MRS. PAGE. You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford. + FORD. Ay, ay; I must bear it. + EVANS. If there be any pody in the house, and in the + chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive + my sins at the day of judgment! + CAIUS. Be gar, nor I too; there is no bodies. + PAGE. Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not asham'd? What + spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I would not ha' + your distemper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor + Castle. + FORD. 'Tis my fault, Master Page; I suffer for it. + EVANS. You suffer for a pad conscience. Your wife is as + honest a omans as I will desires among five thousand, and five + hundred too. + CAIUS. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. + FORD. Well, I promis'd you a dinner. Come, come, walk in + the Park. I pray you pardon me; I will hereafter make + known to you why I have done this. Come, wife, come, + Mistress Page; I pray you pardon me; pray heartly, + pardon me. + PAGE. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll mock him. + I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast; + after, we'll a-birding together; I have a fine hawk for + the bush. Shall it be so? + FORD. Any thing. + EVANS. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. + CAIUS. If there be one or two, I shall make-a the turd. + FORD. Pray you go, Master Page. + EVANS. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the + lousy knave, mine host. + CAIUS. Dat is good; by gar, with all my heart. + EVANS. A lousy knave, to have his gibes and his mockeries! + Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +Before PAGE'S house + +Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE + + FENTON. I see I cannot get thy father's love; + Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. + ANNE. Alas, how then? + FENTON. Why, thou must be thyself. + He doth object I am too great of birth; + And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, + I seek to heal it only by his wealth. + Besides these, other bars he lays before me, + My riots past, my wild societies; + And tells me 'tis a thing impossible + I should love thee but as a property. + ANNE.. May be he tells you true. + FENTON. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come! + Albeit I will confess thy father's wealth + Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne; + Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value + Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; + And 'tis the very riches of thyself + That now I aim at. + ANNE. Gentle Master Fenton, + Yet seek my father's love; still seek it, sir. + If opportunity and humblest suit + Cannot attain it, why then-hark you hither. + [They converse apart] + + Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and MISTRESS QUICKLY + + SHALLOW. Break their talk, Mistress Quickly; my kinsman + shall speak for himself. + SLENDER. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't; 'slid, 'tis but + venturing. + SHALLOW. Be not dismay'd. + SLENDER. No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that, + but that I am afeard. + QUICKLY. Hark ye, Master Slender would speak a word + with you. + ANNE. I come to him. [Aside] This is my father's choice. + O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults + Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! + QUICKLY. And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a + word with you. + SHALLOW. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a + father! + SLENDER. I had a father, Mistress Anne; my uncle can tell + you good jests of him. Pray you, uncle, tell Mistress Anne + the jest how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good + uncle. + SHALLOW. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. + SLENDER. Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in + Gloucestershire. + SHALLOW. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. + SLENDER. Ay, that I will come cut and longtail, under the + degree of a squire. + SHALLOW. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds + jointure. + ANNE. Good Master Shallow, let him woo for himself. + SHALLOW. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that + good comfort. She calls you, coz; I'll leave you. + ANNE. Now, Master Slender- + SLENDER. Now, good Mistress Anne- + ANNE. What is your will? + SLENDER. My Will! 'Od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest + indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not + such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. + ANNE. I mean, Master Slender, what would you with me? + SLENDER. Truly, for mine own part I would little or nothing + with you. Your father and my uncle hath made motions; + if it be my luck, so; if not, happy man be his dole! They + can tell you how things go better than I can. You may ask + your father; here he comes. + + Enter PAGE and MISTRESS PAGE + + PAGE. Now, Master Slender! Love him, daughter Anne- + Why, how now, what does Master Fenton here? + You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house. + I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. + FENTON. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient. + MRS. PAGE. Good Master Fenton, come not to my child. + PAGE. She is no match for you. + FENTON. Sir, will you hear me? + PAGE. No, good Master Fenton. + Come, Master Shallow; come, son Slender; in. + Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master Fenton. + Exeunt PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + QUICKLY. Speak to Mistress Page. + FENTON. Good Mistress Page, for that I love your daughter + In such a righteous fashion as I do, + Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, + I must advance the colours of my love, + And not retire. Let me have your good will. + ANNE. Good mother, do not marry me to yond fool. + MRS. PAGE. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband. + QUICKLY. That's my master, Master Doctor. + ANNE. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' th' earth. + And bowl'd to death with turnips. + MRS. PAGE. Come, trouble not yourself. Good Master + Fenton, + I will not be your friend, nor enemy; + My daughter will I question how she loves you, + And as I find her, so am I affected; + Till then, farewell, sir; she must needs go in; + Her father will be angry. + FENTON. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan. + Exeunt MRS. PAGE and ANNE + QUICKLY. This is my doing now: 'Nay,' said I 'will you cast + away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on + Master Fenton.' This is my doing. + FENTON. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night + Give my sweet Nan this ring. There's for thy pains. + QUICKLY. Now Heaven send thee good fortune! [Exit + FENTON] A kind heart he hath; a woman would run through + fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet I would my + master had Mistress Anne; or I would Master Slender had + her; or, in sooth, I would Master Fenton had her; I will + do what I can for them all three, for so I have promis'd, + and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously for Master + Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to Sir John Falstaff + from my two mistresses. What a beast am I to slack it! + Exit + +SCENE 5. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH + + FALSTAFF. Bardolph, I say! + BARDOLPH. Here, sir. + FALSTAFF. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in 't. + Exit BARDOLPH + Have I liv'd to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of + butcher's offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if + I be serv'd such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out + and butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new-year's gift. + The rogues slighted me into the river with as little remorse + as they would have drown'd a blind bitch's puppies, fifteen + i' th' litter; and you may know by my size that I have + a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as + hell I should down. I had been drown'd but that the shore + was shelvy and shallow-a death that I abhor; for the water + swells a man; and what a thing should I have been when + had been swell'd! I should have been a mountain of + mummy. + + Re-enter BARDOLPH, with sack + + BARDOLPH. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with you + FALSTAFF. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames + water; for my belly's as cold as if I had swallow'd + snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. + BARDOLPH. Come in, woman. + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + QUICKLY. By your leave; I cry you mercy. Give your + worship good morrow. + FALSTAFF. Take away these chalices. Go, brew me a pottle + of sack finely. + BARDOLPH. With eggs, sir? + FALSTAFF. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my + brewage. [Exit BARDOLPH] How now! + QUICKLY. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from Mistress + Ford. + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough; I was + thrown into the ford; I have my belly full of ford. + QUICKLY. Alas the day, good heart, that was not her fault! + She does so take on with her men; they mistook their + erection. + FALSTAFF. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's + promise. + QUICKLY. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would yearn + your heart to see it. Her husband goes this morning + a-birding; she desires you once more to come to her between + eight and nine; I must carry her word quickly. She'll make + you amends, I warrant you. + FALSTAFF. Well, I Will visit her. Tell her so; and bid her + think what a man is. Let her consider his frailty, and then + judge of my merit. + QUICKLY. I will tell her. + FALSTAFF. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? + QUICKLY. Eight and nine, sir. + FALSTAFF. Well, be gone; I will not miss her. + QUICKLY. Peace be with you, sir. Exit + FALSTAFF. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook; he sent me + word to stay within. I like his money well. O, here he + comes. + + Enter FORD disguised + + FORD. Bless you, sir! + FALSTAFF. Now, Master Brook, you come to know what + hath pass'd between me and Ford's wife? + FORD. That, indeed, Sir John, is my business. + FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her + house the hour she appointed me. + FORD. And sped you, sir? + FALSTAFF. Very ill-favouredly, Master Brook. + FORD. How so, sir; did she change her determination? + FALSTAFF. No. Master Brook; but the peaking cornuto her + husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual 'larum of + jealousy, comes me in the instant of our, encounter, after + we had embrac'd, kiss'd, protested, and, as it were, spoke + the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his + companions, thither provoked and instigated by his + distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his wife's + love. + FORD. What, while you were there? + FALSTAFF. While I was there. + FORD. And did he search for you, and could not find you? + FALSTAFF. You shall hear. As good luck would have it, comes + in one Mistress Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach; + and, in her invention and Ford's wife's distraction, they + convey'd me into a buck-basket. + FORD. A buck-basket! + FALSTAFF. By the Lord, a buck-basket! Ramm'd me in with + foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy + napkins, that, Master Brook, there was the rankest compound + of villainous smell that ever offended nostril. + FORD. And how long lay you there? + FALSTAFF. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook, what I have + suffer'd to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being + thus cramm'd in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his + hinds, were call'd forth by their mistress to carry me in + the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane; they took me on + their shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in the + door; who ask'd them once or twice what they had in their + basket. I quak'd for fear lest the lunatic knave would have + search'd it; but Fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, + held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, and away + went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master + Brook-I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, + an intolerable fright to be detected with a jealous rotten + bell-wether; next, to be compass'd like a good bilbo in the + circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; and + then, to be stopp'd in, like a strong distillation, with + stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. Think of that + -a man of my kidney. Think of that-that am as subject to + heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It + was a miracle to scape suffocation. And in the height of + this bath, when I was more than half-stew'd in grease, like + a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cool'd, + glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that + -hissing hot. Think of that, Master Brook. + FORD. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you + have suffer'd all this. My suit, then, is desperate; + you'll undertake her no more. + FALSTAFF. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I + have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her + husband is this morning gone a-birding; I have received from + her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is + the hour, Master Brook. + FORD. 'Tis past eight already, sir. + FALSTAFF. Is it? I Will then address me to my appointment. + Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall + know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned + with your enjoying her. Adieu. You shall have her, Master + Brook; Master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. Exit + FORD. Hum! ha! Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep? + Master Ford, awake; awake, Master Ford. There's a hole + made in your best coat, Master Ford. This 'tis to be + married; this 'tis to have linen and buck-baskets! Well, I will + proclaim myself what I am; I will now take the lecher; he + is at my house. He cannot scape me; 'tis impossible he + should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse nor into + a pepper box. But, lest the devil that guides him should aid + him, I will search impossible places. Though what I am I + cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make + me tame. If I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb + go with me-I'll be horn mad. Exit + +ACT IV. SCENE I. + +Windsor. A street + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS QUICKLY, and WILLIAM + + MRS. PAGE. Is he at Master Ford's already, think'st thou? + QUICKLY. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truly + he is very courageous mad about his throwing into the + water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly. + MRS. PAGE. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my + young man here to school. Look where his master comes; + 'tis a playing day, I see. + + Enter SIR HUGH EVANS + + How now, Sir Hugh, no school to-day? + EVANS. No; Master Slender is let the boys leave to play. + QUICKLY. Blessing of his heart! + MRS. PAGE. Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits + nothing in the world at his book; I pray you ask him some + questions in his accidence. + EVANS. Come hither, William; hold up your head; come. + MRS. PAGE. Come on, sirrah; hold up your head; answer your + master; be not afraid. + EVANS. William, how many numbers is in nouns? + WILLIAM. Two. + QUICKLY. Truly, I thought there had been one number + more, because they say 'Od's nouns.' + EVANS. Peace your tattlings. What is 'fair,' William? + WILLIAM. Pulcher. + QUICKLY. Polecats! There are fairer things than polecats, + sure. + EVANS. You are a very simplicity oman; I pray you, peace. + What is 'lapis,' William? + WILLIAM. A stone. + EVANS. And what is 'a stone,' William? + WILLIAM. A pebble. + EVANS. No, it is 'lapis'; I pray you remember in your prain. + WILLIAM. Lapis. + EVANS. That is a good William. What is he, William, that + does lend articles? + WILLIAM. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, and be + thus declined: Singulariter, nominativo; hic, haec, hoc. + EVANS. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo, + hujus. Well, what is your accusative case? + WILLIAM. Accusativo, hinc. + EVANS. I pray you, have your remembrance, child. + Accusativo, hung, hang, hog. + QUICKLY. 'Hang-hog' is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. + EVANS. Leave your prabbles, oman. What is the focative + case, William? + WILLIAM. O-vocativo, O. + EVANS. Remember, William: focative is caret. + QUICKLY. And that's a good root. + EVANS. Oman, forbear. + MRS. PAGE. Peace. + EVANS. What is your genitive case plural, William? + WILLIAM. Genitive case? + EVANS. Ay. + WILLIAM. Genitive: horum, harum, horum. + QUICKLY. Vengeance of Jenny's case; fie on her! Never + name her, child, if she be a whore. + EVANS. For shame, oman. + QUICKLY. YOU do ill to teach the child such words. He + teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do fast + enough of themselves; and to call 'horum'; fie upon you! + EVANS. Oman, art thou lunatics? Hast thou no understandings + for thy cases, and the numbers of the genders? Thou + art as foolish Christian creatures as I would desires. + MRS. PAGE. Prithee hold thy peace. + EVANS. Show me now, William, some declensions of your + pronouns. + WILLIAM. Forsooth, I have forgot. + EVANS. It is qui, quae, quod; if you forget your qui's, your + quae's, and your quod's, you must be preeches. Go your + ways and play; go. + MRS. PAGE. He is a better scholar than I thought he was. + EVANS. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page. + MRS. PAGE. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. Exit SIR HUGH + Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +FORD'S house + +Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS FORD + + FALSTAFF. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my + sufferance. I see you are obsequious in your love, and I + profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, Mistress Ford, in + the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement, + complement, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your + husband now? + MRS. FORD. He's a-birding, sweet Sir John. + MRS. PAGE. [Within] What hoa, gossip Ford, what hoa! + MRS. FORD. Step into th' chamber, Sir John. Exit FALSTAFF + + Enter MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. PAGE. How now, sweetheart, who's at home besides + yourself? + MRS. FORD. Why, none but mine own people. + MRS. PAGE. Indeed? + MRS. FORD. No, certainly. [Aside to her] Speak louder. + MRS. PAGE. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here. + MRS. FORD. Why? + MRS. PAGE. Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes + again. He so takes on yonder with my husband; so rails + against all married mankind; so curses an Eve's daughters, + of what complexion soever; and so buffets himself on the + forehead, crying 'Peer-out, peer-out!' that any madness I + ever yet beheld seem'd but tameness, civility, and patience, + to this his distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight + is not here. + MRS. FORD. Why, does he talk of him? + MRS. PAGE. Of none but him; and swears he was carried out, + the last time he search'd for him, in a basket; protests to + my husband he is now here; and hath drawn him and the + rest of their company from their sport, to make another + experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is not + here; now he shall see his own foolery. + MRS. FORD. How near is he, Mistress Page? + MRS. PAGE. Hard by, at street end; he will be here anon. + MRS. FORD. I am undone: the knight is here. + MRS. PAGE. Why, then, you are utterly sham'd, and he's but + a dead man. What a woman are you! Away with him, + away with him; better shame than murder. + MRS. FORD. Which way should he go? How should I bestow + him? Shall I put him into the basket again? + + Re-enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. No, I'll come no more i' th' basket. May I not go + out ere he come? + MRS. PAGE. Alas, three of Master Ford's brothers watch the + door with pistols, that none shall issue out; otherwise you + might slip away ere he came. But what make you here? + FALSTAFF. What shall I do? I'll creep up into the chimney. + MRS. FORD. There they always use to discharge their + birding-pieces. + MRS. PAGE. Creep into the kiln-hole. + FALSTAFF. Where is it? + MRS. FORD. He will seek there, on my word. Neither press, + coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath an abstract for + the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his + note. There is no hiding you in the house. + FALSTAFF. I'll go out then. + MRS. PAGE. If you go out in your own semblance, you die, + Sir John. Unless you go out disguis'd. + MRS. FORD. How might we disguise him? + MRS. PAGE. Alas the day, I know not! There is no woman's + gown big enough for him; otherwise he might put on a + hat, a muffler, and a kerchief, and so escape. + FALSTAFF. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity + rather than a mischief. + MRS. FORD. My Maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brainford, has + a gown above. + MRS. PAGE. On my word, it will serve him; she's as big as he + is; and there's her thrumm'd hat, and her muffler too. Run + up, Sir John. + MRS. FORD. Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will + look some linen for your head. + MRS. PAGE. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight. Put + on the gown the while. Exit FALSTAFF + MRS. FORD. I would my husband would meet him in this + shape; he cannot abide the old woman of Brainford; he + swears she's a witch, forbade her my house, and hath + threat'ned to beat her. + MRS. PAGE. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel; and + the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! + MRS. FORD. But is my husband coming? + MRS. PAGE. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks of the basket + too, howsoever he hath had intelligence. + MRS. FORD. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry + the basket again, to meet him at the door with it as they + did last time. + MRS. PAGE. Nay, but he'll be here presently; let's go dress + him like the witch of Brainford. + MRS. FORD. I'll first direct my men what they shall do with + the basket. Go up; I'll bring linen for him straight. Exit + MRS. PAGE. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse + him enough. + We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, + Wives may be merry and yet honest too. + We do not act that often jest and laugh; + 'Tis old but true: Still swine eats all the draff. Exit + + Re-enter MISTRESS FORD, with two SERVANTS + + MRS. FORD. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders; + your master is hard at door; if he bid you set it down, obey + him; quickly, dispatch. Exit + FIRST SERVANT. Come, come, take it up. + SECOND SERVANT. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again. + FIRST SERVANT. I hope not; I had lief as bear so much lead. + + Enter FORD, PAGE, SHALLOW, CAIUS, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + FORD. Ay, but if it prove true, Master Page, have you any + way then to unfool me again? Set down the basket, villain! + Somebody call my wife. Youth in a basket! O you panderly + rascals, there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy + against me. Now shall the devil be sham'd. What, wife, I + say! Come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you + send forth to bleaching. + PAGE. Why, this passes, Master Ford; you are not to go loose + any longer; you must be pinion'd. + EVANS. Why, this is lunatics. This is mad as a mad dog. + SHALLOW. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, indeed. + FORD. So say I too, sir. + + Re-enter MISTRESS FORD + + Come hither, Mistress Ford; Mistress Ford, the honest + woman, the modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath + the jealous fool to her husband! I suspect without cause, + Mistress, do I? + MRS. FORD. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you suspect + me in any dishonesty. + FORD. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out. Come forth, sirrah. + [Pulling clothes out of the basket] + PAGE. This passes! + MRS. FORD. Are you not asham'd? Let the clothes alone. + FORD. I shall find you anon. + EVANS. 'Tis unreasonable. Will you take up your wife's + clothes? Come away. + FORD. Empty the basket, I say. + MRS. FORD. Why, man, why? + FORD. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one convey'd + out of my house yesterday in this basket. Why may not + he be there again? In my house I am sure he is; my + intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable. + Pluck me out all the linen. + MRS. FORD. If you find a man there, he shall die a flea's + death. + PAGE. Here's no man. + SHALLOW. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master Ford; this + wrongs you. + EVANS. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow the + imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies. + FORD. Well, he's not here I seek for. + PAGE. No, nor nowhere else but in your brain. + FORD. Help to search my house this one time. If I find not + what I seek, show no colour for my extremity; let me for + ever be your table sport; let them say of me 'As jealous as + Ford, that search'd a hollow walnut for his wife's leman.' + Satisfy me once more; once more search with me. + MRS. FORD. What, hoa, Mistress Page! Come you and the old + woman down; my husband will come into the chamber. + FORD. Old woman? what old woman's that? + MRS. FORD. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brainford. + FORD. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! Have I not + forbid her my house? She comes of errands, does she? We + are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass + under the profession of fortune-telling. She works by + charms, by spells, by th' figure, and such daub'ry as this + is, beyond our element. We know nothing. Come down, you + witch, you hag you; come down, I say. + MRS. FORD. Nay, good sweet husband! Good gentlemen, let + him not strike the old woman. + + Re-enter FALSTAFF in woman's clothes, and MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. PAGE. Come, Mother Prat; come. give me your hand. + FORD. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of my door, you + witch, you hag, you. baggage, you polecat, you ronyon! + Out, out! I'll conjure you, I'll fortune-tell you. + Exit FALSTAFF + MRS. PAGE. Are you not asham'd? I think you have kill'd the + poor woman. + MRS. FORD. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly credit for you. + FORD. Hang her, witch! + EVANS. By yea and no, I think the oman is a witch indeed; I + like not when a oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard + under his muffler. + FORD. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you follow; + see but the issue of my jealousy; if I cry out thus upon no + trail, never trust me when I open again. + PAGE. Let's obey his humour a little further. Come, + gentlemen. Exeunt all but MRS. FORD and MRS. PAGE + MRS. PAGE. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. + MRS. FORD. Nay, by th' mass, that he did not; he beat him + most unpitifully methought. + MRS. PAGE. I'll have the cudgel hallow'd and hung o'er the + altar; it hath done meritorious service. + MRS. FORD. What think you? May we, with the warrant of + womanhood and the witness of a good conscience, pursue + him with any further revenge? + MRS. PAGE. The spirit of wantonness is sure scar'd out of + him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, with fine and + recovery, he will never, I think, in the way of waste, + attempt us again. + MRS. FORD. Shall we tell our husbands how we have serv'd + him? + MRS. PAGE. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape the + figures out of your husband's brains. If they can find in their + hearts the poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further + afflicted, we two will still be the ministers. + MRS. FORD. I'll warrant they'll have him publicly sham'd; + and methinks there would be no period to the jest, should + he not be publicly sham'd. + MRS. PAGE. Come, to the forge with it then; shape it. I + would not have things cool. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter HOST and BARDOLPH + + BARDOLPH. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your + horses; the Duke himself will be to-morrow at court, and + they are going to meet him. + HOST. What duke should that be comes so secretly? I hear + not of him in the court. Let me speak with the gentlemen; + they speak English? + BARDOLPH. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you. + HOST. They shall have my horses, but I'll make them pay; + I'll sauce them; they have had my house a week at + command; I have turn'd away my other guests. They must + come off; I'll sauce them. Come. Exeunt + +SCENE 4 + +FORD'S house + +Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and SIR HUGH EVANS + + EVANS. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a oman as ever + did look upon. + PAGE. And did he send you both these letters at an instant? + MRS. PAGE. Within a quarter of an hour. + FORD. Pardon me, wife. Henceforth, do what thou wilt; + I rather will suspect the sun with cold + Than thee with wantonness. Now doth thy honour stand, + In him that was of late an heretic, + As firm as faith. + PAGE. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more. + Be not as extreme in submission as in offence; + But let our plot go forward. Let our wives + Yet once again, to make us public sport, + Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, + Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. + FORD. There is no better way than that they spoke of. + PAGE. How? To send him word they'll meet him in the Park + at midnight? Fie, fie! he'll never come! + EVANS. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; and has + been grievously peaten as an old oman; methinks there + should be terrors in him, that he should not come; + methinks his flesh is punish'd; he shall have no desires. + PAGE. So think I too. + MRS. FORD. Devise but how you'll use him when he comes, + And let us two devise to bring him thither. + MRS. PAGE. There is an old tale goes that Heme the Hunter, + Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, + Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight, + Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns; + And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle, + And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain + In a most hideous and dreadful manner. + You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know + The superstitious idle-headed eld + Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age, + This tale of Heme the Hunter for a truth. + PAGE. Why yet there want not many that do fear + In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak. + But what of this? + MRS. FORD. Marry, this is our device- + That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, + Disguis'd, like Heme, with huge horns on his head. + PAGE. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, + And in this shape. When you have brought him thither, + What shall be done with him? What is your plot? + MRS. PAGE. That likewise have we thought upon, and + thus: + Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, + And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress + Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white, + With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, + And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden, + As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, + Let them from forth a sawpit rush at once + With some diffused song; upon their sight + We two in great amazedness will fly. + Then let them all encircle him about, + And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight; + And ask him why, that hour of fairy revel, + In their so sacred paths he dares to tread + In shape profane. + MRS. FORD. And till he tell the truth, + Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, + And burn him with their tapers. + MRS. PAGE. The truth being known, + We'll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit, + And mock him home to Windsor. + FORD. The children must + Be practis'd well to this or they'll nev'r do 't. + EVANS. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will + be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the knight with my + taber. + FORD. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards. + MRS. PAGE. My Nan shall be the Queen of all the Fairies, + Finely attired in a robe of white. + PAGE. That silk will I go buy. [Aside] And in that time + Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away, + And marry her at Eton.-Go, send to Falstaff straight. + FORD. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook; + He'll tell me all his purpose. Sure, he'll come. + MRS. PAGE. Fear not you that. Go get us properties + And tricking for our fairies. + EVANS. Let us about it. It is admirable pleasures, and fery + honest knaveries. Exeunt PAGE, FORD, and EVANS + MRS. PAGE. Go, Mistress Ford. + Send Quickly to Sir John to know his mind. + Exit MRS. FORD + I'll to the Doctor; he hath my good will, + And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. + That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot; + And he my husband best of all affects. + The Doctor is well money'd, and his friends + Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her, + Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. Exit + +SCENE 5. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter HOST and SIMPLE + + HOST. What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin? + Speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap. + SIMPLE. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sir John Falstaff + from Master Slender. + HOST. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, his + standing-bed and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about with the + story of the Prodigal, fresh and new. Go, knock and can; he'll + speak like an Anthropophaginian unto thee. Knock, I say. + SIMPLE. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up into + his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she come down; + I come to speak with her, indeed. + HOST. Ha! a fat woman? The knight may be robb'd. I'll call. + Bully knight! Bully Sir John! Speak from thy lungs + military. Art thou there? It is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. + FALSTAFF. [Above] How now, mine host? + HOST. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the coming down of + thy fat woman. Let her descend, bully, let her descend; + my chambers are honourible. Fie, privacy, fie! + + Enter FALSTAFF + + FALSTAFF. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even + now with, me; but she's gone. + SIMPLE. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of + Brainford? + FALSTAFF. Ay, marry was it, mussel-shell. What would you + with her? + SIMPLE. My master, sir, my Master Slender, sent to her, + seeing her go thorough the streets, to know, sir, whether one + Nym, sir, that beguil'd him of a chain, had the chain or no. + FALSTAFF. I spake with the old woman about it. + SIMPLE. And what says she, I pray, sir? + FALSTAFF Marry, she says that the very same man that + beguil'd Master Slender of his chain cozen'd him of it. + SIMPLE. I would I could have spoken with the woman + herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too, + from him. + FALSTAFF. What are they? Let us know. + HOST. Ay, come; quick. + SIMPLE. I may not conceal them, sir. + FALSTAFF. Conceal them, or thou diest. + SIMPLE.. Why, sir, they were nothing but about Mistress + Anne Page: to know if it were my master's fortune to + have her or no. + FALSTAFF. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. + SIMPLE. What sir? + FALSTAFF. To have her, or no. Go; say the woman told me + so. + SIMPLE. May I be bold to say so, sir? + FALSTAFF. Ay, sir, like who more bold? + SIMPLE., I thank your worship; I shall make my master glad + with these tidings. Exit SIMPLE + HOST. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, Sir John. Was + there a wise woman with thee? + FALSTAFF. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath + taught me more wit than ever I learn'd before in my life; + and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my + learning. + + Enter BARDOLPH + + BARDOLPH. Out, alas, sir, cozenage, mere cozenage! + HOST. Where be my horses? Speak well of them, varletto. + BARDOLPH. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon as I + came beyond Eton, they threw me off from behind one of + them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs and away, like + three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. + HOST. They are gone but to meet the Duke, villain; do not + say they be fled. Germans are honest men. + + Enter SIR HUGH EVANS + + EVANS. Where is mine host? + HOST. What is the matter, sir? + EVANS. Have a care of your entertainments. There is a friend + of mine come to town tells me there is three + cozen-germans that has cozen'd all the hosts of Readins, + of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you for + good will, look you; you are wise, and full of gibes and + vlouting-stogs, and 'tis not convenient you should be + cozened. Fare you well. Exit + + Enter DOCTOR CAIUS + + CAIUS. Vere is mine host de Jarteer? + HOST. Here, Master Doctor, in perplexity and doubtful + dilemma. + CAIUS. I cannot tell vat is dat; but it is tell-a me dat you + make grand preparation for a Duke de Jamany. By my + trot, dere is no duke that the court is know to come; I + tell you for good will. Adieu. Exit + HOST. Hue and cry, villain, go! Assist me, knight; I am + undone. Fly, run, hue and cry, villain; I am undone. + Exeunt HOST and BARDOLPH + FALSTAFF. I would all the world might be cozen'd, for I have + been cozen'd and beaten too. If it should come to the car + of the court how I have been transformed, and how my + transformation hath been wash'd and cudgell'd, they + would melt me out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor + fishermen's boots with me; I warrant they would whip me + with their fine wits till I were as crestfall'n as a dried pear. + I never prosper'd since I forswore myself at primero. Well, + if my wind were but long enough to say my prayers, + would repent. + + Enter MISTRESS QUICKLY + + Now! whence come you? + QUICKLY. From the two parties, forsooth. + FALSTAFF. The devil take one party and his dam the other! + And so they shall be both bestowed. I have suffer'd more + for their sakes, more than the villainous inconstancy of + man's disposition is able to bear. + QUICKLY. And have not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant; + speciously one of them; Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten + black and blue, that you cannot see a white spot about her. + FALSTAFF. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was + beaten myself into all the colours of the rainbow; and + was like to be apprehended for the witch of Brainford. But + that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting the + action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable + had set me i' th' stocks, i' th' common stocks, for a witch. + QUICKLY. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; you + shall hear how things go, and, I warrant, to your content. + Here is a letter will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado + here is to bring you together! Sure, one of you does not + serve heaven well, that you are so cross'd. + FALSTAFF. Come up into my chamber. Exeunt + +SCENE 6. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FENTON and HOST + + HOST. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is heavy; I + will give over all. + FENTON. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my purpose, + And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give the + A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. + HOST. I will hear you, Master Fenton; and I will, at the least, + keep your counsel. + FENTON. From time to time I have acquainted you + With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; + Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection, + So far forth as herself might be her chooser, + Even to my wish. I have a letter from her + Of such contents as you will wonder at; + The mirth whereof so larded with my matter + That neither, singly, can be manifested + Without the show of both. Fat Falstaff + Hath a great scene. The image of the jest + I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host: + To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, + Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen- + The purpose why is here-in which disguise, + While other jests are something rank on foot, + Her father hath commanded her to slip + Away with Slender, and with him at Eton + Immediately to marry; she hath consented. + Now, sir, + Her mother, even strong against that match + And firm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed + That he shall likewise shuffle her away + While other sports are tasking of their minds, + And at the dean'ry, where a priest attends, + Straight marry her. To this her mother's plot + She seemingly obedient likewise hath + Made promise to the doctor. Now thus it rests: + Her father means she shall be all in white; + And in that habit, when Slender sees his time + To take her by the hand and bid her go, + She shall go with him; her mother hath intended + The better to denote her to the doctor- + For they must all be mask'd and vizarded- + That quaint in green she shall be loose enrob'd, + With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head; + And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, + To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, + The maid hath given consent to go with him. + HOST. Which means she to deceive, father or mother? + FENTON. Both, my good host, to go along with me. + And here it rests-that you'll procure the vicar + To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, + And in the lawful name of marrying, + To give our hearts united ceremony. + HOST. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar. + Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. + FENTON. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; + Besides, I'll make a present recompense. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +The Garter Inn + +Enter FALSTAFF and MISTRESS QUICKLY + + FALSTAFF. Prithee, no more prattling; go. I'll, hold. This is + the third time; I hope good luck lies in odd numbers. + Away, go; they say there is divinity in odd numbers, either + in nativity, chance, or death. Away. + QUICKLY. I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to + get you a pair of horns. + FALSTAFF. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your head, and + mince. Exit MRS. QUICKLY + + Enter FORD disguised + + How now, Master Brook. Master Brook, the matter will + be known tonight or never. Be you in the Park about + midnight, at Herne's oak, and you shall see wonders. + FORD. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me + you had appointed? + FALSTAFF. I went to her, Master Brook, as you see, like a + poor old man; but I came from her, Master Brook, like a + poor old woman. That same knave Ford, her husband, hath + the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, Master Brook, that + ever govern'd frenzy. I will tell you-he beat me grievously + in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master + Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because + I know also life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along with + me; I'll. tell you all, Master Brook. Since I pluck'd geese, + play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I knew not what 'twas to + be beaten till lately. Follow me. I'll tell you strange things + of this knave-Ford, on whom to-night I will be revenged, + and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange + things in hand, Master Brook! Follow. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +Windsor Park + +Enter PAGE, SHALLOW, and SLENDER + + PAGE. Come, come; we'll couch i' th' Castle ditch till we + see the light of our fairies. Remember, son Slender, my daughter. + SLENDER. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have + a nay-word how to know one another. I come to her in + white and cry 'mum'; she cries 'budget,' and by that we + know one another. + SHALLOW. That's good too; but what needs either your mum + or her budget? The white will decipher her well enough. + It hath struck ten o'clock. + PAGE. The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well. + Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the + devil, and we shall know him by his horns. Let's away; + follow me. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +A street leading to the Park + +Enter MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and DOCTOR CAIUS + + MRS. PAGE. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green; when + you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to + the deanery, and dispatch it quickly. Go before into the + Park; we two must go together. + CAIUS. I know vat I have to do; adieu. + MRS. PAGE. Fare you well, sir. [Exit CAIUS] My husband + will not rejoice so much at the abuse of Falstaff as he will + chafe at the doctor's marrying my daughter; but 'tis no + matter; better a little chiding than a great deal of + heartbreak. + MRS. FORD. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and + the Welsh devil, Hugh? + MRS. PAGE. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by Heme's + oak, with obscur'd lights; which, at the very instant of + Falstaff's and our meeting, they will at once display to the + night. + MRS. FORD. That cannot choose but amaze him. + MRS. PAGE. If he be not amaz'd, he will be mock'd; if he be + amaz'd, he will every way be mock'd. + MRS. FORD. We'll betray him finely. + MRS. PAGE. Against such lewdsters and their lechery, + Those that betray them do no treachery. + MRS. FORD. The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak! + Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +Windsor Park + +Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, with OTHERS as fairies + + EVANS. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your parts. Be pold, I + pray you; follow me into the pit; and when I give the watch-ords, do + as I pid you. Come, come; trib, trib. + Exeunt + +SCENE 5. + +Another part of the Park + +Enter FALSTAFF disguised as HERNE + + FALSTAFF. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the minute draws on. + Now the hot-blooded gods assist me! Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull + for thy Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love! that in some + respects makes a beast a man; in some other a man a beast. You were + also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda. O omnipotent love! how + near the god drew to the complexion of a goose! A fault done first in + the form of a beast-O Jove, a beastly fault!-and then another fault + in the semblance of a fowl- think on't, Jove, a foul fault! When gods + have hot backs what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor + stag; and the fattest, I think, i' th' forest. Send me a cool + rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tallow? Who comes + here? my doe? + + Enter MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE + + MRS. FORD. Sir John! Art thou there, my deer, my male deer. + FALSTAFF. My doe with the black scut! Let the sky rain + potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves, hail + kissing-comfits, and snow eringoes; let there come a tempest + of provocation, I will shelter me here. [Embracing her] + MRS. FORD. Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart. + FALSTAFF. Divide me like a brib'd buck, each a haunch; I + will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow + of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am + I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Heme the Hunter? Why, + now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution. + As I am a true spirit, welcome! [A noise of horns] + MRS. PAGE. Alas, what noise? + MRS. FORD. Heaven forgive our sins! + FALSTAFF. What should this be? + MRS. FORD. } Away, away. + MRS. PAGE. } Away, away. [They run off] + FALSTAFF. I think the devil will not have me damn'd, lest the + oil that's in me should set hell on fire; he would never else + cross me thus. + + Enter SIR HUGH EVANS like a satyr, ANNE PAGE as + a fairy, and OTHERS as the Fairy Queen, fairies, and + Hobgoblin; all with tapers + + FAIRY QUEEN. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, + You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, + You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, + Attend your office and your quality. + Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. + PUCK. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. + Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap; + Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept, + There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry; + Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery. + FALSTAFF. They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die. + I'll wink and couch; no man their works must eye. + [Lies down upon his face] + EVANS. Where's Pede? Go you, and where you find a maid + That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, + Raise up the organs of her fantasy + Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; + But those as sleep and think not on their sins, + Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. + FAIRY QUEEN. About, about; + Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out; + Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room, + That it may stand till the perpetual doom + In state as wholesome as in state 'tis fit, + Worthy the owner and the owner it. + The several chairs of order look you scour + With juice of balm and every precious flower; + Each fair instalment, coat, and sev'ral crest, + With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! + And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, + Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring; + Th' expressure that it bears, green let it be, + More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; + And 'Honi soit qui mal y pense' write + In em'rald tufts, flow'rs purple, blue and white; + Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, + Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee. + Fairies use flow'rs for their charactery. + Away, disperse; but till 'tis one o'clock, + Our dance of custom round about the oak + Of Herne the Hunter let us not forget. + EVANS. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set; + And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, + To guide our measure round about the tree. + But, stay. I smell a man of middle earth. + FALSTAFF. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he + transform me to a piece of cheese! + PUCK. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth. + FAIRY QUEEN. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end; + If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, + And turn him to no pain; but if he start, + It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. + PUCK. A trial, come. + EVANS. Come, will this wood take fire? + [They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts] + FALSTAFF. Oh, oh, oh! + FAIRY QUEEN. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! + About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme; + And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. + THE SONG. + Fie on sinful fantasy! + Fie on lust and luxury! + Lust is but a bloody fire, + Kindled with unchaste desire, + Fed in heart, whose flames aspire, + As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. + Pinch him, fairies, mutually; + Pinch him for his villainy; + Pinch him and burn him and turn him about, + Till candles and star-light and moonshine be out. + + During this song they pinch FALSTAFF. DOCTOR + CAIUS comes one way, and steals away a fairy in + green; SLENDER another way, and takes off a fairy in + white; and FENTON steals away ANNE PAGE. A noise + of hunting is heard within. All the fairies run away. + FALSTAFF pulls off his buck's head, and rises + + Enter PAGE, FORD, MISTRESS PAGE, MISTRESS FORD, and + SIR HUGH EVANS + + PAGE. Nay, do not fly; I think we have watch'd you now. + Will none but Heme the Hunter serve your turn? + MRS. PAGE. I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher. + Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives? + See you these, husband? Do not these fair yokes + Become the forest better than the town? + FORD. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? Master Brook, + Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns, + Master Brook; and, Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of + Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds + of money, which must be paid to Master Brook; his horses + are arrested for it, Master Brook. + MRS. FORD. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never + meet. I will never take you for my love again; but I will + always count you my deer. + FALSTAFF. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. + FORD. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant. + FALSTAFF. And these are not fairies? I was three or four + times in the thought they were not fairies; and yet the + guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my powers, + drove the grossness of the foppery into a receiv'd belief, + in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they + were fairies. See now how wit may be made a Jack-a-Lent + when 'tis upon ill employment. + EVANS. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, + and fairies will not pinse you. + FORD. Well said, fairy Hugh. + EVANS. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. + FORD. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able + to woo her in good English. + FALSTAFF. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that + it wants matter to prevent so gross, o'er-reaching as this? + Am I ridden with a Welsh goat too? Shall I have a cox-comb + of frieze? 'Tis time I were chok'd with a piece of + toasted cheese. + EVANS. Seese is not good to give putter; your belly is all + putter. + FALSTAFF. 'Seese' and 'putter'! Have I liv'd to stand at the + taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough + to be the decay of lust and late-walking through the realm. + MRS. PAGE. Why, Sir John, do you think, though we would + have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the head and + shoulders, and have given ourselves without scruple to hell, + that ever the devil could have made you our delight? + FORD. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? + MRS. PAGE. A puff'd man? + PAGE. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intolerable entrails? + FORD. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? + PAGE. And as poor as Job? + FORD. And as wicked as his wife? + EVANS. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, + and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings, + and starings, pribbles and prabbles? + FALSTAFF. Well, I am your theme; you have the start of me; + I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel; + ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me; use me as you will. + FORD. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one Master + Brook, that you have cozen'd of money, to whom you + should have been a pander. Over and above that you have + suffer'd, I think to repay that money will be a biting + affliction. + PAGE. Yet be cheerful, knight; thou shalt eat a posset + tonight at my house, where I will desire thee to laugh at my + wife, that now laughs at thee. Tell her Master Slender hath + married her daughter. + MRS. PAGE. [Aside] Doctors doubt that; if Anne Page be + my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius' wife. + + Enter SLENDER + + SLENDER. Whoa, ho, ho, father Page! + PAGE. Son, how now! how now, son! Have you dispatch'd'? + SLENDER. Dispatch'd! I'll make the best in Gloucestershire + know on't; would I were hang'd, la, else! + PAGE. Of what, son? + SLENDER. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne + Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i' + th' church, I would have swing'd him, or he should have + swing'd me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, + would I might never stir!-and 'tis a postmaster's boy. + PAGE. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. + SLENDER. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I + took a boy for a girl. If I had been married to him, for all + he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. + PAGE. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you how + you should know my daughter by her garments? + SLENDER. I went to her in white and cried 'mum' and she + cried 'budget' as Anne and I had appointed; and yet it was + not Anne, but a postmaster's boy. + MRS. PAGE. Good George, be not angry. I knew of your + purpose; turn'd my daughter into green; and, indeed, she + is now with the Doctor at the dean'ry, and there married. + + Enter CAIUS + + CAIUS. Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened; I ha' + married un garcon, a boy; un paysan, by gar, a boy; it is + not Anne Page; by gar, I am cozened. + MRS. PAGE. Why, did you take her in green? + CAIUS. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy; be gar, I'll raise all + Windsor. Exit CAIUS + FORD. This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne? + PAGE. My heart misgives me; here comes Master Fenton. + + Enter FENTON and ANNE PAGE + + How now, Master Fenton! + ANNE. Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon. + PAGE. Now, Mistress, how chance you went not with Master + Slender? + MRS. PAGE. Why went you not with Master Doctor, maid? + FENTON. You do amaze her. Hear the truth of it. + You would have married her most shamefully, + Where there was no proportion held in love. + The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, + Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. + Th' offence is holy that she hath committed; + And this deceit loses the name of craft, + Of disobedience, or unduteous title, + Since therein she doth evitate and shun + A thousand irreligious cursed hours, + Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. + FORD. Stand not amaz'd; here is no remedy. + In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; + Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. + FALSTAFF. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand + to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanc'd. + PAGE. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! + What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. + FALSTAFF. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd. + MRS. PAGE. Well, I will muse no further. Master Fenton, + Heaven give you many, many merry days! + Good husband, let us every one go home, + And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; + Sir John and all. + FORD. Let it be so. Sir John, + To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word; + For he, to-night, shall lie with Mistress Ford. Exeunt + + + + +A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM + + + +Contents + + + +ACT I +Scene I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus +Scene II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage + +ACT II +Scene I. A wood near Athens +Scene II. Another part of the wood + +ACT III +Scene I. The Wood. +Scene II. Another part of the wood + +ACT IV +Scene I. The Wood +Scene II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House + +ACT V +Scene I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +THESEUS, Duke of Athens +HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus +EGEUS, Father to Hermia +HERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander +HELENA, in love with Demetrius +LYSANDER, in love with Hermia +DEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia +PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus + +QUINCE, the Carpenter +SNUG, the Joiner +BOTTOM, the Weaver +FLUTE, the Bellows-mender +SNOUT, the Tinker +STARVELING, the Tailor + +OBERON, King of the Fairies +TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies +PUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a Fairy +PEASEBLOSSOM, Fairy +COBWEB, Fairy +MOTH, Fairy +MUSTARDSEED, Fairy + +PYRAMUS, THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION; Characters in the Interlude +performed by the Clowns + +Other Fairies attending their King and Queen +Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta + +SCENE: Athens, and a wood not far from it + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus + + Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants. + +THESEUS. +Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour +Draws on apace; four happy days bring in +Another moon; but oh, methinks, how slow +This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires, +Like to a step-dame or a dowager, +Long withering out a young man’s revenue. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Four days will quickly steep themselves in night; +Four nights will quickly dream away the time; +And then the moon, like to a silver bow +New bent in heaven, shall behold the night +Of our solemnities. + +THESEUS. +Go, Philostrate, +Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; +Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; +Turn melancholy forth to funerals; +The pale companion is not for our pomp. + + [_Exit Philostrate._] + +Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword, +And won thy love doing thee injuries; +But I will wed thee in another key, +With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. + + Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius. + +EGEUS. +Happy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke! + +THESEUS. +Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee? + +EGEUS. +Full of vexation come I, with complaint +Against my child, my daughter Hermia. +Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, +This man hath my consent to marry her. +Stand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke, +This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child. +Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, +And interchang’d love-tokens with my child. +Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung, +With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; +And stol’n the impression of her fantasy +With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, +Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers +Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth) +With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart, +Turn’d her obedience (which is due to me) +To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke, +Be it so she will not here before your grace +Consent to marry with Demetrius, +I beg the ancient privilege of Athens: +As she is mine I may dispose of her; +Which shall be either to this gentleman +Or to her death, according to our law +Immediately provided in that case. + +THESEUS. +What say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid. +To you your father should be as a god; +One that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one +To whom you are but as a form in wax +By him imprinted, and within his power +To leave the figure, or disfigure it. +Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. + +HERMIA. +So is Lysander. + +THESEUS. +In himself he is. +But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice, +The other must be held the worthier. + +HERMIA. +I would my father look’d but with my eyes. + +THESEUS. +Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. + +HERMIA. +I do entreat your Grace to pardon me. +I know not by what power I am made bold, +Nor how it may concern my modesty +In such a presence here to plead my thoughts: +But I beseech your Grace that I may know +The worst that may befall me in this case, +If I refuse to wed Demetrius. + +THESEUS. +Either to die the death, or to abjure +For ever the society of men. +Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, +Know of your youth, examine well your blood, +Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice, +You can endure the livery of a nun, +For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d, +To live a barren sister all your life, +Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. +Thrice-blessèd they that master so their blood +To undergo such maiden pilgrimage, +But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d +Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, +Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. + +HERMIA. +So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, +Ere I will yield my virgin patent up +Unto his lordship, whose unwishèd yoke +My soul consents not to give sovereignty. + +THESEUS. +Take time to pause; and by the next new moon +The sealing-day betwixt my love and me +For everlasting bond of fellowship, +Upon that day either prepare to die +For disobedience to your father’s will, +Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would, +Or on Diana’s altar to protest +For aye austerity and single life. + +DEMETRIUS. +Relent, sweet Hermia; and, Lysander, yield +Thy crazèd title to my certain right. + +LYSANDER. +You have her father’s love, Demetrius. +Let me have Hermia’s. Do you marry him. + +EGEUS. +Scornful Lysander, true, he hath my love; +And what is mine my love shall render him; +And she is mine, and all my right of her +I do estate unto Demetrius. + +LYSANDER. +I am, my lord, as well deriv’d as he, +As well possess’d; my love is more than his; +My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d, +If not with vantage, as Demetrius’; +And, which is more than all these boasts can be, +I am belov’d of beauteous Hermia. +Why should not I then prosecute my right? +Demetrius, I’ll avouch it to his head, +Made love to Nedar’s daughter, Helena, +And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, +Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, +Upon this spotted and inconstant man. + +THESEUS. +I must confess that I have heard so much, +And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; +But, being over-full of self-affairs, +My mind did lose it.—But, Demetrius, come, +And come, Egeus; you shall go with me. +I have some private schooling for you both.— +For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself +To fit your fancies to your father’s will, +Or else the law of Athens yields you up +(Which by no means we may extenuate) +To death, or to a vow of single life. +Come, my Hippolyta. What cheer, my love? +Demetrius and Egeus, go along; +I must employ you in some business +Against our nuptial, and confer with you +Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. + +EGEUS. +With duty and desire we follow you. + + [_Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia._] + +LYSANDER. +How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? +How chance the roses there do fade so fast? + +HERMIA. +Belike for want of rain, which I could well +Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. + +LYSANDER. +Ay me! For aught that I could ever read, +Could ever hear by tale or history, +The course of true love never did run smooth. +But either it was different in blood— + +HERMIA. +O cross! Too high to be enthrall’d to low. + +LYSANDER. +Or else misgraffèd in respect of years— + +HERMIA. +O spite! Too old to be engag’d to young. + +LYSANDER. +Or else it stood upon the choice of friends— + +HERMIA. +O hell! to choose love by another’s eyes! + +LYSANDER. +Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, +War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, +Making it momentany as a sound, +Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, +Brief as the lightning in the collied night +That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, +And, ere a man hath power to say, ‘Behold!’ +The jaws of darkness do devour it up: +So quick bright things come to confusion. + +HERMIA. +If then true lovers have ever cross’d, +It stands as an edict in destiny. +Then let us teach our trial patience, +Because it is a customary cross, +As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs, +Wishes and tears, poor fancy’s followers. + +LYSANDER. +A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia. +I have a widow aunt, a dowager +Of great revenue, and she hath no child. +From Athens is her house remote seven leagues, +And she respects me as her only son. +There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee, +And to that place the sharp Athenian law +Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, +Steal forth thy father’s house tomorrow night; +And in the wood, a league without the town +(Where I did meet thee once with Helena +To do observance to a morn of May), +There will I stay for thee. + +HERMIA. +My good Lysander! +I swear to thee by Cupid’s strongest bow, +By his best arrow with the golden head, +By the simplicity of Venus’ doves, +By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves, +And by that fire which burn’d the Carthage queen +When the false Trojan under sail was seen, +By all the vows that ever men have broke +(In number more than ever women spoke), +In that same place thou hast appointed me, +Tomorrow truly will I meet with thee. + +LYSANDER. +Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena. + + Enter Helena. + +HERMIA. +God speed fair Helena! Whither away? + +HELENA. +Call you me fair? That fair again unsay. +Demetrius loves your fair. O happy fair! +Your eyes are lode-stars and your tongue’s sweet air +More tuneable than lark to shepherd’s ear, +When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. +Sickness is catching. O were favour so, +Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go. +My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, +My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody. +Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, +The rest I’d give to be to you translated. +O, teach me how you look, and with what art +You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart! + +HERMIA. +I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. + +HELENA. +O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill! + +HERMIA. +I give him curses, yet he gives me love. + +HELENA. +O that my prayers could such affection move! + +HERMIA. +The more I hate, the more he follows me. + +HELENA. +The more I love, the more he hateth me. + +HERMIA. +His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. + +HELENA. +None but your beauty; would that fault were mine! + +HERMIA. +Take comfort: he no more shall see my face; +Lysander and myself will fly this place. +Before the time I did Lysander see, +Seem’d Athens as a paradise to me. +O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, +That he hath turn’d a heaven into hell! + +LYSANDER. +Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: +Tomorrow night, when Phoebe doth behold +Her silver visage in the watery glass, +Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass +(A time that lovers’ flights doth still conceal), +Through Athens’ gates have we devis’d to steal. + +HERMIA. +And in the wood where often you and I +Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, +Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, +There my Lysander and myself shall meet, +And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, +To seek new friends and stranger companies. +Farewell, sweet playfellow. Pray thou for us, +And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius! +Keep word, Lysander. We must starve our sight +From lovers’ food, till morrow deep midnight. + +LYSANDER. +I will, my Hermia. + + [_Exit Hermia._] + +Helena, adieu. +As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! + + [_Exit Lysander._] + +HELENA. +How happy some o’er other some can be! +Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. +But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; +He will not know what all but he do know. +And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes, +So I, admiring of his qualities. +Things base and vile, holding no quantity, +Love can transpose to form and dignity. +Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; +And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind. +Nor hath love’s mind of any judgment taste. +Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste. +And therefore is love said to be a child, +Because in choice he is so oft beguil’d. +As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, +So the boy Love is perjur’d everywhere. +For, ere Demetrius look’d on Hermia’s eyne, +He hail’d down oaths that he was only mine; +And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, +So he dissolv’d, and showers of oaths did melt. +I will go tell him of fair Hermia’s flight. +Then to the wood will he tomorrow night +Pursue her; and for this intelligence +If I have thanks, it is a dear expense. +But herein mean I to enrich my pain, +To have his sight thither and back again. + + [_Exit Helena._] + + +SCENE II. The Same. A Room in a Cottage + + Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout and Starveling. + +QUINCE. +Is all our company here? + +BOTTOM. +You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the +scrip. + +QUINCE. +Here is the scroll of every man’s name, which is thought fit through +all Athens, to play in our interlude before the Duke and Duchess, on +his wedding-day at night. + +BOTTOM. +First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the +names of the actors; and so grow to a point. + +QUINCE. +Marry, our play is _The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of +Pyramus and Thisbe_. + +BOTTOM. +A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter +Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread +yourselves. + +QUINCE. +Answer, as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver. + +BOTTOM. +Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed. + +QUINCE. +You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus. + +BOTTOM. +What is Pyramus—a lover, or a tyrant? + +QUINCE. +A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love. + +BOTTOM. +That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let +the audience look to their eyes. I will move storms; I will condole in +some measure. To the rest—yet my chief humour is for a tyrant. I could +play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. + + The raging rocks + And shivering shocks + Shall break the locks + Of prison gates, + And Phibbus’ car + Shall shine from far, + And make and mar + The foolish Fates. + +This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles’ vein, +a tyrant’s vein; a lover is more condoling. + +QUINCE. +Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. + +FLUTE. +Here, Peter Quince. + +QUINCE. +Flute, you must take Thisbe on you. + +FLUTE. +What is Thisbe? A wandering knight? + +QUINCE. +It is the lady that Pyramus must love. + +FLUTE. +Nay, faith, let not me play a woman. I have a beard coming. + +QUINCE. +That’s all one. You shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small +as you will. + +BOTTOM. +And I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too. I’ll speak in a +monstrous little voice; ‘Thisne, Thisne!’—‘Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear! +thy Thisbe dear! and lady dear!’ + +QUINCE. +No, no, you must play Pyramus; and, Flute, you Thisbe. + +BOTTOM. +Well, proceed. + +QUINCE. +Robin Starveling, the tailor. + +STARVELING. +Here, Peter Quince. + +QUINCE. +Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother. +Tom Snout, the tinker. + +SNOUT +Here, Peter Quince. + +QUINCE. +You, Pyramus’ father; myself, Thisbe’s father; +Snug, the joiner, you, the lion’s part. And, I hope here is a play +fitted. + +SNUG +Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I +am slow of study. + +QUINCE. +You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. + +BOTTOM. +Let me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man’s heart +good to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say ‘Let him +roar again, let him roar again.’ + +QUINCE. +If you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the +ladies, that they would shriek; and that were enough to hang us all. + +ALL +That would hang us every mother’s son. + +BOTTOM. +I grant you, friends, if you should fright the ladies out of their +wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us. But I will +aggravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking +dove; I will roar you an ’twere any nightingale. + +QUINCE. +You can play no part but Pyramus, for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a +proper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely +gentleman-like man. Therefore you must needs play Pyramus. + +BOTTOM. +Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best to play it in? + +QUINCE. +Why, what you will. + +BOTTOM. +I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your +orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your +French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow. + +QUINCE. +Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and then you will play +bare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts, and I am to entreat you, +request you, and desire you, to con them by tomorrow night; and meet me +in the palace wood, a mile without the town, by moonlight; there will +we rehearse, for if we meet in the city, we shall be dogg’d with +company, and our devices known. In the meantime I will draw a bill of +properties, such as our play wants. I pray you fail me not. + +BOTTOM. +We will meet, and there we may rehearse most obscenely and +courageously. Take pains, be perfect; adieu. + +QUINCE. +At the Duke’s oak we meet. + +BOTTOM. +Enough. Hold, or cut bow-strings. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A wood near Athens + + Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. + +PUCK. +How now, spirit! Whither wander you? + +FAIRY + Over hill, over dale, + Thorough bush, thorough brier, + Over park, over pale, + Thorough flood, thorough fire, + I do wander everywhere, + Swifter than the moon’s sphere; + And I serve the Fairy Queen, + To dew her orbs upon the green. + The cowslips tall her pensioners be, + In their gold coats spots you see; + Those be rubies, fairy favours, + In those freckles live their savours. +I must go seek some dew-drops here, +And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. +Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone. +Our Queen and all her elves come here anon. + +PUCK. +The King doth keep his revels here tonight; +Take heed the Queen come not within his sight, +For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, +Because that she, as her attendant, hath +A lovely boy, stol’n from an Indian king; +She never had so sweet a changeling. +And jealous Oberon would have the child +Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild: +But she perforce withholds the lovèd boy, +Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy. +And now they never meet in grove or green, +By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, +But they do square; that all their elves for fear +Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. + +FAIRY +Either I mistake your shape and making quite, +Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite +Call’d Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he +That frights the maidens of the villagery, +Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern, +And bootless make the breathless housewife churn, +And sometime make the drink to bear no barm, +Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? +Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, +You do their work, and they shall have good luck. +Are not you he? + +PUCK. +Thou speak’st aright; +I am that merry wanderer of the night. +I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, +When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, +Neighing in likeness of a filly foal; +And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl +In very likeness of a roasted crab, +And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, +And on her withered dewlap pour the ale. +The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, +Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; +Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, +And ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough; +And then the whole quire hold their hips and loffe +And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear +A merrier hour was never wasted there. +But room, fairy. Here comes Oberon. + +FAIRY +And here my mistress. Would that he were gone! + + Enter Oberon at one door, with his Train, and Titania at another, with + hers. + +OBERON. +Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. + +TITANIA. +What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence; +I have forsworn his bed and company. + +OBERON. +Tarry, rash wanton; am not I thy lord? + +TITANIA. +Then I must be thy lady; but I know +When thou hast stol’n away from fairyland, +And in the shape of Corin sat all day +Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love +To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, +Come from the farthest steep of India, +But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, +Your buskin’d mistress and your warrior love, +To Theseus must be wedded; and you come +To give their bed joy and prosperity? + +OBERON. +How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, +Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, +Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? +Didst not thou lead him through the glimmering night +From Perigenia, whom he ravished? +And make him with fair Aegles break his faith, +With Ariadne and Antiopa? + +TITANIA. +These are the forgeries of jealousy: +And never, since the middle summer’s spring, +Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, +By pavèd fountain, or by rushy brook, +Or on the beachèd margent of the sea, +To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, +But with thy brawls thou hast disturb’d our sport. +Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, +As in revenge, have suck’d up from the sea +Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land, +Hath every pelting river made so proud +That they have overborne their continents. +The ox hath therefore stretch’d his yoke in vain, +The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn +Hath rotted ere his youth attain’d a beard. +The fold stands empty in the drownèd field, +And crows are fatted with the murrion flock; +The nine-men’s-morris is fill’d up with mud, +And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, +For lack of tread, are undistinguishable. +The human mortals want their winter here. +No night is now with hymn or carol blest. +Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, +Pale in her anger, washes all the air, +That rheumatic diseases do abound. +And thorough this distemperature we see +The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts +Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; +And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown +An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds +Is, as in mockery, set. The spring, the summer, +The childing autumn, angry winter, change +Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world, +By their increase, now knows not which is which. +And this same progeny of evils comes +From our debate, from our dissension; +We are their parents and original. + +OBERON. +Do you amend it, then. It lies in you. +Why should Titania cross her Oberon? +I do but beg a little changeling boy +To be my henchman. + +TITANIA. +Set your heart at rest; +The fairyland buys not the child of me. +His mother was a vot’ress of my order, +And in the spicèd Indian air, by night, +Full often hath she gossip’d by my side; +And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands, +Marking th’ embarkèd traders on the flood, +When we have laugh’d to see the sails conceive, +And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind; +Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait +Following (her womb then rich with my young squire), +Would imitate, and sail upon the land, +To fetch me trifles, and return again, +As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. +But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; +And for her sake do I rear up her boy, +And for her sake I will not part with him. + +OBERON. +How long within this wood intend you stay? + +TITANIA. +Perchance till after Theseus’ wedding-day. +If you will patiently dance in our round, +And see our moonlight revels, go with us; +If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. + +OBERON. +Give me that boy and I will go with thee. + +TITANIA. +Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away. +We shall chide downright if I longer stay. + + [_Exit Titania with her Train._] + +OBERON. +Well, go thy way. Thou shalt not from this grove +Till I torment thee for this injury.— +My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememb’rest +Since once I sat upon a promontory, +And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back +Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath +That the rude sea grew civil at her song +And certain stars shot madly from their spheres +To hear the sea-maid’s music. + +PUCK. +I remember. + +OBERON. +That very time I saw, (but thou couldst not), +Flying between the cold moon and the earth, +Cupid all arm’d: a certain aim he took +At a fair vestal, thronèd by the west, +And loos’d his love-shaft smartly from his bow +As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. +But I might see young Cupid’s fiery shaft +Quench’d in the chaste beams of the watery moon; +And the imperial votress passed on, +In maiden meditation, fancy-free. +Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell: +It fell upon a little western flower, +Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, +And maidens call it love-in-idleness. +Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once: +The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid +Will make or man or woman madly dote +Upon the next live creature that it sees. +Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again +Ere the leviathan can swim a league. + +PUCK. +I’ll put a girdle round about the earth +In forty minutes. + + [_Exit Puck._] + +OBERON. +Having once this juice, +I’ll watch Titania when she is asleep, +And drop the liquor of it in her eyes: +The next thing then she waking looks upon +(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, +On meddling monkey, or on busy ape) +She shall pursue it with the soul of love. +And ere I take this charm from off her sight +(As I can take it with another herb) +I’ll make her render up her page to me. +But who comes here? I am invisible; +And I will overhear their conference. + + Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. + +DEMETRIUS. +I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. +Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? +The one I’ll slay, the other slayeth me. +Thou told’st me they were stol’n into this wood, +And here am I, and wode within this wood +Because I cannot meet with Hermia. +Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. + +HELENA. +You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant, +But yet you draw not iron, for my heart +Is true as steel. Leave you your power to draw, +And I shall have no power to follow you. + +DEMETRIUS. +Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? +Or rather do I not in plainest truth +Tell you I do not, nor I cannot love you? + +HELENA. +And even for that do I love you the more. +I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, +The more you beat me, I will fawn on you. +Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, +Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, +Unworthy as I am, to follow you. +What worser place can I beg in your love, +(And yet a place of high respect with me) +Than to be usèd as you use your dog? + +DEMETRIUS. +Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit; +For I am sick when I do look on thee. + +HELENA. +And I am sick when I look not on you. + +DEMETRIUS. +You do impeach your modesty too much +To leave the city and commit yourself +Into the hands of one that loves you not, +To trust the opportunity of night. +And the ill counsel of a desert place, +With the rich worth of your virginity. + +HELENA. +Your virtue is my privilege: for that. +It is not night when I do see your face, +Therefore I think I am not in the night; +Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, +For you, in my respect, are all the world. +Then how can it be said I am alone +When all the world is here to look on me? + +DEMETRIUS. +I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, +And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. + +HELENA. +The wildest hath not such a heart as you. +Run when you will, the story shall be chang’d; +Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; +The dove pursues the griffin, the mild hind +Makes speed to catch the tiger. Bootless speed, +When cowardice pursues and valour flies! + +DEMETRIUS. +I will not stay thy questions. Let me go, +Or if thou follow me, do not believe +But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. + +HELENA. +Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, +You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! +Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex. +We cannot fight for love as men may do. +We should be woo’d, and were not made to woo. + + [_Exit Demetrius._] + +I’ll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, +To die upon the hand I love so well. + + [_Exit Helena._] + +OBERON. +Fare thee well, nymph. Ere he do leave this grove, +Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. + + Enter Puck. + +Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer. + +PUCK. +Ay, there it is. + +OBERON. +I pray thee give it me. +I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, +Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, +Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, +With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. +There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, +Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight; +And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin, +Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in. +And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes, +And make her full of hateful fantasies. +Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: +A sweet Athenian lady is in love +With a disdainful youth. Anoint his eyes; +But do it when the next thing he espies +May be the lady. Thou shalt know the man +By the Athenian garments he hath on. +Effect it with some care, that he may prove +More fond on her than she upon her love: +And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. + +PUCK. +Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE II. Another part of the wood + + Enter Titania with her Train. + +TITANIA. +Come, now a roundel and a fairy song; +Then for the third part of a minute, hence; +Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds; +Some war with reremice for their leathern wings, +To make my small elves coats; and some keep back +The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders +At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep; +Then to your offices, and let me rest. + +Fairies sing. + +FIRST FAIRY. + You spotted snakes with double tongue, + Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; + Newts and blind-worms do no wrong, + Come not near our Fairy Queen: + +CHORUS. + Philomel, with melody, + Sing in our sweet lullaby: +Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby. + Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, + Come our lovely lady nigh; + So good night, with lullaby. + +FIRST FAIRY. + Weaving spiders, come not here; + Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence. + Beetles black, approach not near; + Worm nor snail do no offence. + +CHORUS. + Philomel with melody, &c. + +SECOND FAIRY. +Hence away! Now all is well. +One aloof stand sentinel. + + [_Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps._] + + Enter Oberon. + +OBERON. +What thou seest when thou dost wake, + + [_Squeezes the flower on Titania’s eyelids._] + +Do it for thy true love take; +Love and languish for his sake. +Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, +Pard, or boar with bristled hair, +In thy eye that shall appear +When thou wak’st, it is thy dear. +Wake when some vile thing is near. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Lysander and Hermia. + +LYSANDER. +Fair love, you faint with wand’ring in the wood. +And, to speak troth, I have forgot our way. +We’ll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, +And tarry for the comfort of the day. + +HERMIA. +Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed, +For I upon this bank will rest my head. + +LYSANDER. +One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; +One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. + +HERMIA. +Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, +Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. + +LYSANDER. +O take the sense, sweet, of my innocence! +Love takes the meaning in love’s conference. +I mean that my heart unto yours is knit, +So that but one heart we can make of it: +Two bosoms interchainèd with an oath, +So then two bosoms and a single troth. +Then by your side no bed-room me deny; +For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. + +HERMIA. +Lysander riddles very prettily. +Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, +If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied! +But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy +Lie further off, in human modesty, +Such separation as may well be said +Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, +So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: +Thy love ne’er alter till thy sweet life end! + +LYSANDER. +Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I; +And then end life when I end loyalty! +Here is my bed. Sleep give thee all his rest! + +HERMIA. +With half that wish the wisher’s eyes be pressed! + + [_They sleep._] + + Enter Puck. + +PUCK. +Through the forest have I gone, +But Athenian found I none, +On whose eyes I might approve +This flower’s force in stirring love. +Night and silence! Who is here? +Weeds of Athens he doth wear: +This is he, my master said, +Despisèd the Athenian maid; +And here the maiden, sleeping sound, +On the dank and dirty ground. +Pretty soul, she durst not lie +Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. +Churl, upon thy eyes I throw +All the power this charm doth owe; +When thou wak’st let love forbid +Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. +So awake when I am gone; +For I must now to Oberon. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. + +HELENA. +Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. + +DEMETRIUS. +I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. + +HELENA. +O, wilt thou darkling leave me? Do not so. + +DEMETRIUS. +Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go. + + [_Exit Demetrius._] + +HELENA. +O, I am out of breath in this fond chase! +The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. +Happy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies, +For she hath blessèd and attractive eyes. +How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears. +If so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers. +No, no, I am as ugly as a bear, +For beasts that meet me run away for fear: +Therefore no marvel though Demetrius +Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. +What wicked and dissembling glass of mine +Made me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne? +But who is here? Lysander, on the ground! +Dead or asleep? I see no blood, no wound. +Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. + +LYSANDER. +[_Waking._] And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake. +Transparent Helena! Nature shows art, +That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. +Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word +Is that vile name to perish on my sword! + +HELENA. +Do not say so, Lysander, say not so. +What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? +Yet Hermia still loves you. Then be content. + +LYSANDER. +Content with Hermia? No, I do repent +The tedious minutes I with her have spent. +Not Hermia, but Helena I love. +Who will not change a raven for a dove? +The will of man is by his reason sway’d, +And reason says you are the worthier maid. +Things growing are not ripe until their season; +So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason; +And touching now the point of human skill, +Reason becomes the marshal to my will, +And leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlook +Love’s stories, written in love’s richest book. + +HELENA. +Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? +When at your hands did I deserve this scorn? +Is’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man, +That I did never, no, nor never can +Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye, +But you must flout my insufficiency? +Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, +In such disdainful manner me to woo. +But fare you well; perforce I must confess, +I thought you lord of more true gentleness. +O, that a lady of one man refus’d, +Should of another therefore be abus’d! + + [_Exit._] + +LYSANDER. +She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep thou there, +And never mayst thou come Lysander near! +For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things +The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; +Or as the heresies that men do leave +Are hated most of those they did deceive; +So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, +Of all be hated, but the most of me! +And, all my powers, address your love and might +To honour Helen, and to be her knight! + + [_Exit._] + +HERMIA. +[_Starting._] Help me, Lysander, help me! Do thy best +To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! +Ay me, for pity! What a dream was here! +Lysander, look how I do quake with fear. +Methought a serpent eat my heart away, +And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. +Lysander! What, removed? Lysander! lord! +What, out of hearing? Gone? No sound, no word? +Alack, where are you? Speak, and if you hear; +Speak, of all loves! I swoon almost with fear. +No? Then I well perceive you are not nigh. +Either death or you I’ll find immediately. + + [_Exit._] + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. The Wood. + + The Queen of Fairies still lying asleep. + + Enter Bottom, Quince, Snout, Starveling, Snug and Flute. + +BOTTOM. +Are we all met? + +QUINCE. +Pat, pat; and here’s a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. +This green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our +tiring-house; and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the +Duke. + +BOTTOM. +Peter Quince? + +QUINCE. +What sayest thou, bully Bottom? + +BOTTOM. +There are things in this comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe that will never +please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the +ladies cannot abide. How answer you that? + +SNOUT +By’r lakin, a parlous fear. + +STARVELING. +I believe we must leave the killing out, when all is done. + +BOTTOM. +Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue, and +let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and +that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better assurance, +tell them that I Pyramus am not Pyramus but Bottom the weaver. This +will put them out of fear. + +QUINCE. +Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight +and six. + +BOTTOM. +No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight. + +SNOUT +Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? + +STARVELING. +I fear it, I promise you. + +BOTTOM. +Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves, to bring in (God shield +us!) a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there is not a +more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living; and we ought to look to +it. + +SNOUT +Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion. + +BOTTOM. +Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the +lion’s neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the +same defect: ‘Ladies,’ or, ‘Fair ladies, I would wish you,’ or, ‘I +would request you,’ or, ’I would entreat you, not to fear, not to +tremble: my life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it +were pity of my life. No, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men +are’: and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly +he is Snug the joiner. + +QUINCE. +Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things: that is, to bring +the moonlight into a chamber, for you know, Pyramus and Thisbe meet by +moonlight. + +SNOUT +Doth the moon shine that night we play our play? + +BOTTOM. +A calendar, a calendar! Look in the almanack; find out moonshine, find +out moonshine. + +QUINCE. +Yes, it doth shine that night. + +BOTTOM. +Why, then may you leave a casement of the great chamber window, where +we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement. + +QUINCE. +Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lantern, and +say he comes to disfigure or to present the person of Moonshine. Then +there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for +Pyramus and Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a +wall. + +SNOUT +You can never bring in a wall. What say you, Bottom? + +BOTTOM. +Some man or other must present Wall. And let him have some plaster, or +some loam, or some rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let him +hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisbe +whisper. + +QUINCE. +If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit down, every mother’s son, +and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your +speech, enter into that brake; and so everyone according to his cue. + + Enter Puck behind. + +PUCK. +What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here, +So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen? +What, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor; +An actor too perhaps, if I see cause. + +QUINCE. +Speak, Pyramus.—Thisbe, stand forth. + +PYRAMUS. +_Thisbe, the flowers of odious savours sweet_ + +QUINCE. +Odours, odours. + +PYRAMUS. +_. . . odours savours sweet. +So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisbe dear. +But hark, a voice! Stay thou but here awhile, +And by and by I will to thee appear._ + + [_Exit._] + +PUCK. +A stranger Pyramus than e’er played here! + + [_Exit._] + +THISBE. +Must I speak now? + +QUINCE. +Ay, marry, must you, For you must understand he goes but to see a noise +that he heard, and is to come again. + +THISBE. +_Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, +Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, +Most brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, +As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, +I’ll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny’s tomb._ + +QUINCE. +Ninus’ tomb, man! Why, you must not speak that yet. That you answer to +Pyramus. You speak all your part at once, cues, and all.—Pyramus enter! +Your cue is past; it is ‘never tire.’ + +THISBE. +O, _As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire._ + + Enter Puck and Bottom with an ass’s head. + +PYRAMUS. +_If I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine._ + +QUINCE. +O monstrous! O strange! We are haunted. Pray, masters, fly, masters! +Help! + + [_Exeunt Clowns._] + +PUCK. +I’ll follow you. I’ll lead you about a round, + Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier; +Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound, + A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire; +And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, +Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. + + [_Exit._] + +BOTTOM. +Why do they run away? This is a knavery of them to make me afeard. + + Enter Snout. + +SNOUT +O Bottom, thou art changed! What do I see on thee? + +BOTTOM. +What do you see? You see an ass-head of your own, do you? + + [_Exit Snout._] + + Enter Quince. + +QUINCE. +Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! Thou art translated. + + [_Exit._] + +BOTTOM. +I see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me, to fright me, if +they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I +will walk up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear I am +not afraid. +[_Sings._] + The ousel cock, so black of hue, + With orange-tawny bill, + The throstle with his note so true, + The wren with little quill. + +TITANIA. +[_Waking._] What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? + +BOTTOM. +[_Sings._] + The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, + The plain-song cuckoo gray, + Whose note full many a man doth mark, + And dares not answer nay. +for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? Who would give +a bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so? + +TITANIA. +I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. +Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note. +So is mine eye enthrallèd to thy shape; +And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me, +On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. + +BOTTOM. +Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to +say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays. +The more the pity that some honest neighbours will not make them +friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion. + +TITANIA. +Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. + +BOTTOM. +Not so, neither; but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I +have enough to serve mine own turn. + +TITANIA. +Out of this wood do not desire to go. +Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no. +I am a spirit of no common rate. +The summer still doth tend upon my state; +And I do love thee: therefore, go with me. +I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee; +And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, +And sing, while thou on pressèd flowers dost sleep. +And I will purge thy mortal grossness so +That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.— +Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed! + + Enter four Fairies. + +PEASEBLOSSOM. +Ready. + + +COBWEB. +And I. + + +MOTH. +And I. + + +MUSTARDSEED. +And I. + + +ALL. +Where shall we go? + +TITANIA. +Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; +Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; +Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, +With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; +The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, +And for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, +And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes, +To have my love to bed and to arise; +And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, +To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. +Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. + + +PEASEBLOSSOM. +Hail, mortal! + + +COBWEB. +Hail! + + +MOTH. +Hail! + + +MUSTARDSEED. +Hail! + +BOTTOM. +I cry your worships mercy, heartily.—I beseech your worship’s name. + +COBWEB. +Cobweb. + +BOTTOM. +I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good Master Cobweb. If I cut +my finger, I shall make bold with you.—Your name, honest gentleman? + +PEASEBLOSSOM. +Peaseblossom. + +BOTTOM. +I pray you, commend me to Mistress Squash, your mother, and to Master +Peascod, your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I shall desire you of +more acquaintance too.—Your name, I beseech you, sir? + +MUSTARDSEED. +Mustardseed. + +BOTTOM. +Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well. That same cowardly +giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your house. I +promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire you +of more acquaintance, good Master Mustardseed. + +TITANIA. +Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. + The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye, +And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, + Lamenting some enforced chastity. +Tie up my love’s tongue, bring him silently. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE II. Another part of the wood + + Enter Oberon. + +OBERON. +I wonder if Titania be awak’d; +Then, what it was that next came in her eye, +Which she must dote on in extremity. + + Enter Puck. + +Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit? +What night-rule now about this haunted grove? + +PUCK. +My mistress with a monster is in love. +Near to her close and consecrated bower, +While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, +A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, +That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, +Were met together to rehearse a play +Intended for great Theseus’ nuptial day. +The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort +Who Pyramus presented in their sport, +Forsook his scene and enter’d in a brake. +When I did him at this advantage take, +An ass’s nole I fixed on his head. +Anon, his Thisbe must be answerèd, +And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, +As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, +Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, +Rising and cawing at the gun’s report, +Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, +So at his sight away his fellows fly, +And at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls; +He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. +Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong, +Made senseless things begin to do them wrong; +For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch; +Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch. +I led them on in this distracted fear, +And left sweet Pyramus translated there. +When in that moment, so it came to pass, +Titania wak’d, and straightway lov’d an ass. + +OBERON. +This falls out better than I could devise. +But hast thou yet latch’d the Athenian’s eyes +With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? + +PUCK. +I took him sleeping—that is finish’d too— +And the Athenian woman by his side, +That, when he wak’d, of force she must be ey’d. + + Enter Demetrius and Hermia. + +OBERON. +Stand close. This is the same Athenian. + +PUCK. +This is the woman, but not this the man. + +DEMETRIUS. +O why rebuke you him that loves you so? +Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. + +HERMIA. +Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse, +For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. +If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, +Being o’er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, +And kill me too. +The sun was not so true unto the day +As he to me. Would he have stol’n away +From sleeping Hermia? I’ll believe as soon +This whole earth may be bor’d, and that the moon +May through the centre creep and so displease +Her brother’s noontide with th’ Antipodes. +It cannot be but thou hast murder’d him. +So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. + +DEMETRIUS. +So should the murder’d look, and so should I, +Pierc’d through the heart with your stern cruelty. +Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, +As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. + +HERMIA. +What’s this to my Lysander? Where is he? +Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? + +DEMETRIUS. +I had rather give his carcass to my hounds. + +HERMIA. +Out, dog! Out, cur! Thou driv’st me past the bounds +Of maiden’s patience. Hast thou slain him, then? +Henceforth be never number’d among men! +O once tell true; tell true, even for my sake! +Durst thou have look’d upon him, being awake, +And hast thou kill’d him sleeping? O brave touch! +Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? +An adder did it; for with doubler tongue +Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. + +DEMETRIUS. +You spend your passion on a mispris’d mood: +I am not guilty of Lysander’s blood; +Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. + +HERMIA. +I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. + +DEMETRIUS. +And if I could, what should I get therefore? + +HERMIA. +A privilege never to see me more. +And from thy hated presence part I so: +See me no more, whether he be dead or no. + + [_Exit._] + +DEMETRIUS. +There is no following her in this fierce vein. +Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. +So sorrow’s heaviness doth heavier grow +For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; +Which now in some slight measure it will pay, +If for his tender here I make some stay. + + [_Lies down._] + +OBERON. +What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quite, +And laid the love-juice on some true-love’s sight. +Of thy misprision must perforce ensue +Some true love turn’d, and not a false turn’d true. + +PUCK. +Then fate o’er-rules, that, one man holding troth, +A million fail, confounding oath on oath. + +OBERON. +About the wood go swifter than the wind, +And Helena of Athens look thou find. +All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer +With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear. +By some illusion see thou bring her here; +I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear. + +PUCK. +I go, I go; look how I go, +Swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow. + + [_Exit._] + +OBERON. + Flower of this purple dye, + Hit with Cupid’s archery, + Sink in apple of his eye. + When his love he doth espy, + Let her shine as gloriously + As the Venus of the sky.— + When thou wak’st, if she be by, + Beg of her for remedy. + + Enter Puck. + +PUCK. + Captain of our fairy band, + Helena is here at hand, + And the youth mistook by me, + Pleading for a lover’s fee. + Shall we their fond pageant see? + Lord, what fools these mortals be! + +OBERON. + Stand aside. The noise they make + Will cause Demetrius to awake. + +PUCK. + Then will two at once woo one. + That must needs be sport alone; + And those things do best please me + That befall prepost’rously. + + Enter Lysander and Helena. + +LYSANDER. +Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? +Scorn and derision never come in tears. +Look when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, +In their nativity all truth appears. +How can these things in me seem scorn to you, +Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? + +HELENA. +You do advance your cunning more and more. +When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! +These vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er? +Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: +Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, +Will even weigh; and both as light as tales. + +LYSANDER. +I had no judgment when to her I swore. + +HELENA. +Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er. + +LYSANDER. +Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. + +DEMETRIUS. +[_Waking._] O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! +To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? +Crystal is muddy. O how ripe in show +Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! +That pure congealèd white, high Taurus’ snow, +Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow +When thou hold’st up thy hand. O, let me kiss +This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss! + +HELENA. +O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent +To set against me for your merriment. +If you were civil, and knew courtesy, +You would not do me thus much injury. +Can you not hate me, as I know you do, +But you must join in souls to mock me too? +If you were men, as men you are in show, +You would not use a gentle lady so; +To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, +When I am sure you hate me with your hearts. +You both are rivals, and love Hermia; +And now both rivals, to mock Helena. +A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, +To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes +With your derision! None of noble sort +Would so offend a virgin, and extort +A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport. + +LYSANDER. +You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so, +For you love Hermia; this you know I know. +And here, with all good will, with all my heart, +In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part; +And yours of Helena to me bequeath, +Whom I do love and will do till my death. + +HELENA. +Never did mockers waste more idle breath. + +DEMETRIUS. +Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none. +If e’er I lov’d her, all that love is gone. +My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d; +And now to Helen is it home return’d, +There to remain. + +LYSANDER. +Helen, it is not so. + +DEMETRIUS. +Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, +Lest to thy peril thou aby it dear. +Look where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. + + Enter Hermia. + +HERMIA. +Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, +The ear more quick of apprehension makes; +Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, +It pays the hearing double recompense. +Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; +Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. +But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? + +LYSANDER. +Why should he stay whom love doth press to go? + +HERMIA. +What love could press Lysander from my side? + +LYSANDER. +Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide, +Fair Helena, who more engilds the night +Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. +Why seek’st thou me? Could not this make thee know +The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? + +HERMIA. +You speak not as you think; it cannot be. + +HELENA. +Lo, she is one of this confederacy! +Now I perceive they have conjoin’d all three +To fashion this false sport in spite of me. +Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid! +Have you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d, +To bait me with this foul derision? +Is all the counsel that we two have shar’d, +The sisters’ vows, the hours that we have spent, +When we have chid the hasty-footed time +For parting us—O, is all forgot? +All school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence? +We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, +Have with our needles created both one flower, +Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, +Both warbling of one song, both in one key, +As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, +Had been incorporate. So we grew together, +Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, +But yet a union in partition, +Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; +So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; +Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, +Due but to one, and crownèd with one crest. +And will you rent our ancient love asunder, +To join with men in scorning your poor friend? +It is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly. +Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, +Though I alone do feel the injury. + +HERMIA. +I am amazèd at your passionate words: +I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me. + +HELENA. +Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, +To follow me, and praise my eyes and face? +And made your other love, Demetrius, +Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, +To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, +Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this +To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander +Deny your love, so rich within his soul, +And tender me, forsooth, affection, +But by your setting on, by your consent? +What though I be not so in grace as you, +So hung upon with love, so fortunate, +But miserable most, to love unlov’d? +This you should pity rather than despise. + +HERMIA. +I understand not what you mean by this. + +HELENA. +Ay, do. Persever, counterfeit sad looks, +Make mouths upon me when I turn my back, +Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up. +This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. +If you have any pity, grace, or manners, +You would not make me such an argument. +But fare ye well. ’Tis partly my own fault, +Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. + +LYSANDER. +Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse; +My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! + +HELENA. +O excellent! + +HERMIA. +Sweet, do not scorn her so. + +DEMETRIUS. +If she cannot entreat, I can compel. + +LYSANDER. +Thou canst compel no more than she entreat; +Thy threats have no more strength than her weak prayers. +Helen, I love thee, by my life I do; +I swear by that which I will lose for thee +To prove him false that says I love thee not. + +DEMETRIUS. +I say I love thee more than he can do. + +LYSANDER. +If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. + +DEMETRIUS. +Quick, come. + +HERMIA. +Lysander, whereto tends all this? + +LYSANDER. +Away, you Ethiope! + +DEMETRIUS. +No, no. He will +Seem to break loose. Take on as you would follow, +But yet come not. You are a tame man, go! + +LYSANDER. +Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! Vile thing, let loose, +Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. + +HERMIA. +Why are you grown so rude? What change is this, +Sweet love? + +LYSANDER. +Thy love? Out, tawny Tartar, out! +Out, loathèd medicine! O hated potion, hence! + +HERMIA. +Do you not jest? + +HELENA. +Yes, sooth, and so do you. + +LYSANDER. +Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. + +DEMETRIUS. +I would I had your bond; for I perceive +A weak bond holds you; I’ll not trust your word. + +LYSANDER. +What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? +Although I hate her, I’ll not harm her so. + +HERMIA. +What, can you do me greater harm than hate? +Hate me? Wherefore? O me! what news, my love? +Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? +I am as fair now as I was erewhile. +Since night you lov’d me; yet since night you left me. +Why then, you left me—O, the gods forbid!— +In earnest, shall I say? + +LYSANDER. +Ay, by my life; +And never did desire to see thee more. +Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt; +Be certain, nothing truer; ’tis no jest +That I do hate thee and love Helena. + +HERMIA. +O me! You juggler! You cankerblossom! +You thief of love! What! have you come by night +And stol’n my love’s heart from him? + +HELENA. +Fine, i’ faith! +Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, +No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear +Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? +Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you! + +HERMIA. +Puppet! Why so? Ay, that way goes the game. +Now I perceive that she hath made compare +Between our statures; she hath urg’d her height; +And with her personage, her tall personage, +Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him. +And are you grown so high in his esteem +Because I am so dwarfish and so low? +How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak, +How low am I? I am not yet so low +But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. + +HELENA. +I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, +Let her not hurt me. I was never curst; +I have no gift at all in shrewishness; +I am a right maid for my cowardice; +Let her not strike me. You perhaps may think, +Because she is something lower than myself, +That I can match her. + +HERMIA. +Lower! Hark, again. + +HELENA. +Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. +I evermore did love you, Hermia, +Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong’d you, +Save that, in love unto Demetrius, +I told him of your stealth unto this wood. +He follow’d you; for love I follow’d him; +But he hath chid me hence, and threaten’d me +To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: +And now, so you will let me quiet go, +To Athens will I bear my folly back, +And follow you no further. Let me go: +You see how simple and how fond I am. + +HERMIA. +Why, get you gone. Who is’t that hinders you? + +HELENA. +A foolish heart that I leave here behind. + +HERMIA. +What! with Lysander? + +HELENA. +With Demetrius. + +LYSANDER. +Be not afraid; she shall not harm thee, Helena. + +DEMETRIUS. +No, sir, she shall not, though you take her part. + +HELENA. +O, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd. +She was a vixen when she went to school, +And though she be but little, she is fierce. + +HERMIA. +Little again! Nothing but low and little? +Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? +Let me come to her. + +LYSANDER. +Get you gone, you dwarf; +You minimus, of hind’ring knot-grass made; +You bead, you acorn. + +DEMETRIUS. +You are too officious +In her behalf that scorns your services. +Let her alone. Speak not of Helena; +Take not her part; for if thou dost intend +Never so little show of love to her, +Thou shalt aby it. + +LYSANDER. +Now she holds me not. +Now follow, if thou dar’st, to try whose right, +Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. + +DEMETRIUS. +Follow! Nay, I’ll go with thee, cheek by jole. + + [_Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius._] + +HERMIA. +You, mistress, all this coil is long of you. +Nay, go not back. + +HELENA. +I will not trust you, I, +Nor longer stay in your curst company. +Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray. +My legs are longer though, to run away. + + [_Exit._] + +HERMIA. +I am amaz’d, and know not what to say. + + [_Exit, pursuing Helena._] + +OBERON. +This is thy negligence: still thou mistak’st, +Or else commit’st thy knaveries willfully. + +PUCK. +Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. +Did not you tell me I should know the man +By the Athenian garments he had on? +And so far blameless proves my enterprise +That I have ’nointed an Athenian’s eyes: +And so far am I glad it so did sort, +As this their jangling I esteem a sport. + +OBERON. +Thou seest these lovers seek a place to fight. +Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night; +The starry welkin cover thou anon +With drooping fog, as black as Acheron, +And lead these testy rivals so astray +As one come not within another’s way. +Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, +Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; +And sometime rail thou like Demetrius. +And from each other look thou lead them thus, +Till o’er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep +With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep. +Then crush this herb into Lysander’s eye, +Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, +To take from thence all error with his might +And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. +When they next wake, all this derision +Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision; +And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, +With league whose date till death shall never end. +Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, +I’ll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; +And then I will her charmèd eye release +From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace. + +PUCK. +My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, +For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast; +And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger, +At whose approach, ghosts wandering here and there +Troop home to churchyards. Damnèd spirits all, +That in cross-ways and floods have burial, +Already to their wormy beds are gone; +For fear lest day should look their shames upon, +They wilfully themselves exile from light, +And must for aye consort with black-brow’d night. + +OBERON. +But we are spirits of another sort: +I with the morning’s love have oft made sport; +And, like a forester, the groves may tread +Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, +Opening on Neptune with fair blessèd beams, +Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. +But, notwithstanding, haste, make no delay. +We may effect this business yet ere day. + + [_Exit Oberon._] + +PUCK. + Up and down, up and down, + I will lead them up and down. + I am fear’d in field and town. + Goblin, lead them up and down. +Here comes one. + + Enter Lysander. + +LYSANDER. +Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now. + +PUCK. +Here, villain, drawn and ready. Where art thou? + +LYSANDER. +I will be with thee straight. + +PUCK. +Follow me then to plainer ground. + + [_Exit Lysander as following the voice._] + + Enter Demetrius. + +DEMETRIUS. +Lysander, speak again. +Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? +Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head? + +PUCK. +Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, +Telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars, +And wilt not come? Come, recreant, come, thou child! +I’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defil’d +That draws a sword on thee. + +DEMETRIUS. +Yea, art thou there? + +PUCK. +Follow my voice; we’ll try no manhood here. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Enter Lysander. + +LYSANDER. +He goes before me, and still dares me on; +When I come where he calls, then he is gone. +The villain is much lighter-heel’d than I: +I follow’d fast, but faster he did fly, +That fallen am I in dark uneven way, +And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! +[_Lies down._] For if but once thou show me thy grey light, +I’ll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. + + [_Sleeps._] + + Enter Puck and Demetrius. + +PUCK. +Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not? + +DEMETRIUS. +Abide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot +Thou runn’st before me, shifting every place, +And dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face. +Where art thou? + +PUCK. +Come hither; I am here. + +DEMETRIUS. +Nay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear +If ever I thy face by daylight see: +Now go thy way. Faintness constraineth me +To measure out my length on this cold bed. +By day’s approach look to be visited. + + [_Lies down and sleeps._] + + Enter Helena. + +HELENA. +O weary night, O long and tedious night, + Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east, +That I may back to Athens by daylight, + From these that my poor company detest. +And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow’s eye, +Steal me awhile from mine own company. + + [_Sleeps._] + +PUCK. + Yet but three? Come one more. + Two of both kinds makes up four. + Here she comes, curst and sad. + Cupid is a knavish lad + Thus to make poor females mad. + + Enter Hermia. + +HERMIA. +Never so weary, never so in woe, + Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers, +I can no further crawl, no further go; + My legs can keep no pace with my desires. +Here will I rest me till the break of day. +Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! + + [_Lies down._] + +PUCK. + On the ground + Sleep sound. + I’ll apply + To your eye, + Gentle lover, remedy. + + [_Squeezing the juice on Lysander’s eye._] + + When thou wak’st, + Thou tak’st + True delight + In the sight + Of thy former lady’s eye. + And the country proverb known, + That every man should take his own, + In your waking shall be shown: + Jack shall have Jill; + Nought shall go ill; +The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well. + + [_Exit Puck._] + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The Wood + + Lysander, Demetrius, Helena and Hermia still asleep. + + Enter Titania and Bottom; Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed and + other Fairies attending; Oberon behind, unseen. + +TITANIA. +Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, + While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, +And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, + And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. + +BOTTOM. +Where’s Peaseblossom? + +PEASEBLOSSOM. +Ready. + +BOTTOM. +Scratch my head, Peaseblossom. Where’s Monsieur Cobweb? + +COBWEB. +Ready. + +BOTTOM. +Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get you your weapons in your hand and +kill me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good +monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the +action, monsieur; and, good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break +not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-bag, signior. +Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed? + +MUSTARDSEED. +Ready. + +BOTTOM. +Give me your neaf, Monsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, +good monsieur. + +MUSTARDSEED. +What’s your will? + +BOTTOM. +Nothing, good monsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must +to the barber’s, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the +face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must +scratch. + +TITANIA. +What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love? + +BOTTOM. +I have a reasonable good ear in music. Let us have the tongs and the +bones. + + +TITANIA. +Or say, sweet love, what thou desirest to eat. + +BOTTOM. +Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks +I have a great desire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no +fellow. + +TITANIA. +I have a venturous fairy that shall seek +The squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. + +BOTTOM. +I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let +none of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon +me. + +TITANIA. +Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. +Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. +So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle +Gently entwist, the female ivy so +Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. +O, how I love thee! How I dote on thee! + + [_They sleep._] + + Oberon advances. Enter Puck. + +OBERON. +Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet sight? +Her dotage now I do begin to pity. +For, meeting her of late behind the wood, +Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool, +I did upbraid her and fall out with her: +For she his hairy temples then had rounded +With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; +And that same dew, which sometime on the buds +Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, +Stood now within the pretty flouriets’ eyes, +Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. +When I had at my pleasure taunted her, +And she in mild terms begg’d my patience, +I then did ask of her her changeling child; +Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent +To bear him to my bower in fairyland. +And now I have the boy, I will undo +This hateful imperfection of her eyes. +And, gentle Puck, take this transformèd scalp +From off the head of this Athenian swain, +That he awaking when the other do, +May all to Athens back again repair, +And think no more of this night’s accidents +But as the fierce vexation of a dream. +But first I will release the Fairy Queen. + + [_Touching her eyes with an herb._] + + Be as thou wast wont to be; + See as thou was wont to see. + Dian’s bud o’er Cupid’s flower + Hath such force and blessed power. +Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen. + +TITANIA. +My Oberon, what visions have I seen! +Methought I was enamour’d of an ass. + +OBERON. +There lies your love. + +TITANIA. +How came these things to pass? +O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now! + +OBERON. +Silence awhile.—Robin, take off this head. +Titania, music call; and strike more dead +Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. + +TITANIA. +Music, ho, music, such as charmeth sleep. + +PUCK. +Now when thou wak’st, with thine own fool’s eyes peep. + +OBERON. +Sound, music. + + [_Still mucic._] + +Come, my queen, take hands with me, +And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. +Now thou and I are new in amity, +And will tomorrow midnight solemnly +Dance in Duke Theseus’ house triumphantly, +And bless it to all fair prosperity: +There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be +Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. + +PUCK. + Fairy king, attend and mark. + I do hear the morning lark. + +OBERON. + Then, my queen, in silence sad, + Trip we after night’s shade. + We the globe can compass soon, + Swifter than the wand’ring moon. + +TITANIA. + Come, my lord, and in our flight, + Tell me how it came this night + That I sleeping here was found + With these mortals on the ground. + + [_Exeunt. Horns sound within._] + + Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train. + +THESEUS. +Go, one of you, find out the forester; +For now our observation is perform’d; +And since we have the vaward of the day, +My love shall hear the music of my hounds. +Uncouple in the western valley; let them go. +Dispatch I say, and find the forester. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +We will, fair queen, up to the mountain’s top, +And mark the musical confusion +Of hounds and echo in conjunction. + +HIPPOLYTA. +I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, +When in a wood of Crete they bay’d the bear +With hounds of Sparta. Never did I hear +Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, +The skies, the fountains, every region near +Seem’d all one mutual cry. I never heard +So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. + +THESEUS. +My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, +So flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung +With ears that sweep away the morning dew; +Crook-knee’d and dewlap’d like Thessalian bulls; +Slow in pursuit, but match’d in mouth like bells, +Each under each. A cry more tuneable +Was never holla’d to, nor cheer’d with horn, +In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly. +Judge when you hear.—But, soft, what nymphs are these? + +EGEUS. +My lord, this is my daughter here asleep, +And this Lysander; this Demetrius is; +This Helena, old Nedar’s Helena: +I wonder of their being here together. + +THESEUS. +No doubt they rose up early to observe +The rite of May; and, hearing our intent, +Came here in grace of our solemnity. +But speak, Egeus; is not this the day +That Hermia should give answer of her choice? + +EGEUS. +It is, my lord. + +THESEUS. +Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. + + Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia and Helena wake + and start up. + +Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is past. +Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? + +LYSANDER. +Pardon, my lord. + + He and the rest kneel to Theseus. + +THESEUS. +I pray you all, stand up. +I know you two are rival enemies. +How comes this gentle concord in the world, +That hatred is so far from jealousy +To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? + +LYSANDER. +My lord, I shall reply amazedly, +Half sleep, half waking; but as yet, I swear, +I cannot truly say how I came here. +But, as I think (for truly would I speak) +And now I do bethink me, so it is: +I came with Hermia hither. Our intent +Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be, +Without the peril of the Athenian law. + +EGEUS. +Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough. +I beg the law, the law upon his head. +They would have stol’n away, they would, Demetrius, +Thereby to have defeated you and me: +You of your wife, and me of my consent, +Of my consent that she should be your wife. + +DEMETRIUS. +My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, +Of this their purpose hither to this wood; +And I in fury hither follow’d them, +Fair Helena in fancy following me. +But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, +(But by some power it is) my love to Hermia, +Melted as the snow, seems to me now +As the remembrance of an idle gaud +Which in my childhood I did dote upon; +And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, +The object and the pleasure of mine eye, +Is only Helena. To her, my lord, +Was I betroth’d ere I saw Hermia. +But like a sickness did I loathe this food. +But, as in health, come to my natural taste, +Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, +And will for evermore be true to it. + +THESEUS. +Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. +Of this discourse we more will hear anon. +Egeus, I will overbear your will; +For in the temple, by and by with us, +These couples shall eternally be knit. +And, for the morning now is something worn, +Our purpos’d hunting shall be set aside. +Away with us to Athens. Three and three, +We’ll hold a feast in great solemnity. +Come, Hippolyta. + + [_Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus and Train._] + +DEMETRIUS. +These things seem small and undistinguishable, +Like far-off mountains turnèd into clouds. + +HERMIA. +Methinks I see these things with parted eye, +When everything seems double. + +HELENA. +So methinks. +And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, +Mine own, and not mine own. + +DEMETRIUS. +Are you sure +That we are awake? It seems to me +That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think +The Duke was here, and bid us follow him? + +HERMIA. +Yea, and my father. + +HELENA. +And Hippolyta. + +LYSANDER. +And he did bid us follow to the temple. + +DEMETRIUS. +Why, then, we are awake: let’s follow him, +And by the way let us recount our dreams. + + [_Exeunt._] + +BOTTOM. +[_Waking._] When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer. My next is +‘Most fair Pyramus.’ Heigh-ho! Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! +Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God’s my life! Stol’n hence, and left me +asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit +of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he go about to +expound this dream. Methought I was—there is no man can tell what. +Methought I was, and methought I had—but man is but a patched fool if +he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not +heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man’s hand is not able to taste, +his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I +will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be +called ‘Bottom’s Dream’, because it hath no bottom; and I will sing it +in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Peradventure, to make it +the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. + + [_Exit._] + + +SCENE II. Athens. A Room in Quince’s House + + Enter Quince, Flute, Snout and Starveling. + +QUINCE. +Have you sent to Bottom’s house? Is he come home yet? + +STARVELING. +He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt he is transported. + +FLUTE. +If he come not, then the play is marred. It goes not forward, doth it? + +QUINCE. +It is not possible. You have not a man in all Athens able to discharge +Pyramus but he. + +FLUTE. +No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens. + +QUINCE. +Yea, and the best person too, and he is a very paramour for a sweet +voice. + + +FLUTE. +You must say paragon. A paramour is, God bless us, a thing of naught. + + Enter Snug. + +SNUG +Masters, the Duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three +lords and ladies more married. If our sport had gone forward, we had +all been made men. + +FLUTE. +O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost sixpence a day during his life; +he could not have ’scaped sixpence a day. An the Duke had not given him +sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I’ll be hanged. He would have +deserved it: sixpence a day in Pyramus, or nothing. + + Enter Bottom. + +BOTTOM. +Where are these lads? Where are these hearts? + +QUINCE. +Bottom! O most courageous day! O most happy hour! + +BOTTOM. +Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for if I tell +you, I am not true Athenian. I will tell you everything, right as it +fell out. + +QUINCE. +Let us hear, sweet Bottom. + +BOTTOM. +Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, that the Duke hath +dined. Get your apparel together, good strings to your beards, new +ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look +o’er his part. For the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In +any case, let Thisbe have clean linen; and let not him that plays the +lion pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion’s claws. And +most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet +breath; and I do not doubt but to hear them say it is a sweet comedy. +No more words. Away! Go, away! + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus + + Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and Attendants. + +HIPPOLYTA. +’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. + +THESEUS. +More strange than true. I never may believe +These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. +Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, +Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend +More than cool reason ever comprehends. +The lunatic, the lover, and the poet +Are of imagination all compact: +One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; +That is the madman: the lover, all as frantic, +Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt: +The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, +Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; +And as imagination bodies forth +The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen +Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing +A local habitation and a name. +Such tricks hath strong imagination, +That if it would but apprehend some joy, +It comprehends some bringer of that joy. +Or in the night, imagining some fear, +How easy is a bush supposed a bear? + +HIPPOLYTA. +But all the story of the night told over, +And all their minds transfigur’d so together, +More witnesseth than fancy’s images, +And grows to something of great constancy; +But, howsoever, strange and admirable. + + Enter lovers: Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia and Helena. + +THESEUS. +Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. +Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love +Accompany your hearts! + +LYSANDER. +More than to us +Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed! + +THESEUS. +Come now; what masques, what dances shall we have, +To wear away this long age of three hours +Between our after-supper and bed-time? +Where is our usual manager of mirth? +What revels are in hand? Is there no play +To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? +Call Philostrate. + +PHILOSTRATE. +Here, mighty Theseus. + +THESEUS. +Say, what abridgment have you for this evening? +What masque? What music? How shall we beguile +The lazy time, if not with some delight? + +PHILOSTRATE. +There is a brief how many sports are ripe. +Make choice of which your Highness will see first. + + [_Giving a paper._] + +THESEUS. +[_Reads_] ‘The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung +By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.’ +We’ll none of that. That have I told my love +In glory of my kinsman Hercules. +‘The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, +Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage?’ +That is an old device, and it was play’d +When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. +‘The thrice three Muses mourning for the death +Of learning, late deceas’d in beggary.’ +That is some satire, keen and critical, +Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. +‘A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus +And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth.’ +Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief? +That is hot ice and wondrous strange snow. +How shall we find the concord of this discord? + +PHILOSTRATE. +A play there is, my lord, some ten words long, +Which is as brief as I have known a play; +But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, +Which makes it tedious. For in all the play +There is not one word apt, one player fitted. +And tragical, my noble lord, it is. +For Pyramus therein doth kill himself, +Which, when I saw rehears’d, I must confess, +Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears +The passion of loud laughter never shed. + +THESEUS. +What are they that do play it? + +PHILOSTRATE. +Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, +Which never labour’d in their minds till now; +And now have toil’d their unbreath’d memories +With this same play against your nuptial. + +THESEUS. +And we will hear it. + +PHILOSTRATE. +No, my noble lord, +It is not for you: I have heard it over, +And it is nothing, nothing in the world; +Unless you can find sport in their intents, +Extremely stretch’d and conn’d with cruel pain +To do you service. + +THESEUS. +I will hear that play; +For never anything can be amiss +When simpleness and duty tender it. +Go, bring them in: and take your places, ladies. + + [_Exit Philostrate._] + +HIPPOLYTA. +I love not to see wretchedness o’ercharged, +And duty in his service perishing. + +THESEUS. +Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. + +HIPPOLYTA. +He says they can do nothing in this kind. + +THESEUS. +The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. +Our sport shall be to take what they mistake: +And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect +Takes it in might, not merit. +Where I have come, great clerks have purposed +To greet me with premeditated welcomes; +Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, +Make periods in the midst of sentences, +Throttle their practis’d accent in their fears, +And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, +Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, +Out of this silence yet I pick’d a welcome; +And in the modesty of fearful duty +I read as much as from the rattling tongue +Of saucy and audacious eloquence. +Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity +In least speak most to my capacity. + + Enter Philostrate. + +PHILOSTRATE. +So please your grace, the Prologue is address’d. + +THESEUS. +Let him approach. + + Flourish of trumpets. Enter the Prologue. + +PROLOGUE +If we offend, it is with our good will. +That you should think, we come not to offend, +But with good will. To show our simple skill, +That is the true beginning of our end. +Consider then, we come but in despite. +We do not come, as minding to content you, +Our true intent is. All for your delight +We are not here. That you should here repent you, +The actors are at hand, and, by their show, +You shall know all that you are like to know. + +THESEUS. +This fellow doth not stand upon points. + +LYSANDER. +He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows not the stop. A +good moral, my lord: it is not enough to speak, but to speak true. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Indeed he hath played on this prologue like a child on a recorder; a +sound, but not in government. + +THESEUS. +His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing impaired, but all +disordered. Who is next? + + Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine and Lion as in dumb show. + +PROLOGUE +Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; +But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. +This man is Pyramus, if you would know; +This beauteous lady Thisbe is certain. +This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present +Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers sunder; +And through Wall’s chink, poor souls, they are content +To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. +This man, with lanthern, dog, and bush of thorn, +Presenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know, +By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn +To meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo. +This grisly beast (which Lion hight by name) +The trusty Thisbe, coming first by night, +Did scare away, or rather did affright; +And as she fled, her mantle she did fall; +Which Lion vile with bloody mouth did stain. +Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, +And finds his trusty Thisbe’s mantle slain; +Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, +He bravely broach’d his boiling bloody breast; +And Thisbe, tarrying in mulberry shade, +His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, +Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain, +At large discourse while here they do remain. + + [_Exeunt Prologue, Pyramus, Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine._] + +THESEUS. +I wonder if the lion be to speak. + +DEMETRIUS. +No wonder, my lord. One lion may, when many asses do. + +WALL. +In this same interlude it doth befall +That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: +And such a wall as I would have you think +That had in it a crannied hole or chink, +Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe, +Did whisper often very secretly. +This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth show +That I am that same wall; the truth is so: +And this the cranny is, right and sinister, +Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper. + +THESEUS. +Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? + +DEMETRIUS. +It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. + +THESEUS. +Pyramus draws near the wall; silence. + + Enter Pyramus. + +PYRAMUS. +O grim-look’d night! O night with hue so black! +O night, which ever art when day is not! +O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, +I fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot! +And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, +That stand’st between her father’s ground and mine; +Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, +Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eyne. + + [_Wall holds up his fingers._] + +Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for this! +But what see I? No Thisbe do I see. +O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss, +Curs’d be thy stones for thus deceiving me! + +THESEUS. +The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. + +PYRAMUS. +No, in truth, sir, he should not. ‘Deceiving me’ is Thisbe’s cue: she +is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall see it +will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she comes. + + Enter Thisbe. + +THISBE. +O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, +For parting my fair Pyramus and me. +My cherry lips have often kiss’d thy stones, +Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee. + +PYRAMUS. +I see a voice; now will I to the chink, +To spy an I can hear my Thisbe’s face. +Thisbe? + +THISBE. +My love thou art, my love I think. + +PYRAMUS. +Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover’s grace; +And like Limander am I trusty still. + +THISBE. +And I like Helen, till the fates me kill. + +PYRAMUS. +Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. + +THISBE. +As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. + +PYRAMUS. +O kiss me through the hole of this vile wall. + +THISBE. +I kiss the wall’s hole, not your lips at all. + +PYRAMUS. +Wilt thou at Ninny’s tomb meet me straightway? + +THISBE. +’Tide life, ’tide death, I come without delay. + +WALL. +Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so; +And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. + + [_Exeunt Wall, Pyramus and Thisbe._] + +THESEUS. +Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. + +DEMETRIUS. +No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. + +HIPPOLYTA. +This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. + +THESEUS. +The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if +imagination amend them. + +HIPPOLYTA. +It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. + +THESEUS. +If we imagine no worse of them than they of themselves, they may pass +for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. + + Enter Lion and Moonshine. + +LION. +You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear +The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, +May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, +When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. +Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am +A lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam; +For if I should as lion come in strife +Into this place, ’twere pity on my life. + +THESEUS. +A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. + +DEMETRIUS. +The very best at a beast, my lord, that e’er I saw. + +LYSANDER. +This lion is a very fox for his valour. + +THESEUS. +True; and a goose for his discretion. + +DEMETRIUS. +Not so, my lord, for his valour cannot carry his discretion, and the +fox carries the goose. + +THESEUS. +His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose +carries not the fox. It is well; leave it to his discretion, and let us +listen to the moon. + +MOONSHINE. +This lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present. + +DEMETRIUS. +He should have worn the horns on his head. + +THESEUS. +He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible within the +circumference. + +MOONSHINE. +This lanthorn doth the hornèd moon present; +Myself the man i’ the moon do seem to be. + +THESEUS. +This is the greatest error of all the rest; the man should be put into +the lantern. How is it else the man i’ the moon? + +DEMETRIUS. +He dares not come there for the candle, for you see, it is already in +snuff. + +HIPPOLYTA. +I am aweary of this moon. Would he would change! + +THESEUS. +It appears by his small light of discretion that he is in the wane; but +yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. + +LYSANDER. +Proceed, Moon. + +MOON +All that I have to say, is to tell you that the lantern is the moon; I +the man i’ the moon; this thorn-bush my thorn-bush; and this dog my +dog. + +DEMETRIUS. +Why, all these should be in the lantern, for all these are in the moon. +But silence; here comes Thisbe. + + Enter Thisbe. + +THISBE. +This is old Ninny’s tomb. Where is my love? + +LION. +Oh! + + [_The Lion roars, Thisbe runs off._] + +DEMETRIUS. +Well roared, Lion. + +THESEUS. +Well run, Thisbe. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. + + [_The Lion tears Thisbe’s mantle, and exit._] + +THESEUS. +Well moused, Lion. + +DEMETRIUS. +And then came Pyramus. + +LYSANDER. +And so the lion vanished. + + Enter Pyramus. + +PYRAMUS. +Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; +I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright; +For, by thy gracious golden, glittering gleams, +I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight. + But stay! O spite! + But mark, poor knight, + What dreadful dole is here! + Eyes, do you see? + How can it be? + O dainty duck! O dear! + Thy mantle good, + What, stained with blood? + Approach, ye Furies fell! + O Fates, come, come; + Cut thread and thrum; + Quail, rush, conclude, and quell! + +THESEUS. +This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a +man look sad. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. + +PYRAMUS. +O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions frame, +Since lion vile hath here deflower’d my dear? +Which is—no, no—which was the fairest dame +That liv’d, that lov’d, that lik’d, that look’d with cheer. + Come, tears, confound! + Out, sword, and wound + The pap of Pyramus; + Ay, that left pap, + Where heart doth hop: + Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. + Now am I dead, + Now am I fled; + My soul is in the sky. + Tongue, lose thy light! + Moon, take thy flight! + Now die, die, die, die, die. + + [_Dies. Exit Moonshine._] + +DEMETRIUS. +No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but one. + +LYSANDER. +Less than an ace, man; for he is dead, he is nothing. + +THESEUS. +With the help of a surgeon he might yet recover and prove an ass. + +HIPPOLYTA. +How chance Moonshine is gone before Thisbe comes back and finds her +lover? + + +THESEUS. +She will find him by starlight. + + Enter Thisbe. + +Here she comes, and her passion ends the play. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Methinks she should not use a long one for such a Pyramus. I hope she +will be brief. + +DEMETRIUS. +A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the +better: he for a man, God warrant us; she for a woman, God bless us! + +LYSANDER. +She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. + +DEMETRIUS. +And thus she means, _videlicet_— + +THISBE. + Asleep, my love? + What, dead, my dove? + O Pyramus, arise, + Speak, speak. Quite dumb? + Dead, dead? A tomb + Must cover thy sweet eyes. + These lily lips, + This cherry nose, + These yellow cowslip cheeks, + Are gone, are gone! + Lovers, make moan; + His eyes were green as leeks. + O Sisters Three, + Come, come to me, + With hands as pale as milk; + Lay them in gore, + Since you have shore + With shears his thread of silk. + Tongue, not a word: + Come, trusty sword, + Come, blade, my breast imbrue; + And farewell, friends. + Thus Thisbe ends. + Adieu, adieu, adieu. + + [_Dies._] + +THESEUS. +Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. + +DEMETRIUS. +Ay, and Wall too. + +BOTTOM. +No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it +please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance between +two of our company? + +THESEUS. +No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; +for when the players are all dead there need none to be blamed. Marry, +if he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe’s +garter, it would have been a fine tragedy; and so it is, truly; and +very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask; let your epilogue +alone. + + [_Here a dance of Clowns._] + +The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. +Lovers, to bed; ’tis almost fairy time. +I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn +As much as we this night have overwatch’d. +This palpable-gross play hath well beguil’d +The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to bed. +A fortnight hold we this solemnity +In nightly revels and new jollity. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Enter Puck. + +PUCK. + Now the hungry lion roars, + And the wolf behowls the moon; + Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, + All with weary task fordone. + Now the wasted brands do glow, + Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, + Puts the wretch that lies in woe + In remembrance of a shroud. + Now it is the time of night + That the graves, all gaping wide, + Every one lets forth his sprite, + In the church-way paths to glide. + And we fairies, that do run + By the triple Hecate’s team + From the presence of the sun, + Following darkness like a dream, + Now are frolic; not a mouse + Shall disturb this hallow’d house. + I am sent with broom before, + To sweep the dust behind the door. + + Enter Oberon and Titania with their Train. + +OBERON. + Through the house give glimmering light, + By the dead and drowsy fire. + Every elf and fairy sprite + Hop as light as bird from brier, + And this ditty after me, + Sing and dance it trippingly. + +TITANIA. + First rehearse your song by rote, + To each word a warbling note; + Hand in hand, with fairy grace, + Will we sing, and bless this place. + + [_Song and Dance._] + +OBERON. + Now, until the break of day, + Through this house each fairy stray. + To the best bride-bed will we, + Which by us shall blessèd be; + And the issue there create + Ever shall be fortunate. + So shall all the couples three + Ever true in loving be; + And the blots of Nature’s hand + Shall not in their issue stand: + Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, + Nor mark prodigious, such as are + Despised in nativity, + Shall upon their children be. + With this field-dew consecrate, + Every fairy take his gait, + And each several chamber bless, + Through this palace, with sweet peace; + And the owner of it blest. + Ever shall it in safety rest, + Trip away. Make no stay; + Meet me all by break of day. + + [_Exeunt Oberon, Titania and Train._] + +PUCK. + If we shadows have offended, + Think but this, and all is mended, + That you have but slumber’d here + While these visions did appear. + And this weak and idle theme, + No more yielding but a dream, + Gentles, do not reprehend. + If you pardon, we will mend. + And, as I am an honest Puck, + If we have unearnèd luck + Now to ’scape the serpent’s tongue, + We will make amends ere long; + Else the Puck a liar call. + So, good night unto you all. + Give me your hands, if we be friends, + And Robin shall restore amends. + + [_Exit._] + + + + MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Before Leonato’s House. +Scene II. A room in Leonato’s house. +Scene III. Another room in Leonato’s house. + +ACT II +Scene I. A hall in Leonato’s house. +Scene II. Another room in Leonato’s house. +Scene III. Leonato’s Garden. + +ACT III +Scene I. Leonato’s Garden. +Scene II. A Room in Leonato’s House. +Scene III. A Street. +Scene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House. +Scene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House. + +ACT IV +Scene I. The Inside of a Church. +Scene II. A Prison. + +ACT V +Scene I. Before Leonato’s House. +Scene II. Leonato’s Garden. +Scene III. The Inside of a Church. +Scene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House. + + + + + + Dramatis Personæ + + + DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon. + DON JOHN, his bastard Brother. + CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence. + BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua. + LEONATO, Governor of Messina. + ANTONIO, his Brother. + BALTHASAR, Servant to Don Pedro. + BORACHIO, follower of Don John. + CONRADE, follower of Don John. + DOGBERRY, a Constable. + VERGES, a Headborough. + FRIAR FRANCIS. + A Sexton. + A Boy. + + + HERO, Daughter to Leonato. + BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato. + MARGARET, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero. + URSULA, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero. + + + Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. + + + SCENE. Messina. + + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Before Leonato’s House. + + Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice and others, with a Messenger. + + + LEONATO. + I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night + to Messina. + + + MESSENGER. + He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left + him. + + + LEONATO. + How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? + + + MESSENGER. + But few of any sort, and none of name. + + + LEONATO. + A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full + numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on + a young Florentine called Claudio. + + + MESSENGER. + Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro. + He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the + figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better + bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how. + + + LEONATO. + He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. + + + MESSENGER. + I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy + in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough + without a badge of bitterness. + + + LEONATO. + Did he break out into tears? + + + MESSENGER. + In great measure. + + + LEONATO. + A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those + that are so washed; how much better is it to weep at joy than to + joy at weeping! + + + BEATRICE. + I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no? + + + MESSENGER. + I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army + of any sort. + + + LEONATO. + What is he that you ask for, niece? + + + HERO. + My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua. + + + MESSENGER. + O! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was. + + + BEATRICE. + He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the + flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed + for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how + many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he + killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing. + + + LEONATO. + Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll be + meet with you, I doubt it not. + + + MESSENGER. + He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. + + + BEATRICE. + You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it; he is a very + valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach. + + + MESSENGER. + And a good soldier too, lady. + + + BEATRICE. + And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord? + + + MESSENGER. + A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable + virtues. + + + BEATRICE. + It is so indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the + stuffing,—well, we are all mortal. + + + LEONATO. + You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war + betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet but there’s a + skirmish of wit between them. + + + BEATRICE. + Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his + five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed + with one! so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let + him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for + it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable + creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new + sworn brother. + + + MESSENGER. + Is’t possible? + + + BEATRICE. + Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of + his hat; it ever changes with the next block. + + + MESSENGER. + I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. + + + BEATRICE. + No; and he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is + his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a + voyage with him to the devil? + + + MESSENGER. + He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. + + + BEATRICE. + O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner caught + than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help + the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost + him a thousand pound ere he be cured. + + + MESSENGER. + I will hold friends with you, lady. + + + BEATRICE. + Do, good friend. + + + LEONATO. + You will never run mad, niece. + + + BEATRICE. + No, not till a hot January. + + + MESSENGER. + Don Pedro is approached. + + + Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar and + Others. + + + DON PEDRO. + Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the + fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. + + + LEONATO. + Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your Grace, for + trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart + from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave. + + + DON PEDRO. + You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your + daughter. + + + LEONATO. + Her mother hath many times told me so. + + + BENEDICK. + Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? + + + LEONATO. + Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. + + + DON PEDRO. + You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, + being a man. Truly the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady, for + you are like an honourable father. + + + BENEDICK. + If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on + her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is. + + + BEATRICE. + I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody + marks you. + + + BENEDICK. + What! my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living? + + + BEATRICE. + Is it possible Disdain should die while she hath such meet food + to feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to + disdain if you come in her presence. + + + BENEDICK. + Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all + ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my heart + that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none. + + + BEATRICE. + A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled + with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of + your humour for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow + than a man swear he loves me. + + + BENEDICK. + God keep your Ladyship still in that mind; so some gentleman or + other shall scape a predestinate scratched face. + + + BEATRICE. + Scratching could not make it worse, and ’twere such a face as + yours were. + + + BENEDICK. + Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. + + + BEATRICE. + A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours. + + + BENEDICK. + I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a + continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done. + + + BEATRICE. + You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old. + + + DON PEDRO. + That is the sum of all, Leonato: Signior Claudio, and Signior + Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him + we shall stay here at the least a month, and he heartly prays + some occasion may detain us longer: I dare swear he is no + hypocrite, but prays from his heart. + + + LEONATO. + If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn. [_To Don John_] + Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to the Prince + your brother, I owe you all duty. + + + DON JOHN. + I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you. + + + LEONATO. + Please it your Grace lead on? + + + DON PEDRO. + Your hand, Leonato; we will go together. + + + [_Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio._] + + + CLAUDIO. + Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato? + + + BENEDICK. + I noted her not; but I looked on her. + + + CLAUDIO. + Is she not a modest young lady? + + + BENEDICK. + Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple + true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as + being a professed tyrant to their sex? + + + CLAUDIO. + No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment. + + + BENEDICK. + Why, i’ faith, methinks she’s too low for a high praise, too + brown for a fair praise, and too little for a great praise; only + this commendation I can afford her, that were she other than she + is, she were unhandsome, and being no other but as she is, I do + not like her. + + + CLAUDIO. + Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me truly how thou + likest her. + + + BENEDICK. + Would you buy her, that you enquire after her? + + + CLAUDIO. + Can the world buy such a jewel? + + + BENEDICK. + Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad + brow, or do you play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a + good hare-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key + shall a man take you, to go in the song? + + + CLAUDIO. + In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on. + + + BENEDICK. + I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such matter: + there’s her cousin and she were not possessed with a fury, + exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last + of December. But I hope you have no intent to turn husband, have + you? + + + CLAUDIO. + I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn to the contrary, + if Hero would be my wife. + + + BENEDICK. + Is’t come to this, in faith? Hath not the world one man but he + will wear his cap with suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of + threescore again? Go to, i’ faith; and thou wilt needs thrust thy + neck into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away Sundays. + + + Re-enter Don Pedro. + + + Look! Don Pedro is returned to seek you. + + + DON PEDRO. + What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to + Leonato’s? + + + BENEDICK. + I would your Grace would constrain me to tell. + + + DON PEDRO. + I charge thee on thy allegiance. + + + BENEDICK. + You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb man; I would + have you think so; but on my allegiance mark you this, on my + allegiance: he is in love. With who? now that is your Grace’s + part. Mark how short his answer is: with Hero, Leonato’s short + daughter. + + + CLAUDIO. + If this were so, so were it uttered. + + + BENEDICK. + Like the old tale, my lord: ‘it is not so, nor ’twas not so; but + indeed, God forbid it should be so.’ + + + CLAUDIO. + If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be + otherwise. + + + DON PEDRO. + Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy. + + + CLAUDIO. + You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + By my troth, I speak my thought. + + + CLAUDIO. + And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. + + + BENEDICK. + And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. + + + CLAUDIO. + That I love her, I feel. + + + DON PEDRO. + That she is worthy, I know. + + + BENEDICK. + That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she + should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me: + I will die in it at the stake. + + + DON PEDRO. + Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty. + + + CLAUDIO. + And never could maintain his part but in the force of his will. + + + BENEDICK. + That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I + likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have a + recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible + baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them + the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust + none; and the fine is,—for the which I may go the finer,—I will + live a bachelor. + + + DON PEDRO. + I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love. + + + BENEDICK. + With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with + love: prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get + again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen + and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of + blind Cupid. + + + DON PEDRO. + Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a + notable argument. + + + BENEDICK. + If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and he + that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam. + + + DON PEDRO. + Well, as time shall try: ‘In time the savage bull doth bear the + yoke.’ + + + BENEDICK. + The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, + pluck off the bull’s horns and set them in my forehead; and let + me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write, + ‘Here is good horse to hire,’ let them signify under my sign + ‘Here you may see Benedick the married man.’ + + + CLAUDIO. + If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad. + + + DON PEDRO. + Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt + quake for this shortly. + + + BENEDICK. + I look for an earthquake too then. + + + DON PEDRO. + Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime, good + Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato’s: commend me to him and tell + him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made great + preparation. + + + BENEDICK. + I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I + commit you— + + + CLAUDIO. + To the tuition of God: from my house, if I had it,— + + + DON PEDRO. + The sixth of July: your loving friend, Benedick. + + + BENEDICK. + Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime + guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on + neither: ere you flout old ends any further, examine your + conscience: and so I leave you. + + + [_Exit._] + + + CLAUDIO. + My liege, your Highness now may do me good. + + + DON PEDRO. + My love is thine to teach: teach it but how, + And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn + Any hard lesson that may do thee good. + + + CLAUDIO. + Hath Leonato any son, my lord? + + + DON PEDRO. + No child but Hero; she’s his only heir. + Dost thou affect her, Claudio? + + + CLAUDIO. + O! my lord, + When you went onward on this ended action, + I looked upon her with a soldier’s eye, + That lik’d, but had a rougher task in hand + Than to drive liking to the name of love; + But now I am return’d, and that war-thoughts + Have left their places vacant, in their rooms + Come thronging soft and delicate desires, + All prompting me how fair young Hero is, + Saying, I lik’d her ere I went to wars. + + + DON PEDRO. + Thou wilt be like a lover presently, + And tire the hearer with a book of words. + If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, + And I will break with her, and with her father, + And thou shalt have her. Was’t not to this end + That thou began’st to twist so fine a story? + + + CLAUDIO. + How sweetly you do minister to love, + That know love’s grief by his complexion! + But lest my liking might too sudden seem, + I would have salv’d it with a longer treatise. + + + DON PEDRO. + What need the bridge much broader than the flood? + The fairest grant is the necessity. + Look, what will serve is fit: ’tis once, thou lov’st, + And I will fit thee with the remedy. + I know we shall have revelling tonight: + I will assume thy part in some disguise, + And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; + And in her bosom I’ll unclasp my heart, + And take her hearing prisoner with the force + And strong encounter of my amorous tale: + Then after to her father will I break; + And the conclusion is, she shall be thine. + In practice let us put it presently. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE II. A room in Leonato’s house. + + Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting. + + + LEONATO. + How now, brother? Where is my cousin your son? Hath he provided + this music? + + + ANTONIO. + He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange + news that you yet dreamt not of. + + + LEONATO. + Are they good? + + + ANTONIO. + As the event stamps them: but they have a good cover; they show + well outward. The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a + thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a + man of mine: the Prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my + niece your daughter and meant to acknowledge it this night in a + dance; and if he found her accordant, he meant to take the + present time by the top and instantly break with you of it. + + + LEONATO. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? + + + ANTONIO. + A good sharp fellow: I will send for him; and question him + yourself. + + + LEONATO. + No, no; we will hold it as a dream till it appear itself: but I + will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better + prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you and + tell her of it. + + + [_Several persons cross the stage._] + + + Cousins, you know what you have to do. O! I cry you mercy, + friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill. Good cousin, + have a care this busy time. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE III. Another room in Leonato’s house. + + Enter Don John and Conrade. + + + CONRADE. + What the good-year, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad? + + + DON JOHN. + There is no measure in the occasion that breeds; therefore the + sadness is without limit. + + + CONRADE. + You should hear reason. + + + DON JOHN. + And when I have heard it, what blessings brings it? + + + CONRADE. + If not a present remedy, at least a patient sufferance. + + + DON JOHN. + I wonder that thou (being as thou say’st thou art, born under + Saturn) goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying + mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have + cause, and smile at no man’s jests; eat when I have stomach, and + wait for no man’s leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no + man’s business; laugh when I am merry, and claw no man in his + humour. + + + CONRADE. + Yea; but you must not make the full show of this till you may do + it without controlment. You have of late stood out against your + brother, and he hath ta’en you newly into his grace; where it is + impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that + you make yourself: it is needful that you frame the season for + your own harvest. + + + DON JOHN. + I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace; and + it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion a + carriage to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be said + to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a + plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle and + enfranchised with a clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in + my cage. If I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I + would do my liking: in the meantime, let me be that I am, and + seek not to alter me. + + + CONRADE. Can you make no use of your discontent? + + + DON JOHN. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes + here? + + + Enter Borachio. + + + What news, Borachio? + + + BORACHIO. + I came yonder from a great supper: the Prince your brother is + royally entertained by Leonato; and I can give you intelligence + of an intended marriage. + + + DON JOHN. + Will it serve for any model to build mischief on? What is he for + a fool that betroths himself to unquietness? + + + BORACHIO. + Marry, it is your brother’s right hand. + + + DON JOHN. + Who? the most exquisite Claudio? + + + BORACHIO. + Even he. + + + DON JOHN. + A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he? + + + BORACHIO. + Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. + + + DON JOHN. + A very forward March-chick! How came you to this? + + + BORACHIO. + Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, + comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: + I whipt me behind the arras, and there heard it agreed upon that + the Prince should woo Hero for himself, and having obtained her, + give her to Count Claudio. + + + DON JOHN. + Come, come; let us thither: this may prove food to my + displeasure. That young start-up hath all the glory of my + overthrow: if I can cross him any way, I bless myself every way. + You are both sure, and will assist me? + + + CONRADE. To the death, my lord. + + + DON JOHN. + Let us to the great supper: their cheer is the greater that I am + subdued. Would the cook were of my mind! Shall we go to prove + what’s to be done? + + + BORACHIO. + We’ll wait upon your Lordship. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A hall in Leonato’s house. + + Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice and others. + + + LEONATO. + Was not Count John here at supper? + + + ANTONIO. + I saw him not. + + + BEATRICE. + How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him but I am + heart-burned an hour after. + + + HERO. + He is of a very melancholy disposition. + + + BEATRICE. + He were an excellent man that were made just in the mid-way + between him and Benedick: the one is too like an image, and says + nothing; and the other too like my lady’s eldest son, evermore + tattling. + + + LEONATO. + Then half Signior Benedick’s tongue in Count John’s mouth, and + half Count John’s melancholy in Signior Benedick’s face— + + + BEATRICE. + With a good leg and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his + purse, such a man would win any woman in the world if a’ could + get her good will. + + + LEONATO. + By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou + be so shrewd of thy tongue. + + + ANTONIO. + In faith, she’s too curst. + + + BEATRICE. + Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God’s sending that + way; for it is said, ‘God sends a curst cow short horns;’ but to + a cow too curst he sends none. + + + LEONATO. + So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns? + + + BEATRICE. + Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing I am at + him upon my knees every morning and evening. Lord! I could not + endure a husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie in + the woollen. + + + LEONATO. + You may light on a husband that hath no beard. + + + BEATRICE. + What should I do with him? dress him in my apparel and make him + my waiting gentlewoman? He that hath a beard is more than a + youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that + is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a + man, I am not for him: therefore I will even take sixpence in + earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into hell. + + + LEONATO. + Well then, go you into hell? + + + BEATRICE. + No; but to the gate; and there will the Devil meet me, like an + old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, ‘Get you to heaven, + Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids.’ So + deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens: he + shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as + the day is long. + + + ANTONIO. + [_To Hero_.] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your + father. + + + BEATRICE. + Yes, faith; it is my cousin’s duty to make curtsy, and say, + ‘Father, as it please you:’— but yet for all that, cousin, let + him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say, + ‘Father, as it please me.’ + + + LEONATO. + Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. + + + BEATRICE. + Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it + not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant + dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? + No, uncle, I’ll none: Adam’s sons are my brethren; and truly, I + hold it a sin to match in my kindred. + + + LEONATO. + Daughter, remember what I told you: if the Prince do solicit you + in that kind, you know your answer. + + + BEATRICE. + The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not wooed in + good time: if the Prince be too important, tell him there is + measure in everything, and so dance out the answer. For, hear me, + Hero: wooing, wedding, and repenting is as a Scotch jig, a + measure, and a cinquepace: the first suit is hot and hasty, like + a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical; the wedding, mannerly + modest, as a measure, full of state and ancientry; and then comes + Repentance, and with his bad legs, falls into the cinquepace + faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. + + + LEONATO. + Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. + + + BEATRICE. + I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by daylight. + + + LEONATO. + The revellers are entering, brother: make good room. + + + Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthasar, Don John, + Borachio, Margaret, Ursula and Others, masked. + + + DON PEDRO. + Lady, will you walk about with your friend? + + + HERO. + So you walk softly and look sweetly and say nothing, I am yours + for the walk; and especially when I walk away. + + + DON PEDRO. + With me in your company? + + + HERO. + I may say so, when I please. + + + DON PEDRO. + And when please you to say so? + + + HERO. + When I like your favour; for God defend the lute should be like + the case! + + + DON PEDRO. + My visor is Philemon’s roof; within the house is Jove. + + + HERO. + Why, then, your visor should be thatch’d. + + + DON PEDRO. + Speak low, if you speak love. + + + [_Takes her aside._] + + + BALTHASAR. + Well, I would you did like me. + + + MARGARET. + So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities. + + + BALTHASAR. + Which is one? + + + MARGARET. + I say my prayers aloud. + + + BALTHASAR. + I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen. + + + MARGARET. + God match me with a good dancer! + + + BALTHASAR. + Amen. + + + MARGARET. + And God keep him out of my sight when the dance is done! Answer, + clerk. + + + BALTHASAR. + No more words: the clerk is answered. + + + URSULA. + I know you well enough: you are Signior Antonio. + + + ANTONIO. + At a word, I am not. + + + URSULA. + I know you by the waggling of your head. + + + ANTONIO. + To tell you true, I counterfeit him. + + + URSULA. + You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man. + Here’s his dry hand up and down: you are he, you are he. + + + ANTONIO. + At a word, I am not. + + + URSULA. + Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? + Can virtue hide itself? Go to, mum, you are he: graces will + appear, and there’s an end. + + + BEATRICE. + Will you not tell me who told you so? + + + BENEDICK. + No, you shall pardon me. + + + BEATRICE. + Nor will you not tell me who you are? + + + BENEDICK. + Not now. + + + BEATRICE. + That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the + ‘Hundred Merry Tales.’ Well, this was Signior Benedick that said + so. + + + BENEDICK. + What’s he? + + + BEATRICE. + I am sure you know him well enough. + + + BENEDICK. + Not I, believe me. + + + BEATRICE. + Did he never make you laugh? + + + BENEDICK. + I pray you, what is he? + + + BEATRICE. + Why, he is the Prince’s jester: a very dull fool; only his gift + is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight + in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his + villainy; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they + laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would + he had boarded me! + + + BENEDICK. + When I know the gentleman, I’ll tell him what you say. + + + BEATRICE. + Do, do: he’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which, + peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into + melancholy; and then there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool + will eat no supper that night. [_Music within_.] We must follow + the leaders. + + + BENEDICK. + In every good thing. + + + BEATRICE. + Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next + turning. + + + [_Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, Borachio and Claudio._] + + + DON JOHN. + Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father + to break with him about it. The ladies follow her and but one + visor remains. + + + BORACHIO. + And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing. + + + DON JOHN. + Are you not Signior Benedick? + + + CLAUDIO. + You know me well; I am he. + + + DON JOHN. + Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is + enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her; she is no + equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it. + + + CLAUDIO. + How know you he loves her? + + + DON JOHN. + I heard him swear his affection. + + + BORACHIO. + So did I too; and he swore he would marry her tonight. + + + DON JOHN. + Come, let us to the banquet. + + + [_Exeunt Don John and Borachio._] + + + CLAUDIO. + Thus answer I in name of Benedick, + But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. + ’Tis certain so; the Prince wooes for himself. + Friendship is constant in all other things + Save in the office and affairs of love: + Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; + Let every eye negotiate for itself + And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch + Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. + This is an accident of hourly proof, + Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, Hero! + + + Re-enter Benedick. + + + BENEDICK. + Count Claudio? + + + CLAUDIO. + Yea, the same. + + + BENEDICK. + Come, will you go with me? + + + CLAUDIO. + Whither? + + + BENEDICK. + Even to the next willow, about your own business, Count. What + fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a + usurer’s chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s scarf? You + must wear it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero. + + + CLAUDIO. + I wish him joy of her. + + + BENEDICK. + Why, that’s spoken like an honest drovier: so they sell bullocks. + But did you think the Prince would have served you thus? + + + CLAUDIO. + I pray you, leave me. + + + BENEDICK. + Ho! now you strike like the blind man: ’twas the boy that stole + your meat, and you’ll beat the post. + + + CLAUDIO. + If it will not be, I’ll leave you. + + + [_Exit._] + + + BENEDICK. + Alas! poor hurt fowl. Now will he creep into sedges. But, that my + Lady Beatrice should know me, and not know me! The Prince’s fool! + Ha! it may be I go under that title because I am merry. Yea, but + so I am apt to do myself wrong; I am not so reputed: it is the + base though bitter disposition of Beatrice that puts the world + into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I’ll be revenged as I + may. + + + Re-enter Don Pedro. + + + DON PEDRO. + Now, signior, where’s the Count? Did you see him? + + + BENEDICK. + Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him + here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I + think I told him true, that your Grace had got the good will of + this young lady; and I offered him my company to a willow tree, + either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him + up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped. + + + DON PEDRO. + To be whipped! What’s his fault? + + + BENEDICK. + The flat transgression of a school-boy, who, being overjoy’d with + finding a bird’s nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. + + + DON PEDRO. + Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? The transgression is in + the stealer. + + + BENEDICK. + Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been made, and the garland + too; for the garland he might have worn himself, and the rod he + might have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stolen his + bird’s nest. + + + DON PEDRO. + I will but teach them to sing, and restore them to the owner. + + + BENEDICK. + If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say + honestly. + + + DON PEDRO. + The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you: the gentleman that + danced with her told her she is much wronged by you. + + + BENEDICK. + O! she misused me past the endurance of a block: an oak but with + one green leaf on it would have answered her: my very visor began + to assume life and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I + had been myself, that I was the Prince’s jester, that I was + duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such + impossible conveyance upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, + with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every + word stabs: if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, + there were no living near her; she would infect to the north + star. I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all + that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have + made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to + make the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find her the + infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would + conjure her, for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as + quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose + because they would go thither; so indeed, all disquiet, horror + and perturbation follow her. + + + Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Hero and Leonato. + + + DON PEDRO. + Look! here she comes. + + + BENEDICK. + Will your Grace command me any service to the world’s end? I will + go on the slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you can + devise to send me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the + furthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester John’s + foot; fetch you a hair off the Great Cham’s beard; do you any + embassage to the Pygmies, rather than hold three words’ + conference with this harpy. You have no employment for me? + + + DON PEDRO. + None, but to desire your good company. + + + BENEDICK. + O God, sir, here’s a dish I love not: I cannot endure my Lady + Tongue. + + + [_Exit._] + + + DON PEDRO. + Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of Signior Benedick. + + + BEATRICE. + Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him use for it, + a double heart for a single one: marry, once before he won it of + me with false dice, therefore your Grace may well say I have lost + it. + + + DON PEDRO. + You have put him down, lady, you have put him down. + + + BEATRICE. + So I would not he should do me, my lord, lest I should prove the + mother of fools. I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent me + to seek. + + + DON PEDRO. + Why, how now, Count! wherefore are you sad? + + + CLAUDIO. + Not sad, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + How then? Sick? + + + CLAUDIO. + Neither, my lord. + + + BEATRICE. + The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but + civil Count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous + complexion. + + + DON PEDRO. + I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true; though, I’ll be + sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have + wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won; I have broke with her + father, and, his good will obtained; name the day of marriage, + and God give thee joy! + + + LEONATO. + Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his + Grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it! + + + BEATRICE. + Speak, Count, ’tis your cue. + + + CLAUDIO. + Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, + if I could say how much. Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I + give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange. + + + BEATRICE. + Speak, cousin; or, if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss, and + let not him speak neither. + + + DON PEDRO. + In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. + + + BEATRICE. + Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the windy side + of care. My cousin tells him in his ear that he is in her heart. + + + CLAUDIO. + And so she doth, cousin. + + + BEATRICE. + Good Lord, for alliance! Thus goes everyone to the world but I, + and I am sunburnt. I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a + husband! + + + DON PEDRO. + Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. + + + BEATRICE. + I would rather have one of your father’s getting. Hath your Grace + ne’er a brother like you? Your father got excellent husbands, if + a maid could come by them. + + + DON PEDRO. + Will you have me, lady? + + + BEATRICE. + No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days: your + Grace is too costly to wear every day. But, I beseech your Grace, + pardon me; I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. + + + DON PEDRO. + Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; + for out of question, you were born in a merry hour. + + + BEATRICE. + No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star + danced, and under that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy! + + + LEONATO. + Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? + + + BEATRICE. + I cry you mercy, uncle. By your Grace’s pardon. + + + [_Exit._] + + + DON PEDRO. + By my troth, a pleasant spirited lady. + + + LEONATO. + There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is + never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then, for I have + heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of unhappiness and + waked herself with laughing. + + + DON PEDRO. + She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. + + + LEONATO. + O! by no means: she mocks all her wooers out of suit. + + + DON PEDRO. + She were an excellent wife for Benedick. + + + LEONATO. + O Lord! my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk + themselves mad. + + + DON PEDRO. + Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? + + + CLAUDIO. + Tomorrow, my lord. Time goes on crutches till love have all his + rites. + + + LEONATO. + Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; + and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind. + + + DON PEDRO. + Come, you shake the head at so long a breathing; but, I warrant + thee, Claudio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will in the + interim undertake one of Hercules’ labours, which is, to bring + Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of + affection the one with the other. I would fain have it a match; + and I doubt not but to fashion it, if you three will but minister + such assistance as I shall give you direction. + + + LEONATO. + My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten nights’ watchings. + + + CLAUDIO. + And I, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + And you too, gentle Hero? + + + HERO. + I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good + husband. + + + DON PEDRO. + And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know. Thus + far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain, of approved + valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour + your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick; and I, + with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick that, in + despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in + love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an + archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. + Go in with me, and I will tell you my drift. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE II. Another room in Leonato’s house. + + Enter Don John and Borachio. + + + DON JOHN. + It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. + + + BORACHIO. + Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. + + + DON JOHN. + Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I + am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his + affection ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this + marriage? + + + BORACHIO. + Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that no dishonesty shall + appear in me. + + + DON JOHN. + Show me briefly how. + + + BORACHIO. + I think I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the + favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. + + + DON JOHN. + I remember. + + + BORACHIO. + I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to + look out at her lady’s chamber window. + + + DON JOHN. What life is in that, to be the death of this marriage? + + + BORACHIO. + The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go you to the Prince + your brother; spare not to tell him, that he hath wronged his + honour in marrying the renowned Claudio,—whose estimation do you + mightily hold up,—to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. + + + DON JOHN. + What proof shall I make of that? + + + BORACHIO. + Proof enough to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, + and kill Leonato. Look you for any other issue? + + + DON JOHN. + Only to despite them, I will endeavour anything. + + + BORACHIO. + Go then; find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the Count + Claudio alone: tell them that you know that Hero loves me; intend + a kind of zeal both to the Prince and Claudio, as—in love of your + brother’s honour, who hath made this match, and his friend’s + reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of + a maid,—that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe + this without trial: offer them instances, which shall bear no + less likelihood than to see me at her chamber window, hear me + call Margaret Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them + to see this the very night before the intended wedding: for in + the meantime I will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be + absent; and there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero’s + disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance, and all the + preparation overthrown. + + + DON JOHN. + Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in + practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a + thousand ducats. + + + BORACHIO. + Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame + me. + + + DON JOHN. + I will presently go learn their day of marriage. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE III. Leonato’s Garden. + + Enter Benedick. + + + BENEDICK. + Boy! + + + Enter a Boy. + + + BOY. + Signior? + + + BENEDICK. + In my chamber window lies a book; bring it hither to me in the + orchard. + + + BOY. + I am here already, sir. + + + BENEDICK. + I know that; but I would have thee hence, and here again. + + + [_Exit Boy._] + + + I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a + fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will, after he + hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the + argument of his own scorn by falling in love: and such a man is + Claudio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the + drum and the fife; and now had he rather hear the tabor and the + pipe: I have known when he would have walked ten mile afoot to + see a good armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving + the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to + the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and now is he + turned orthography; his words are a very fantastical banquet, + just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with + these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn but + love may transform me to an oyster; but I’ll take my oath on it, + till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a + fool. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am + well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in + one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall + be, that’s certain; wise, or I’ll none; virtuous, or I’ll never + cheapen her; fair, or I’ll never look on her; mild, or come not + near me; noble, or not I for an angel; of good discourse, an + excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it + please God. Ha! the Prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in + the arbour. + + + [_Withdraws._] + + + Enter Don Pedro, Leonato and Claudio, followed by Balthasar and + Musicians. + + + DON PEDRO. + Come, shall we hear this music? + + + CLAUDIO. + Yea, my good lord. How still the evening is, + As hush’d on purpose to grace harmony! + + + DON PEDRO. + See you where Benedick hath hid himself? + + + CLAUDIO. + O! very well, my lord: the music ended, + We’ll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. + + + DON PEDRO. + Come, Balthasar, we’ll hear that song again. + + + BALTHASAR. + O! good my lord, tax not so bad a voice + To slander music any more than once. + + + DON PEDRO. + It is the witness still of excellency, + To put a strange face on his own perfection. + I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. + + + BALTHASAR. + Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; + Since many a wooer doth commence his suit + To her he thinks not worthy; yet he wooes; + Yet will he swear he loves. + + + DON PEDRO. + Nay, pray thee come; + Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, + Do it in notes. + + + BALTHASAR. + Note this before my notes; + There’s not a note of mine that’s worth the noting. + + + DON PEDRO. + Why these are very crotchets that he speaks; + Notes, notes, forsooth, and nothing! + + + [_Music._] + + + BENEDICK. + Now, divine air! now is his soul ravished! Is it not strange that + sheep’s guts should hale souls out of men’s bodies? Well, a horn + for my money, when all’s done. + + + BALTHASAR [_sings_.] + Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, + Men were deceivers ever; + One foot in sea, and one on shore, + To one thing constant never. + Then sigh not so, but let them go, + And be you blithe and bonny, + Converting all your sounds of woe + Into Hey nonny, nonny. + + + Sing no more ditties, sing no mo + Of dumps so dull and heavy; + The fraud of men was ever so, + Since summer first was leavy. + Then sigh not so, but let them go, + And be you blithe and bonny, + Converting all your sounds of woe + Into Hey nonny, nonny. + + + DON PEDRO. + By my troth, a good song. + + + BALTHASAR. + And an ill singer, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + Ha, no, no, faith; thou singest well enough for a shift. + + + BENEDICK. + [_Aside_] And he had been a dog that should have howled thus, + they would have hanged him; and I pray God his bad voice bode no + mischief. I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come what + plague could have come after it. + + + DON PEDRO. Yea, marry; dost thou hear, Balthasar? I pray thee, + get us some excellent music, for tomorrow night we would have it + at the Lady Hero’s chamber window. + + + BALTHASAR. The best I can, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. Do so: farewell. + + + [_Exeunt Balthasar and Musicians._] + + + Come hither, Leonato: what was it you told me of today, that your + niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick? + + + CLAUDIO. + O! ay:—[_Aside to Don Pedro_] Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. + I did never think that lady would have loved any man. + + + LEONATO. + No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on + Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed + ever to abhor. + + + BENEDICK. + [_Aside_] Is’t possible? Sits the wind in that corner? + + + LEONATO. + By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it but that + she loves him with an enraged affection: it is past the infinite + of thought. + + + DON PEDRO. + Maybe she doth but counterfeit. + + + CLAUDIO. + Faith, like enough. + + + LEONATO. + O God! counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came + so near the life of passion as she discovers it. + + + DON PEDRO. + Why, what effects of passion shows she? + + + CLAUDIO. [_Aside_] Bait the hook well: this fish will bite. + + + LEONATO. + What effects, my lord? She will sit you; [_To Claudio_] You heard + my daughter tell you how. + + + CLAUDIO. + She did, indeed. + + + DON PEDRO. + How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her + spirit had been invincible against all assaults of affection. + + + LEONATO. + I would have sworn it had, my lord; especially against Benedick. + + + BENEDICK. + [_Aside_] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded + fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such + reverence. + + + CLAUDIO. + [_Aside_] He hath ta’en the infection: hold it up. + + + DON PEDRO. + Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? + + + LEONATO. + No; and swears she never will: that’s her torment. + + + CLAUDIO. + ’Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: ‘Shall I,’ says she, + ‘that have so oft encountered him with scorn, write to him that I + love him?’ + + + LEONATO. + This says she now when she is beginning to write to him; for + she’ll be up twenty times a night, and there will she sit in her + smock till she have writ a sheet of paper: my daughter tells us + all. + + + CLAUDIO. + Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remember a pretty jest your + daughter told us of. + + + LEONATO. + O! when she had writ it, and was reading it over, she found + Benedick and Beatrice between the sheet? + + + CLAUDIO. + That. + + + LEONATO. + O! she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence; railed at + herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she + knew would flout her: ‘I measure him,’ says she, ‘by my own + spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though I + love him, I should.’ + + + CLAUDIO. + Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, + tears her hair, prays, curses; ‘O sweet Benedick! God give me + patience!’ + + + LEONATO. + She doth indeed; my daughter says so; and the ecstasy hath so + much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afeard she will + do a desperate outrage to herself. It is very true. + + + DON PEDRO. + It were good that Benedick knew of it by some other, if she will + not discover it. + + + CLAUDIO. + To what end? he would make but a sport of it and torment the poor + lady worse. + + + DON PEDRO. + And he should, it were an alms to hang him. She’s an excellent + sweet lady, and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. + + + CLAUDIO. + And she is exceeding wise. + + + DON PEDRO. + In everything but in loving Benedick. + + + LEONATO. + O! my lord, wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we + have ten proofs to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry + for her, as I have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. + + + DON PEDRO. + I would she had bestowed this dotage on me; I would have daffed + all other respects and made her half myself. I pray you, tell + Benedick of it, and hear what he will say. + + + LEONATO. + Were it good, think you? + + + CLAUDIO. + Hero thinks surely she will die; for she says she will die if he + love her not, and she will die ere she make her love known, and + she will die if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath + of her accustomed crossness. + + + DON PEDRO. + She doth well: if she should make tender of her love, ’tis very + possible he’ll scorn it; for the man,—as you know all,—hath a + contemptible spirit. + + + CLAUDIO. + He is a very proper man. + + + DON PEDRO. + He hath indeed a good outward happiness. + + + CLAUDIO. + ’Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. + + + DON PEDRO. + He doth indeed show some sparks that are like wit. + + + CLAUDIO. + And I take him to be valiant. + + + DON PEDRO. + As Hector, I assure you: and in the managing of quarrels you may + say he is wise; for either he avoids them with great discretion, + or undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. + + + LEONATO. + If he do fear God, a’ must necessarily keep peace: if he break + the peace, he ought to enter into a quarrel with fear and + trembling. + + + DON PEDRO. + And so will he do; for the man doth fear God, howsoever it seems + not in him by some large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for + your niece. Shall we go seek Benedick and tell him of her love? + + + CLAUDIO. + Never tell him, my lord: let her wear it out with good counsel. + + + LEONATO. + Nay, that’s impossible: she may wear her heart out first. + + + DON PEDRO. + Well, we will hear further of it by your daughter: let it cool + the while. I love Benedick well, and I could wish he would + modestly examine himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good + a lady. + + + LEONATO. + My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. + + + CLAUDIO. + [_Aside_] If he do not dote on her upon this, I will never trust + my expectation. + + + DON PEDRO. + [_Aside_] Let there be the same net spread for her; and that must + your daughter and her gentlewoman carry. The sport will be, when + they hold one an opinion of another’s dotage, and no such matter: + that’s the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb + show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. + + + [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio and Leonato._] + + + BENEDICK. + [_Advancing from the arbour._] This can be no trick: the + conference was sadly borne. They have the truth of this from + Hero. They seem to pity the lady: it seems her affections have + their full bent. Love me? why, it must be requited. I hear how I + am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive + the love come from her; they say too that she will rather die + than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry: I + must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions, + and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair: ’tis a + truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous: ’tis so, I cannot + reprove it; and wise, but for loving me: by my troth, it is no + addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I + will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd + quirks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so + long against marriage; but doth not the appetite alter? A man + loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. + Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain + awe a man from the career of his humour? No; the world must be + peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I + should live till I were married. Here comes Beatrice. By this + day! she’s a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. + + + Enter Beatrice. + + + BEATRICE. + Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. + + + BENEDICK. + Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. + + + BEATRICE. + I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to + thank me: if it had been painful, I would not have come. + + + BENEDICK. + You take pleasure then in the message? + + + BEATRICE. + Yea, just so much as you may take upon a knife’s point, and choke + a daw withal. You have no stomach, signior: fare you well. + + + [_Exit._] + + + BENEDICK. + Ha! ‘Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner,’ + there’s a double meaning in that. ‘I took no more pains for those + thanks than you took pains to thank me,’ that’s as much as to + say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks. If I do + not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am + a Jew. I will go get her picture. + + + [_Exit._] + + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Leonato’s Garden. + + Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula. + + + HERO. + Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; + There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice + Proposing with the Prince and Claudio: + Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursala + Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse + Is all of her; say that thou overheard’st us, + And bid her steal into the pleached bower, + Where honey-suckles, ripen’d by the sun, + Forbid the sun to enter; like favourites, + Made proud by princes, that advance their pride + Against that power that bred it. There will she hide her, + To listen our propose. This is thy office; + Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. + + + MARGARET. + I’ll make her come, I warrant you, presently. + + + [_Exit._] + + + HERO. + Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, + As we do trace this alley up and down, + Our talk must only be of Benedick: + When I do name him, let it be thy part + To praise him more than ever man did merit. + My talk to thee must be how Benedick + Is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter + Is little Cupid’s crafty arrow made, + That only wounds by hearsay. + + + Enter Beatrice behind. + + + Now begin; + For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs + Close by the ground, to hear our conference. + + + URSULA. + The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish + Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, + And greedily devour the treacherous bait: + So angle we for Beatrice; who even now + Is couched in the woodbine coverture. + Fear you not my part of the dialogue. + + + HERO. + Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing + Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. + + + [_They advance to the bower._] + + + No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; + I know her spirits are as coy and wild + As haggards of the rock. + + + URSULA. + But are you sure + That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? + + + HERO. + So says the Prince, and my new-trothed lord. + + + URSULA. + And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? + + + HERO. + They did entreat me to acquaint her of it; + But I persuaded them, if they lov’d Benedick, + To wish him wrestle with affection, + And never to let Beatrice know of it. + + + URSULA. + Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman + Deserve as full as fortunate a bed + As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? + + + HERO. + O god of love! I know he doth deserve + As much as may be yielded to a man; + But Nature never fram’d a woman’s heart + Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice; + Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, + Misprising what they look on, and her wit + Values itself so highly, that to her + All matter else seems weak. She cannot love, + Nor take no shape nor project of affection, + She is so self-endear’d. + + + URSULA. + Sure I think so; + And therefore certainly it were not good + She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. + + + HERO. + Why, you speak truth. I never yet saw man, + How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur’d, + But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac’d, + She would swear the gentleman should be her sister; + If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antick, + Made a foul blot; if tall, a lance ill-headed; + If low, an agate very vilely cut; + If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; + If silent, why, a block moved with none. + So turns she every man the wrong side out, + And never gives to truth and virtue that + Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. + + + URSULA. + Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. + + + HERO. + No; not to be so odd, and from all fashions, + As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable. + But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, + She would mock me into air: O! she would laugh me + Out of myself, press me to death with wit. + Therefore let Benedick, like cover’d fire, + Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: + It were a better death than die with mocks, + Which is as bad as die with tickling. + + + URSULA. + Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say. + + + HERO. + No; rather I will go to Benedick, + And counsel him to fight against his passion. + And, truly, I’ll devise some honest slanders + To stain my cousin with. One doth not know + How much an ill word may empoison liking. + + + URSULA. + O! do not do your cousin such a wrong. + She cannot be so much without true judgment,— + Having so swift and excellent a wit + As she is priz’d to have,—as to refuse + So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick. + + + HERO. + He is the only man of Italy, + Always excepted my dear Claudio. + + + URSULA. + I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, + Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick, + For shape, for bearing, argument and valour, + Goes foremost in report through Italy. + + + HERO. + Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. + + + URSULA. + His excellence did earn it, ere he had it. + When are you married, madam? + + + HERO. + Why, every day, tomorrow. Come, go in: + I’ll show thee some attires, and have thy counsel + Which is the best to furnish me tomorrow. + + + URSULA. + She’s lim’d, I warrant you, + We have caught her, madam. + + + HERO. + If it prove so, then loving goes by haps: + Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. + + + [_Exeunt Hero and Ursula._] + + + BEATRICE. + [_Advancing._] What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? + Stand I condemn’d for pride and scorn so much? + Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! + No glory lives behind the back of such. + And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, + Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: + If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee + To bind our loves up in a holy band; + For others say thou dost deserve, and I + Believe it better than reportingly. + + + [_Exit._] + + +SCENE II. A Room in Leonato’s House. + + Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick and Leonato. + + + DON PEDRO. + I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then go I + toward Arragon. + + + CLAUDIO. + I’ll bring you thither, my lord, if you’ll vouchsafe me. + + + DON PEDRO. + Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your + marriage, as to show a child his new coat and forbid him to wear + it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from + the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; + he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid’s bowstring, and the little + hangman dare not shoot at him. He hath a heart as sound as a + bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, + his tongue speaks. + + + BENEDICK. + Gallants, I am not as I have been. + + + LEONATO. + So say I: methinks you are sadder. + + + CLAUDIO. + I hope he be in love. + + + DON PEDRO. + Hang him, truant! there’s no true drop of blood in him to be + truly touched with love. If he be sad, he wants money. + + + BENEDICK. + I have the tooth-ache. + + + DON PEDRO. + Draw it. + + + BENEDICK. + Hang it. + + + CLAUDIO. + You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. + + + DON PEDRO. + What! sigh for the tooth-ache? + + + LEONATO. + Where is but a humour or a worm? + + + BENEDICK. + Well, everyone can master a grief but he that has it. + + + CLAUDIO. + Yet say I, he is in love. + + + DON PEDRO. + There is no appearance of fancy in him, unless it be a fancy that + he hath to strange disguises; as to be a Dutchman today, a + Frenchman tomorrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as + a German from the waist downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from + the hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a fancy to this + foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you + would have it appear he is. + + + CLAUDIO. + If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old + signs: a’ brushes his hat a mornings; what should that bode? + + + DON PEDRO. + Hath any man seen him at the barber’s? + + + CLAUDIO. + No, but the barber’s man hath been seen with him; and the old + ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis balls. + + + LEONATO. + Indeed he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. + + + DON PEDRO. + Nay, a’ rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that? + + + CLAUDIO. + That’s as much as to say the sweet youth’s in love. + + + DON PEDRO. + The greatest note of it is his melancholy. + + + CLAUDIO. + And when was he wont to wash his face? + + + DON PEDRO. + Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of + him. + + + CLAUDIO. + Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a + lute-string, and now governed by stops. + + + DON PEDRO. + Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him. Conclude, conclude he is + in love. + + + CLAUDIO. + Nay, but I know who loves him. + + + DON PEDRO. + That would I know too: I warrant, one that knows him not. + + + CLAUDIO. + Yes, and his ill conditions; and in despite of all, dies for him. + + + DON PEDRO. + She shall be buried with her face upwards. + + + BENEDICK. + Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. Old signior, walk aside + with me: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, + which these hobby-horses must not hear. + + + [_Exeunt Benedick and Leonato._] + + + DON PEDRO. + For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. + + + CLAUDIO. + ’Tis even so. Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts + with Beatrice, and then the two bears will not bite one another + when they meet. + + + Enter Don John. + + + DON JOHN. + My lord and brother, God save you! + + + DON PEDRO. + Good den, brother. + + + DON JOHN. + If your leisure served, I would speak with you. + + + DON PEDRO. + In private? + + + DON JOHN. + If it please you; yet Count Claudio may hear, for what I would + speak of concerns him. + + + DON PEDRO. + What’s the matter? + + + DON JOHN. + [_To Claudio._] Means your lordship to be married tomorrow? + + + DON PEDRO. + You know he does. + + + DON JOHN. + I know not that, when he knows what I know. + + + CLAUDIO. + If there be any impediment, I pray you discover it. + + + DON JOHN. + You may think I love you not: let that appear hereafter, and aim + better at me by that I now will manifest. For my brother, I think + he holds you well, and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect + your ensuing marriage; surely suit ill-spent and labour ill + bestowed! + + + DON PEDRO. + Why, what’s the matter? + + + DON JOHN. + I came hither to tell you; and circumstances shortened,—for she + has been too long a talking of,—the lady is disloyal. + + + CLAUDIO. + Who, Hero? + + + DON JOHN. + Even she: Leonato’s Hero, your Hero, every man’s Hero. + + + CLAUDIO. + Disloyal? + + + DON JOHN. + The word’s too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say, she + were worse: think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. + Wonder not till further warrant: go but with me tonight, you + shall see her chamber window entered, even the night before her + wedding-day: if you love her then, tomorrow wed her; but it would + better fit your honour to change your mind. + + + CLAUDIO. + May this be so? + + + DON PEDRO. + I will not think it. + + + DON JOHN. + If you dare not trust that you see, confess not that you know. If + you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have + seen more and heard more, proceed accordingly. + + + CLAUDIO. + If I see anything tonight why I should not marry her tomorrow, in + the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. + + + DON PEDRO. + And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to + disgrace her. + + + DON JOHN. + I will disparage her no farther till you are my witnesses: bear + it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. + + + DON PEDRO. + O day untowardly turned! + + + CLAUDIO. + O mischief strangely thwarting! + + + DON JOHN. + O plague right well prevented! So will you say when you have seen + the sequel. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +Scene III. A Street. + + Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. + + + DOGBERRY. + Are you good men and true? + + + VERGES. + Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body + and soul. + + + DOGBERRY. + Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should + have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the Prince’s watch. + + + VERGES. + Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. + + + DOGBERRY. + First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable? + + + FIRST WATCH. + Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and + read. + + + DOGBERRY. + Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good + name: to be a well-favoured man is the gift of Fortune; but to + write and read comes by Nature. + + + SECOND WATCH. + Both which, Master Constable,— + + + DOGBERRY. + You have: I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favour, + sir, why, give God thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your + writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of + such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and + fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore bear you the + lanthorn. This is your charge: you shall comprehend all vagrom + men; you are to bid any man stand, in the Prince’s name. + + + SECOND WATCH. + How, if a’ will not stand? + + + DOGBERRY. + Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently + call the rest of the watch together, and thank God you are rid of + a knave. + + + VERGES. + If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the + Prince’s subjects. + + + DOGBERRY. + True, and they are to meddle with none but the Prince’s subjects. + You shall also make no noise in the streets: for, for the watch + to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not to be endured. + + + SECOND WATCH. + We will rather sleep than talk: we know what belongs to a watch. + + + DOGBERRY. + Why, you speak like an ancient and most quiet watchman, for I + cannot see how sleeping should offend; only have a care that your + bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call at all the alehouses, + and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. + + + SECOND WATCH. + How if they will not? + + + DOGBERRY. + Why then, let them alone till they are sober: if they make you + not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you + took them for. + + + SECOND WATCH. + Well, sir. + + + DOGBERRY. + If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your + office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less + you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. + + + SECOND WATCH. + If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? + + + DOGBERRY. + Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch + will be defiled. The most peaceable way for you, if you do take a + thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of + your company. + + + VERGES. + You have been always called a merciful man, partner. + + + DOGBERRY. + Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will, much more a man who + hath any honesty in him. + + + VERGES. + If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse + and bid her still it. + + + SECOND WATCH. + How if the nurse be asleep and will not hear us? + + + DOGBERRY. + Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with + crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, + will never answer a calf when he bleats. + + + VERGES. + ’Tis very true. + + + DOGBERRY. + This is the end of the charge. You constable, are to present the + Prince’s own person: if you meet the Prince in the night, you may + stay him. + + + VERGES. + Nay, by’r lady, that I think, a’ cannot. + + + DOGBERRY. + Five shillings to one on’t, with any man that knows the statutes, + he may stay him: marry, not without the Prince be willing; for, + indeed, the watch ought to offend no man, and it is an offence to + stay a man against his will. + + + VERGES. + By’r lady, I think it be so. + + + DOGBERRY. + Ha, ah, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of + weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows’ counsels and your + own, and good night. Come, neighbour. + + + SECOND WATCH. + Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the + church bench till two, and then all to bed. + + + DOGBERRY. + One word more, honest neighbours. I pray you, watch about Signior + Leonato’s door; for the wedding being there tomorrow, there is a + great coil tonight. Adieu; be vigitant, I beseech you. + + + [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._] + + + Enter Borachio and Conrade. + + + BORACHIO. + What, Conrade! + + + WATCH. + [_Aside_] Peace! stir not. + + + BORACHIO. + Conrade, I say! + + + CONRADE. + Here, man. I am at thy elbow. + + + BORACHIO. + Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow. + + + CONRADE. + I will owe thee an answer for that; and now forward with thy + tale. + + + BORACHIO. + Stand thee close then under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, + and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. + + + WATCH. + [_Aside_] Some treason, masters; yet stand close. + + + BORACHIO. + Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. + + + CONRADE. + Is it possible that any villainy should be so dear? + + + BORACHIO. + Thou shouldst rather ask if it were possible any villainy should + be so rich; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor + ones may make what price they will. + + + CONRADE. + I wonder at it. + + + BORACHIO. + That shows thou art unconfirmed. Thou knowest that the fashion of + a doublet, or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. + + + CONRADE. + Yes, it is apparel. + + + BORACHIO. + I mean, the fashion. + + + CONRADE. + Yes, the fashion is the fashion. + + + BORACHIO. + Tush! I may as well say the fool’s the fool. But seest thou not + what a deformed thief this fashion is? + + + WATCH. + [_Aside_] I know that Deformed; a’ has been a vile thief this + seven years; a’ goes up and down like a gentleman: I remember his + name. + + + BORACHIO. + Didst thou not hear somebody? + + + CONRADE. + No: ’twas the vane on the house. + + + BORACHIO. + Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how + giddily he turns about all the hot bloods between fourteen and + five-and-thirty? sometime fashioning them like Pharaoh’s soldiers + in the reechy painting; sometime like god Bel’s priests in the + old church window; sometime like the shaven Hercules in the + smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where his codpiece seems as massy + as his club? + + + CONRADE. + All this I see, and I see that the fashion wears out more apparel + than the man. But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion + too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of + the fashion? + + + BORACHIO. + Not so neither; but know, that I have tonight wooed Margaret, the + Lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at + her mistress’ chamber window, bids me a thousand times good + night,—I tell this tale vilely:—I should first tell thee how the + Prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and placed and possessed + by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable + encounter. + + + CONRADE. + And thought they Margaret was Hero? + + + BORACHIO. + Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio; but the devil my master, + knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first + possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, + but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any slander that + Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged; swore he would meet + her, as he was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, + before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw o’er + night, and send her home again without a husband. + + + FIRST WATCH. + We charge you in the Prince’s name, stand! + + + SECOND WATCH. + Call up the right Master Constable. We have here recovered the + most dangerous piece of lechery that ever was known in the + commonwealth. + + + FIRST WATCH. + And one Deformed is one of them: I know him, a’ wears a lock. + + + CONRADE. + Masters, masters! + + + SECOND WATCH. + You’ll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. + + + CONRADE. + Masters,— + + + FIRST WATCH. + Never speak: we charge you let us obey you to go with us. + + + BORACHIO. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up + of these men’s bills. + + + CONRADE. + A commodity in question, I warrant you. Come, we’ll obey you. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +Scene IV. A Room in Leonato’s House. + + Enter Hero, Margaret and Ursula. + + + HERO. + Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise. + + + URSULA. + I will, lady. + + + HERO. + And bid her come hither. + + + URSULA. + Well. + + + [_Exit._] + + + MARGARET. + Troth, I think your other rebato were better. + + + HERO. + No, pray thee, good Meg, I’ll wear this. + + + MARGARET. + By my troth’s not so good; and I warrant your cousin will say so. + + + HERO. + My cousin ’s a fool, and thou art another: I’ll wear none but + this. + + + MARGARET. + I like the new tire within excellently, if the hair were a + thought browner; and your gown ’s a most rare fashion, i’ faith. + I saw the Duchess of Milan’s gown that they praise so. + + + HERO. + O! that exceeds, they say. + + + MARGARET. + By my troth ’s but a night-gown in respect of yours: cloth o’ + gold, and cuts, and laced with silver, set with pearls, down + sleeves, side sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish + tinsel; but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent fashion, + yours is worth ten on’t. + + + HERO. + God give me joy to wear it! for my heart is exceeding heavy. + + + MARGARET. + ’Twill be heavier soon by the weight of a man. + + + HERO. + Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? + + + MARGARET. + Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable + in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I + think you would have me say, saving your reverence, ‘a husband:’ + an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I’ll offend nobody. + Is there any harm in ‘the heavier for a husband’? None, I think, + and it be the right husband and the right wife; otherwise ’tis + light, and not heavy: ask my Lady Beatrice else; here she comes. + + + Enter Beatrice. + + + HERO. + Good morrow, coz. + + + BEATRICE. + Good morrow, sweet Hero. + + + HERO. + Why, how now? do you speak in the sick tune? + + + BEATRICE. + I am out of all other tune, methinks. + + + MARGARET. + Clap’s into ‘Light o’ love’; that goes without a burden: do you + sing it, and I’ll dance it. + + + BEATRICE. + Ye, light o’ love with your heels! then, if your husband have + stables enough, you’ll see he shall lack no barnes. + + + MARGARET. + O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. + + + BEATRICE. + ’Tis almost five o’clock, cousin; ’tis time you were ready. By my + troth, I am exceeding ill. Heigh-ho! + + + MARGARET. + For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? + + + BEATRICE. + For the letter that begins them all, H. + + + MARGARET. + Well, and you be not turned Turk, there’s no more sailing by the + star. + + + BEATRICE. + What means the fool, trow? + + + MARGARET. + Nothing I; but God send everyone their heart’s desire! + + + HERO. + These gloves the Count sent me; they are an excellent perfume. + + + BEATRICE. + I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. + + + MARGARET. + A maid, and stuffed! there’s goodly catching of cold. + + + BEATRICE. + O, God help me! God help me! how long have you professed + apprehension? + + + MARGARET. + Ever since you left it. Doth not my wit become me rarely! + + + BEATRICE. + It is not seen enough, you should wear it in your cap. By my + troth, I am sick. + + + MARGARET. + Get you some of this distilled _Carduus benedictus_, and lay it + to your heart: it is the only thing for a qualm. + + + HERO. + There thou prick’st her with a thistle. + + + BEATRICE. + _Benedictus!_ why _benedictus?_ you have some moral in this + _benedictus_. + + + MARGARET. + Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant, plain + holy thistle. You may think, perchance, that I think you are in + love: nay, by’r Lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list; + nor I list not to think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot think, + if I would think my heart out of thinking, that you are in love, + or that you will be in love, or that you can be in love. Yet + Benedick was such another, and now is he become a man: he swore + he would never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he + eats his meat without grudging: and how you may be converted, I + know not; but methinks you look with your eyes as other women do. + + + BEATRICE. + What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? + + + MARGARET. + Not a false gallop. + + + Re-enter Ursula. + + + URSULA. + Madam, withdraw: the Prince, the Count, Signior Benedick, Don + John, and all the gallants of the town are come to fetch you to + church. + + + HERO. + Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +Scene V. Another Room in Leonato’s House. + + Enter Leonato and Dogberry and Verges. + + + LEONATO. + What would you with me, honest neighbour? + + + DOGBERRY. + Marry, sir, I would have some confidence with you, that decerns + you nearly. + + + LEONATO. + Brief, I pray you; for you see it is a busy time with me. + + + DOGBERRY. + Marry, this it is, sir. + + + VERGES. + Yes, in truth it is, sir. + + + LEONATO. + What is it, my good friends? + + + DOGBERRY. + Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, + sir, and his wits are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire + they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. + + + VERGES. + Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an + old man and no honester than I. + + + DOGBERRY. + Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neighbour Verges. + + + LEONATO. + Neighbours, you are tedious. + + + DOGBERRY. + It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor Duke’s + officers; but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a + king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. + + + LEONATO. + All thy tediousness on me! ah? + + + DOGBERRY. + Yea, and ’twere a thousand pound more than ’tis; for I hear as + good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city, and + though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. + + + VERGES. + And so am I. + + + LEONATO. + I would fain know what you have to say. + + + VERGES. + Marry, sir, our watch tonight, excepting your worship’s presence, + ha’ ta’en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. + + + DOGBERRY. + A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, ‘when the + age is in, the wit is out.’ God help us! it is a world to see! + Well said, i’ faith, neighbour Verges: well, God’s a good man; + and two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind. An honest + soul, i’ faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread; but + God is to be worshipped: all men are not alike; alas! good + neighbour. + + + LEONATO. + Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. + + + DOGBERRY. + Gifts that God gives. + + + LEONATO. + I must leave you. + + + DOGBERRY. + One word, sir: our watch, sir, have indeed comprehended two + aspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined + before your worship. + + + LEONATO. + Take their examination yourself, and bring it me: I am now in + great haste, as may appear unto you. + + + DOGBERRY. + It shall be suffigance. + + + LEONATO. + Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. + + + Enter a Messenger. + + + MESSENGER. + My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. + + + LEONATO. + I’ll wait upon them: I am ready. + + + [_Exeunt Leonato and Messenger._] + + + DOGBERRY. + Go, good partner, go get you to Francis Seacoal; bid him bring + his pen and inkhorn to the gaol: we are now to examination these + men. + + + VERGES. + And we must do it wisely. + + + DOGBERRY. + We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here’s that shall drive + some of them to a non-come: only get the learned writer to set + down our excommunication, and meet me at the gaol. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The Inside of a Church. + + Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar Francis, Claudio, + Benedick, Hero, Beatrice &c. + + + LEONATO. + Come, Friar Francis, be brief: only to the plain form of + marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties + afterwards. + + + FRIAR. + You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? + + + CLAUDIO. + No. + + + LEONATO. + To be married to her, friar; you come to marry her. + + + FRIAR. + Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count? + + + HERO. + I do. + + + FRIAR. + If either of you know any inward impediment, why you should not + be conjoined, I charge you, on your souls, to utter it. + + + CLAUDIO. + Know you any, Hero? + + + HERO. + None, my lord. + + + FRIAR. + Know you any, Count? + + + LEONATO. + I dare make his answer; none. + + + CLAUDIO. + O! what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not + knowing what they do! + + + BENEDICK. + How now! Interjections? Why then, some be of laughing, as ah! ha! + he! + + + CLAUDIO. + Stand thee by, Friar. Father, by your leave: + Will you with free and unconstrained soul + Give me this maid, your daughter? + + + LEONATO. + As freely, son, as God did give her me. + + + CLAUDIO. + And what have I to give you back whose worth + May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? + + + DON PEDRO. + Nothing, unless you render her again. + + + CLAUDIO. + Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulness. + There, Leonato, take her back again: + Give not this rotten orange to your friend; + She’s but the sign and semblance of her honour. + Behold! how like a maid she blushes here. + O! what authority and show of truth + Can cunning sin cover itself withal. + Comes not that blood as modest evidence + To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, + All you that see her, that she were a maid, + By these exterior shows? But she is none: + She knows the heat of a luxurious bed; + Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. + + + LEONATO. + What do you mean, my lord? + + + CLAUDIO. + Not to be married, + Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. + + + LEONATO. + Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, + Have vanquish’d the resistance of her youth, + And made defeat of her virginity,— + + + CLAUDIO. + I know what you would say: if I have known her, + You will say she did embrace me as a husband, + And so extenuate the forehand sin: No, Leonato, + I never tempted her with word too large; + But as a brother to his sister show’d + Bashful sincerity and comely love. + + + HERO. + And seem’d I ever otherwise to you? + + + CLAUDIO. + Out on thee! Seeming! I will write against it: + You seem to me as Dian in her orb, + As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown; + But you are more intemperate in your blood + Than Venus, or those pamper’d animals + That rage in savage sensuality. + + + HERO. + Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? + + + LEONATO. + Sweet Prince, why speak not you? + + + DON PEDRO. + What should I speak? + I stand dishonour’d, that have gone about + To link my dear friend to a common stale. + + + LEONATO. + Are these things spoken, or do I but dream? + + + DON JOHN. + Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. + + + BENEDICK. + This looks not like a nuptial. + + + HERO. + True! O God! + + + CLAUDIO. + Leonato, stand I here? + Is this the Prince? Is this the Prince’s brother? + Is this face Hero’s? Are our eyes our own? + + + LEONATO. + All this is so; but what of this, my lord? + + + CLAUDIO. + Let me but move one question to your daughter, + And by that fatherly and kindly power + That you have in her, bid her answer truly. + + + LEONATO. + I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. + + + HERO. + O, God defend me! how am I beset! + What kind of catechizing call you this? + + + CLAUDIO. + To make you answer truly to your name. + + + HERO. + Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name + With any just reproach? + + + CLAUDIO. + Marry, that can Hero: + Hero itself can blot out Hero’s virtue. + What man was he talk’d with you yesternight + Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? + Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. + + + HERO. + I talk’d with no man at that hour, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + Why, then are you no maiden. + Leonato, I am sorry you must hear: upon my honour, + Myself, my brother, and this grieved Count, + Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, + Talk with a ruffian at her chamber window; + Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, + Confess’d the vile encounters they have had + A thousand times in secret. + + + DON JOHN. + Fie, fie! they are not to be nam’d, my lord, + Not to be spoke of; + There is not chastity enough in language + Without offence to utter them. Thus, pretty lady, + I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. + + + CLAUDIO. + O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, + If half thy outward graces had been plac’d + About thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart! + But fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, + Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! + For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love, + And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, + To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, + And never shall it more be gracious. + + + LEONATO. + Hath no man’s dagger here a point for me? + + + [_Hero swoons._] + + + BEATRICE. + Why, how now, cousin! wherefore sink you down? + + + DON JOHN. + Come, let us go. These things, come thus to light, + Smother her spirits up. + + + [_Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John and Claudio._] + + + BENEDICK. + How doth the lady? + + + BEATRICE. + Dead, I think! Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior + Benedick! Friar! + + + LEONATO. + O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand: + Death is the fairest cover for her shame + That may be wish’d for. + + + BEATRICE. + How now, cousin Hero? + + + FRIAR. + Have comfort, lady. + + + LEONATO. + Dost thou look up? + + + FRIAR. + Yea; wherefore should she not? + + + LEONATO. + Wherefore! Why, doth not every earthly thing + Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny + The story that is printed in her blood? + Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes; + For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, + Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, + Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, + Strike at thy life. Griev’d I, I had but one? + Chid I for that at frugal Nature’s frame? + O! one too much by thee. Why had I one? + Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? + Why had I not with charitable hand + Took up a beggar’s issue at my gates, + Who smirched thus, and mir’d with infamy, + I might have said, ‘No part of it is mine; + This shame derives itself from unknown loins?’ + But mine, and mine I lov’d, and mine I prais’d, + And mine that I was proud on, mine so much + That I myself was to myself not mine, + Valuing of her; why, she—O! she is fallen + Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea + Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, + And salt too little which may season give + To her foul tainted flesh. + + + BENEDICK. + Sir, sir, be patient. + For my part, I am so attir’d in wonder, + I know not what to say. + + + BEATRICE. + O! on my soul, my cousin is belied! + + + BENEDICK. + Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? + + + BEATRICE. + No, truly, not; although, until last night, + I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. + + + LEONATO. + Confirm’d, confirm’d! O! that is stronger made, + Which was before barr’d up with ribs of iron. + Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie, + Who lov’d her so, that, speaking of her foulness, + Wash’d it with tears? Hence from her! let her die. + + + FRIAR. + Hear me a little; + For I have only been silent so long, + And given way unto this course of fortune, + By noting of the lady: I have mark’d + A thousand blushing apparitions + To start into her face; a thousand innocent shames + In angel whiteness bear away those blushes; + And in her eye there hath appear’d a fire, + To burn the errors that these princes hold + Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool; + Trust not my reading nor my observations, + Which with experimental seal doth warrant + The tenure of my book; trust not my age, + My reverence, calling, nor divinity, + If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here + Under some biting error. + + + LEONATO. + Friar, it cannot be. + Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left + Is that she will not add to her damnation + A sin of perjury: she not denies it. + Why seek’st thou then to cover with excuse + That which appears in proper nakedness? + + + FRIAR. + Lady, what man is he you are accus’d of? + + + HERO. + They know that do accuse me, I know none; + If I know more of any man alive + Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, + Let all my sins lack mercy! O, my father! + Prove you that any man with me convers’d + At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight + Maintain’d the change of words with any creature, + Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. + + + FRIAR. + There is some strange misprision in the princes. + + + BENEDICK. + Two of them have the very bent of honour; + And if their wisdoms be misled in this, + The practice of it lives in John the bastard, + Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies. + + + LEONATO. + I know not. If they speak but truth of her, + These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour, + The proudest of them shall well hear of it. + Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, + Nor age so eat up my invention, + Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, + Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, + But they shall find, awak’d in such a kind, + Both strength of limb and policy of mind, + Ability in means and choice of friends, + To quit me of them throughly. + + + FRIAR. + Pause awhile, + And let my counsel sway you in this case. + Your daughter here the princes left for dead; + Let her awhile be secretly kept in, + And publish it that she is dead indeed: + Maintain a mourning ostentation; + And on your family’s old monument + Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites + That appertain unto a burial. + + + LEONATO. + What shall become of this? What will this do? + + + FRIAR. + Marry, this well carried shall on her behalf + Change slander to remorse; that is some good. + But not for that dream I on this strange course, + But on this travail look for greater birth. + She dying, as it must be so maintain’d, + Upon the instant that she was accus’d, + Shall be lamented, pitied and excus’d + Of every hearer; for it so falls out + That what we have we prize not to the worth + Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack’d and lost, + Why, then we rack the value, then we find + The virtue that possession would not show us + Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with Claudio: + When he shall hear she died upon his words, + The idea of her life shall sweetly creep + Into his study of imagination, + And every lovely organ of her life + Shall come apparell’d in more precious habit, + More moving, delicate, and full of life + Into the eye and prospect of his soul, + Than when she liv’d indeed: then shall he mourn,— + If ever love had interest in his liver,— + And wish he had not so accused her, + No, though he thought his accusation true. + Let this be so, and doubt not but success + Will fashion the event in better shape + Than I can lay it down in likelihood. + But if all aim but this be levell’d false, + The supposition of the lady’s death + Will quench the wonder of her infamy: + And if it sort not well, you may conceal her,— + As best befits her wounded reputation,— + In some reclusive and religious life, + Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. + + + BENEDICK. + Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you: + And though you know my inwardness and love + Is very much unto the Prince and Claudio, + Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this + As secretly and justly as your soul + Should with your body. + + + LEONATO. + Being that I flow in grief, + The smallest twine may lead me. + + + FRIAR. + ’Tis well consented: presently away; + For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure. + Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day + Perhaps is but prolong’d: have patience and endure. + + + [_Exeunt Friar, Hero and Leonato._] + + + BENEDICK. + Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? + + + BEATRICE. + Yea, and I will weep a while longer. + + + BENEDICK. + I will not desire that. + + + BEATRICE. + You have no reason; I do it freely. + + + BENEDICK. + Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged. + + + BEATRICE. + Ah! how much might the man deserve of me that would right her. + + + BENEDICK. + Is there any way to show such friendship? + + + BEATRICE. + A very even way, but no such friend. + + + BENEDICK. + May a man do it? + + + BEATRICE. + It is a man’s office, but not yours. + + + BENEDICK. + I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that + strange? + + + BEATRICE. + As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to + say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I + lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing. I am sorry for my + cousin. + + + BENEDICK. + By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. + + + BEATRICE. + Do not swear by it, and eat it. + + + BENEDICK. + I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it + that says I love not you. + + + BEATRICE. + Will you not eat your word? + + + BENEDICK. + With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee. + + + BEATRICE. + Why then, God forgive me! + + + BENEDICK. + What offence, sweet Beatrice? + + + BEATRICE. + You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I + loved you. + + + BENEDICK. + And do it with all thy heart. + + + BEATRICE. + I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest. + + + BENEDICK. + Come, bid me do anything for thee. + + + BEATRICE. + Kill Claudio. + + + BENEDICK. + Ha! not for the wide world. + + + BEATRICE. + You kill me to deny it. Farewell. + + + BENEDICK. + Tarry, sweet Beatrice. + + + BEATRICE. + I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray + you, let me go. + + + BENEDICK. + Beatrice,— + + + BEATRICE. + In faith, I will go. + + + BENEDICK. + We’ll be friends first. + + + BEATRICE. + You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy. + + + BENEDICK. + Is Claudio thine enemy? + + + BEATRICE. + Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, + scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O! that I were a man. What! + bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with + public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,—O God, + that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. + + + BENEDICK. + Hear me, Beatrice,— + + + BEATRICE. + Talk with a man out at a window! a proper saying! + + + BENEDICK. + Nay, but Beatrice,— + + + BEATRICE. + Sweet Hero! she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. + + + BENEDICK. + Beat— + + + BEATRICE. + Princes and Counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly + Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O! that I were a man for + his sake, or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! + But manhood is melted into curtsies, valour into compliment, and + men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as + valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie and swears it. I + cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with + grieving. + + + BENEDICK. + Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee. + + + BEATRICE. + Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. + + + BENEDICK. + Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero? + + + BEATRICE. + Yea, as sure is I have a thought or a soul. + + + BENEDICK. + Enough! I am engaged, I will challenge him. I will kiss your + hand, and so leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render me a + dear account. As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your + cousin: I must say she is dead; and so, farewell. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +Scene II. A Prison. + + Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with + Conrade and Borachio. + + + DOGBERRY. + Is our whole dissembly appeared? + + + VERGES. + O! a stool and a cushion for the sexton. + + + SEXTON. + Which be the malefactors? + + + DOGBERRY. + Marry, that am I and my partner. + + + VERGES. + Nay, that’s certain: we have the exhibition to examine. + + + SEXTON. + But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them + come before Master Constable. + + + DOGBERRY. + Yea, marry, let them come before me. What is your name, friend? + + + BORACHIO. + Borachio. + + + DOGBERRY. + Pray write down Borachio. Yours, sirrah? + + + CONRADE. + I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. + + + DOGBERRY. + Write down Master gentleman Conrade. Masters, do you serve God? + + + BOTH. + Yea, sir, we hope. + + + DOGBERRY. + Write down that they hope they serve God: and write God first; + for God defend but God should go before such villains! Masters, + it is proved already that you are little better than false + knaves, and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer + you for yourselves? + + + CONRADE. + Marry, sir, we say we are none. + + + DOGBERRY. + A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with + him. Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear: sir, I say to + you, it is thought you are false knaves. + + + BORACHIO. + Sir, I say to you we are none. + + + DOGBERRY. + Well, stand aside. Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you + writ down, that they are none? + + + SEXTON. + Master Constable, you go not the way to examine: you must call + forth the watch that are their accusers. + + + DOGBERRY. + Yea, marry, that’s the eftest way. Let the watch come forth. + Masters, I charge you, in the Prince’s name, accuse these men. + + + FIRST WATCH. + This man said, sir, that Don John, the Prince’s brother, was a + villain. + + + DOGBERRY. + Write down Prince John a villain. Why, this is flat perjury, to + call a Prince’s brother villain. + + + BORACHIO. + Master Constable,— + + + DOGBERRY. + Pray thee, fellow, peace: I do not like thy look, I promise thee. + + + SEXTON. + What heard you him say else? + + + SECOND WATCH. + Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John for + accusing the Lady Hero wrongfully. + + + DOGBERRY. + Flat burglary as ever was committed. + + + VERGES. + Yea, by the mass, that it is. + + + SEXTON. + What else, fellow? + + + FIRST WATCH. + And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero + before the whole assembly, and not marry her. + + + DOGBERRY. + O villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for + this. + + + SEXTON. + What else? + + + SECOND WATCH. + This is all. + + + SEXTON. + And this is more, masters, than you can deny. Prince John is this + morning secretly stolen away: Hero was in this manner accused, in + this manner refused, and, upon the grief of this, suddenly died. + Master Constable, let these men be bound, and brought to + Leonato’s: I will go before and show him their examination. + + + [_Exit._] + + + DOGBERRY. + Come, let them be opinioned. + + + VERGES. + Let them be in the hands— + + + CONRADE. + Off, coxcomb! + + + DOGBERRY. + God’s my life! where’s the sexton? let him write down the + Prince’s officer coxcomb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty varlet! + + + CONRADE. + Away! you are an ass; you are an ass. + + + DOGBERRY. + Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O + that he were here to write me down an ass! but, masters, remember + that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not + that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as + shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; + and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, a + householder; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as + any in Messina; and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich + fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one + that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him. Bring him + away. O that I had been writ down an ass! + + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Before Leonato’s House. + + Enter Leonato and Antonio. + + + ANTONIO. + If you go on thus, you will kill yourself + And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief + Against yourself. + + + LEONATO. + I pray thee, cease thy counsel, + Which falls into mine ears as profitless + As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; + Nor let no comforter delight mine ear + But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine: + Bring me a father that so lov’d his child, + Whose joy of her is overwhelm’d like mine, + And bid him speak of patience; + Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, + And let it answer every strain for strain, + As thus for thus and such a grief for such, + In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: + If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard; + Bid sorrow wag, cry ‘hem’ when he should groan, + Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk + With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me, + And I of him will gather patience. + But there is no such man; for, brother, men + Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief + Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, + Their counsel turns to passion, which before + Would give preceptial medicine to rage, + Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, + Charm ache with air and agony with words. + No, no; ’tis all men’s office to speak patience + To those that wring under the load of sorrow, + But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency + To be so moral when he shall endure + The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel: + My griefs cry louder than advertisement. + + + ANTONIO. + Therein do men from children nothing differ. + + + LEONATO. + I pray thee peace! I will be flesh and blood; + For there was never yet philosopher + That could endure the toothache patiently, + However they have writ the style of gods + And made a push at chance and sufferance. + + + ANTONIO. + Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; + Make those that do offend you suffer too. + + + LEONATO. + There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so. + My soul doth tell me Hero is belied; + And that shall Claudio know; so shall the Prince, + And all of them that thus dishonour her. + + + ANTONIO. + Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily. + + + Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. + + + DON PEDRO. + Good den, good den. + + + CLAUDIO. + Good day to both of you. + + + LEONATO. + Hear you, my lords,— + + + DON PEDRO. + We have some haste, Leonato. + + + LEONATO. + Some haste, my lord! well, fare you well, my lord: + Are you so hasty now?—well, all is one. + + + DON PEDRO. + Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. + + + ANTONIO. + If he could right himself with quarrelling, + Some of us would lie low. + + + CLAUDIO. + Who wrongs him? + + + LEONATO. + Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou. + Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword; + I fear thee not. + + + CLAUDIO. + Marry, beshrew my hand, + If it should give your age such cause of fear. + In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. + + + LEONATO. + Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me: + I speak not like a dotard nor a fool, + As, under privilege of age, to brag + What I have done being young, or what would do, + Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy head, + Thou hast so wrong’d mine innocent child and me + That I am forc’d to lay my reverence by, + And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days, + Do challenge thee to trial of a man. + I say thou hast belied mine innocent child: + Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, + And she lies buried with her ancestors; + O! in a tomb where never scandal slept, + Save this of hers, fram’d by thy villainy! + + + CLAUDIO. + My villainy? + + + LEONATO. + Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. + + + DON PEDRO. + You say not right, old man, + + + LEONATO. + My lord, my lord, I’ll prove it on his body, if he dare, + Despite his nice fence and his active practice, + His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. + + + CLAUDIO. + Away! I will not have to do with you. + + + LEONATO. + Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill’d my child; + If thou kill’st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. + + + ANTONIO. + He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: + But that’s no matter; let him kill one first: + Win me and wear me; let him answer me. + Come, follow me, boy; come, sir boy, come, follow me. + Sir boy, I’ll whip you from your foining fence; + Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. + + + LEONATO. + Brother,— + + + ANTONIO. + Content yourself. God knows I lov’d my niece; + And she is dead, slander’d to death by villains, + That dare as well answer a man indeed + As I dare take a serpent by the tongue. + Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops! + + + LEONATO. + Brother Anthony,— + + + ANTONIO. + Hold you content. What, man! I know them, yea, + And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple, + Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys, + That lie and cog and flout, deprave and slander, + Go antickly, show outward hideousness, + And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, + How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst; + And this is all! + + + LEONATO. + But, brother Anthony,— + + + ANTONIO. + Come, ’tis no matter: + Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. + + + DON PEDRO. + Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. + My heart is sorry for your daughter’s death; + But, on my honour, she was charg’d with nothing + But what was true and very full of proof. + + + LEONATO. + My lord, my lord— + + + DON PEDRO. + I will not hear you. + + + LEONATO. + No? Come, brother, away. I will be heard.— + + + ANTONIO. + And shall, or some of us will smart for it. + + + [_Exeunt Leonato and Antonio._] + + + Enter Benedick. + + + DON PEDRO. + See, see; here comes the man we went to seek. + + + CLAUDIO. + Now, signior, what news? + + + BENEDICK. + Good day, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + Welcome, signior: you are almost come to part almost a fray. + + + CLAUDIO. + We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old + men without teeth. + + + DON PEDRO. + Leonato and his brother. What think’st thou? Had we fought, I + doubt we should have been too young for them. + + + BENEDICK. + In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you + both. + + + CLAUDIO. + We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof + melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thou use thy + wit? + + + BENEDICK. + It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it? + + + DON PEDRO. + Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? + + + CLAUDIO. + Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit. I + will bid thee draw, as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. + + + DON PEDRO. + As I am an honest man, he looks pale. Art thou sick, or angry? + + + CLAUDIO. + What, courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast + mettle enough in thee to kill care. + + + BENEDICK. + Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, and you charge it + against me. I pray you choose another subject. + + + CLAUDIO. + Nay then, give him another staff: this last was broke cross. + + + DON PEDRO. + By this light, he changes more and more: I think he be angry + indeed. + + + CLAUDIO. + If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. + + + BENEDICK. + Shall I speak a word in your ear? + + + CLAUDIO. + God bless me from a challenge! + + + BENEDICK. + [_Aside to Claudio._] You are a villain, I jest not: I will make + it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare. Do + me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a + sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear + from you. + + + CLAUDIO. + Well I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. + + + DON PEDRO. + What, a feast, a feast? + + + CLAUDIO. + I’ faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a calf’s-head and a + capon, the which if I do not carve most curiously, say my knife’s + naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too? + + + BENEDICK. + Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. + + + DON PEDRO. + I’ll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day. I + said, thou hadst a fine wit. ‘True,’ says she, ‘a fine little + one.’ ‘No,’ said I, ‘a great wit.’ ‘Right,’ said she, ‘a great + gross one.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘a good wit.’ ‘Just,’ said she, ‘it + hurts nobody.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘the gentleman is wise.’ ‘Certain,’ + said she, ‘a wise gentleman.’ ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘he hath the + tongues.’ ‘That I believe’ said she, ‘for he swore a thing to me + on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday morning: there’s a + double tongue; there’s two tongues.’ Thus did she, an hour + together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet at last she + concluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy. + + + CLAUDIO. + For the which she wept heartily and said she cared not. + + + DON PEDRO. + Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate + him deadly, she would love him dearly. The old man’s daughter + told us all. + + + CLAUDIO. + All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the + garden. + + + DON PEDRO. + But when shall we set the savage bull’s horns on the sensible + Benedick’s head? + + + CLAUDIO. + Yea, and text underneath, ‘Here dwells Benedick the married man!’ + + + BENEDICK. + Fare you well, boy: you know my mind. I will leave you now to + your gossip-like humour; you break jests as braggarts do their + blades, which, God be thanked, hurt not. My lord, for your many + courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your company. Your + brother the bastard is fled from Messina: you have, among you, + killed a sweet and innocent lady. For my Lord Lack-beard there, + he and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him. + + + [_Exit._] + + + DON PEDRO. + He is in earnest. + + + CLAUDIO. + In most profound earnest; and, I’ll warrant you, for the love of + Beatrice. + + + DON PEDRO. + And hath challenged thee? + + + CLAUDIO. + Most sincerely. + + + DON PEDRO. + What a pretty thing man is when he goes in his doublet and hose + and leaves off his wit! + + + CLAUDIO. + He is then a giant to an ape; but then is an ape a doctor to such + a man. + + + DON PEDRO. + But, soft you; let me be: pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he + not say my brother was fled? + + + Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and + Borachio. + + + DOGBERRY. + Come you, sir: if justice cannot tame you, she shall ne’er weigh + more reasons in her balance. Nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite + once, you must be looked to. + + + DON PEDRO. + How now! two of my brother’s men bound! Borachio, one! + + + CLAUDIO. + Hearken after their offence, my lord. + + + DON PEDRO. + Officers, what offence have these men done? + + + DOGBERRY. + Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have + spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and + lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified + unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves. + + + DON PEDRO. + First, I ask thee what they have done; thirdly, I ask thee what’s + their offence; sixth and lastly, why they are committed; and, to + conclude, what you lay to their charge? + + + CLAUDIO. + Rightly reasoned, and in his own division; and, by my troth, + there’s one meaning well suited. + + + DON PEDRO. + Who have you offended, masters, that you are thus bound to your + answer? This learned constable is too cunning to be understood. + What’s your offence? + + + BORACHIO. + Sweet Prince, let me go no farther to mine answer: do you hear + me, and let this Count kill me. I have deceived even your very + eyes: what your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools + have brought to light; who, in the night overheard me confessing + to this man how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the + Lady Hero; how you were brought into the orchard and saw me court + Margaret in Hero’s garments; how you disgraced her, when you + should marry her. My villainy they have upon record; which I had + rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady + is dead upon mine and my master’s false accusation; and, briefly, + I desire nothing but the reward of a villain. + + + DON PEDRO. + Runs not this speech like iron through your blood? + + + CLAUDIO. + I have drunk poison whiles he utter’d it. + + + DON PEDRO. + But did my brother set thee on to this? + + + BORACHIO. + Yea; and paid me richly for the practice of it. + + + DON PEDRO. + He is compos’d and fram’d of treachery: And fled he is upon this + villainy. + + + CLAUDIO. + Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear + In the rare semblance that I lov’d it first. + + + DOGBERRY. + Come, bring away the plaintiffs: by this time our sexton hath + reformed Signior Leonato of the matter. And masters, do not + forget to specify, when time and place shall serve, that I am an + ass. + + + VERGES. + Here, here comes Master Signior Leonato, and the sexton too. + + + Re-enter Leonato, Antonio and the Sexton. + + + LEONATO. + Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes, + That, when I note another man like him, + I may avoid him. Which of these is he? + + + BORACHIO. + If you would know your wronger, look on me. + + + LEONATO. + Art thou the slave that with thy breath hast kill’d + Mine innocent child? + + + BORACHIO. + Yea, even I alone. + + + LEONATO. + No, not so, villain; thou beliest thyself: + Here stand a pair of honourable men; + A third is fled, that had a hand in it. + I thank you, princes, for my daughter’s death: + Record it with your high and worthy deeds. + ’Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. + + + CLAUDIO. + I know not how to pray your patience; + Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge yourself; + Impose me to what penance your invention + Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn’d I not + But in mistaking. + + + DON PEDRO. + By my soul, nor I: + And yet, to satisfy this good old man, + I would bend under any heavy weight + That he’ll enjoin me to. + + + LEONATO. + I cannot bid you bid my daughter live; + That were impossible; but, I pray you both, + Possess the people in Messina here + How innocent she died; and if your love + Can labour aught in sad invention, + Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, + And sing it to her bones: sing it tonight. + Tomorrow morning come you to my house, + And since you could not be my son-in-law, + Be yet my nephew. My brother hath a daughter, + Almost the copy of my child that’s dead, + And she alone is heir to both of us: + Give her the right you should have given her cousin, + And so dies my revenge. + + + CLAUDIO. + O noble sir, + Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me! + I do embrace your offer; and dispose + For henceforth of poor Claudio. + + + LEONATO. + Tomorrow then I will expect your coming; + Tonight I take my leave. This naughty man + Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, + Who, I believe, was pack’d in all this wrong, + Hir’d to it by your brother. + + + BORACHIO. + No, by my soul she was not; + Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me; + But always hath been just and virtuous + In anything that I do know by her. + + + DOGBERRY. + Moreover, sir,—which, indeed, is not under white and black,— this + plaintiff here, the offender, did call me ass: I beseech you, let + it be remembered in his punishment. And also, the watch heard + them talk of one Deformed: they say he wears a key in his ear and + a lock hanging by it, and borrows money in God’s name, the which + he hath used so long and never paid, that now men grow + hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God’s sake. Pray you, + examine him upon that point. + + + LEONATO. + I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. + + + DOGBERRY. + Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverent youth, and + I praise God for you. + + + LEONATO. + There’s for thy pains. + + + DOGBERRY. + God save the foundation! + + + LEONATO. + Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. + + + DOGBERRY. + I leave an arrant knave with your worship; which I beseech your + worship to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep + your worship! I wish your worship well; God restore you to + health! I humbly give you leave to depart, and if a merry meeting + may be wished, God prohibit it! Come, neighbour. + + + [_Exeunt Dogberry and Verges._] + + + LEONATO. + Until tomorrow morning, lords, farewell. + + + ANTONIO. + Farewell, my lords: we look for you tomorrow. + + + DON PEDRO. + We will not fail. + + + CLAUDIO. + Tonight I’ll mourn with Hero. + + + [_Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio._] + + + LEONATO. + [_To the Watch._] Bring you these fellows on. We’ll talk with + Margaret, + How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE II. Leonato’s Garden. + + Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. + + + BENEDICK. + Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, deserve well at my hands by + helping me to the speech of Beatrice. + + + MARGARET. + Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty? + + + BENEDICK. + In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over + it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it. + + + MARGARET. + To have no man come over me! why, shall I always keep below + stairs? + + + BENEDICK. + Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound’s mouth; it catches. + + + MARGARET. + And yours as blunt as the fencer’s foils, which hit, but hurt + not. + + + BENEDICK. + A most manly wit, Margaret; it will not hurt a woman: and so, I + pray thee, call Beatrice. I give thee the bucklers. + + + MARGARET. + Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our own. + + + BENEDICK. + If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; + and they are dangerous weapons for maids. + + + MARGARET. + Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think hath legs. + + + BENEDICK. + And therefore will come. + + + [_Exit Margaret._] + + + The god of love, + That sits above, + And knows me, and knows me, + How pitiful I deserve,— + + + I mean, in singing: but in loving, Leander the good swimmer, + Troilus the first employer of panders, and a whole book full of + these quondam carpet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the + even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned + over and over as my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it in + rime; I have tried: I can find out no rime to ‘lady’ but ‘baby’, + an innocent rime; for ‘scorn,’ ‘horn’, a hard rime; for ‘school’, + ‘fool’, a babbling rime; very ominous endings: no, I was not born + under a riming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms. + + + Enter Beatrice. + + + Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee? + + + BEATRICE. + Yea, signior; and depart when you bid me. + + + BENEDICK. + O, stay but till then! + + + BEATRICE. + ‘Then’ is spoken; fare you well now: and yet, ere I go, let me go + with that I came for; which is, with knowing what hath passed + between you and Claudio. + + + BENEDICK. + Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss thee. + + + BEATRICE. + Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, + and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed. + + + BENEDICK. + Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible + is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my + challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will + subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which + of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? + + + BEATRICE. + For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of + evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with + them. But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love + for me? + + + BENEDICK. + ‘Suffer love,’ a good epithet! I do suffer love indeed, for I + love thee against my will. + + + BEATRICE. + In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart! If you spite + it for my sake, I will spite it for yours; for I will never love + that which my friend hates. + + + BENEDICK. + Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. + + + BEATRICE. + It appears not in this confession: there’s not one wise man among + twenty that will praise himself. + + + BENEDICK. + An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived in the time of good + neighbours. If a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he + dies, he shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings and + the widow weeps. + + + BEATRICE. And how long is that think you? + + + BENEDICK. + Question: why, an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum: + therefore is it most expedient for the wise,—if Don Worm, his + conscience, find no impediment to the contrary,—to be the trumpet + of his own virtues, as I am to myself. So much for praising + myself, who, I myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy. And now + tell me, how doth your cousin? + + + BEATRICE. + Very ill. + + + BENEDICK. + And how do you? + + + BEATRICE. + Very ill too. + + + BENEDICK. + Serve God, love me, and mend. There will I leave you too, for + here comes one in haste. + + + Enter Ursula. + + + URSULA. + Madam, you must come to your uncle. Yonder’s old coil at home: it + is proved, my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and + Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the author of all, who + is fled and gone. Will you come presently? + + + BEATRICE. + Will you go hear this news, signior? + + + BENEDICK. + I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy + eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to thy uncle’s. + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE III. The Inside of a Church. + + Enter Don Pedro, Claudio and Attendants, with music and tapers. + + + CLAUDIO. + Is this the monument of Leonato? + + + A LORD. + It is, my lord. + + + CLAUDIO. + [_Reads from a scroll._] + + + Epitaph. + + + Done to death by slanderous tongues + Was the Hero that here lies: + Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, + Gives her fame which never dies. + So the life that died with shame + Lives in death with glorious fame. + + + Hang thou there upon the tomb, + + + Praising her when I am dumb. + Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. + + + Song. + + + Pardon, goddess of the night, + Those that slew thy virgin knight; + For the which, with songs of woe, + Round about her tomb they go. + Midnight, assist our moan; + Help us to sigh and groan, + Heavily, heavily: + Graves, yawn and yield your dead, + Till death be uttered, + Heavily, heavily. + + + CLAUDIO. + Now, unto thy bones good night! + Yearly will I do this rite. + + + DON PEDRO. + Good morrow, masters: put your torches out. + The wolves have prey’d; and look, the gentle day, + Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about + Dapples the drowsy East with spots of grey. + Thanks to you all, and leave us: fare you well. + + + CLAUDIO. + Good morrow, masters: each his several way. + + + DON PEDRO. + Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds; + And then to Leonato’s we will go. + + + CLAUDIO. + And Hymen now with luckier issue speed’s, + Than this for whom we rend’red up this woe! + + + [_Exeunt._] + + +SCENE IV. A Room in Leonato’s House. + + Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Margaret, Ursula, + Friar Francis and Hero. + + + FRIAR. + Did I not tell you she was innocent? + + + LEONATO. + So are the Prince and Claudio, who accus’d her + Upon the error that you heard debated: + But Margaret was in some fault for this, + Although against her will, as it appears + In the true course of all the question. + + + ANTONIO. + Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. + + + BENEDICK. + And so am I, being else by faith enforc’d + To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. + + + LEONATO. + Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, + Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves, + And when I send for you, come hither mask’d: + The Prince and Claudio promis’d by this hour + To visit me. + + + [_Exeunt Ladies._] + + + You know your office, brother; + You must be father to your brother’s daughter, + And give her to young Claudio. + + + ANTONIO. + Which I will do with confirm’d countenance. + + + BENEDICK. + Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. + + + FRIAR. + To do what, signior? + + + BENEDICK. + To bind me, or undo me; one of them. + Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, + Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. + + + LEONATO. + That eye my daughter lent her. ’Tis most true. + + + BENEDICK. + And I do with an eye of love requite her. + + + LEONATO. + The sight whereof I think, you had from me, + From Claudio, and the Prince. But what’s your will? + + + BENEDICK. + Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: + But, for my will, my will is your good will + May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin’d + In the state of honourable marriage: + In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. + + + LEONATO. + My heart is with your liking. + + + FRIAR. + And my help. Here comes the Prince and Claudio. + + + Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants. + + + DON PEDRO. + Good morrow to this fair assembly. + + + LEONATO. + Good morrow, Prince; good morrow, Claudio: + We here attend you. Are you yet determin’d + Today to marry with my brother’s daughter? + + + CLAUDIO. + I’ll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. + + + LEONATO. + Call her forth, brother: here’s the friar ready. + + + [_Exit Antonio._] + + + DON PEDRO. + Good morrow, Benedick. Why, what’s the matter, + That you have such a February face, + So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness? + + + CLAUDIO. + I think he thinks upon the savage bull. + Tush! fear not, man, we’ll tip thy horns with gold, + And all Europa shall rejoice at thee, + As once Europa did at lusty Jove, + When he would play the noble beast in love. + + + BENEDICK. + Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low: + And some such strange bull leap’d your father’s cow, + And got a calf in that same noble feat, + Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. + + + CLAUDIO. + For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings. + + + Re-enter Antonio, with the ladies masked. + + + Which is the lady I must seize upon? + + + ANTONIO. + This same is she, and I do give you her. + + + CLAUDIO. + Why then, she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face. + + + LEONATO. + No, that you shall not, till you take her hand + Before this friar, and swear to marry her. + + + CLAUDIO. + Give me your hand: before this holy friar, + I am your husband, if you like of me. + + + HERO. + And when I liv’d, I was your other wife: + [_Unmasking._] And when you lov’d, you were my other husband. + + + CLAUDIO. + Another Hero! + + + HERO. + Nothing certainer: + One Hero died defil’d, but I do live, + And surely as I live, I am a maid. + + + DON PEDRO. + The former Hero! Hero that is dead! + + + LEONATO. + She died, my lord, but whiles her slander liv’d. + + + FRIAR. + All this amazement can I qualify: + When after that the holy rites are ended, + I’ll tell you largely of fair Hero’s death: + Meantime, let wonder seem familiar, + And to the chapel let us presently. + + + BENEDICK. + Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice? + + + BEATRICE. + [_Unmasking._] I answer to that name. What is your will? + + + BENEDICK. + Do not you love me? + + + BEATRICE. + Why, no; no more than reason. + + + BENEDICK. + Why, then, your uncle and the Prince and Claudio + Have been deceived; for they swore you did. + + + BEATRICE. + Do not you love me? + + + BENEDICK. + Troth, no; no more than reason. + + + BEATRICE. + Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, + Are much deceiv’d; for they did swear you did. + + + BENEDICK. + They swore that you were almost sick for me. + + + BEATRICE. + They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. + + + BENEDICK. + ’Tis no such matter. Then you do not love me? + + + BEATRICE. + No, truly, but in friendly recompense. + + + LEONATO. + Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. + + + CLAUDIO. + And I’ll be sworn upon ’t that he loves her; + For here’s a paper written in his hand, + A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, + Fashion’d to Beatrice. + + + HERO. + And here’s another, + Writ in my cousin’s hand, stolen from her pocket, + Containing her affection unto Benedick. + + + BENEDICK. + A miracle! here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come, I will + have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. + + + BEATRICE. + I would not deny you; but, by this good day, I yield upon great + persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were + in a consumption. + + + BENEDICK. + Peace! I will stop your mouth. [_Kisses her._] + + + DON PEDRO. + How dost thou, Benedick, the married man? + + + BENEDICK. + I’ll tell thee what, Prince; a college of witcrackers cannout + flout me out of my humour. Dost thou think I care for a satire or + an epigram? No; if man will be beaten with brains, a’ shall wear + nothing handsome about him. In brief, since I do purpose to + marry, I will think nothing to any purpose that the world can say + against it; and therefore never flout at me for what I have said + against it, for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. + For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; but, in + that thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my + cousin. + + + CLAUDIO. + I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied Beatrice, that I might + have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a + double-dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin + do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. + + + BENEDICK. + Come, come, we are friends. Let’s have a dance ere we are + married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels. + + + LEONATO. + We’ll have dancing afterward. + + + BENEDICK. + First, of my word; therefore play, music! Prince, thou art sad; + get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverent + than one tipped with horn. + + + Enter Messenger. + + + MESSENGER. + My lord, your brother John is ta’en in flight, + And brought with armed men back to Messina. + + + BENEDICK. + Think not on him till tomorrow: I’ll devise thee brave + punishments for him. Strike up, pipers! + + + [_Dance. Exeunt._] + + + + +OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Venice. A street. +Scene II. Venice. Another street. +Scene III. Venice. A council chamber. + +ACT II +Scene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform. +Scene II. A street. +Scene III. A Hall in the Castle. + +ACT III +Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle. +Scene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle. +Scene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle. +Scene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle. + +ACT IV +Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle. +Scene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle. +Scene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle. + +ACT V +Scene I. Cyprus. A Street. +Scene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle. + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +DUKE OF VENICE +BRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father +Other Senators +GRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio +LODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio +OTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice +CASSIO, his Lieutenant +IAGO, his Ancient +MONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus +RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman +CLOWN, Servant to Othello + +DESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello +EMILIA, Wife to Iago +BIANCA, Mistress to Cassio + +Officers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants, +&c. + +SCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a +Seaport in Cyprus. + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Venice. A street. + + Enter Roderigo and Iago. + +RODERIGO. +Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly +That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse, +As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. + +IAGO. +’Sblood, but you will not hear me. +If ever I did dream of such a matter, +Abhor me. + +RODERIGO. +Thou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate. + +IAGO. +Despise me if I do not. Three great ones of the city, +In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, +Off-capp’d to him; and by the faith of man, +I know my price, I am worth no worse a place. +But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, +Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, +Horribly stuff’d with epithets of war: +And in conclusion, +Nonsuits my mediators: for “Certes,” says he, +“I have already chose my officer.” +And what was he? +Forsooth, a great arithmetician, +One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, +A fellow almost damn’d in a fair wife, +That never set a squadron in the field, +Nor the division of a battle knows +More than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric, +Wherein the toged consuls can propose +As masterly as he: mere prattle without practice +Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election, +And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof +At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds, +Christian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d +By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster, +He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, +And I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient. + +RODERIGO. +By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman. + +IAGO. +Why, there’s no remedy. ’Tis the curse of service, +Preferment goes by letter and affection, +And not by old gradation, where each second +Stood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself +Whether I in any just term am affin’d +To love the Moor. + +RODERIGO. +I would not follow him, then. + +IAGO. +O, sir, content you. +I follow him to serve my turn upon him: +We cannot all be masters, nor all masters +Cannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark +Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave +That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, +Wears out his time, much like his master’s ass, +For nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d. +Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are +Who, trimm’d in forms, and visages of duty, +Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves, +And throwing but shows of service on their lords, +Do well thrive by them, and when they have lin’d their coats, +Do themselves homage. These fellows have some soul, +And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, +It is as sure as you are Roderigo, +Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago: +In following him, I follow but myself. +Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, +But seeming so for my peculiar end. +For when my outward action doth demonstrate +The native act and figure of my heart +In complement extern, ’tis not long after +But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve +For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. + +RODERIGO. +What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, +If he can carry’t thus! + +IAGO. +Call up her father, +Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight, +Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, +And though he in a fertile climate dwell, +Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, +Yet throw such changes of vexation on’t, +As it may lose some color. + +RODERIGO. +Here is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud. + +IAGO. +Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell +As when, by night and negligence, the fire +Is spied in populous cities. + +RODERIGO. +What ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho! + +IAGO. +Awake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves! +Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! +Thieves, thieves! + + Brabantio appears above at a window. + +BRABANTIO. +What is the reason of this terrible summons? +What is the matter there? + +RODERIGO. +Signior, is all your family within? + +IAGO. +Are your doors locked? + +BRABANTIO. +Why, wherefore ask you this? + +IAGO. +Zounds, sir, you’re robb’d, for shame put on your gown, +Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; +Even now, now, very now, an old black ram +Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise, +Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, +Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: +Arise, I say. + +BRABANTIO. +What, have you lost your wits? + +RODERIGO. +Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? + +BRABANTIO. +Not I. What are you? + +RODERIGO. +My name is Roderigo. + +BRABANTIO. +The worser welcome. +I have charg’d thee not to haunt about my doors; +In honest plainness thou hast heard me say +My daughter is not for thee; and now in madness, +Being full of supper and distempering draughts, +Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come +To start my quiet. + +RODERIGO. +Sir, sir, sir,— + +BRABANTIO. +But thou must needs be sure +My spirit and my place have in them power +To make this bitter to thee. + +RODERIGO. +Patience, good sir. + +BRABANTIO. +What tell’st thou me of robbing? +This is Venice. My house is not a grange. + +RODERIGO. +Most grave Brabantio, +In simple and pure soul I come to you. + +IAGO. +Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God if the devil +bid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are +ruffians, you’ll have your daughter cover’d with a Barbary horse; +you’ll have your nephews neigh to you; you’ll have coursers for cousins +and gennets for germans. + +BRABANTIO. +What profane wretch art thou? + +IAGO. +I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are +now making the beast with two backs. + +BRABANTIO. +Thou art a villain. + +IAGO. +You are a senator. + +BRABANTIO. +This thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo. + +RODERIGO. +Sir, I will answer anything. But I beseech you, +If ’t be your pleasure, and most wise consent, +(As partly I find it is) that your fair daughter, +At this odd-even and dull watch o’ the night, +Transported with no worse nor better guard, +But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier, +To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor: +If this be known to you, and your allowance, +We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs. +But if you know not this, my manners tell me, +We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe +That from the sense of all civility, +I thus would play and trifle with your reverence. +Your daughter (if you have not given her leave) +I say again, hath made a gross revolt, +Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes +In an extravagant and wheeling stranger +Of here and everywhere. Straight satisfy yourself: +If she be in her chamber or your house, +Let loose on me the justice of the state +For thus deluding you. + +BRABANTIO. +Strike on the tinder, ho! +Give me a taper! Call up all my people! +This accident is not unlike my dream, +Belief of it oppresses me already. +Light, I say, light! + + [_Exit from above._] + +IAGO. +Farewell; for I must leave you: +It seems not meet nor wholesome to my place +To be produc’d, as if I stay I shall, +Against the Moor. For I do know the state, +However this may gall him with some check, +Cannot with safety cast him, for he’s embark’d +With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars, +Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls, +Another of his fathom they have none +To lead their business. In which regard, +Though I do hate him as I do hell pains, +Yet, for necessity of present life, +I must show out a flag and sign of love, +Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, +Lead to the Sagittary the raised search, +And there will I be with him. So, farewell. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Brabantio with Servants and torches. + +BRABANTIO. +It is too true an evil. Gone she is, +And what’s to come of my despised time, +Is naught but bitterness. Now Roderigo, +Where didst thou see her? (O unhappy girl!) +With the Moor, say’st thou? (Who would be a father!) +How didst thou know ’twas she? (O, she deceives me +Past thought.) What said she to you? Get more tapers, +Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you? + +RODERIGO. +Truly I think they are. + +BRABANTIO. +O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood! +Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters’ minds +By what you see them act. Is there not charms +By which the property of youth and maidhood +May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo, +Of some such thing? + +RODERIGO. +Yes, sir, I have indeed. + +BRABANTIO. +Call up my brother. O, would you had had her! +Some one way, some another. Do you know +Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? + +RODERIGO. +I think I can discover him, if you please +To get good guard, and go along with me. + +BRABANTIO. +Pray you lead on. At every house I’ll call, +I may command at most. Get weapons, ho! +And raise some special officers of night. +On, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Venice. Another street. + + Enter Othello, Iago and Attendants with torches. + +IAGO. +Though in the trade of war I have slain men, +Yet do I hold it very stuff o’ the conscience +To do no contriv’d murder; I lack iniquity +Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times +I had thought to have yerk’d him here under the ribs. + +OTHELLO. +’Tis better as it is. + +IAGO. +Nay, but he prated, +And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms +Against your honour, +That with the little godliness I have, +I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, sir, +Are you fast married? Be assur’d of this, +That the magnifico is much belov’d +And hath in his effect a voice potential +As double as the duke’s; he will divorce you, +Or put upon you what restraint and grievance +The law (with all his might to enforce it on) +Will give him cable. + +OTHELLO. +Let him do his spite; +My services, which I have done the signiory, +Shall out-tongue his complaints. ’Tis yet to know,— +Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, +I shall promulgate,—I fetch my life and being +From men of royal siege. And my demerits +May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune +As this that I have reach’d. For know, Iago, +But that I love the gentle Desdemona, +I would not my unhoused free condition +Put into circumscription and confine +For the sea’s worth. But look, what lights come yond? + +IAGO. +Those are the raised father and his friends: +You were best go in. + +OTHELLO. +Not I; I must be found. +My parts, my title, and my perfect soul +Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? + +IAGO. +By Janus, I think no. + + Enter Cassio and Officers with torches. + +OTHELLO. +The servants of the duke and my lieutenant. +The goodness of the night upon you, friends! +What is the news? + +CASSIO. +The duke does greet you, general, +And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance +Even on the instant. + +OTHELLO. +What is the matter, think you? + +CASSIO. +Something from Cyprus, as I may divine. +It is a business of some heat. The galleys +Have sent a dozen sequent messengers +This very night at one another’s heels; +And many of the consuls, rais’d and met, +Are at the duke’s already. You have been hotly call’d for, +When, being not at your lodging to be found, +The senate hath sent about three several quests +To search you out. + +OTHELLO. +’Tis well I am found by you. +I will but spend a word here in the house, +And go with you. + + [_Exit._] + +CASSIO. +Ancient, what makes he here? + +IAGO. +Faith, he tonight hath boarded a land carrack: +If it prove lawful prize, he’s made forever. + +CASSIO. +I do not understand. + +IAGO. +He’s married. + +CASSIO. +To who? + + Enter Othello. + +IAGO. +Marry to—Come, captain, will you go? + +OTHELLO. +Have with you. + +CASSIO. +Here comes another troop to seek for you. + + Enter Brabantio, Roderigo and Officers with torches and weapons. + +IAGO. +It is Brabantio. General, be advis’d, +He comes to bad intent. + +OTHELLO. +Holla, stand there! + +RODERIGO. +Signior, it is the Moor. + +BRABANTIO. +Down with him, thief! + + [_They draw on both sides._] + +IAGO. +You, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you. + +OTHELLO. +Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. +Good signior, you shall more command with years +Than with your weapons. + +BRABANTIO. +O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow’d my daughter? +Damn’d as thou art, thou hast enchanted her, +For I’ll refer me to all things of sense, +(If she in chains of magic were not bound) +Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy, +So opposite to marriage, that she shunn’d +The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, +Would ever have, to incur a general mock, +Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom +Of such a thing as thou—to fear, not to delight. +Judge me the world, if ’tis not gross in sense, +That thou hast practis’d on her with foul charms, +Abus’d her delicate youth with drugs or minerals +That weakens motion. I’ll have’t disputed on; +’Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. +I therefore apprehend and do attach thee +For an abuser of the world, a practiser +Of arts inhibited and out of warrant.— +Lay hold upon him, if he do resist, +Subdue him at his peril. + +OTHELLO. +Hold your hands, +Both you of my inclining and the rest: +Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it +Without a prompter. Where will you that I go +To answer this your charge? + +BRABANTIO. +To prison, till fit time +Of law and course of direct session +Call thee to answer. + +OTHELLO. +What if I do obey? +How may the duke be therewith satisfied, +Whose messengers are here about my side, +Upon some present business of the state, +To bring me to him? + +OFFICER. +’Tis true, most worthy signior, +The duke’s in council, and your noble self, +I am sure is sent for. + +BRABANTIO. +How? The duke in council? +In this time of the night? Bring him away; +Mine’s not an idle cause. The duke himself, +Or any of my brothers of the state, +Cannot but feel this wrong as ’twere their own. +For if such actions may have passage free, +Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Venice. A council chamber. + + The Duke and Senators sitting at a table; Officers attending. + +DUKE. +There is no composition in these news +That gives them credit. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Indeed, they are disproportion’d; +My letters say a hundred and seven galleys. + +DUKE. +And mine a hundred and forty. + +SECOND SENATOR +And mine two hundred: +But though they jump not on a just account, +(As in these cases, where the aim reports, +’Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm +A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. + +DUKE. +Nay, it is possible enough to judgement: +I do not so secure me in the error, +But the main article I do approve +In fearful sense. + +SAILOR. +[_Within._] What, ho! what, ho! what, ho! + +OFFICER. +A messenger from the galleys. + + Enter Sailor. + +DUKE. +Now,—what’s the business? + +SAILOR. +The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes, +So was I bid report here to the state +By Signior Angelo. + +DUKE. +How say you by this change? + +FIRST SENATOR. +This cannot be +By no assay of reason. ’Tis a pageant +To keep us in false gaze. When we consider +The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk; +And let ourselves again but understand +That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, +So may he with more facile question bear it, +For that it stands not in such warlike brace, +But altogether lacks the abilities +That Rhodes is dress’d in. If we make thought of this, +We must not think the Turk is so unskilful +To leave that latest which concerns him first, +Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, +To wake and wage a danger profitless. + +DUKE. +Nay, in all confidence, he’s not for Rhodes. + +OFFICER. +Here is more news. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, +Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, +Have there injointed them with an after fleet. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Ay, so I thought. How many, as you guess? + +MESSENGER. +Of thirty sail, and now they do re-stem +Their backward course, bearing with frank appearance +Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Montano, +Your trusty and most valiant servitor, +With his free duty recommends you thus, +And prays you to believe him. + +DUKE. +’Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. +Marcus Luccicos, is not he in town? + +FIRST SENATOR. +He’s now in Florence. + +DUKE. +Write from us to him; post-post-haste dispatch. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Here comes Brabantio and the valiant Moor. + + Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo and Officers. + +DUKE. +Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you +Against the general enemy Ottoman. +[_To Brabantio._] I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior, +We lack’d your counsel and your help tonight. + +BRABANTIO. +So did I yours. Good your grace, pardon me. +Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business +Hath rais’d me from my bed, nor doth the general care +Take hold on me; for my particular grief +Is of so flood-gate and o’erbearing nature +That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, +And it is still itself. + +DUKE. +Why, what’s the matter? + +BRABANTIO. +My daughter! O, my daughter! + +DUKE and SENATORS. +Dead? + +BRABANTIO. +Ay, to me. +She is abused, stol’n from me, and corrupted +By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; +For nature so preposterously to err, +Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, +Sans witchcraft could not. + +DUKE. +Whoe’er he be, that in this foul proceeding, +Hath thus beguil’d your daughter of herself, +And you of her, the bloody book of law +You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, +After your own sense, yea, though our proper son +Stood in your action. + +BRABANTIO. +Humbly I thank your grace. +Here is the man, this Moor, whom now it seems +Your special mandate for the state affairs +Hath hither brought. + +ALL. +We are very sorry for ’t. + +DUKE. +[_To Othello._] What, in your own part, can you say to this? + +BRABANTIO. +Nothing, but this is so. + +OTHELLO. +Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, +My very noble and approv’d good masters: +That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter, +It is most true; true, I have married her. +The very head and front of my offending +Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, +And little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace; +For since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith, +Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us’d +Their dearest action in the tented field, +And little of this great world can I speak, +More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, +And therefore little shall I grace my cause +In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, +I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver +Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what charms, +What conjuration, and what mighty magic, +(For such proceeding I am charged withal) +I won his daughter. + +BRABANTIO. +A maiden never bold: +Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion +Blush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature, +Of years, of country, credit, everything, +To fall in love with what she fear’d to look on! +It is judgement maim’d and most imperfect +That will confess perfection so could err +Against all rules of nature, and must be driven +To find out practices of cunning hell, +Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, +That with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood, +Or with some dram conjur’d to this effect, +He wrought upon her. + +DUKE. +To vouch this is no proof; +Without more wider and more overt test +Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods +Of modern seeming do prefer against him. + +FIRST SENATOR. +But, Othello, speak: +Did you by indirect and forced courses +Subdue and poison this young maid’s affections? +Or came it by request, and such fair question +As soul to soul affordeth? + +OTHELLO. +I do beseech you, +Send for the lady to the Sagittary, +And let her speak of me before her father. +If you do find me foul in her report, +The trust, the office I do hold of you, +Not only take away, but let your sentence +Even fall upon my life. + +DUKE. +Fetch Desdemona hither. + +OTHELLO. +Ancient, conduct them, you best know the place. + + [_Exeunt Iago and Attendants._] + +And till she come, as truly as to heaven +I do confess the vices of my blood, +So justly to your grave ears I’ll present +How I did thrive in this fair lady’s love, +And she in mine. + +DUKE. +Say it, Othello. + +OTHELLO. +Her father lov’d me, oft invited me, +Still question’d me the story of my life, +From year to year—the battles, sieges, fortunes, +That I have pass’d. +I ran it through, even from my boyish days +To the very moment that he bade me tell it, +Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, +Of moving accidents by flood and field; +Of hair-breadth scapes i’ th’ imminent deadly breach; +Of being taken by the insolent foe, +And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence, +And portance in my traveler’s history, +Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, +Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, +It was my hint to speak,—such was the process; +And of the Cannibals that each other eat, +The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads +Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear +Would Desdemona seriously incline. +But still the house affairs would draw her thence, +Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, +She’d come again, and with a greedy ear +Devour up my discourse; which I observing, +Took once a pliant hour, and found good means +To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart +That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, +Whereof by parcels she had something heard, +But not intentively. I did consent, +And often did beguile her of her tears, +When I did speak of some distressful stroke +That my youth suffer’d. My story being done, +She gave me for my pains a world of sighs. +She swore, in faith, ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange; +’Twas pitiful, ’twas wondrous pitiful. +She wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d +That heaven had made her such a man: she thank’d me, +And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d her, +I should but teach him how to tell my story, +And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: +She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d, +And I lov’d her that she did pity them. +This only is the witchcraft I have us’d. +Here comes the lady. Let her witness it. + + Enter Desdemona, Iago and Attendants. + +DUKE. +I think this tale would win my daughter too. +Good Brabantio, +Take up this mangled matter at the best. +Men do their broken weapons rather use +Than their bare hands. + +BRABANTIO. +I pray you hear her speak. +If she confess that she was half the wooer, +Destruction on my head, if my bad blame +Light on the man!—Come hither, gentle mistress: +Do you perceive in all this noble company +Where most you owe obedience? + +DESDEMONA. +My noble father, +I do perceive here a divided duty: +To you I am bound for life and education. +My life and education both do learn me +How to respect you. You are the lord of duty, +I am hitherto your daughter: but here’s my husband. +And so much duty as my mother show’d +To you, preferring you before her father, +So much I challenge that I may profess +Due to the Moor my lord. + +BRABANTIO. +God be with you! I have done. +Please it your grace, on to the state affairs. +I had rather to adopt a child than get it.— +Come hither, Moor: +I here do give thee that with all my heart +Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart +I would keep from thee.—For your sake, jewel, +I am glad at soul I have no other child, +For thy escape would teach me tyranny, +To hang clogs on them.—I have done, my lord. + +DUKE. +Let me speak like yourself, and lay a sentence, +Which as a grise or step may help these lovers +Into your favour. +When remedies are past, the griefs are ended +By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. +To mourn a mischief that is past and gone +Is the next way to draw new mischief on. +What cannot be preserved when fortune takes, +Patience her injury a mockery makes. +The robb’d that smiles steals something from the thief; +He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. + +BRABANTIO. +So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile, +We lose it not so long as we can smile; +He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears +But the free comfort which from thence he hears; +But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow +That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. +These sentences to sugar or to gall, +Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: +But words are words; I never yet did hear +That the bruis’d heart was pierced through the ear. +I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. + +DUKE. +The Turk with a most mighty preparation makes for Cyprus. Othello, the +fortitude of the place is best known to you. And though we have there a +substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign +mistress of effects, throws a more safer voice on you: you must +therefore be content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with +this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. + +OTHELLO. +The tyrant custom, most grave senators, +Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war +My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize +A natural and prompt alacrity +I find in hardness, and do undertake +This present wars against the Ottomites. +Most humbly, therefore, bending to your state, +I crave fit disposition for my wife, +Due reference of place and exhibition, +With such accommodation and besort +As levels with her breeding. + +DUKE. +If you please, +Be’t at her father’s. + +BRABANTIO. +I’ll not have it so. + +OTHELLO. +Nor I. + +DESDEMONA. +Nor I. I would not there reside, +To put my father in impatient thoughts, +By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, +To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear, +And let me find a charter in your voice +T’ assist my simpleness. + +DUKE. +What would you, Desdemona? + +DESDEMONA. +That I did love the Moor to live with him, +My downright violence and storm of fortunes +May trumpet to the world: my heart’s subdued +Even to the very quality of my lord. +I saw Othello’s visage in his mind, +And to his honours and his valiant parts +Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. +So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, +A moth of peace, and he go to the war, +The rites for which I love him are bereft me, +And I a heavy interim shall support +By his dear absence. Let me go with him. + +OTHELLO. +Let her have your voice. +Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not +To please the palate of my appetite, +Nor to comply with heat, the young affects +In me defunct, and proper satisfaction, +But to be free and bounteous to her mind. +And heaven defend your good souls that you think +I will your serious and great business scant +For she is with me. No, when light-wing’d toys +Of feather’d Cupid seel with wanton dullness +My speculative and offic’d instruments, +That my disports corrupt and taint my business, +Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, +And all indign and base adversities +Make head against my estimation. + +DUKE. +Be it as you shall privately determine, +Either for her stay or going. The affair cries haste, +And speed must answer it. + +FIRST SENATOR. +You must away tonight. + +OTHELLO. +With all my heart. + +DUKE. +At nine i’ the morning here we’ll meet again. +Othello, leave some officer behind, +And he shall our commission bring to you, +With such things else of quality and respect +As doth import you. + +OTHELLO. +So please your grace, my ancient, +A man he is of honesty and trust, +To his conveyance I assign my wife, +With what else needful your good grace shall think +To be sent after me. + +DUKE. +Let it be so. +Good night to everyone. [_To Brabantio._] And, noble signior, +If virtue no delighted beauty lack, +Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Adieu, brave Moor, use Desdemona well. + +BRABANTIO. +Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see: +She has deceiv’d her father, and may thee. + + [_Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c._] + +OTHELLO. +My life upon her faith! Honest Iago, +My Desdemona must I leave to thee. +I prithee, let thy wife attend on her, +And bring them after in the best advantage.— +Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour +Of love, of worldly matters, and direction, +To spend with thee. We must obey the time. + + [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._] + +RODERIGO. +Iago— + +IAGO. +What sayst thou, noble heart? + +RODERIGO. +What will I do, thinkest thou? + +IAGO. +Why, go to bed and sleep. + +RODERIGO. +I will incontinently drown myself. + +IAGO. +If thou dost, I shall never love thee after. Why, thou silly gentleman! + +RODERIGO. +It is silliness to live, when to live is torment; and then have we a +prescription to die when death is our physician. + +IAGO. +O villainous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years, +and since I could distinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never +found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say I would drown +myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a +baboon. + +RODERIGO. +What should I do? I confess it is my shame to be so fond, but it is not +in my virtue to amend it. + +IAGO. +Virtue! a fig! ’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies +are gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners. So that if we will +plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it +with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it +sterile with idleness or manured with industry, why, the power and +corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our +lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the +blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous +conclusions. But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal +stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to +be a sect, or scion. + +RODERIGO. +It cannot be. + +IAGO. +It is merely a lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Come, be +a man. Drown thyself? Drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me +thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of +perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. Put +money in thy purse; follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an +usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be that +Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,—put money in thy +purse,—nor he his to her. It was a violent commencement, and thou shalt +see an answerable sequestration—put but money in thy purse. These Moors +are changeable in their wills. Fill thy purse with money. The food that +to him now is as luscious as locusts shall be to him shortly as acerb +as the coloquintida. She must change for youth. When she is sated with +his body, she will find the error of her choice. She must have change, +she must. Therefore put money in thy purse. If thou wilt needs damn +thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money +thou canst. If sanctimony and a frail vow betwixt an erring barbarian +and a supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my wits and all the +tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of +drowning thyself! It is clean out of the way: seek thou rather to be +hanged in compassing thy joy than to be drowned and go without her. + +RODERIGO. +Wilt thou be fast to my hopes if I depend on the issue? + +IAGO. +Thou art sure of me. Go, make money. I have told thee often, and I +retell thee again and again, I hate the Moor. My cause is hearted; +thine hath no less reason. Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against +him: if thou canst cuckold him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, me a +sport. There are many events in the womb of time which will be +delivered. Traverse, go, provide thy money. We will have more of this +tomorrow. Adieu. + +RODERIGO. +Where shall we meet i’ the morning? + +IAGO. +At my lodging. + +RODERIGO. +I’ll be with thee betimes. + +IAGO. +Go to, farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? + +RODERIGO. +What say you? + +IAGO. +No more of drowning, do you hear? + +RODERIGO. +I am changed. I’ll sell all my land. + + [_Exit._] + +IAGO. +Thus do I ever make my fool my purse. +For I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane +If I would time expend with such a snipe +But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor, +And it is thought abroad that ’twixt my sheets +He has done my office. I know not if ’t be true, +But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, +Will do as if for surety. He holds me well, +The better shall my purpose work on him. +Cassio’s a proper man. Let me see now, +To get his place, and to plume up my will +In double knavery. How, how? Let’s see. +After some time, to abuse Othello’s ear +That he is too familiar with his wife. +He hath a person and a smooth dispose, +To be suspected, fram’d to make women false. +The Moor is of a free and open nature +That thinks men honest that but seem to be so, +And will as tenderly be led by the nose +As asses are. +I have’t. It is engender’d. Hell and night +Must bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform. + + Enter Montano and two Gentlemen. + +MONTANO. +What from the cape can you discern at sea? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Nothing at all, it is a high-wrought flood. +I cannot ’twixt the heaven and the main +Descry a sail. + +MONTANO. +Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud at land. +A fuller blast ne’er shook our battlements. +If it hath ruffian’d so upon the sea, +What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, +Can hold the mortise? What shall we hear of this? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +A segregation of the Turkish fleet. +For do but stand upon the foaming shore, +The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds, +The wind-shak’d surge, with high and monstrous main, +Seems to cast water on the burning Bear, +And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole; +I never did like molestation view +On the enchafed flood. + +MONTANO. +If that the Turkish fleet +Be not enshelter’d, and embay’d, they are drown’d. +It is impossible to bear it out. + + Enter a third Gentleman. + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +News, lads! Our wars are done. +The desperate tempest hath so bang’d the Turks +That their designment halts. A noble ship of Venice +Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance +On most part of their fleet. + +MONTANO. +How? Is this true? + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +The ship is here put in, +A Veronessa; Michael Cassio, +Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, +Is come on shore; the Moor himself at sea, +And is in full commission here for Cyprus. + +MONTANO. +I am glad on’t. ’Tis a worthy governor. + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +But this same Cassio, though he speak of comfort +Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, +And prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted +With foul and violent tempest. + +MONTANO. +Pray heavens he be; +For I have serv’d him, and the man commands +Like a full soldier. Let’s to the sea-side, ho! +As well to see the vessel that’s come in +As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, +Even till we make the main and the aerial blue +An indistinct regard. + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +Come, let’s do so; +For every minute is expectancy +Of more arrivance. + + Enter Cassio. + +CASSIO. +Thanks you, the valiant of this warlike isle, +That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens +Give him defence against the elements, +For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. + +MONTANO. +Is he well shipp’d? + +CASSIO. +His bark is stoutly timber’d, and his pilot +Of very expert and approv’d allowance; +Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, +Stand in bold cure. + +[_Within._] A sail, a sail, a sail! + + Enter a Messenger. + +CASSIO. +What noise? + +MESSENGER. +The town is empty; on the brow o’ the sea +Stand ranks of people, and they cry “A sail!” + +CASSIO. +My hopes do shape him for the governor. + + [_A shot._] + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +They do discharge their shot of courtesy. +Our friends at least. + +CASSIO. +I pray you, sir, go forth, +And give us truth who ’tis that is arriv’d. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I shall. + + [_Exit._] + +MONTANO. +But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv’d? + +CASSIO. +Most fortunately: he hath achiev’d a maid +That paragons description and wild fame, +One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, +And in the essential vesture of creation +Does tire the ingener. + + Enter second Gentleman. + +How now? Who has put in? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +’Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. + +CASSIO. +He has had most favourable and happy speed: +Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, +The gutter’d rocks, and congregated sands, +Traitors ensteep’d to clog the guiltless keel, +As having sense of beauty, do omit +Their mortal natures, letting go safely by +The divine Desdemona. + +MONTANO. +What is she? + +CASSIO. +She that I spake of, our great captain’s captain, +Left in the conduct of the bold Iago; +Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts +A se’nnight’s speed. Great Jove, Othello guard, +And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath, +That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, +Make love’s quick pants in Desdemona’s arms, +Give renew’d fire to our extincted spirits, +And bring all Cyprus comfort! + + Enter Desdemona, Iago, Roderigo, and Emilia. + +O, behold, +The riches of the ship is come on shore! +Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. +Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, +Before, behind thee, and on every hand, +Enwheel thee round! + +DESDEMONA. +I thank you, valiant Cassio. +What tidings can you tell me of my lord? + +CASSIO. +He is not yet arrived, nor know I aught +But that he’s well, and will be shortly here. + +DESDEMONA. +O, but I fear—How lost you company? + +[_Within._] A sail, a sail! + +CASSIO. +The great contention of the sea and skies +Parted our fellowship. But, hark! a sail. + + [_Guns within._] + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +They give their greeting to the citadel. +This likewise is a friend. + +CASSIO. +See for the news. + + [_Exit Gentleman._] + +Good ancient, you are welcome. [_To Emilia._] Welcome, mistress. +Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, +That I extend my manners; ’tis my breeding +That gives me this bold show of courtesy. + + [_Kissing her._] + +IAGO. +Sir, would she give you so much of her lips +As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, +You would have enough. + +DESDEMONA. +Alas, she has no speech. + +IAGO. +In faith, too much. +I find it still when I have list to sleep. +Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, +She puts her tongue a little in her heart, +And chides with thinking. + +EMILIA. +You have little cause to say so. + +IAGO. +Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, +Bells in your parlours, wild-cats in your kitchens, +Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, +Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds. + +DESDEMONA. +O, fie upon thee, slanderer! + +IAGO. +Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk. +You rise to play, and go to bed to work. + +EMILIA. +You shall not write my praise. + +IAGO. +No, let me not. + +DESDEMONA. +What wouldst thou write of me, if thou shouldst praise me? + +IAGO. +O gentle lady, do not put me to’t, +For I am nothing if not critical. + +DESDEMONA. +Come on, assay.—There’s one gone to the harbour? + +IAGO. +Ay, madam. + +DESDEMONA. +I am not merry, but I do beguile +The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.— +Come, how wouldst thou praise me? + +IAGO. +I am about it, but indeed, my invention +Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze, +It plucks out brains and all: but my Muse labours, +And thus she is deliver’d. +If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, +The one’s for use, the other useth it. + +DESDEMONA. +Well prais’d! How if she be black and witty? + +IAGO. +If she be black, and thereto have a wit, +She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit. + +DESDEMONA. +Worse and worse. + +EMILIA. +How if fair and foolish? + +IAGO. +She never yet was foolish that was fair, +For even her folly help’d her to an heir. + +DESDEMONA. +These are old fond paradoxes to make fools laugh i’ the alehouse. What +miserable praise hast thou for her that’s foul and foolish? + +IAGO. +There’s none so foul and foolish thereunto, +But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. + +DESDEMONA. +O heavy ignorance! Thou praisest the worst best. But what praise +couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed, one that in the +authority of her merit did justly put on the vouch of very malice +itself? + +IAGO. +She that was ever fair and never proud, +Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, +Never lack’d gold and yet went never gay, +Fled from her wish, and yet said, “Now I may”; +She that, being anger’d, her revenge being nigh, +Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly; +She that in wisdom never was so frail +To change the cod’s head for the salmon’s tail; +She that could think and ne’er disclose her mind, +See suitors following and not look behind; +She was a wight, if ever such wight were— + +DESDEMONA. +To do what? + +IAGO. +To suckle fools and chronicle small beer. + +DESDEMONA. +O most lame and impotent conclusion!—Do not learn of him, Emilia, +though he be thy husband.—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane +and liberal counsellor? + +CASSIO. +He speaks home, madam. You may relish him more in the soldier than in +the scholar. + +IAGO. +[_Aside._] He takes her by the palm. Ay, well said, whisper. With as +little a web as this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile +upon her, do. I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You say true, +’tis so, indeed. If such tricks as these strip you out of your +lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers +so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good; +well kissed, an excellent courtesy! ’Tis so, indeed. Yet again your +fingers to your lips? Would they were clyster-pipes for your sake! + + [_Trumpets within._] + +The Moor! I know his trumpet. + +CASSIO. +’Tis truly so. + +DESDEMONA. +Let’s meet him, and receive him. + +CASSIO. +Lo, where he comes! + + Enter Othello and Attendants. + +OTHELLO. +O my fair warrior! + +DESDEMONA. +My dear Othello! + +OTHELLO. +It gives me wonder great as my content +To see you here before me. O my soul’s joy! +If after every tempest come such calms, +May the winds blow till they have waken’d death! +And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas +Olympus-high, and duck again as low +As hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die, +’Twere now to be most happy, for I fear +My soul hath her content so absolute +That not another comfort like to this +Succeeds in unknown fate. + +DESDEMONA. +The heavens forbid +But that our loves and comforts should increase +Even as our days do grow! + +OTHELLO. +Amen to that, sweet powers! +I cannot speak enough of this content. +It stops me here; it is too much of joy: +And this, and this, the greatest discords be [_They kiss._] +That e’er our hearts shall make! + +IAGO. +[_Aside._] O, you are well tun’d now, +But I’ll set down the pegs that make this music, +As honest as I am. + +OTHELLO. +Come, let us to the castle.— +News, friends, our wars are done, the Turks are drown’d. +How does my old acquaintance of this isle? +Honey, you shall be well desir’d in Cyprus; +I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, +I prattle out of fashion, and I dote +In mine own comforts.—I prithee, good Iago, +Go to the bay and disembark my coffers. +Bring thou the master to the citadel; +He is a good one, and his worthiness +Does challenge much respect.—Come, Desdemona, +Once more well met at Cyprus. + + [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._] + +IAGO. +Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be’st +valiant—as, they say, base men being in love have then a nobility in +their natures more than is native to them—list me. The lieutenant +tonight watches on the court of guard: first, I must tell thee this: +Desdemona is directly in love with him. + +RODERIGO. +With him? Why, ’tis not possible. + +IAGO. +Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul be instructed. Mark me with what +violence she first loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her +fantastical lies. And will she love him still for prating? Let not thy +discreet heart think it. Her eye must be fed. And what delight shall +she have to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull with the act +of sport, there should be, again to inflame it and to give satiety a +fresh appetite, loveliness in favour, sympathy in years, manners, and +beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: now, for want of these +required conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself abused, +begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor, very nature +will instruct her in it, and compel her to some second choice. Now sir, +this granted (as it is a most pregnant and unforced position) who +stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune as Cassio does? a +knave very voluble; no further conscionable than in putting on the mere +form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compassing of his salt +and most hidden loose affection? Why, none, why, none! A slipper and +subtle knave, a finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp and +counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: a +devilish knave! Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and hath all +those requisites in him that folly and green minds look after. A +pestilent complete knave, and the woman hath found him already. + +RODERIGO. +I cannot believe that in her, she is full of most blessed condition. + +IAGO. +Blest fig’s end! the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had been +blessed, she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed pudding! Didst +thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? Didst not mark that? + +RODERIGO. +Yes, that I did. But that was but courtesy. + +IAGO. +Lechery, by this hand. An index and obscure prologue to the history of +lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips that their +breaths embrac’d together. Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! When these +mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main +exercise, the incorporate conclusion. Pish! But, sir, be you ruled by +me. I have brought you from Venice. Watch you tonight. For the command, +I’ll lay’t upon you. Cassio knows you not. I’ll not be far from you. Do +you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or +tainting his discipline, or from what other course you please, which +the time shall more favourably minister. + +RODERIGO. +Well. + +IAGO. +Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler, and haply with his +truncheon may strike at you: provoke him that he may, for even out of +that will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny, whose qualification shall +come into no true taste again but by the displanting of Cassio. So +shall you have a shorter journey to your desires by the means I shall +then have to prefer them, and the impediment most profitably removed, +without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. + +RODERIGO. +I will do this, if I can bring it to any opportunity. + +IAGO. +I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his +necessaries ashore. Farewell. + +RODERIGO. +Adieu. + + [_Exit._] + +IAGO. +That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; +That she loves him, ’tis apt, and of great credit: +The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not, +Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; +And, I dare think, he’ll prove to Desdemona +A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too, +Not out of absolute lust (though peradventure +I stand accountant for as great a sin) +But partly led to diet my revenge, +For that I do suspect the lusty Moor +Hath leap’d into my seat. The thought whereof +Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards, +And nothing can or shall content my soul +Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife, +Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor +At least into a jealousy so strong +That judgement cannot cure. Which thing to do, +If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash +For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, +I’ll have our Michael Cassio on the hip, +Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb +(For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too) +Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me +For making him egregiously an ass +And practicing upon his peace and quiet +Even to madness. ’Tis here, but yet confus’d. +Knavery’s plain face is never seen till us’d. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. A street. + + Enter Othello’s Herald with a proclamation. + +HERALD. +It is Othello’s pleasure, our noble and valiant general, that upon +certain tidings now arrived, importing the mere perdition of the +Turkish fleet, every man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some +to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels his addition leads +him. For besides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his +nuptial. So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are +open, and there is full liberty of feasting from this present hour of +five till the bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus +and our noble general Othello! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A Hall in the Castle. + + Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and Attendants. + +OTHELLO. +Good Michael, look you to the guard tonight. +Let’s teach ourselves that honourable stop, +Not to outsport discretion. + +CASSIO. +Iago hath direction what to do. +But notwithstanding with my personal eye +Will I look to’t. + +OTHELLO. +Iago is most honest. +Michael, good night. Tomorrow with your earliest +Let me have speech with you. [_To Desdemona._] Come, my dear love, +The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; +That profit’s yet to come ’tween me and you.— +Good night. + + [_Exeunt Othello, Desdemona and Attendants._] + + Enter Iago. + +CASSIO. +Welcome, Iago. We must to the watch. + +IAGO. +Not this hour, lieutenant. ’Tis not yet ten o’ th’ clock. Our general +cast us thus early for the love of his Desdemona; who let us not +therefore blame: he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and +she is sport for Jove. + +CASSIO. +She’s a most exquisite lady. + +IAGO. +And, I’ll warrant her, full of game. + +CASSIO. +Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature. + +IAGO. +What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley to provocation. + +CASSIO. +An inviting eye, and yet methinks right modest. + +IAGO. +And when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love? + +CASSIO. +She is indeed perfection. + +IAGO. +Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of +wine; and here without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that would fain +have a measure to the health of black Othello. + +CASSIO. +Not tonight, good Iago. I have very poor and unhappy brains for +drinking. I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of +entertainment. + +IAGO. +O, they are our friends; but one cup: I’ll drink for you. + +CASSIO. +I have drunk but one cup tonight, and that was craftily qualified too, +and behold, what innovation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the +infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more. + +IAGO. +What, man! ’Tis a night of revels. The gallants desire it. + +CASSIO. +Where are they? + +IAGO. +Here at the door. I pray you, call them in. + +CASSIO. +I’ll do’t; but it dislikes me. + + [_Exit._] + +IAGO. +If I can fasten but one cup upon him, +With that which he hath drunk tonight already, +He’ll be as full of quarrel and offence +As my young mistress’ dog. Now my sick fool Roderigo, +Whom love hath turn’d almost the wrong side out, +To Desdemona hath tonight carous’d +Potations pottle-deep; and he’s to watch: +Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits, +That hold their honours in a wary distance, +The very elements of this warlike isle, +Have I tonight fluster’d with flowing cups, +And they watch too. Now, ’mongst this flock of drunkards, +Am I to put our Cassio in some action +That may offend the isle. But here they come: +If consequence do but approve my dream, +My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. + + Enter Cassio, Montano and Gentlemen; followed by Servant with wine. + +CASSIO. +’Fore God, they have given me a rouse already. + +MONTANO. +Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier. + +IAGO. +Some wine, ho! +[_Sings._] + + _And let me the cannikin clink, clink, + And let me the cannikin clink, clink: + A soldier’s a man, + O, man’s life’s but a span, + Why then let a soldier drink._ + +Some wine, boys! + +CASSIO. +’Fore God, an excellent song. + +IAGO. +I learned it in England, where indeed they are most potent in potting: +your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,—drink, ho!—are +nothing to your English. + +CASSIO. +Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking? + +IAGO. +Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not +to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit ere the next +pottle can be filled. + +CASSIO. +To the health of our general! + +MONTANO. +I am for it, lieutenant; and I’ll do you justice. + +IAGO. +O sweet England! + +[_Sings._] + + _King Stephen was a worthy peer, + His breeches cost him but a crown; + He held them sixpence all too dear, + With that he call’d the tailor lown. + He was a wight of high renown, + And thou art but of low degree: + ’Tis pride that pulls the country down, + Then take thine auld cloak about thee._ + +Some wine, ho! + +CASSIO. +’Fore God, this is a more exquisite song than the other. + +IAGO. +Will you hear ’t again? + +CASSIO. +No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. +Well, God’s above all, and there be souls must be saved, and there be +souls must not be saved. + +IAGO. +It’s true, good lieutenant. + +CASSIO. +For mine own part, no offence to the general, nor any man of quality, I +hope to be saved. + +IAGO. +And so do I too, lieutenant. + +CASSIO. +Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved +before the ancient. Let’s have no more of this; let’s to our affairs. +Forgive us our sins! Gentlemen, let’s look to our business. Do not +think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my ancient, this is my right +hand, and this is my left. I am not drunk now. I can stand well enough, +and I speak well enough. + +ALL. +Excellent well. + +CASSIO. +Why, very well then. You must not think, then, that I am drunk. + + [_Exit._] + +MONTANO. +To the platform, masters. Come, let’s set the watch. + +IAGO. +You see this fellow that is gone before, +He is a soldier fit to stand by Cæsar +And give direction: and do but see his vice, +’Tis to his virtue a just equinox, +The one as long as th’ other. ’Tis pity of him. +I fear the trust Othello puts him in, +On some odd time of his infirmity, +Will shake this island. + +MONTANO. +But is he often thus? + +IAGO. +’Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: +He’ll watch the horologe a double set +If drink rock not his cradle. + +MONTANO. +It were well +The general were put in mind of it. +Perhaps he sees it not, or his good nature +Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, +And looks not on his evils: is not this true? + + Enter Roderigo. + +IAGO. +[_Aside to him._] How now, Roderigo? +I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. + + [_Exit Roderigo._] + +MONTANO. +And ’tis great pity that the noble Moor +Should hazard such a place as his own second +With one of an ingraft infirmity: +It were an honest action to say so +To the Moor. + +IAGO. +Not I, for this fair island. +I do love Cassio well and would do much +To cure him of this evil. But, hark! What noise? + +[_Cry within_: “Help! help!”] + + Enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. + +CASSIO. +Zounds, you rogue, you rascal! + +MONTANO. +What’s the matter, lieutenant? + +CASSIO. +A knave teach me my duty! I’ll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. + +RODERIGO. +Beat me? + +CASSIO. +Dost thou prate, rogue? + + [_Striking Roderigo._] + +MONTANO. +Nay, good lieutenant; +I pray you, sir, hold your hand. + +CASSIO. +Let me go, sir, +Or I’ll knock you o’er the mazard. + +MONTANO. +Come, come, you’re drunk. + +CASSIO. +Drunk? + + [_They fight._] + +IAGO. +[_Aside to Roderigo._] Away, I say! Go out and cry a mutiny. + + [_Exit Roderigo._] + +Nay, good lieutenant, God’s will, gentlemen. +Help, ho!—Lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—sir:— +Help, masters! Here’s a goodly watch indeed! + + [_A bell rings._] + +Who’s that which rings the bell?—Diablo, ho! +The town will rise. God’s will, lieutenant, hold, +You will be sham’d forever. + + Enter Othello and Attendants. + +OTHELLO. +What is the matter here? + +MONTANO. +Zounds, I bleed still, I am hurt to the death. + +OTHELLO. +Hold, for your lives! + +IAGO. +Hold, ho! lieutenant,—sir,—Montano,—gentlemen,— +Have you forgot all place of sense and duty? +Hold! The general speaks to you; hold, hold, for shame! + +OTHELLO. +Why, how now, ho! From whence ariseth this? +Are we turn’d Turks, and to ourselves do that +Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? +For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: +He that stirs next to carve for his own rage +Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. +Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle +From her propriety. What is the matter, masters? +Honest Iago, that looks dead with grieving, +Speak, who began this? On thy love, I charge thee. + +IAGO. +I do not know. Friends all but now, even now, +In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom +Devesting them for bed; and then, but now, +As if some planet had unwitted men, +Swords out, and tilting one at other’s breast, +In opposition bloody. I cannot speak +Any beginning to this peevish odds; +And would in action glorious I had lost +Those legs that brought me to a part of it! + +OTHELLO. +How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot? + +CASSIO. +I pray you, pardon me; I cannot speak. + +OTHELLO. +Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil. +The gravity and stillness of your youth +The world hath noted, and your name is great +In mouths of wisest censure: what’s the matter, +That you unlace your reputation thus, +And spend your rich opinion for the name +Of a night-brawler? Give me answer to it. + +MONTANO. +Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger. +Your officer, Iago, can inform you, +While I spare speech, which something now offends me, +Of all that I do know; nor know I aught +By me that’s said or done amiss this night, +Unless self-charity be sometimes a vice, +And to defend ourselves it be a sin +When violence assails us. + +OTHELLO. +Now, by heaven, +My blood begins my safer guides to rule, +And passion, having my best judgement collied, +Assays to lead the way. Zounds, if I stir, +Or do but lift this arm, the best of you +Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know +How this foul rout began, who set it on, +And he that is approv’d in this offence, +Though he had twinn’d with me, both at a birth, +Shall lose me. What! in a town of war, +Yet wild, the people’s hearts brimful of fear, +To manage private and domestic quarrel, +In night, and on the court and guard of safety? +’Tis monstrous. Iago, who began’t? + +MONTANO. +If partially affin’d, or leagu’d in office, +Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, +Thou art no soldier. + +IAGO. +Touch me not so near. +I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth +Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio. +Yet I persuade myself, to speak the truth +Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general: +Montano and myself being in speech, +There comes a fellow crying out for help, +And Cassio following him with determin’d sword, +To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman +Steps in to Cassio and entreats his pause. +Myself the crying fellow did pursue, +Lest by his clamour (as it so fell out) +The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, +Outran my purpose: and I return’d the rather +For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, +And Cassio high in oath, which till tonight +I ne’er might say before. When I came back, +(For this was brief) I found them close together, +At blow and thrust, even as again they were +When you yourself did part them. +More of this matter cannot I report. +But men are men; the best sometimes forget; +Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, +As men in rage strike those that wish them best, +Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv’d +From him that fled some strange indignity, +Which patience could not pass. + +OTHELLO. +I know, Iago, +Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, +Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee, +But never more be officer of mine. + + Enter Desdemona, attended. + +Look, if my gentle love be not rais’d up! +I’ll make thee an example. + +DESDEMONA. +What’s the matter? + +OTHELLO. +All’s well now, sweeting; come away to bed. +Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your surgeon. +Lead him off. + + [_Montano is led off._] + +Iago, look with care about the town, +And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. +Come, Desdemona: ’tis the soldiers’ life +To have their balmy slumbers wak’d with strife. + + [_Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio._] + +IAGO. +What, are you hurt, lieutenant? + +CASSIO. +Ay, past all surgery. + +IAGO. +Marry, Heaven forbid! + +CASSIO. +Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I +have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My +reputation, Iago, my reputation! + +IAGO. +As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; +there is more sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an idle +and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without +deserving. You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute +yourself such a loser. What, man, there are ways to recover the general +again: you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy +than in malice, even so as one would beat his offenceless dog to +affright an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he’s yours. + +CASSIO. +I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good a commander +with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and +speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with +one’s own shadow? O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name +to be known by, let us call thee devil! + +IAGO. +What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? + +CASSIO. +I know not. + +IAGO. +Is’t possible? + +CASSIO. +I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but +nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths +to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel, +and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! + +IAGO. +Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered? + +CASSIO. +It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath. +One unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. + +IAGO. +Come, you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, and the +condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not +befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. + +CASSIO. +I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I am a drunkard! +Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To +be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O +strange! Every inordinate cup is unbless’d, and the ingredient is a +devil. + +IAGO. +Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used. +Exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I +love you. + +CASSIO. +I have well approved it, sir.—I drunk! + +IAGO. +You, or any man living, may be drunk at a time, man. I’ll tell you what +you shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general; I may say so in +this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up himself to the +contemplation, mark, and denotement of her parts and graces. Confess +yourself freely to her. Importune her help to put you in your place +again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, +she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is +requested. This broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to +splinter, and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of +your love shall grow stronger than it was before. + +CASSIO. +You advise me well. + +IAGO. +I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. + +CASSIO. +I think it freely; and betimes in the morning I will beseech the +virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes +if they check me here. + +IAGO. +You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant, I must to the watch. + +CASSIO. +Good night, honest Iago. + + [_Exit._] + +IAGO. +And what’s he then, that says I play the villain? +When this advice is free I give and honest, +Probal to thinking, and indeed the course +To win the Moor again? For ’tis most easy +The inclining Desdemona to subdue +In any honest suit. She’s fram’d as fruitful +As the free elements. And then for her +To win the Moor, were’t to renounce his baptism, +All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, +His soul is so enfetter’d to her love +That she may make, unmake, do what she list, +Even as her appetite shall play the god +With his weak function. How am I then, a villain +To counsel Cassio to this parallel course, +Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! +When devils will the blackest sins put on, +They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, +As I do now: for whiles this honest fool +Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune, +And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, +I’ll pour this pestilence into his ear, +That she repeals him for her body’s lust; +And by how much she strives to do him good, +She shall undo her credit with the Moor. +So will I turn her virtue into pitch, +And out of her own goodness make the net +That shall enmesh them all. + + Enter Roderigo. + +How now, Roderigo? + +RODERIGO. +I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound that hunts, but one +that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent, I have been tonight +exceedingly well cudgelled; and I think the issue will be, I shall have +so much experience for my pains, and so, with no money at all and a +little more wit, return again to Venice. + +IAGO. +How poor are they that have not patience! +What wound did ever heal but by degrees? +Thou know’st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft, +And wit depends on dilatory time. +Does’t not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, +And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier’d Cassio; +Though other things grow fair against the sun, +Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe. +Content thyself awhile. By the mass, ’tis morning; +Pleasure and action make the hours seem short. +Retire thee; go where thou art billeted. +Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter. +Nay, get thee gone. + + [_Exit Roderigo._] + +Two things are to be done, +My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress. +I’ll set her on; +Myself the while to draw the Moor apart, +And bring him jump when he may Cassio find +Soliciting his wife. Ay, that’s the way. +Dull not device by coldness and delay. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle. + + Enter Cassio and some Musicians. + +CASSIO. +Masters, play here, I will content your pains, +Something that’s brief; and bid “Good morrow, general.” + + [_Music._] + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +Why, masters, have your instruments been in Naples, that they speak i’ +the nose thus? + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +How, sir, how? + +CLOWN. +Are these, I pray you, wind instruments? + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Ay, marry, are they, sir. + +CLOWN. +O, thereby hangs a tail. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Whereby hangs a tale, sir? + +CLOWN. +Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here’s +money for you: and the general so likes your music, that he desires +you, for love’s sake, to make no more noise with it. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Well, sir, we will not. + +CLOWN. +If you have any music that may not be heard, to’t again. But, as they +say, to hear music the general does not greatly care. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +We have none such, sir. + +CLOWN. +Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I’ll away. Go, vanish into air, +away! + + [_Exeunt Musicians._] + +CASSIO. +Dost thou hear, mine honest friend? + +CLOWN. +No, I hear not your honest friend. I hear you. + +CASSIO. +Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There’s a poor piece of gold for thee: +if the gentlewoman that attends the general’s wife be stirring, tell +her there’s one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech. Wilt +thou do this? + +CLOWN. +She is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify +unto her. + +CASSIO. +Do, good my friend. + + [_Exit Clown._] + + Enter Iago. + +In happy time, Iago. + +IAGO. +You have not been a-bed, then? + +CASSIO. +Why, no. The day had broke +Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, +To send in to your wife. My suit to her +Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona +Procure me some access. + +IAGO. +I’ll send her to you presently, +And I’ll devise a mean to draw the Moor +Out of the way, that your converse and business +May be more free. + +CASSIO. +I humbly thank you for’t. + + [_Exit Iago._] + +I never knew +A Florentine more kind and honest. + + Enter Emilia. + +EMILIA. +Good morrow, good lieutenant; I am sorry +For your displeasure, but all will sure be well. +The general and his wife are talking of it, +And she speaks for you stoutly: the Moor replies +That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus +And great affinity, and that in wholesome wisdom +He might not but refuse you; but he protests he loves you +And needs no other suitor but his likings +To take the safest occasion by the front +To bring you in again. + +CASSIO. +Yet, I beseech you, +If you think fit, or that it may be done, +Give me advantage of some brief discourse +With Desdemona alone. + +EMILIA. +Pray you, come in. +I will bestow you where you shall have time +To speak your bosom freely. + +CASSIO. +I am much bound to you. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle. + + Enter Othello, Iago and Gentlemen. + +OTHELLO. +These letters give, Iago, to the pilot, +And by him do my duties to the senate. +That done, I will be walking on the works, +Repair there to me. + +IAGO. +Well, my good lord, I’ll do’t. + +OTHELLO. +This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see’t? + +GENTLEMEN. +We’ll wait upon your lordship. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle. + + Enter Desdemona, Cassio and Emilia. + +DESDEMONA. +Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will do +All my abilities in thy behalf. + +EMILIA. +Good madam, do. I warrant it grieves my husband +As if the cause were his. + +DESDEMONA. +O, that’s an honest fellow. Do not doubt, Cassio, +But I will have my lord and you again +As friendly as you were. + +CASSIO. +Bounteous madam, +Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, +He’s never anything but your true servant. + +DESDEMONA. +I know’t. I thank you. You do love my lord. +You have known him long; and be you well assur’d +He shall in strangeness stand no farther off +Than in a politic distance. + +CASSIO. +Ay, but, lady, +That policy may either last so long, +Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, +Or breed itself so out of circumstance, +That, I being absent, and my place supplied, +My general will forget my love and service. + +DESDEMONA. +Do not doubt that. Before Emilia here +I give thee warrant of thy place. Assure thee, +If I do vow a friendship, I’ll perform it +To the last article. My lord shall never rest, +I’ll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience; +His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; +I’ll intermingle everything he does +With Cassio’s suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio, +For thy solicitor shall rather die +Than give thy cause away. + + Enter Othello and Iago. + +EMILIA. +Madam, here comes my lord. + +CASSIO. +Madam, I’ll take my leave. + +DESDEMONA. +Why, stay, and hear me speak. + +CASSIO. +Madam, not now. I am very ill at ease, +Unfit for mine own purposes. + +DESDEMONA. +Well, do your discretion. + + [_Exit Cassio._] + +IAGO. +Ha, I like not that. + +OTHELLO. +What dost thou say? + +IAGO. +Nothing, my lord; or if—I know not what. + +OTHELLO. +Was not that Cassio parted from my wife? + +IAGO. +Cassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it, +That he would steal away so guilty-like, +Seeing you coming. + +OTHELLO. +I do believe ’twas he. + +DESDEMONA. +How now, my lord? +I have been talking with a suitor here, +A man that languishes in your displeasure. + +OTHELLO. +Who is’t you mean? + +DESDEMONA. +Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, +If I have any grace or power to move you, +His present reconciliation take; +For if he be not one that truly loves you, +That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, +I have no judgement in an honest face. +I prithee call him back. + +OTHELLO. +Went he hence now? + +DESDEMONA. +Ay, sooth; so humbled +That he hath left part of his grief with me +To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. + +OTHELLO. +Not now, sweet Desdemon, some other time. + +DESDEMONA. +But shall’t be shortly? + +OTHELLO. +The sooner, sweet, for you. + +DESDEMONA. +Shall’t be tonight at supper? + +OTHELLO. +No, not tonight. + +DESDEMONA. +Tomorrow dinner then? + +OTHELLO. +I shall not dine at home; +I meet the captains at the citadel. + +DESDEMONA. +Why then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn, +On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn. +I prithee name the time, but let it not +Exceed three days. In faith, he’s penitent; +And yet his trespass, in our common reason, +(Save that, they say, the wars must make examples +Out of their best) is not almost a fault +To incur a private check. When shall he come? +Tell me, Othello: I wonder in my soul, +What you would ask me, that I should deny, +Or stand so mammering on. What? Michael Cassio, +That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time, +When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, +Hath ta’en your part, to have so much to do +To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much. + +OTHELLO. +Prithee no more. Let him come when he will; +I will deny thee nothing. + +DESDEMONA. +Why, this is not a boon; +’Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, +Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm, +Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit +To your own person: nay, when I have a suit +Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, +It shall be full of poise and difficult weight, +And fearful to be granted. + +OTHELLO. +I will deny thee nothing. +Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, +To leave me but a little to myself. + +DESDEMONA. +Shall I deny you? No, farewell, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +Farewell, my Desdemona. I’ll come to thee straight. + +DESDEMONA. +Emilia, come. Be as your fancies teach you. +Whate’er you be, I am obedient. + + [_Exit with Emilia._] + +OTHELLO. +Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, +But I do love thee! And when I love thee not, +Chaos is come again. + +IAGO. +My noble lord,— + +OTHELLO. +What dost thou say, Iago? + +IAGO. +Did Michael Cassio, when you woo’d my lady, +Know of your love? + +OTHELLO. +He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask? + +IAGO. +But for a satisfaction of my thought. +No further harm. + +OTHELLO. +Why of thy thought, Iago? + +IAGO. +I did not think he had been acquainted with her. + +OTHELLO. +O yes, and went between us very oft. + +IAGO. +Indeed? + +OTHELLO. +Indeed? Ay, indeed. Discern’st thou aught in that? +Is he not honest? + +IAGO. +Honest, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +Honest? ay, honest. + +IAGO. +My lord, for aught I know. + +OTHELLO. +What dost thou think? + +IAGO. +Think, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +Think, my lord? By heaven, he echoes me, +As if there were some monster in his thought +Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something. +I heard thee say even now, thou lik’st not that, +When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like? +And when I told thee he was of my counsel +In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, “Indeed?” +And didst contract and purse thy brow together, +As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain +Some horrible conceit: if thou dost love me, +Show me thy thought. + +IAGO. +My lord, you know I love you. + +OTHELLO. +I think thou dost; +And for I know thou’rt full of love and honesty +And weigh’st thy words before thou giv’st them breath, +Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: +For such things in a false disloyal knave +Are tricks of custom; but in a man that’s just, +They’re close dilations, working from the heart, +That passion cannot rule. + +IAGO. +For Michael Cassio, +I dare be sworn I think that he is honest. + +OTHELLO. +I think so too. + +IAGO. +Men should be what they seem; +Or those that be not, would they might seem none! + +OTHELLO. +Certain, men should be what they seem. + +IAGO. +Why then, I think Cassio’s an honest man. + +OTHELLO. +Nay, yet there’s more in this: +I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, +As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts +The worst of words. + +IAGO. +Good my lord, pardon me. +Though I am bound to every act of duty, +I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. +Utter my thoughts? Why, say they are vile and false: +As where’s that palace whereinto foul things +Sometimes intrude not? Who has a breast so pure +But some uncleanly apprehensions +Keep leets and law-days, and in session sit +With meditations lawful? + +OTHELLO. +Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, +If thou but think’st him wrong’d and mak’st his ear +A stranger to thy thoughts. + +IAGO. +I do beseech you, +Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, +As, I confess, it is my nature’s plague +To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy +Shapes faults that are not,—that your wisdom +From one that so imperfectly conceits, +Would take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble +Out of his scattering and unsure observance. +It were not for your quiet nor your good, +Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, +To let you know my thoughts. + +OTHELLO. +What dost thou mean? + +IAGO. +Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, +Is the immediate jewel of their souls. +Who steals my purse steals trash. ’Tis something, nothing; +’Twas mine, ’tis his, and has been slave to thousands. +But he that filches from me my good name +Robs me of that which not enriches him +And makes me poor indeed. + +OTHELLO. +By heaven, I’ll know thy thoughts. + +IAGO. +You cannot, if my heart were in your hand, +Nor shall not, whilst ’tis in my custody. + +OTHELLO. +Ha? + +IAGO. +O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; +It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock +The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss +Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; +But O, what damned minutes tells he o’er +Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves! + +OTHELLO. +O misery! + +IAGO. +Poor and content is rich, and rich enough; +But riches fineless is as poor as winter +To him that ever fears he shall be poor. +Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend +From jealousy! + +OTHELLO. +Why, why is this? +Think’st thou I’d make a life of jealousy, +To follow still the changes of the moon +With fresh suspicions? No. To be once in doubt +Is once to be resolv’d: exchange me for a goat +When I shall turn the business of my soul +To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, +Matching thy inference. ’Tis not to make me jealous, +To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, +Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; +Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: +Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw +The smallest fear or doubt of her revolt, +For she had eyes, and chose me. No, Iago, +I’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; +And on the proof, there is no more but this: +Away at once with love or jealousy! + +IAGO. +I am glad of it, for now I shall have reason +To show the love and duty that I bear you +With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, +Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. +Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; +Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure. +I would not have your free and noble nature, +Out of self-bounty, be abus’d. Look to’t. +I know our country disposition well; +In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks +They dare not show their husbands. Their best conscience +Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown. + +OTHELLO. +Dost thou say so? + +IAGO. +She did deceive her father, marrying you; +And when she seem’d to shake and fear your looks, +She loved them most. + +OTHELLO. +And so she did. + +IAGO. +Why, go to then. +She that so young could give out such a seeming, +To seal her father’s eyes up close as oak, +He thought ’twas witchcraft. But I am much to blame. +I humbly do beseech you of your pardon +For too much loving you. + +OTHELLO. +I am bound to thee for ever. + +IAGO. +I see this hath a little dash’d your spirits. + +OTHELLO. +Not a jot, not a jot. + +IAGO. +Trust me, I fear it has. +I hope you will consider what is spoke +Comes from my love. But I do see you’re mov’d. +I am to pray you not to strain my speech +To grosser issues nor to larger reach +Than to suspicion. + +OTHELLO. +I will not. + +IAGO. +Should you do so, my lord, +My speech should fall into such vile success +Which my thoughts aim’d not. Cassio’s my worthy friend. +My lord, I see you’re mov’d. + +OTHELLO. +No, not much mov’d. +I do not think but Desdemona’s honest. + +IAGO. +Long live she so! And long live you to think so! + +OTHELLO. +And yet, how nature erring from itself— + +IAGO. +Ay, there’s the point. As, to be bold with you, +Not to affect many proposed matches, +Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, +Whereto we see in all things nature tends; +Foh! One may smell in such a will most rank, +Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. +But pardon me: I do not in position +Distinctly speak of her, though I may fear +Her will, recoiling to her better judgement, +May fall to match you with her country forms, +And happily repent. + +OTHELLO. +Farewell, farewell: +If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; +Set on thy wife to observe. Leave me, Iago. + +IAGO. +[_Going._] My lord, I take my leave. + +OTHELLO. +Why did I marry? This honest creature doubtless +Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. + +IAGO. +[_Returning._] My lord, I would I might entreat your honour +To scan this thing no further. Leave it to time: +Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, +For sure he fills it up with great ability, +Yet if you please to hold him off awhile, +You shall by that perceive him and his means. +Note if your lady strain his entertainment +With any strong or vehement importunity, +Much will be seen in that. In the meantime, +Let me be thought too busy in my fears +(As worthy cause I have to fear I am) +And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. + +OTHELLO. +Fear not my government. + +IAGO. +I once more take my leave. + + [_Exit._] + +OTHELLO. +This fellow’s of exceeding honesty, +And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, +Of human dealings. If I do prove her haggard, +Though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings, +I’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind +To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black, +And have not those soft parts of conversation +That chamberers have, or for I am declin’d +Into the vale of years,—yet that’s not much— +She’s gone, I am abus’d, and my relief +Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, +That we can call these delicate creatures ours, +And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, +And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, +Than keep a corner in the thing I love +For others’ uses. Yet, ’tis the plague of great ones, +Prerogativ’d are they less than the base, +’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death: +Even then this forked plague is fated to us +When we do quicken. Desdemona comes. +If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! +I’ll not believe’t. + + Enter Desdemona and Emilia. + +DESDEMONA. +How now, my dear Othello? +Your dinner, and the generous islanders +By you invited, do attend your presence. + +OTHELLO. +I am to blame. + +DESDEMONA. +Why do you speak so faintly? +Are you not well? + +OTHELLO. +I have a pain upon my forehead here. + +DESDEMONA. +Faith, that’s with watching, ’twill away again; +Let me but bind it hard, within this hour +It will be well. + +OTHELLO. +Your napkin is too little; + + [_He puts the handkerchief from him, and she drops it._] + +Let it alone. Come, I’ll go in with you. + +DESDEMONA. +I am very sorry that you are not well. + + [_Exeunt Othello and Desdemona._] + +EMILIA. +I am glad I have found this napkin; +This was her first remembrance from the Moor. +My wayward husband hath a hundred times +Woo’d me to steal it. But she so loves the token, +For he conjur’d her she should ever keep it, +That she reserves it evermore about her +To kiss and talk to. I’ll have the work ta’en out, +And give’t Iago. What he will do with it +Heaven knows, not I, +I nothing but to please his fantasy. + + Enter Iago. + +IAGO. +How now? What do you here alone? + +EMILIA. +Do not you chide. I have a thing for you. + +IAGO. +A thing for me? It is a common thing— + +EMILIA. +Ha? + +IAGO. +To have a foolish wife. + +EMILIA. +O, is that all? What will you give me now +For that same handkerchief? + +IAGO. +What handkerchief? + +EMILIA. +What handkerchief? +Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona, +That which so often you did bid me steal. + +IAGO. +Hast stol’n it from her? + +EMILIA. +No, faith, she let it drop by negligence, +And, to the advantage, I being here, took ’t up. +Look, here it is. + +IAGO. +A good wench, give it me. + +EMILIA. +What will you do with’t, that you have been so earnest +To have me filch it? + +IAGO. +[_Snatching it._] Why, what’s that to you? + +EMILIA. +If it be not for some purpose of import, +Give ’t me again. Poor lady, she’ll run mad +When she shall lack it. + +IAGO. +Be not acknown on’t, I have use for it. +Go, leave me. + + [_Exit Emilia._] + +I will in Cassio’s lodging lose this napkin, +And let him find it. Trifles light as air +Are to the jealous confirmations strong +As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. +The Moor already changes with my poison: +Dangerous conceits are in their natures poisons, +Which at the first are scarce found to distaste, +But with a little act upon the blood +Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so. + + Enter Othello. + +Look, where he comes. Not poppy, nor mandragora, +Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, +Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep +Which thou ow’dst yesterday. + +OTHELLO. +Ha! ha! false to me? + +IAGO. +Why, how now, general? No more of that. + +OTHELLO. +Avaunt! be gone! Thou hast set me on the rack. +I swear ’tis better to be much abus’d +Than but to know’t a little. + +IAGO. +How now, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +What sense had I of her stol’n hours of lust? +I saw’t not, thought it not, it harm’d not me. +I slept the next night well, was free and merry; +I found not Cassio’s kisses on her lips. +He that is robb’d, not wanting what is stol’n, +Let him not know’t, and he’s not robb’d at all. + +IAGO. +I am sorry to hear this. + +OTHELLO. +I had been happy if the general camp, +Pioners and all, had tasted her sweet body, +So I had nothing known. O, now, for ever +Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content! +Farewell the plumed troops and the big wars +That make ambition virtue! O, farewell, +Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, +The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, +The royal banner, and all quality, +Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! +And, O you mortal engines, whose rude throats +The immortal Jove’s dread clamours counterfeit, +Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone! + +IAGO. +Is’t possible, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; +Be sure of it. Give me the ocular proof, +Or, by the worth of man’s eternal soul, +Thou hadst been better have been born a dog +Than answer my wak’d wrath. + +IAGO. +Is’t come to this? + +OTHELLO. +Make me to see’t, or at the least so prove it, +That the probation bear no hinge nor loop +To hang a doubt on, or woe upon thy life! + +IAGO. +My noble lord,— + +OTHELLO. +If thou dost slander her and torture me, +Never pray more. Abandon all remorse; +On horror’s head horrors accumulate; +Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz’d; +For nothing canst thou to damnation add +Greater than that. + +IAGO. +O grace! O heaven defend me! +Are you a man? Have you a soul or sense? +God be wi’ you. Take mine office.—O wretched fool, +That liv’st to make thine honesty a vice! +O monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world, +To be direct and honest is not safe. +I thank you for this profit, and from hence +I’ll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. + +OTHELLO. +Nay, stay. Thou shouldst be honest. + +IAGO. +I should be wise; for honesty’s a fool, +And loses that it works for. + +OTHELLO. +By the world, +I think my wife be honest, and think she is not. +I think that thou art just, and think thou art not. +I’ll have some proof: her name, that was as fresh +As Dian’s visage, is now begrim’d and black +As mine own face. If there be cords or knives, +Poison or fire, or suffocating streams, +I’ll not endure ’t. Would I were satisfied! + +IAGO. +I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion. +I do repent me that I put it to you. +You would be satisfied? + +OTHELLO. +Would? Nay, I will. + +IAGO. +And may; but how? How satisfied, my lord? +Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on, +Behold her topp’d? + +OTHELLO. +Death and damnation! O! + +IAGO. +It were a tedious difficulty, I think, +To bring them to that prospect. Damn them then, +If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster +More than their own! What then? How then? +What shall I say? Where’s satisfaction? +It is impossible you should see this, +Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, +As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross +As ignorance made drunk. But yet I say, +If imputation and strong circumstances, +Which lead directly to the door of truth, +Will give you satisfaction, you may have’t. + +OTHELLO. +Give me a living reason she’s disloyal. + +IAGO. +I do not like the office, +But sith I am enter’d in this cause so far, +Prick’d to ’t by foolish honesty and love, +I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately, +And being troubled with a raging tooth, +I could not sleep. +There are a kind of men so loose of soul, +That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs. +One of this kind is Cassio: +In sleep I heard him say, “Sweet Desdemona, +Let us be wary, let us hide our loves;” +And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, +Cry “O sweet creature!” and then kiss me hard, +As if he pluck’d up kisses by the roots, +That grew upon my lips, then laid his leg +Over my thigh, and sigh’d and kiss’d, and then +Cried “Cursed fate that gave thee to the Moor!” + +OTHELLO. +O monstrous! monstrous! + +IAGO. +Nay, this was but his dream. + +OTHELLO. +But this denoted a foregone conclusion. +’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. + +IAGO. +And this may help to thicken other proofs +That do demonstrate thinly. + +OTHELLO. +I’ll tear her all to pieces. + +IAGO. +Nay, but be wise. Yet we see nothing done, +She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, +Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief +Spotted with strawberries in your wife’s hand? + +OTHELLO. +I gave her such a one, ’twas my first gift. + +IAGO. +I know not that: but such a handkerchief +(I am sure it was your wife’s) did I today +See Cassio wipe his beard with. + +OTHELLO. +If it be that,— + +IAGO. +If it be that, or any that was hers, +It speaks against her with the other proofs. + +OTHELLO. +O, that the slave had forty thousand lives! +One is too poor, too weak for my revenge! +Now do I see ’tis true. Look here, Iago; +All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. +’Tis gone. +Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow hell! +Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne +To tyrannous hate! Swell, bosom, with thy fraught, +For ’tis of aspics’ tongues! + +IAGO. +Yet be content. + +OTHELLO. +O, blood, Iago, blood! + +IAGO. +Patience, I say. Your mind perhaps may change. + +OTHELLO. +Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea, +Whose icy current and compulsive course +Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on +To the Propontic and the Hellespont; +Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace +Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love, +Till that a capable and wide revenge +Swallow them up. Now by yond marble heaven, +In the due reverence of a sacred vow [_Kneels._] +I here engage my words. + +IAGO. +Do not rise yet. [_Kneels._] +Witness, you ever-burning lights above, +You elements that clip us round about, +Witness that here Iago doth give up +The execution of his wit, hands, heart, +To wrong’d Othello’s service! Let him command, +And to obey shall be in me remorse, +What bloody business ever. + + [_They rise._] + +OTHELLO. +I greet thy love, +Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, +And will upon the instant put thee to ’t. +Within these three days let me hear thee say +That Cassio’s not alive. + +IAGO. +My friend is dead. ’Tis done at your request. +But let her live. + +OTHELLO. +Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her, damn her! +Come, go with me apart, I will withdraw +To furnish me with some swift means of death +For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. + +IAGO. +I am your own for ever. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle. + + Enter Desdemona, Emilia and Clown. + +DESDEMONA. +Do you know, sirrah, where Lieutenant Cassio lies? + +CLOWN. +I dare not say he lies anywhere. + +DESDEMONA. +Why, man? + +CLOWN. +He’s a soldier; and for one to say a soldier lies is stabbing. + +DESDEMONA. +Go to. Where lodges he? + +CLOWN. +To tell you where he lodges is to tell you where I lie. + +DESDEMONA. +Can anything be made of this? + +CLOWN. +I know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say he +lies here, or he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. + +DESDEMONA. +Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report? + +CLOWN. +I will catechize the world for him, that is, make questions and by them +answer. + +DESDEMONA. +Seek him, bid him come hither. Tell him I have moved my lord on his +behalf, and hope all will be well. + +CLOWN. +To do this is within the compass of man’s wit, and therefore I will +attempt the doing it. + + [_Exit._] + +DESDEMONA. +Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia? + +EMILIA. +I know not, madam. + +DESDEMONA. +Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse +Full of crusadoes. And but my noble Moor +Is true of mind and made of no such baseness +As jealous creatures are, it were enough +To put him to ill thinking. + +EMILIA. +Is he not jealous? + +DESDEMONA. +Who, he? I think the sun where he was born +Drew all such humours from him. + +EMILIA. +Look, where he comes. + + Enter Othello. + +DESDEMONA. +I will not leave him now till Cassio +Be call’d to him. How is’t with you, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +Well, my good lady. [_Aside._] O, hardness to dissemble! +How do you, Desdemona? + +DESDEMONA. +Well, my good lord. + +OTHELLO. +Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady. + +DESDEMONA. +It yet hath felt no age nor known no sorrow. + +OTHELLO. +This argues fruitfulness and liberal heart. +Hot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires +A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, +Much castigation, exercise devout; +For here’s a young and sweating devil here +That commonly rebels. ’Tis a good hand, +A frank one. + +DESDEMONA. +You may indeed say so, +For ’twas that hand that gave away my heart. + +OTHELLO. +A liberal hand. The hearts of old gave hands, +But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts. + +DESDEMONA. +I cannot speak of this. Come now, your promise. + +OTHELLO. +What promise, chuck? + +DESDEMONA. +I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. + +OTHELLO. +I have a salt and sorry rheum offends me. +Lend me thy handkerchief. + +DESDEMONA. +Here, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +That which I gave you. + +DESDEMONA. +I have it not about me. + +OTHELLO. +Not? + +DESDEMONA. +No, faith, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +That is a fault. That handkerchief +Did an Egyptian to my mother give. +She was a charmer, and could almost read +The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it, +’Twould make her amiable and subdue my father +Entirely to her love. But if she lost it, +Or made a gift of it, my father’s eye +Should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt +After new fancies: she, dying, gave it me, +And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, +To give it her. I did so; and take heed on’t, +Make it a darling like your precious eye. +To lose’t or give’t away were such perdition +As nothing else could match. + +DESDEMONA. +Is’t possible? + +OTHELLO. +’Tis true. There’s magic in the web of it. +A sibyl, that had number’d in the world +The sun to course two hundred compasses, +In her prophetic fury sew’d the work; +The worms were hallow’d that did breed the silk, +And it was dyed in mummy, which the skillful +Conserv’d of maiden’s hearts. + +DESDEMONA. +Indeed? Is’t true? + +OTHELLO. +Most veritable, therefore look to ’t well. + +DESDEMONA. +Then would to God that I had never seen ’t! + +OTHELLO. +Ha? wherefore? + +DESDEMONA. +Why do you speak so startingly and rash? + +OTHELLO. +Is’t lost? is’t gone? speak, is it out of the way? + +DESDEMONA. +Heaven bless us! + +OTHELLO. +Say you? + +DESDEMONA. +It is not lost, but what and if it were? + +OTHELLO. +How? + +DESDEMONA. +I say it is not lost. + +OTHELLO. +Fetch’t, let me see ’t. + +DESDEMONA. +Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now. +This is a trick to put me from my suit. +Pray you, let Cassio be receiv’d again. + +OTHELLO. +Fetch me the handkerchief! My mind misgives. + +DESDEMONA. +Come, come. +You’ll never meet a more sufficient man. + +OTHELLO. +The handkerchief! + +DESDEMONA. +I pray, talk me of Cassio. + +OTHELLO. +The handkerchief! + +DESDEMONA. +A man that all his time +Hath founded his good fortunes on your love, +Shar’d dangers with you,— + +OTHELLO. +The handkerchief! + +DESDEMONA. +In sooth, you are to blame. + +OTHELLO. +Away! + + [_Exit._] + +EMILIA. +Is not this man jealous? + +DESDEMONA. +I ne’er saw this before. +Sure there’s some wonder in this handkerchief, +I am most unhappy in the loss of it. + +EMILIA. +’Tis not a year or two shows us a man: +They are all but stomachs and we all but food; +They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, +They belch us. + + Enter Cassio and Iago. + +Look you, Cassio and my husband. + +IAGO. +There is no other way; ’tis she must do ’t, +And, lo, the happiness! Go and importune her. + +DESDEMONA. +How now, good Cassio, what’s the news with you? + +CASSIO. +Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you +That by your virtuous means I may again +Exist, and be a member of his love, +Whom I, with all the office of my heart, +Entirely honour. I would not be delay’d. +If my offence be of such mortal kind +That nor my service past, nor present sorrows, +Nor purpos’d merit in futurity, +Can ransom me into his love again, +But to know so must be my benefit; +So shall I clothe me in a forc’d content, +And shut myself up in some other course +To fortune’s alms. + +DESDEMONA. +Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio, +My advocation is not now in tune; +My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him +Were he in favour as in humour alter’d. +So help me every spirit sanctified, +As I have spoken for you all my best, +And stood within the blank of his displeasure +For my free speech! You must awhile be patient. +What I can do I will; and more I will +Than for myself I dare. Let that suffice you. + +IAGO. +Is my lord angry? + +EMILIA. +He went hence but now, +And certainly in strange unquietness. + +IAGO. +Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon, +When it hath blown his ranks into the air +And, like the devil, from his very arm +Puff’d his own brother, and can he be angry? +Something of moment then. I will go meet him. +There’s matter in’t indeed if he be angry. + +DESDEMONA. +I prithee do so. + + [_Exit Iago._] + +Something sure of state, +Either from Venice, or some unhatch’d practice +Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, +Hath puddled his clear spirit, and in such cases +Men’s natures wrangle with inferior things, +Though great ones are their object. ’Tis even so. +For let our finger ache, and it indues +Our other healthful members even to that sense +Of pain. Nay, we must think men are not gods, +Nor of them look for such observancy +As fits the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, +I was (unhandsome warrior as I am) +Arraigning his unkindness with my soul; +But now I find I had suborn’d the witness, +And he’s indicted falsely. + +EMILIA. +Pray heaven it be state matters, as you think, +And no conception nor no jealous toy +Concerning you. + +DESDEMONA. +Alas the day, I never gave him cause! + +EMILIA. +But jealous souls will not be answer’d so; +They are not ever jealous for the cause, +But jealous for they are jealous: ’tis a monster +Begot upon itself, born on itself. + +DESDEMONA. +Heaven keep that monster from Othello’s mind! + +EMILIA. +Lady, amen. + +DESDEMONA. +I will go seek him. Cassio, walk hereabout: +If I do find him fit, I’ll move your suit, +And seek to effect it to my uttermost. + +CASSIO. +I humbly thank your ladyship. + + [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._] + + Enter Bianca. + +BIANCA. +Save you, friend Cassio! + +CASSIO. +What make you from home? +How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? +I’ faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. + +BIANCA. +And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. +What, keep a week away? Seven days and nights? +Eight score eight hours, and lovers’ absent hours, +More tedious than the dial eight score times? +O weary reckoning! + +CASSIO. +Pardon me, Bianca. +I have this while with leaden thoughts been press’d, +But I shall in a more continuate time +Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, + + [_Giving her Desdemona’s handkerchief._] + +Take me this work out. + +BIANCA. +O Cassio, whence came this? +This is some token from a newer friend. +To the felt absence now I feel a cause. +Is’t come to this? Well, well. + +CASSIO. +Go to, woman! +Throw your vile guesses in the devil’s teeth, +From whence you have them. You are jealous now +That this is from some mistress, some remembrance. +No, in good troth, Bianca. + +BIANCA. +Why, whose is it? + +CASSIO. +I know not neither. I found it in my chamber. +I like the work well. Ere it be demanded, +As like enough it will, I’d have it copied. +Take it, and do ’t, and leave me for this time. + +BIANCA. +Leave you, wherefore? + +CASSIO. +I do attend here on the general, +And think it no addition, nor my wish, +To have him see me woman’d. + +BIANCA. +Why, I pray you? + +CASSIO. +Not that I love you not. + +BIANCA. +But that you do not love me. +I pray you bring me on the way a little, +And say if I shall see you soon at night. + +CASSIO. +’Tis but a little way that I can bring you, +For I attend here. But I’ll see you soon. + +BIANCA. +’Tis very good; I must be circumstanc’d. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Cyprus. Before the Castle. + + Enter Othello and Iago. + +IAGO. +Will you think so? + +OTHELLO. +Think so, Iago? + +IAGO. +What, +To kiss in private? + +OTHELLO. +An unauthoriz’d kiss. + +IAGO. +Or to be naked with her friend in bed +An hour or more, not meaning any harm? + +OTHELLO. +Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean harm? +It is hypocrisy against the devil: +They that mean virtuously and yet do so, +The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven. + +IAGO. +So they do nothing, ’tis a venial slip. +But if I give my wife a handkerchief— + +OTHELLO. +What then? + +IAGO. +Why then, ’tis hers, my lord, and being hers, +She may, I think, bestow’t on any man. + +OTHELLO. +She is protectress of her honour too. +May she give that? + +IAGO. +Her honour is an essence that’s not seen; +They have it very oft that have it not: +But for the handkerchief— + +OTHELLO. +By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it. +Thou said’st (O, it comes o’er my memory, +As doth the raven o’er the infected house, +Boding to all) he had my handkerchief. + +IAGO. +Ay, what of that? + +OTHELLO. +That’s not so good now. + +IAGO. +What +If I had said I had seen him do you wrong? +Or heard him say (as knaves be such abroad, +Who having, by their own importunate suit, +Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, +Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose +But they must blab.) + +OTHELLO. +Hath he said anything? + +IAGO. +He hath, my lord, but be you well assur’d, +No more than he’ll unswear. + +OTHELLO. +What hath he said? + +IAGO. +Faith, that he did—I know not what he did. + +OTHELLO. +What? What? + +IAGO. +Lie. + +OTHELLO. +With her? + +IAGO. +With her, on her, what you will. + +OTHELLO. +Lie with her! lie on her!—We say lie on her when they belie her.—Lie +with her! that’s fulsome. Handkerchief—confessions—handkerchief! To +confess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to +confess. I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such +shadowing passion without some instruction. It is not words that shake +me thus. Pish! Noses, ears, and lips. Is’t +possible?—Confess?—handkerchief?—O devil!— + + [_Falls in a trance._] + +IAGO. +Work on, +My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught, +And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, +All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho! my lord! +My lord, I say! Othello! + + Enter Cassio. + +How now, Cassio! + +CASSIO. +What’s the matter? + +IAGO. +My lord is fallen into an epilepsy. +This is his second fit. He had one yesterday. + +CASSIO. +Rub him about the temples. + +IAGO. +No, forbear; +The lethargy must have his quiet course. +If not, he foams at mouth, and by and by +Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs: +Do you withdraw yourself a little while, +He will recover straight. When he is gone, +I would on great occasion speak with you. + + [_Exit Cassio._] + +How is it, general? Have you not hurt your head? + +OTHELLO. +Dost thou mock me? + +IAGO. +I mock you? No, by heaven. +Would you would bear your fortune like a man! + +OTHELLO. +A horned man’s a monster and a beast. + +IAGO. +There’s many a beast, then, in a populous city, +And many a civil monster. + +OTHELLO. +Did he confess it? + +IAGO. +Good sir, be a man. +Think every bearded fellow that’s but yok’d +May draw with you. There’s millions now alive +That nightly lie in those unproper beds +Which they dare swear peculiar: your case is better. +O, ’tis the spite of hell, the fiend’s arch-mock, +To lip a wanton in a secure couch, +And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know, +And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. + +OTHELLO. +O, thou art wise, ’tis certain. + +IAGO. +Stand you awhile apart, +Confine yourself but in a patient list. +Whilst you were here o’erwhelmed with your grief, +(A passion most unsuiting such a man) +Cassio came hither. I shifted him away, +And laid good ’scuse upon your ecstasy, +Bade him anon return, and here speak with me, +The which he promis’d. Do but encave yourself, +And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, +That dwell in every region of his face; +For I will make him tell the tale anew, +Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when +He hath, and is again to cope your wife: +I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience, +Or I shall say you are all in all in spleen, +And nothing of a man. + +OTHELLO. +Dost thou hear, Iago? +I will be found most cunning in my patience; +But,—dost thou hear?—most bloody. + +IAGO. +That’s not amiss. +But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw? + + [_Othello withdraws._] + +Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, +A housewife that by selling her desires +Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature +That dotes on Cassio, (as ’tis the strumpet’s plague +To beguile many and be beguil’d by one.) +He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain +From the excess of laughter. Here he comes. + + Enter Cassio. + +As he shall smile Othello shall go mad, +And his unbookish jealousy must construe +Poor Cassio’s smiles, gestures, and light behaviour +Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieutenant? + +CASSIO. +The worser that you give me the addition +Whose want even kills me. + +IAGO. +Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on’t. +[_Speaking lower._] Now, if this suit lay in Bianca’s power, +How quickly should you speed! + +CASSIO. +Alas, poor caitiff! + +OTHELLO. +[_Aside._] Look how he laughs already! + +IAGO. +I never knew a woman love man so. + +CASSIO. +Alas, poor rogue! I think, i’ faith, she loves me. + +OTHELLO. +[_Aside._] Now he denies it faintly and laughs it out. + +IAGO. +Do you hear, Cassio? + +OTHELLO. +Now he importunes him +To tell it o’er. Go to, well said, well said. + +IAGO. +She gives it out that you shall marry her. +Do you intend it? + +CASSIO. +Ha, ha, ha! + +OTHELLO. +Do you triumph, Roman? Do you triumph? + +CASSIO. +I marry her? What? A customer? I prithee, bear some charity to my wit, +do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha! + +OTHELLO. +So, so, so, so. They laugh that wins. + +IAGO. +Faith, the cry goes that you shall marry her. + +CASSIO. +Prithee say true. + +IAGO. +I am a very villain else. + +OTHELLO. +Have you scored me? Well. + +CASSIO. +This is the monkey’s own giving out. She is persuaded I will marry her, +out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise. + +OTHELLO. +Iago beckons me. Now he begins the story. + +CASSIO. +She was here even now. She haunts me in every place. I was the other +day talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians, and thither comes +the bauble, and falls thus about my neck. + +OTHELLO. +Crying, “O dear Cassio!” as it were: his gesture imports it. + +CASSIO. +So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales and pulls me. Ha, ha, +ha! + +OTHELLO. +Now he tells how she plucked him to my chamber. O, I see that nose of +yours, but not that dog I shall throw it to. + +CASSIO. +Well, I must leave her company. + +IAGO. +Before me! look where she comes. + + Enter Bianca. + +CASSIO. +’Tis such another fitchew! Marry, a perfum’d one. +What do you mean by this haunting of me? + +BIANCA. +Let the devil and his dam haunt you! What did you mean by that same +handkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must +take out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in +your chamber and not know who left it there! This is some minx’s token, +and I must take out the work? There, give it your hobby-horse. +Wheresoever you had it, I’ll take out no work on’t. + +CASSIO. +How now, my sweet Bianca? How now, how now? + +OTHELLO. +By heaven, that should be my handkerchief! + +BIANCA. +If you’ll come to supper tonight, you may. If you will not, come when +you are next prepared for. + + [_Exit._] + +IAGO. +After her, after her. + +CASSIO. +Faith, I must; she’ll rail in the street else. + +IAGO. +Will you sup there? + +CASSIO. +Faith, I intend so. + +IAGO. +Well, I may chance to see you, for I would very fain speak with you. + +CASSIO. +Prithee come, will you? + +IAGO. +Go to; say no more. + + [_Exit Cassio._] + +OTHELLO. +[_Coming forward._] How shall I murder him, Iago? + +IAGO. +Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice? + +OTHELLO. +O Iago! + +IAGO. +And did you see the handkerchief? + +OTHELLO. +Was that mine? + +IAGO. +Yours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your +wife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore. + +OTHELLO. +I would have him nine years a-killing. A fine woman, a fair woman, a +sweet woman! + +IAGO. +Nay, you must forget that. + +OTHELLO. +Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned tonight, for she shall not +live. No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my +hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature. She might lie by an +emperor’s side, and command him tasks. + +IAGO. +Nay, that’s not your way. + +OTHELLO. +Hang her, I do but say what she is. So delicate with her needle, an +admirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! Of +so high and plenteous wit and invention! + +IAGO. +She’s the worse for all this. + +OTHELLO. +O, a thousand, a thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition! + +IAGO. +Ay, too gentle. + +OTHELLO. +Nay, that’s certain. But yet the pity of it, Iago! O Iago, the pity of +it, Iago! + +IAGO. +If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if +it touch not you, it comes near nobody. + +OTHELLO. +I will chop her into messes. Cuckold me! + +IAGO. +O, ’tis foul in her. + +OTHELLO. +With mine officer! + +IAGO. +That’s fouler. + +OTHELLO. +Get me some poison, Iago; this night. I’ll not expostulate with her, +lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again. This night, Iago. + +IAGO. +Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath +contaminated. + +OTHELLO. +Good, good. The justice of it pleases. Very good. + +IAGO. +And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker. You shall hear more by +midnight. + +OTHELLO. +Excellent good. [_A trumpet within._] What trumpet is that same? + + Enter Lodovico, Desdemona and Attendant. + +IAGO. +Something from Venice, sure. ’Tis Lodovico +Come from the duke. See, your wife is with him. + +LODOVICO. +Save you, worthy general! + +OTHELLO. +With all my heart, sir. + +LODOVICO. +The duke and senators of Venice greet you. + + [_Gives him a packet._] + +OTHELLO. +I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. + + [_Opens the packet and reads._] + +DESDEMONA. +And what’s the news, good cousin Lodovico? + +IAGO. +I am very glad to see you, signior. +Welcome to Cyprus. + +LODOVICO. +I thank you. How does Lieutenant Cassio? + +IAGO. +Lives, sir. + +DESDEMONA. +Cousin, there’s fall’n between him and my lord +An unkind breach, but you shall make all well. + +OTHELLO. +Are you sure of that? + +DESDEMONA. +My lord? + +OTHELLO. +[_Reads._] “This fail you not to do, as you will—” + +LODOVICO. +He did not call; he’s busy in the paper. +Is there division ’twixt my lord and Cassio? + +DESDEMONA. +A most unhappy one. I would do much +To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. + +OTHELLO. +Fire and brimstone! + +DESDEMONA. +My lord? + +OTHELLO. +Are you wise? + +DESDEMONA. +What, is he angry? + +LODOVICO. +May be the letter mov’d him; +For, as I think, they do command him home, +Deputing Cassio in his government. + +DESDEMONA. +Trust me, I am glad on’t. + +OTHELLO. +Indeed! + +DESDEMONA. +My lord? + +OTHELLO. +I am glad to see you mad. + +DESDEMONA. +Why, sweet Othello? + +OTHELLO. +Devil! + + [_Striking her._] + +DESDEMONA. +I have not deserv’d this. + +LODOVICO. +My lord, this would not be believ’d in Venice, +Though I should swear I saw’t: ’tis very much. +Make her amends. She weeps. + +OTHELLO. +O devil, devil! +If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears, +Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. +Out of my sight! + +DESDEMONA. +I will not stay to offend you. + + [_Going._] + +LODOVICO. +Truly, an obedient lady. +I do beseech your lordship, call her back. + +OTHELLO. +Mistress! + +DESDEMONA. +My lord? + +OTHELLO. +What would you with her, sir? + +LODOVICO. +Who, I, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +Ay, you did wish that I would make her turn. +Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, +And turn again. And she can weep, sir, weep; +And she’s obedient, as you say, obedient, +Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. +Concerning this, sir,—O well-painted passion! +I am commanded home.—Get you away; +I’ll send for you anon.—Sir, I obey the mandate, +And will return to Venice.—Hence, avaunt! + + [_Exit Desdemona._] + +Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, tonight, +I do entreat that we may sup together. +You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats and monkeys! + + [_Exit._] + +LODOVICO. +Is this the noble Moor, whom our full senate +Call all in all sufficient? Is this the nature +Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue +The shot of accident nor dart of chance +Could neither graze nor pierce? + +IAGO. +He is much chang’d. + +LODOVICO. +Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain? + +IAGO. +He’s that he is. I may not breathe my censure +What he might be. If what he might he is not, +I would to heaven he were! + +LODOVICO. +What, strike his wife? + +IAGO. +Faith, that was not so well; yet would I knew +That stroke would prove the worst! + +LODOVICO. +Is it his use? +Or did the letters work upon his blood, +And new-create this fault? + +IAGO. +Alas, alas! +It is not honesty in me to speak +What I have seen and known. You shall observe him, +And his own courses will denote him so +That I may save my speech: do but go after, +And mark how he continues. + +LODOVICO. +I am sorry that I am deceiv’d in him. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle. + + Enter Othello and Emilia. + +OTHELLO. +You have seen nothing, then? + +EMILIA. +Nor ever heard, nor ever did suspect. + +OTHELLO. +Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. + +EMILIA. +But then I saw no harm, and then I heard +Each syllable that breath made up between them. + +OTHELLO. +What, did they never whisper? + +EMILIA. +Never, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +Nor send you out o’ the way? + +EMILIA. +Never. + +OTHELLO. +To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing? + +EMILIA. +Never, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +That’s strange. + +EMILIA. +I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, +Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other, +Remove your thought, it doth abuse your bosom. +If any wretch have put this in your head, +Let heaven requite it with the serpent’s curse, +For if she be not honest, chaste, and true, +There’s no man happy. The purest of their wives +Is foul as slander. + +OTHELLO. +Bid her come hither. Go. + + [_Exit Emilia._] + +She says enough. Yet she’s a simple bawd +That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, +A closet lock and key of villainous secrets. +And yet she’ll kneel and pray. I have seen her do ’t. + + Enter Desdemona and Emilia. + +DESDEMONA. +My lord, what is your will? + +OTHELLO. +Pray, chuck, come hither. + +DESDEMONA. +What is your pleasure? + +OTHELLO. +Let me see your eyes. +Look in my face. + +DESDEMONA. +What horrible fancy’s this? + +OTHELLO. +[_To Emilia._] Some of your function, mistress, +Leave procreants alone, and shut the door. +Cough, or cry hem, if anybody come. +Your mystery, your mystery. Nay, dispatch. + + [_Exit Emilia._] + +DESDEMONA. +Upon my knees, what doth your speech import? +I understand a fury in your words, +But not the words. + +OTHELLO. +Why, what art thou? + +DESDEMONA. +Your wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife. + +OTHELLO. +Come, swear it, damn thyself, +Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves +Should fear to seize thee. Therefore be double-damn’d. +Swear thou art honest. + +DESDEMONA. +Heaven doth truly know it. + +OTHELLO. +Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell. + +DESDEMONA. +To whom, my lord? With whom? How am I false? + +OTHELLO. +O Desdemona, away! away! away! + +DESDEMONA. +Alas the heavy day, why do you weep? +Am I the motive of these tears, my lord? +If haply you my father do suspect +An instrument of this your calling back, +Lay not your blame on me. If you have lost him, +Why, I have lost him too. + +OTHELLO. +Had it pleas’d heaven +To try me with affliction, had they rain’d +All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head, +Steep’d me in poverty to the very lips, +Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, +I should have found in some place of my soul +A drop of patience. But, alas, to make me +A fixed figure for the time of scorn +To point his slow unmoving finger at. +Yet could I bear that too, well, very well: +But there, where I have garner’d up my heart, +Where either I must live or bear no life, +The fountain from the which my current runs, +Or else dries up, to be discarded thence, +Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads +To knot and gender in!—turn thy complexion there, +Patience, thou young and rose-lipp’d cherubin, +Ay, there, look grim as hell! + +DESDEMONA. +I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. + +OTHELLO. +O, ay, as summer flies are in the shambles, +That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, +Who art so lovely fair, and smell’st so sweet, +That the sense aches at thee, +Would thou hadst ne’er been born! + +DESDEMONA. +Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? + +OTHELLO. +Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, +Made to write “whore” upon? What committed? +Committed! O thou public commoner! +I should make very forges of my cheeks, +That would to cinders burn up modesty, +Did I but speak thy deeds. What committed! +Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks; +The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, +Is hush’d within the hollow mine of earth, +And will not hear it. What committed! +Impudent strumpet! + +DESDEMONA. +By heaven, you do me wrong. + +OTHELLO. +Are not you a strumpet? + +DESDEMONA. +No, as I am a Christian: +If to preserve this vessel for my lord +From any other foul unlawful touch +Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. + +OTHELLO. +What, not a whore? + +DESDEMONA. +No, as I shall be sav’d. + +OTHELLO. +Is’t possible? + +DESDEMONA. +O, heaven forgive us! + +OTHELLO. +I cry you mercy then. +I took you for that cunning whore of Venice +That married with Othello.—You, mistress, + + Enter Emilia. + +That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, +And keeps the gate of hell. You, you, ay, you! +We have done our course; there’s money for your pains. +I pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel. + + [_Exit._] + +EMILIA. +Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? +How do you, madam? How do you, my good lady? + +DESDEMONA. +Faith, half asleep. + +EMILIA. +Good madam, what’s the matter with my lord? + +DESDEMONA. +With who? + +EMILIA. +Why, with my lord, madam. + +DESDEMONA. +Who is thy lord? + +EMILIA. +He that is yours, sweet lady. + +DESDEMONA. +I have none. Do not talk to me, Emilia, +I cannot weep, nor answer have I none +But what should go by water. Prithee, tonight +Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, remember, +And call thy husband hither. + +EMILIA. +Here’s a change indeed! + + [_Exit._] + +DESDEMONA. +’Tis meet I should be us’d so, very meet. +How have I been behav’d, that he might stick +The small’st opinion on my least misuse? + + Enter Iago and Emilia. + +IAGO. +What is your pleasure, madam? How is’t with you? + +DESDEMONA. +I cannot tell. Those that do teach young babes +Do it with gentle means and easy tasks. +He might have chid me so, for, in good faith, +I am a child to chiding. + +IAGO. +What’s the matter, lady? + +EMILIA. +Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor’d her, +Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, +As true hearts cannot bear. + +DESDEMONA. +Am I that name, Iago? + +IAGO. +What name, fair lady? + +DESDEMONA. +Such as she says my lord did say I was. + +EMILIA. +He call’d her whore: a beggar in his drink +Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. + +IAGO. +Why did he so? + +DESDEMONA. +I do not know. I am sure I am none such. + +IAGO. +Do not weep, do not weep: alas the day! + +EMILIA. +Hath she forsook so many noble matches, +Her father, and her country, and her friends, +To be call’d whore? would it not make one weep? + +DESDEMONA. +It is my wretched fortune. + +IAGO. +Beshrew him for’t! +How comes this trick upon him? + +DESDEMONA. +Nay, heaven doth know. + +EMILIA. +I will be hang’d, if some eternal villain, +Some busy and insinuating rogue, +Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some office, +Have not devis’d this slander. I’ll be hang’d else. + +IAGO. +Fie, there is no such man. It is impossible. + +DESDEMONA. +If any such there be, heaven pardon him! + +EMILIA. +A halter pardon him, and hell gnaw his bones! +Why should he call her whore? who keeps her company? +What place? what time? what form? what likelihood? +The Moor’s abused by some most villainous knave, +Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow. +O heaven, that such companions thou’dst unfold, +And put in every honest hand a whip +To lash the rascals naked through the world +Even from the east to the west! + +IAGO. +Speak within door. + +EMILIA. +O, fie upon them! Some such squire he was +That turn’d your wit the seamy side without, +And made you to suspect me with the Moor. + +IAGO. +You are a fool. Go to. + +DESDEMONA. +Alas, Iago, +What shall I do to win my lord again? +Good friend, go to him. For by this light of heaven, +I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel. +If e’er my will did trespass ’gainst his love, +Either in discourse of thought or actual deed, +Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, +Delighted them in any other form, +Or that I do not yet, and ever did, +And ever will, (though he do shake me off +To beggarly divorcement) love him dearly, +Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much; +And his unkindness may defeat my life, +But never taint my love. I cannot say “whore,” +It does abhor me now I speak the word; +To do the act that might the addition earn +Not the world’s mass of vanity could make me. + +IAGO. +I pray you, be content. ’Tis but his humour. +The business of the state does him offence, +And he does chide with you. + +DESDEMONA. +If ’twere no other,— + +IAGO. +’Tis but so, I warrant. + + [_Trumpets within._] + +Hark, how these instruments summon to supper. +The messengers of Venice stay the meat. +Go in, and weep not. All things shall be well. + + [_Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia._] + + Enter Roderigo. + +How now, Roderigo? + +RODERIGO. +I do not find that thou dealest justly with me. + +IAGO. +What in the contrary? + +RODERIGO. +Every day thou daffest me with some device, Iago, and rather, as it +seems to me now, keepest from me all conveniency than suppliest me with +the least advantage of hope. I will indeed no longer endure it. Nor am +I yet persuaded to put up in peace what already I have foolishly +suffered. + +IAGO. +Will you hear me, Roderigo? + +RODERIGO. +Faith, I have heard too much, for your words and performances are no +kin together. + +IAGO. +You charge me most unjustly. + +RODERIGO. +With naught but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels +you have had from me to deliver to Desdemona would half have corrupted +a votarist: you have told me she hath received them, and returned me +expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance, but I +find none. + +IAGO. +Well, go to, very well. + +RODERIGO. +Very well, go to, I cannot go to, man, nor ’tis not very well. Nay, I +say ’tis very scurvy, and begin to find myself fopped in it. + +IAGO. +Very well. + +RODERIGO. +I tell you ’tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona. +If she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit and repent my +unlawful solicitation. If not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction +of you. + +IAGO. +You have said now. + +RODERIGO. +Ay, and said nothing but what I protest intendment of doing. + +IAGO. +Why, now I see there’s mettle in thee, and even from this instant do +build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, +Roderigo. Thou hast taken against me a most just exception, but yet I +protest, I have dealt most directly in thy affair. + +RODERIGO. +It hath not appeared. + +IAGO. +I grant indeed it hath not appeared, and your suspicion is not without +wit and judgement. But, Roderigo, if thou hast that in thee indeed, +which I have greater reason to believe now than ever,—I mean purpose, +courage, and valour,—this night show it. If thou the next night +following enjoy not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery +and devise engines for my life. + +RODERIGO. +Well, what is it? Is it within reason and compass? + +IAGO. +Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice to depute Cassio in +Othello’s place. + +RODERIGO. +Is that true? Why then Othello and Desdemona return again to Venice. + +IAGO. +O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair +Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein +none can be so determinate as the removing of Cassio. + +RODERIGO. +How do you mean “removing” of him? + +IAGO. +Why, by making him uncapable of Othello’s place: knocking out his +brains. + +RODERIGO. +And that you would have me to do? + +IAGO. +Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit and a right. He sups tonight with +a harlotry, and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his +honourable fortune. If you will watch his going thence, which I will +fashion to fall out between twelve and one, you may take him at your +pleasure: I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall +between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me. I will +show you such a necessity in his death that you shall think yourself +bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows +to waste. About it. + +RODERIGO. +I will hear further reason for this. + +IAGO. +And you shall be satisfied. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle. + + Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants. + +LODOVICO. +I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further. + +OTHELLO. +O, pardon me; ’twill do me good to walk. + +LODOVICO. +Madam, good night. I humbly thank your ladyship. + +DESDEMONA. +Your honour is most welcome. + +OTHELLO. +Will you walk, sir?— +O, Desdemona,— + +DESDEMONA. +My lord? + +OTHELLO. +Get you to bed on th’ instant, I will be return’d forthwith. Dismiss +your attendant there. Look ’t be done. + +DESDEMONA. +I will, my lord. + + [_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico and Attendants._] + +EMILIA. +How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did. + +DESDEMONA. +He says he will return incontinent, +He hath commanded me to go to bed, +And bade me to dismiss you. + +EMILIA. +Dismiss me? + +DESDEMONA. +It was his bidding. Therefore, good Emilia, +Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu. +We must not now displease him. + +EMILIA. +I would you had never seen him! + +DESDEMONA. +So would not I. My love doth so approve him, +That even his stubbornness, his checks, his frowns,— +Prithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them. + +EMILIA. +I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed. + +DESDEMONA. +All’s one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds! +If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me +In one of those same sheets. + +EMILIA. +Come, come, you talk. + +DESDEMONA. +My mother had a maid call’d Barbary, +She was in love, and he she lov’d prov’d mad +And did forsake her. She had a song of “willow”, +An old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune, +And she died singing it. That song tonight +Will not go from my mind. I have much to do +But to go hang my head all at one side +And sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee dispatch. + +EMILIA. +Shall I go fetch your night-gown? + +DESDEMONA. +No, unpin me here. +This Lodovico is a proper man. + +EMILIA. +A very handsome man. + +DESDEMONA. +He speaks well. + +EMILIA. +I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a +touch of his nether lip. + +DESDEMONA. +[_Singing._] + _The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, + Sing all a green willow. + Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, + Sing willow, willow, willow. + The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans, + Sing willow, willow, willow; + Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones;—_ + +Lay by these:— + +[_Sings._] + _Sing willow, willow, willow._ + +Prithee hie thee. He’ll come anon. + +[_Sings._] + _Sing all a green willow must be my garland. +Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—_ + +Nay, that’s not next. Hark! who is’t that knocks? + +EMILIA. +It’s the wind. + +DESDEMONA. +[_Sings._] + _I call’d my love false love; but what said he then? + Sing willow, willow, willow: + If I court mo women, you’ll couch with mo men._ + +So get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch; +Doth that bode weeping? + +EMILIA. +’Tis neither here nor there. + +DESDEMONA. +I have heard it said so. O, these men, these men! +Dost thou in conscience think,—tell me, Emilia,— +That there be women do abuse their husbands +In such gross kind? + +EMILIA. +There be some such, no question. + +DESDEMONA. +Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? + +EMILIA. +Why, would not you? + +DESDEMONA. +No, by this heavenly light! + +EMILIA. +Nor I neither by this heavenly light, +I might do’t as well i’ the dark. + +DESDEMONA. +Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the world? + +EMILIA. +The world’s a huge thing. It is a great price +For a small vice. + +DESDEMONA. +In troth, I think thou wouldst not. + +EMILIA. +In troth, I think I should, and undo’t when I had done. Marry, I would +not do such a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures of lawn, nor for +gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition; but, for the +whole world—why, who would not make her husband a cuckold to make him a +monarch? I should venture purgatory for ’t. + +DESDEMONA. +Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world. + +EMILIA. +Why, the wrong is but a wrong i’ the world; and having the world for +your labour, ’tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make +it right. + +DESDEMONA. +I do not think there is any such woman. + +EMILIA. +Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage as would store the world they +played for. +But I do think it is their husbands’ faults +If wives do fall: say that they slack their duties, +And pour our treasures into foreign laps; +Or else break out in peevish jealousies, +Throwing restraint upon us. Or say they strike us, +Or scant our former having in despite. +Why, we have galls; and though we have some grace, +Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know +Their wives have sense like them: they see, and smell +And have their palates both for sweet and sour, +As husbands have. What is it that they do +When they change us for others? Is it sport? +I think it is. And doth affection breed it? +I think it doth. Is’t frailty that thus errs? +It is so too. And have not we affections, +Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have? +Then let them use us well: else let them know, +The ills we do, their ills instruct us so. + +DESDEMONA. +Good night, good night. Heaven me such usage send, +Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend! + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Cyprus. A Street. + + Enter Iago and Roderigo. + +IAGO. +Here, stand behind this bulk. Straight will he come. +Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home. +Quick, quick, fear nothing; I’ll be at thy elbow. +It makes us, or it mars us, think on that, +And fix most firm thy resolution. + +RODERIGO. +Be near at hand, I may miscarry in ’t. + +IAGO. +Here, at thy hand. Be bold, and take thy stand. + + [_Retires to a little distance._] + +RODERIGO. +I have no great devotion to the deed; +And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons. +’Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword; he dies. + + [_Goes to his stand._] + +IAGO. +I have rubb’d this young quat almost to the sense, +And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, +Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, +Every way makes my gain. Live Roderigo, +He calls me to a restitution large +Of gold and jewels that I bobb’d from him, +As gifts to Desdemona. +It must not be. If Cassio do remain, +He hath a daily beauty in his life +That makes me ugly. And besides, the Moor +May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril. +No, he must die. But so, I hear him coming. + + Enter Cassio. + +RODERIGO. +I know his gait; ’tis he. Villain, thou diest! + + [_Rushes out, and makes a pass at Cassio._] + +CASSIO. +That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, +But that my coat is better than thou know’st. +I will make proof of thine. + + [_Draws, and wounds Roderigo._] + +RODERIGO. +O, I am slain! + + [_Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and + exit._] + +CASSIO. +I am maim’d forever. Help, ho! murder, murder! + + [_Falls._] + + Enter Othello. + +OTHELLO. +The voice of Cassio. Iago keeps his word. + +RODERIGO. +O, villain that I am! + +OTHELLO. +It is even so. + +CASSIO. +O, help, ho! light! a surgeon! + +OTHELLO. +’Tis he. O brave Iago, honest and just, +That hast such noble sense of thy friend’s wrong! +Thou teachest me,—minion, your dear lies dead, +And your unbless’d fate hies. Strumpet, I come! +Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted; +Thy bed, lust-stain’d, shall with lust’s blood be spotted. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Lodovico and Gratiano. + +CASSIO. +What, ho! No watch? No passage? murder, murder! + +GRATIANO. +’Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful. + +CASSIO. +O, help! + +LODOVICO. +Hark! + +RODERIGO. +O wretched villain! + +LODOVICO. +Two or three groan. It is a heavy night. +These may be counterfeits. Let’s think’t unsafe +To come in to the cry without more help. + +RODERIGO. +Nobody come? Then shall I bleed to death. + + Enter Iago with a light. + +LODOVICO. +Hark! + +GRATIANO. +Here’s one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons. + +IAGO. +Who’s there? Whose noise is this that cries on murder? + +LODOVICO. +We do not know. + +IAGO. +Did not you hear a cry? + +CASSIO. +Here, here! for heaven’s sake, help me! + +IAGO. +What’s the matter? + +GRATIANO. +This is Othello’s ancient, as I take it. + +LODOVICO. +The same indeed, a very valiant fellow. + +IAGO. +What are you here that cry so grievously? + +CASSIO. +Iago? O, I am spoil’d, undone by villains! +Give me some help. + +IAGO. +O me, lieutenant! What villains have done this? + +CASSIO. +I think that one of them is hereabout, +And cannot make away. + +IAGO. +O treacherous villains! +[_To Lodovico and Gratiano._] What are you there? +Come in and give some help. + +RODERIGO. +O, help me here! + +CASSIO. +That’s one of them. + +IAGO. +O murderous slave! O villain! + + [_Stabs Roderigo._] + +RODERIGO. +O damn’d Iago! O inhuman dog! + +IAGO. +Kill men i’ the dark! Where be these bloody thieves? +How silent is this town! Ho! murder! murder! +What may you be? Are you of good or evil? + +LODOVICO. +As you shall prove us, praise us. + +IAGO. +Signior Lodovico? + +LODOVICO. +He, sir. + +IAGO. +I cry you mercy. Here’s Cassio hurt by villains. + +GRATIANO. +Cassio! + +IAGO. +How is’t, brother? + +CASSIO. +My leg is cut in two. + +IAGO. +Marry, heaven forbid! +Light, gentlemen, I’ll bind it with my shirt. + + Enter Bianca. + +BIANCA. +What is the matter, ho? Who is’t that cried? + +IAGO. +Who is’t that cried? + +BIANCA. +O my dear Cassio, my sweet Cassio! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio! + +IAGO. +O notable strumpet! Cassio, may you suspect +Who they should be that have thus mangled you? + +CASSIO. +No. + +GRATIANO. +I am sorry to find you thus; I have been to seek you. + +IAGO. +Lend me a garter. So.—O, for a chair, +To bear him easily hence! + +BIANCA. +Alas, he faints! O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio! + +IAGO. +Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash +To be a party in this injury. +Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come; +Lend me a light. Know we this face or no? +Alas, my friend and my dear countryman +Roderigo? No. Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo. + +GRATIANO. +What, of Venice? + +IAGO. +Even he, sir. Did you know him? + +GRATIANO. +Know him? Ay. + +IAGO. +Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon. +These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, +That so neglected you. + +GRATIANO. +I am glad to see you. + +IAGO. +How do you, Cassio? O, a chair, a chair! + +GRATIANO. +Roderigo! + +IAGO. +He, he, ’tis he. + + [_A chair brought in._] + +O, that’s well said; the chair. +Some good man bear him carefully from hence, +I’ll fetch the general’s surgeon. [_To Bianca_] For you, mistress, +Save you your labour. He that lies slain here, Cassio, +Was my dear friend. What malice was between you? + +CASSIO. +None in the world. Nor do I know the man. + +IAGO. +[_To Bianca._] What, look you pale?—O, bear him out o’ the air. + + [_Cassio and Roderigo are borne off._] + +Stay you, good gentlemen.—Look you pale, mistress? +Do you perceive the gastness of her eye? +Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. +Behold her well. I pray you, look upon her. +Do you see, gentlemen? Nay, guiltiness will speak +Though tongues were out of use. + + Enter Emilia. + +EMILIA. +’Las, what’s the matter? What’s the matter, husband? + +IAGO. +Cassio hath here been set on in the dark +By Roderigo, and fellows that are ’scap’d. +He’s almost slain, and Roderigo dead. + +EMILIA. +Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio! + +IAGO. +This is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, Emilia, +Go know of Cassio where he supp’d tonight. +What, do you shake at that? + +BIANCA. +He supp’d at my house, but I therefore shake not. + +IAGO. +O, did he so? I charge you go with me. + +EMILIA. +Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet! + +BIANCA. +I am no strumpet, but of life as honest +As you that thus abuse me. + +EMILIA. +As I? Foh! fie upon thee! + +IAGO. +Kind gentlemen, let’s go see poor Cassio dress’d. +Come, mistress, you must tell’s another tale. +Emilia, run you to the citadel, +And tell my lord and lady what hath happ’d. +Will you go on afore? [_Aside._] This is the night +That either makes me or fordoes me quite. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle. + +Desdemona in bed asleep; a light burning. + + Enter Othello. + +OTHELLO. +It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, +Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! +It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood, +Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, +And smooth as monumental alabaster. +Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men. +Put out the light, and then put out the light: +If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, +I can again thy former light restore, +Should I repent me. But once put out thy light, +Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature, +I know not where is that Promethean heat +That can thy light relume. When I have pluck’d thy rose, +I cannot give it vital growth again, +It must needs wither. I’ll smell it on the tree. + + [_Kissing her._] + +O, balmy breath, that dost almost persuade +Justice to break her sword! One more, one more. +Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, +And love thee after. One more, and this the last. +So sweet was ne’er so fatal. I must weep, +But they are cruel tears. This sorrow’s heavenly, +It strikes where it doth love. She wakes. + +DESDEMONA. +Who’s there? Othello? + +OTHELLO. +Ay, Desdemona. + +DESDEMONA. +Will you come to bed, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +Have you pray’d tonight, Desdemona? + +DESDEMONA. +Ay, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +If you bethink yourself of any crime +Unreconcil’d as yet to heaven and grace, +Solicit for it straight. + +DESDEMONA. +Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that? + +OTHELLO. +Well, do it, and be brief, I will walk by. +I would not kill thy unprepared spirit, +No, heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul. + +DESDEMONA. +Talk you of killing? + +OTHELLO. +Ay, I do. + +DESDEMONA. +Then heaven have mercy on me! + +OTHELLO. +Amen, with all my heart! + +DESDEMONA. +If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. + +OTHELLO. +Hum! + +DESDEMONA. +And yet I fear you, for you are fatal then +When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not, +Since guiltiness I know not, but yet I feel I fear. + +OTHELLO. +Think on thy sins. + +DESDEMONA. +They are loves I bear to you. + +OTHELLO. +Ay, and for that thou diest. + +DESDEMONA. +That death’s unnatural that kills for loving. +Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? +Some bloody passion shakes your very frame. +These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, +They do not point on me. + +OTHELLO. +Peace, and be still! + +DESDEMONA. +I will so. What’s the matter? + +OTHELLO. +That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee, +Thou gav’st to Cassio. + +DESDEMONA. +No, by my life and soul! +Send for the man and ask him. + +OTHELLO. +Sweet soul, take heed, take heed of perjury, +Thou’rt on thy death-bed. + +DESDEMONA. +Ay, but not yet to die. + +OTHELLO. +Yes, presently: +Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin. +For to deny each article with oath +Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception +That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. + +DESDEMONA. +Then, Lord have mercy on me! + +OTHELLO. +I say, amen. + +DESDEMONA. +And have you mercy too! I never did +Offend you in my life, never lov’d Cassio +But with such general warranty of heaven +As I might love. I never gave him token. + +OTHELLO. +By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in ’s hand. +O perjur’d woman, thou dost stone my heart, +And mak’st me call what I intend to do +A murder, which I thought a sacrifice. +I saw the handkerchief. + +DESDEMONA. +He found it then. +I never gave it him. Send for him hither. +Let him confess a truth. + +OTHELLO. +He hath confess’d. + +DESDEMONA. +What, my lord? + +OTHELLO. +That he hath us’d thee. + +DESDEMONA. +How? Unlawfully? + +OTHELLO. +Ay. + +DESDEMONA. +He will not say so. + +OTHELLO. +No, his mouth is stopp’d. +Honest Iago hath ta’en order for ’t. + +DESDEMONA. +O, my fear interprets! What, is he dead? + +OTHELLO. +Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge +Had stomach for them all. + +DESDEMONA. +Alas, he is betray’d, and I undone! + +OTHELLO. +Out, strumpet! Weep’st thou for him to my face? + +DESDEMONA. +O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not! + +OTHELLO. +Down, strumpet! + +DESDEMONA. +Kill me tomorrow, let me live tonight! + +OTHELLO. +Nay, if you strive,— + +DESDEMONA. +But half an hour! + +OTHELLO. +Being done, there is no pause. + +DESDEMONA. +But while I say one prayer! + +OTHELLO. +It is too late. + + [_Smothers her._] + +EMILIA. +[_Within._] My lord, my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord! + +OTHELLO. +What noise is this? Not dead? Not yet quite dead? +I that am cruel am yet merciful, +I would not have thee linger in thy pain. +So, so. + +EMILIA. +[_Within._] What, ho! my lord, my lord! + +OTHELLO. +Who’s there? + +EMILIA. +[_Within._] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you! + +OTHELLO. +Yes. ’Tis Emilia, by and by. She’s dead. +’Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio’s death; +The noise was high.—Ha! no more moving? +Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were’t good? +I think she stirs again; no. What’s best to do? +If she come in, she’ll sure speak to my wife. +My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife. +O, insupportable! O heavy hour! +Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse +Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe +Should yawn at alteration. + +EMILIA. +[_Within._] I do beseech you +That I may speak with you, O, good my lord! + +OTHELLO. +I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia. +Soft, by and by; let me the curtains draw. +Where art thou? + + [_Unlocks the door._] + + Enter Emilia. + +What’s the matter with thee now? + +EMILIA. +O, my good lord, yonder’s foul murders done! + +OTHELLO. +What, now? + +EMILIA. +But now, my lord. + +OTHELLO. +It is the very error of the moon, +She comes more nearer earth than she was wont +And makes men mad. + +EMILIA. +Cassio, my lord, hath kill’d a young Venetian +Call’d Roderigo. + +OTHELLO. +Roderigo kill’d? +And Cassio kill’d? + +EMILIA. +No, Cassio is not kill’d. + +OTHELLO. +Not Cassio kill’d! Then murder’s out of tune, +And sweet revenge grows harsh. + +DESDEMONA. +O, falsely, falsely murder’d! + +EMILIA. +Alas, what cry is that? + +OTHELLO. +That? What? + +EMILIA. +Out, and alas! That was my lady’s voice. +Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again, +Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak! + +DESDEMONA. +A guiltless death I die. + +EMILIA. +O, who hath done this deed? + +DESDEMONA. +Nobody; I myself. Farewell. +Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell! + + [_She dies._] + +OTHELLO. +Why, how should she be murder’d? + +EMILIA. +Alas, who knows? + +OTHELLO. +You heard her say herself, it was not I. + +EMILIA. +She said so. I must needs report the truth. + +OTHELLO. +She’s like a liar, gone to burning hell. +’Twas I that kill’d her. + +EMILIA. +O, the more angel she, +And you the blacker devil! + +OTHELLO. +She turn’d to folly, and she was a whore. + +EMILIA. +Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. + +OTHELLO. +She was false as water. + +EMILIA. +Thou art rash as fire, to say +That she was false: O, she was heavenly true! + +OTHELLO. +Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else. +O, I were damn’d beneath all depth in hell, +But that I did proceed upon just grounds +To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all. + +EMILIA. +My husband? + +OTHELLO. +Thy husband. + +EMILIA. +That she was false to wedlock? + +OTHELLO. +Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true, +If heaven would make me such another world +Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, +I’d not have sold her for it. + +EMILIA. +My husband? + +OTHELLO. +Ay, ’twas he that told me first. +An honest man he is, and hates the slime +That sticks on filthy deeds. + +EMILIA. +My husband? + +OTHELLO. +What needs this iterance, woman? I say thy husband. + +EMILIA. +O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love! +My husband say that she was false? + +OTHELLO. +He, woman; +I say thy husband: dost understand the word? +My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. + +EMILIA. +If he say so, may his pernicious soul +Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart. +She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. + +OTHELLO. +Ha! + +EMILIA. +Do thy worst: +This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven +Than thou wast worthy her. + +OTHELLO. +Peace, you were best. + +EMILIA. +Thou hast not half that power to do me harm +As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt! +As ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed +(I care not for thy sword) I’ll make thee known, +Though I lost twenty lives. Help! help, ho! help! +The Moor hath kill’d my mistress! Murder, murder! + + Enter Montano, Gratiano and Iago. + +MONTANO. +What is the matter? How now, general? + +EMILIA. +O, are you come, Iago? You have done well, +That men must lay their murders on your neck. + +GRATIANO. +What is the matter? + +EMILIA. +Disprove this villain, if thou be’st a man. +He says thou told’st him that his wife was false. +I know thou didst not, thou’rt not such a villain. +Speak, for my heart is full. + +IAGO. +I told him what I thought, and told no more +Than what he found himself was apt and true. + +EMILIA. +But did you ever tell him she was false? + +IAGO. +I did. + +EMILIA. +You told a lie, an odious, damned lie; +Upon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie. +She false with Cassio? Did you say with Cassio? + +IAGO. +With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue. + +EMILIA. +I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak. +My mistress here lies murder’d in her bed. + +ALL. +O heavens forfend! + +EMILIA. +And your reports have set the murder on. + +OTHELLO. +Nay, stare not, masters, it is true indeed. + +GRATIANO. +’Tis a strange truth. + +MONTANO. +O monstrous act! + +EMILIA. +Villany, villany, villany! +I think upon’t, I think I smell’t; O villany! +I thought so then. I’ll kill myself for grief. +O villany, villany! + +IAGO. +What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home. + +EMILIA. +Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak. +’Tis proper I obey him, but not now. +Perchance, Iago, I will ne’er go home. + +OTHELLO. +O! O! O! + + [_Hanging over his wife._] + +EMILIA. +Nay, lay thee down and roar; +For thou hast kill’d the sweetest innocent +That e’er did lift up eye. + +OTHELLO. +[_Rising._] O, she was foul! +I scarce did know you, uncle, there lies your niece, +Whose breath indeed these hands have newly stopp’d. +I know this act shows horrible and grim. + +GRATIANO. +Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father’s dead. +Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief +Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now, +This sight would make him do a desperate turn, +Yea, curse his better angel from his side, +And fall to reprobance. + +OTHELLO. +’Tis pitiful. But yet Iago knows +That she with Cassio hath the act of shame +A thousand times committed; Cassio confess’d it, +And she did gratify his amorous works +With that recognizance and pledge of love +Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand. +It was a handkerchief, an antique token +My father gave my mother. + +EMILIA. +O heaven! O heavenly powers! + +IAGO. +Come, hold your peace. + +EMILIA. +’Twill out, ’twill out. I peace? +No, I will speak as liberal as the north. +Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, +All, all, cry shame against me, yet I’ll speak. + +IAGO. +Be wise, and get you home. + +EMILIA. +I will not. + + [_Iago offers to stab his wife._] + +GRATIANO. +Fie! +Your sword upon a woman? + +EMILIA. +O thou dull Moor, that handkerchief thou speak’st of +I found by fortune and did give my husband; +For often with a solemn earnestness, +More than indeed belong’d to such a trifle, +He begg’d of me to steal it. + +IAGO. +Villanous whore! + +EMILIA. +She give it Cassio! no, alas, I found it, +And I did give’t my husband. + +IAGO. +Filth, thou liest! + +EMILIA. +By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen. +O murderous coxcomb! What should such a fool +Do with so good a wife? + + +OTHELLO +Are there not stones in heaven +But what serve for thunder? Precious villain! + + [_Iago stabs Emilia and then runs out._] + +GRATIANO. +The woman falls. Sure, he hath kill’d his wife. + +EMILIA. +Ay, ay. O, lay me by my mistress’ side. + +GRATIANO. +He’s gone, but his wife’s kill’d. + +MONTANO. +’Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon, +Which I have here recover’d from the Moor. +Come, guard the door without, let him not pass, +But kill him rather. I’ll after that same villain, +For ’tis a damned slave. + + [_Exit Montano and Gratiano._] + +OTHELLO. +I am not valiant neither, +But every puny whipster gets my sword. +But why should honour outlive honesty? +Let it go all. + +EMILIA. +What did thy song bode, lady? +Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, +And die in music. +[_Sings._] _Willow, willow, willow._ +Moor, she was chaste. She lov’d thee, cruel Moor, +So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; +So speaking as I think, I die, I die. + + [_She dies._] + +OTHELLO. +I have another weapon in this chamber, +It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper. +O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. + +GRATIANO. +[_Within._] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear; +Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. + +OTHELLO. +Look in upon me then, and speak with me, +Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. + + Enter Gratiano. + +GRATIANO. +What is the matter? + +OTHELLO. +Behold, I have a weapon. +A better never did itself sustain +Upon a soldier’s thigh: I have seen the day +That with this little arm and this good sword +I have made my way through more impediments +Than twenty times your stop. But, O vain boast! +Who can control his fate? ’Tis not so now. +Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon’d. +Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt, +And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. +Do you go back dismay’d? ’Tis a lost fear. +Man but a rush against Othello’s breast, +And he retires. Where should Othello go? +Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr’d wench, +Pale as thy smock, when we shall meet at compt, +This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, +And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl! +Even like thy chastity. +O cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils, +From the possession of this heavenly sight! +Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur, +Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire! +O Desdemon! Dead, Desdemon! dead! Oh, oh! + + Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in a chair, and Officers with + Iago prisoner. + +LODOVICO. +Where is this rash and most unfortunate man? + +OTHELLO. +That’s he that was Othello. Here I am. + +LODOVICO. +Where is that viper? Bring the villain forth. + +OTHELLO. +I look down towards his feet; but that’s a fable. +If that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee. + + [_Wounds Iago._] + +LODOVICO. +Wrench his sword from him. + +IAGO. +I bleed, sir, but not kill’d. + +OTHELLO. +I am not sorry neither. I’d have thee live, +For in my sense ’tis happiness to die. + +LODOVICO. +O thou Othello, that wert once so good, +Fall’n in the practice of a damned slave, +What shall be said to thee? + +OTHELLO. +Why, anything; +An honourable murderer, if you will. +For naught did I in hate, but all in honour. + +LODOVICO. +This wretch hath part confess’d his villany. +Did you and he consent in Cassio’s death? + +OTHELLO. +Ay. + +CASSIO. +Dear general, I never gave you cause. + +OTHELLO. +I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. +Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil +Why he hath thus ensnar’d my soul and body? + +IAGO. +Demand me nothing. What you know, you know. +From this time forth I never will speak word. + +LODOVICO. +What, not to pray? + +GRATIANO. +Torments will ope your lips. + +OTHELLO. +Well, thou dost best. + +LODOVICO. +Sir, you shall understand what hath befall’n, +Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter +Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo, +And here another. The one of them imports +The death of Cassio, to be undertook +By Roderigo. + +OTHELLO. +O villain! + +CASSIO. +Most heathenish and most gross! + +LODOVICO. +Now here’s another discontented paper, +Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems, +Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain, +But that, belike, Iago in the interim +Came in and satisfied him. + +OTHELLO. +O the pernicious caitiff! +How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief +That was my wife’s? + +CASSIO. +I found it in my chamber. +And he himself confess’d but even now, +That there he dropp’d it for a special purpose +Which wrought to his desire. + +OTHELLO. +O fool! fool! fool! + +CASSIO. +There is besides in Roderigo’s letter, +How he upbraids Iago, that he made him +Brave me upon the watch, whereon it came +That I was cast. And even but now he spake, +After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, +Iago set him on. + +LODOVICO. +You must forsake this room, and go with us. +Your power and your command is taken off, +And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, +If there be any cunning cruelty +That can torment him much and hold him long, +It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest, +Till that the nature of your fault be known +To the Venetian state. Come, bring away. + +OTHELLO. +Soft you; a word or two before you go. +I have done the state some service, and they know’t. +No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, +When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, +Speak of me as I am. Nothing extenuate, +Nor set down aught in malice. Then must you speak +Of one that loved not wisely, but too well; +Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, +Perplex’d in the extreme; of one whose hand, +Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away +Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdu’d eyes, +Albeit unused to the melting mood, +Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees +Their medicinal gum. Set you down this. +And say besides, that in Aleppo once, +Where a malignant and a turban’d Turk +Beat a Venetian and traduc’d the state, +I took by the throat the circumcised dog, +And smote him, thus. + + [_Stabs himself._] + +LODOVICO. +O bloody period! + +GRATIANO. +All that’s spoke is marr’d. + +OTHELLO. +I kiss’d thee ere I kill’d thee. No way but this, +Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. + + [_Falling upon Desdemona._] + +CASSIO. +This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon, +For he was great of heart. + +LODOVICO. +[_To Iago._] O Spartan dog, +More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea, +Look on the tragic loading of this bed. +This is thy work. The object poisons sight, +Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house, +And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, +For they succeed on you. To you, lord governor, +Remains the censure of this hellish villain. +The time, the place, the torture, O, enforce it! +Myself will straight aboard, and to the state +This heavy act with heavy heart relate. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Chorus. Before the palace of Antioch. +Scene I. Antioch. A room in the palace. +Scene II. Tyre. A room in the palace. +Scene III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace. +Scene IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house. + +ACT II +Chorus. Chorus. +Scene I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside. +Scene II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists. +Scene III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared. +Scene IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house. +Scene V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace. + +ACT III +Chorus. Chorus. +Scene I. On shipboard. +Scene II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house. +Scene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house. +Scene IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house. + +ACT IV +Chorus. Chorus. +Scene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore. +Scene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel. +Scene III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house. +Scene IV. Before the monument of Marina at Tarsus. +Scene V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel. +Scene VI. The same. A room in the brothel. + +ACT V +Chorus. Chorus. +Scene I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene. +Scene II. Before the temple of Diana at Ephesus. +Scene III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus. + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +ANTIOCHUS, king of Antioch. +PERICLES, prince of Tyre. +HELICANUS, ESCANES, two lords of Tyre. +SIMONIDES, king of Pentapolis. +CLEON, governor of Tarsus. +LYSIMACHUS, governor of Mytilene. +CERIMON, a lord of Ephesus. +THALIARD, a lord of Antioch. +PHILEMON, servant to Cerimon. +LEONINE, servant to Dionyza. +Marshal. +A Pandar. +BOULT, his servant. +The Daughter of Antiochus. +DIONYZA, wife to Cleon. +THAISA, daughter to Simonides. +MARINA, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. +LYCHORIDA, nurse to Marina. +A Bawd. +Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers. +DIANA. +GOWER, as Chorus. + +SCENE: Dispersedly in various countries. + + + +ACT I + + Enter Gower. + + Before the palace of Antioch. + +To sing a song that old was sung, +From ashes ancient Gower is come; +Assuming man’s infirmities, +To glad your ear, and please your eyes. +It hath been sung at festivals, +On ember-eves and holy-ales; +And lords and ladies in their lives +Have read it for restoratives: +The purchase is to make men glorious, +_Et bonum quo antiquius eo melius._ +If you, born in these latter times, +When wit’s more ripe, accept my rhymes, +And that to hear an old man sing +May to your wishes pleasure bring, +I life would wish, and that I might +Waste it for you, like taper-light. +This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great +Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat; +The fairest in all Syria. +I tell you what mine authors say: +This king unto him took a fere, +Who died and left a female heir, +So buxom, blithe, and full of face, +As heaven had lent her all his grace; +With whom the father liking took, +And her to incest did provoke. +Bad child; worse father! to entice his own +To evil should be done by none: +But custom what they did begin +Was with long use account’d no sin. +The beauty of this sinful dame +Made many princes thither frame, +To seek her as a bedfellow, +In marriage pleasures playfellow: +Which to prevent he made a law, +To keep her still, and men in awe, +That whoso ask’d her for his wife, +His riddle told not, lost his life: +So for her many a wight did die, +As yon grim looks do testify. +What now ensues, to the judgement your eye +I give, my cause who best can justify. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace. + + Enter Antiochus, Prince Pericles and followers. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received +The danger of the task you undertake. + +PERICLES. +I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul +Emboldened with the glory of her praise, +Think death no hazard in this enterprise. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Music! Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, +For the embracements even of Jove himself; +At whose conception, till Lucina reigned, +Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, +The senate house of planets all did sit, +To knit in her their best perfections. + + Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. + +PERICLES. +See where she comes, apparell’d like the spring, +Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king +Of every virtue gives renown to men! +Her face the book of praises, where is read +Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence +Sorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath +Could never be her mild companion. +You gods that made me man, and sway in love, +That have inflamed desire in my breast +To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, +Or die in the adventure, be my helps, +As I am son and servant to your will, +To compass such a boundless happiness! + +ANTIOCHUS. +Prince Pericles, — + +PERICLES. +That would be son to great Antiochus. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, +With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch’d; +For death-like dragons here affright thee hard: +Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view +Her countless glory, which desert must gain; +And which, without desert, because thine eye +Presumes to reach, all the whole heap must die. +Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself, +Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, +Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale, +That without covering, save yon field of stars, +Here they stand Martyrs, slain in Cupid’s wars; +And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist +For going on death’s net, whom none resist. + +PERICLES. +Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught +My frail mortality to know itself, +And by those fearful objects to prepare +This body, like to them, to what I must; +For death remember’d should be like a mirror, +Who tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error. +I’ll make my will then, and, as sick men do +Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe, +Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did; +So I bequeath a happy peace to you +And all good men, as every prince should do; +My riches to the earth from whence they came; +[_To the daughter of Antiochus._] But my unspotted fire of love to you. +Thus ready for the way of life or death, +I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Scorning advice, read the conclusion, then: +Which read and not expounded, ’tis decreed, +As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. + +DAUGHTER. +Of all ’ssayed yet, mayst thou prove prosperous! +Of all ’ssayed yet, I wish thee happiness! + +PERICLES +Like a bold champion, I assume the lists, +Nor ask advice of any other thought +But faithfulness and courage. + + [_He reads the riddle._] + + _I am no viper, yet I feed + On mother’s flesh which did me breed. + I sought a husband, in which labour + I found that kindness in a father: + He’s father, son, and husband mild; + I mother, wife, and yet his child. + How they may be, and yet in two, + As you will live resolve it you._ + + +Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers +That give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts, +Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, +If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? +Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still, + + [_Takes hold of the hand of the Princess._] + +Were not this glorious casket stored with ill: +But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt; +For he’s no man on whom perfections wait +That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate, +You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings; +Who, finger’d to make man his lawful music, +Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken; +But being play’d upon before your time, +Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime. +Good sooth, I care not for you. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, +For that’s an article within our law, +As dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expired: +Either expound now, or receive your sentence. + +PERICLES. +Great king, +Few love to hear the sins they love to act; +’Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it. +Who has a book of all that monarchs do, +He’s more secure to keep it shut than shown: +For vice repeated is like the wandering wind, +Blows dust in others’ eyes, to spread itself; +And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, +The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear. +To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts +Copp’d hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d +By man’s oppression; and the poor worm doth die for’t. +Kind are earth’s gods; in vice their law’s their will; +And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill? +It is enough you know; and it is fit, +What being more known grows worse, to smother it. +All love the womb that their first bred, +Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. + +ANTIOCHUS. +[_Aside_] Heaven, that I had thy head! He has found the meaning: +But I will gloze with him. — Young prince of Tyre. +Though by the tenour of our strict edict, +Your exposition misinterpreting, +We might proceed to cancel of your days; +Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree +As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise: +Forty days longer we do respite you; +If by which time our secret be undone, +This mercy shows we’ll joy in such a son: +And until then your entertain shall be +As doth befit our honour and your worth. + + [_Exeunt all but Pericles._] + +PERICLES. +How courtesy would seem to cover sin, +When what is done is like an hypocrite, +The which is good in nothing but in sight! +If it be true that I interpret false, +Then were it certain you were not so bad +As with foul incest to abuse your soul; +Where now you’re both a father and a son, +By your untimely claspings with your child, +Which pleasures fits a husband, not a father; +And she an eater of her mother’s flesh, +By the defiling of her parent’s bed; +And both like serpents are, who though they feed +On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. +Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men +Blush not in actions blacker than the night, +Will ’schew no course to keep them from the light. +One sin, I know, another doth provoke; +Murder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke: +Poison and treason are the hands of sin, +Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame: +Then, lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear, +By flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear. + + [_Exit._] + + Re-enter Antiochus. + +ANTIOCHUS. +He hath found the meaning, +For which we mean to have his head. +He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, +Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin +In such a loathed manner; +And therefore instantly this prince must die; +For by his fall my honour must keep high. +Who attends us there? + + Enter Thaliard. + +THALIARD. +Doth your highness call? + +ANTIOCHUS. +Thaliard, you are of our chamber, +And our mind partakes her private actions +To your secrecy; and for your faithfulness +We will advance you. Thaliard, +Behold, here’s poison, and here’s gold; +We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him: +It fits thee not to ask the reason why, +Because we bid it. Say, is it done? + +THALIARD. +My lord, ’tis done. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Enough. + + Enter a Messenger. + +Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. + +MESSENGER. +My lord, Prince Pericles is fled. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTIOCHUS. +As thou wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot +From a well-experienced archer hits the mark +His eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return +Unless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’ + +THALIARD. +My lord, if I can get him within my pistol’s length, I’ll make him sure +enough: so, farewell to your highness. + +ANTIOCHUS. +Thaliard! adieu! + + [_Exit Thaliard._] + +Till Pericles be dead, +My heart can lend no succour to my head. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE II. Tyre. A room in the palace. + + Enter Pericles with his Lords. + +PERICLES. +[_To Lords without._] Let none disturb us. — Why should this change of +thoughts, +The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy, +Be my so used a guest as not an hour +In the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night, +The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet? +Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them, +And danger, which I fear’d, is at Antioch, +Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here: +Yet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits, +Nor yet the other’s distance comfort me. +Then it is thus: the passions of the mind, +That have their first conception by misdread, +Have after-nourishment and life by care; +And what was first but fear what might be done, +Grows elder now and cares it be not done. +And so with me: the great Antiochus, +’Gainst whom I am too little to contend, +Since he’s so great can make his will his act, +Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence; +Nor boots it me to say I honour him. +If he suspect I may dishonour him: +And what may make him blush in being known, +He’ll stop the course by which it might be known; +With hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land, +And with the ostent of war will look so huge, +Amazement shall drive courage from the state; +Our men be vanquish’d ere they do resist, +And subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence: +Which care of them, not pity of myself, +Who am no more but as the tops of trees, +Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them, +Makes both my body pine and soul to languish, +And punish that before that he would punish. + + Enter Helicanus with other Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast! + +SECOND LORD. +And keep your mind, till you return to us, +Peaceful and comfortable! + +HELICANUS. +Peace, peace, and give experience tongue. +They do abuse the king that flatter him: +For flattery is the bellows blows up sin; +The thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark, +To which that spark gives heat and stronger glowing: +Whereas reproof, obedient and in order, +Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. +When Signior Sooth here does proclaim peace, +He flatters you, makes war upon your life. +Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please; +I cannot be much lower than my knees. + +PERICLES. +All leave us else, but let your cares o’erlook +What shipping and what lading’s in our haven, +And then return to us. + + [_Exeunt Lords._] + +Helicanus, thou +Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks? + +HELICANUS. +An angry brow, dread lord. + +PERICLES. +If there be such a dart in princes’ frowns, +How durst thy tongue move anger to our face? + +HELICANUS. +How dares the plants look up to heaven, from whence +They have their nourishment? + +PERICLES. +Thou know’st I have power +To take thy life from thee. + +HELICANUS. [_Kneeling._] +I have ground the axe myself; +Do but you strike the blow. + +PERICLES. +Rise, prithee, rise. +Sit down: thou art no flatterer: +I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid +That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid! +Fit counsellor and servant for a prince, +Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant, +What wouldst thou have me do? + +HELICANUS. +To bear with patience +Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself. + +PERICLES. +Thou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus, +That ministers a potion unto me +That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself. +Attend me, then: I went to Antioch, +Where, as thou know’st, against the face of death, +I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, +From whence an issue I might propagate, +Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects. +Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder; +The rest — hark in thine ear — as black as incest, +Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father +Seem’d not to strike, but smooth: but thou know’st this, +’Tis time to fear when tyrants seems to kiss. +Which fear so grew in me I hither fled, +Under the covering of a careful night, +Who seem’d my good protector; and, being here, +Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. +I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears +Decrease not, but grow faster than the years: +And should he doubt, as no doubt he doth, +That I should open to the listening air +How many worthy princes’ bloods were shed, +To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, +To lop that doubt, he’ll fill this land with arms, +And make pretence of wrong that I have done him; +When all, for mine, if I may call offence, +Must feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence: +Which love to all, of which thyself art one, +Who now reprovest me for it, — + +HELICANUS. +Alas, sir! + +PERICLES. +Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks, +Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts +How I might stop this tempest ere it came; +And finding little comfort to relieve them, +I thought it princely charity to grieve them. + +HELICANUS. +Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak, +Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear, +And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, +Who either by public war or private treason +Will take away your life. +Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, +Till that his rage and anger be forgot, +Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life. +Your rule direct to any; if to me, +Day serves not light more faithful than I’ll be. + +PERICLES. +I do not doubt thy faith; +But should he wrong my liberties in my absence? + +HELCANUS. +We’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth, +From whence we had our being and our birth. + +PERICLES. +Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus +Intend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee; +And by whose letters I’ll dispose myself. +The care I had and have of subjects’ good +On thee I lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it. +I’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath: +Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both: +But in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe, +That time of both this truth shall ne’er convince, +Thou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE III. Tyre. An ante-chamber in the Palace. + + Enter Thaliard. + +THALIARD. +So, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill King Pericles; +and if I do it not, I am sure to be hanged at home: ’tis dangerous. +Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that, +being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none +of his secrets: now do I see he had some reason for’t; for if a king +bid a man be a villain, he’s bound by the indenture of his oath to be +one. Husht, here come the lords of Tyre. + + Enter Helicanus and Escanes with other Lords of Tyre. + +HELICANUS. +You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, +Further to question me of your king’s departure: +His seal’d commission, left in trust with me, +Doth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel. + +THALIARD. +[_Aside._] How? the king gone? + +HELICANUS. +If further yet you will be satisfied, +Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves, +He would depart, I’ll give some light unto you. +Being at Antioch — + +THALIARD. +[_Aside._] What from Antioch? + +HELICANUS. +Royal Antiochus — on what cause I know not +Took some displeasure at him; at least he judged so: +And doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d, +To show his sorrow, he’d correct himself; +So puts himself unto the shipman’s toil, +With whom each minute threatens life or death. + +THALIARD. +[_Aside._] Well, I perceive +I shall not be hang’d now, although I would; +But since he’s gone, the king’s seas must please +He ’scaped the land, to perish at the sea. +I’ll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre! + +HELICANUS. +Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. + +THALIARD. +From him I come +With message unto princely Pericles; +But since my landing I have understood +Your lord has betook himself to unknown travels, +My message must return from whence it came. + +HELICANUS. +We have no reason to desire it, +Commended to our master, not to us: +Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, +As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE IV. Tarsus. A room in the Governor’s house. + + Enter Cleon, the governor of Tarsus, with Dionyza and others. + +CLEON. +My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, +And by relating tales of others’ griefs, +See if ’twill teach us to forget our own? + +DIONYZA. +That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it; +For who digs hills because they do aspire +Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. +O my distressed lord, even such our griefs are; +Here they’re but felt, and seen with mischief’s eyes, +But like to groves, being topp’d, they higher rise. + +CLEON. +O Dionyza, +Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, +Or can conceal his hunger till he famish? +Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep +Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep, +Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; +That, if heaven slumber while their creatures want, +They may awake their helps to comfort them. +I’ll then discourse our woes, felt several years, +And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears. + +DIONYZA. +I’ll do my best, sir. + +CLEON. +This Tarsus, o’er which I have the government, +A city on whom plenty held full hand, +For riches strew’d herself even in the streets; +Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss’d the clouds, +And strangers ne’er beheld but wonder’d at; +Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn’d, +Like one another’s glass to trim them by: +Their tables were stored full to glad the sight, +And not so much to feed on as delight; +All poverty was scorn’d, and pride so great, +The name of help grew odious to repeat. + +DIONYZA. +O, ’tis too true. + +CLEON. +But see what heaven can do! By this our change, +These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air, +Were all too little to content and please, +Although they gave their creatures in abundance, +As houses are defiled for want of use, +They are now starved for want of exercise: +Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, +Must have inventions to delight the taste, +Would now be glad of bread and beg for it: +Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, +Thought nought too curious, are ready now +To eat those little darlings whom they loved. +So sharp are hunger’s teeth, that man and wife +Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life: +Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; +Here many sink, yet those which see them fall +Have scarce strength left to give them burial. +Is not this true? + +DIONYZA. +Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. + +CLEON. +O, let those cities that of plenty’s cup +And her prosperities so largely taste, +With their superflous riots, hear these tears! +The misery of Tarsus may be theirs. + + Enter a Lord. + +LORD. +Where’s the lord governor? + +CLEON. +Here. +Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring’st in haste, +For comfort is too far for us to expect. + +LORD. +We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore, +A portly sail of ships make hitherward. + +CLEON. +I thought as much. +One sorrow never comes but brings an heir, +That may succeed as his inheritor; +And so in ours: some neighbouring nation, +Taking advantage of our misery, +That stuff’d the hollow vessels with their power, +To beat us down, the which are down already; +And make a conquest of unhappy me, +Whereas no glory’s got to overcome. + +LORD. +That’s the least fear; for, by the semblance +Of their white flags display’d, they bring us peace, +And come to us as favourers, not as foes. + +CLEON. +Thou speak’st like him’s untutor’d to repeat: +Who makes the fairest show means most deceit. +But bring they what they will and what they can, +What need we fear? +The ground’s the lowest, and we are half way there. +Go tell their general we attend him here, +To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, +And what he craves. + +LORD. +I go, my lord. + + [_Exit._] + +CLEON. +Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist; +If wars, we are unable to resist. + + Enter Pericles with Attendants. + +PERICLES. +Lord governor, for so we hear you are, +Let not our ships and number of our men +Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes. +We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, +And seen the desolation of your streets: +Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, +But to relieve them of their heavy load; +And these our ships, you happily may think +Are like the Trojan horse was stuff’d within +With bloody veins, expecting overthrow, +Are stored with corn to make your needy bread, +And give them life whom hunger starved half dead. + +ALL. +The gods of Greece protect you! +And we’ll pray for you. + +PERICLES. +Arise, I pray you, rise: +We do not look for reverence, but for love, +And harbourage for ourself, our ships and men. + +CLEON. +The which when any shall not gratify, +Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, +Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, +The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! +Till when, — the which I hope shall ne’er be seen, — +Your grace is welcome to our town and us. + +PERICLES. +Which welcome we’ll accept; feast here awhile, +Until our stars that frown lend us a smile. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + + Enter Gower. + +GOWER. +Here have you seen a mighty king +His child, iwis, to incest bring; +A better prince and benign lord, +That will prove awful both in deed word. +Be quiet then as men should be, +Till he hath pass’d necessity. +I’ll show you those in troubles reign, +Losing a mite, a mountain gain. +The good in conversation, +To whom I give my benison, +Is still at Tarsus, where each man +Thinks all is writ he speken can; +And to remember what he does, +Build his statue to make him glorious: +But tidings to the contrary +Are brought your eyes; what need speak I? + + Dumb-show. Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the + train with them. Enter at another door a Gentleman with a letter to + Pericles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; gives the Messenger a + reward, and knights him. Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at + another. + +Good Helicane, that stay’d at home. +Not to eat honey like a drone +From others’ labours; for though he strive +To killen bad, keep good alive; +And to fulfil his prince’ desire, +Sends word of all that haps in Tyre: +How Thaliard came full bent with sin +And had intent to murder him; +And that in Tarsus was not best +Longer for him to make his rest. +He, doing so, put forth to seas, +Where when men been, there’s seldom ease; +For now the wind begins to blow; +Thunder above and deeps below +Make such unquiet, that the ship +Should house him safe is wreck’d and split; +And he, good prince, having all lost, +By waves from coast to coast is tost: +All perishen of man, of pelf, +Ne aught escapen but himself; +Till Fortune, tired with doing bad, +Threw him ashore, to give him glad: +And here he comes. What shall be next, +Pardon old Gower, — this longs the text. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE I. Pentapolis. An open place by the seaside. + + Enter Pericles, wet. + +PERICLES. +Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven! +Wind, rain, and thunder, remember earthly man +Is but a substance that must yield to you; +And I, as fits my nature, do obey you: +Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, +Wash’d me from shore to shore, and left me breath +Nothing to think on but ensuing death: +Let it suffice the greatness of your powers +To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes; +And having thrown him from your watery grave, +Here to have death in peace is all he’ll crave. + + Enter three Fishermen. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +What, ho, Pilch! + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Ha, come and bring away the nets! + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +What, Patch-breech, I say! + +THIRD FISHERMAN. +What say you, master? + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Look how thou stirrest now! Come away, or I’ll fetch thee with a +wanion. + +THIRD FISHERMAN. +Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before +us even now. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they +made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help +ourselves. + +THIRD FISHERMAN. +Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced +and tumbled? They say they’re half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, +they ne’er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the +fishes live in the sea. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can +compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a’ plays and +tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all +at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on o’ the land, who never leave +gaping till they swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and +all. + +PERICLES. +[_Aside._] A pretty moral. + +THIRD FISHERMAN. +But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in +the belfry. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Why, man? + +THIRD FISHERMAN. +Because he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his +belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should +never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church and parish up +again. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, — + +PERICLES. +[_Aside._] Simonides? + +THIRD FISHERMAN. +We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey. + +PERICLES. +[_Aside._] How from the finny subject of the sea +These fishers tell the infirmities of men; +And from their watery empire recollect +All that may men approve or men detect! +Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Honest! good fellow, what’s that? If it be a day fits you, search out +of the calendar, and nobody look after it. + +PERICLES. +May see the sea hath cast upon your coast. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our way! + +PERICLES. +A man whom both the waters and the wind, +In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball +For them to play upon, entreats you pity him; +He asks of you, that never used to beg. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +No, friend, cannot you beg? Here’s them in our country of Greece gets +more with begging than we can do with working. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Canst thou catch any fishes, then? + +PERICLES. +I never practised it. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here’s nothing to be got +now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for’t. + +PERICLES. +What I have been I have forgot to know; +But what I am, want teaches me to think on: +A man throng’d up with cold: my veins are chill, +And have no more of life than may suffice +To give my tongue that heat to ask your help; +Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, +For that I am a man, pray see me buried. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid’t, and I have a gown here; come, put it +on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt +go home, and we’ll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting-days, and +moreo’er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome. + +PERICLES. +I thank you, sir. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg? + +PERICLES. +I did but crave. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +But crave! Then I’ll turn craver too, and so I shall ’scape whipping. + +PERICLES. +Why, are your beggars whipped, then? + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your beggars were whipped, I +would wish no better office than to be beadle. But, master, I’ll go +draw up the net. + + [_Exit with Third Fisherman._] + +PERICLES. +[_Aside._] How well this honest mirth becomes their labour! + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are? + +PERICLES. +Not well. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Why, I’ll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and our King, the good +Simonides. + +PERICLES. +The good Simonides, do you call him? + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his peaceable reign and +good government. + +PERICLES. +He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects the name of good +government. How far is his court distant from this shore? + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Marry sir, half a day’s journey: and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair +daughter, and tomorrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and +knights come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney for her +love. + +PERICLES. +Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish to make one there. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may +lawfully deal for — his wife’s soul. + + Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Help, master, help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man’s +right in the law; ’twill hardly come out. Ha! bots on’t, ’tis come at +last, and ’tis turned to a rusty armour. + +PERICLES. +An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it. +Thanks, Fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses, +Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself, +And though it was mine own, part of my heritage, +Which my dead father did bequeath to me, +With this strict charge, even as he left his life. +‘Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield +’Twixt me and death;’ — and pointed to this brace;— +‘For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity — +The which the gods protect thee from! — may defend thee.’ +It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it; +Till the rough seas, that spares not any man, +Took it in rage, though calm’d have given’t again: +I thank thee for’t: my shipwreck now’s no ill, +Since I have here my father gave in his will. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +What mean you sir? + +PERICLES. +To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth, +For it was sometime target to a king; +I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly, +And for his sake I wish the having of it; +And that you’d guide me to your sovereign court, +Where with it I may appear a gentleman; +And if that ever my low fortune’s better, +I’ll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? + +PERICLES. +I’ll show the virtue I have borne in arms. + +FIRST FISHERMAN. +Why, d’ye take it, and the gods give thee good on’t! + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +Ay, but hark you, my friend; ’twas we that made up this garment through +the rough seams of the waters: there are certain condolements, certain +vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you’ll remember from whence you had +them. + +PERICLES. +Believe’t I will. +By your furtherance I am clothed in steel; +And spite of all the rapture of the sea, +This jewel holds his building on my arm: +Unto thy value I will mount myself +Upon a courser, whose delightful steps +Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. +Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided +Of a pair of bases. + +SECOND FISHERMAN. +We’ll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair; +and I’ll bring thee to the court myself. + +PERICLES. +Then honour be but a goal to my will, +This day I’ll rise, or else add ill to ill. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE II. The same. A public way, or platform leading to the lists. A +pavilion by the side of it for the reception of the King, Princess, +Lords, etc. + + Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords and Attendants. + +SIMONIDES. +Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? + +FIRST LORD. +They are, my liege; +And stay your coming to present themselves. + +SIMONIDES. +Return them, we are ready; and our daughter, +In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, +Sits here, like beauty’s child, whom Nature gat +For men to see, and seeing wonder at. + + [_Exit a Lord._] + +THAISA. +It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express +My commendations great, whose merit’s less. + +SIMONIDES. +It’s fit it should be so; for princes are +A model, which heaven makes like to itself: +As jewels lose their glory if neglected, +So princes their renowns if not respected. +’Tis now your honour, daughter, to entertain +The labour of each knight in his device. + +THAISA. +Which, to preserve mine honour, I’ll perform. + + The first Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to + Thaisa. + +SIMONIDES. +Who is the first that doth prefer himself? + +THAISA. +A knight of Sparta, my renowned father; +And the device he bears upon his shield +Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun: +The word, _Lux tua vita mihi._ + +SIMONIDES. +He loves you well that holds his life of you. + + The second Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to + Thaisa. + +Who is the second that presents himself? + +THAISA. +A prince of Macedon, my royal father; +And the device he bears upon his shield +Is an arm’d knight that’s conquer’d by a lady; +The motto thus, in Spanish, _Piu por dulzura que por forza._ + + The third Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to + Thaisa. + +SIMONIDES. +And what’s the third? + +THAISA. +The third of Antioch; +And his device, a wreath of chivalry; +The word, _Me pompae provexit apex._ + + The fourth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to + Thaisa. + +SIMONIDES. +What is the fourth? + +THAISA. +A burning torch that’s turned upside down; +The word, _Quod me alit me extinguit._ + +SIMONIDES. +Which shows that beauty hath his power and will, +Which can as well inflame as it can kill. + + The fifth Knight passes by, and his Squire presents his shield to + Thaisa. + +THAISA. +The fifth, an hand environed with clouds, +Holding out gold that’s by the touchstone tried; +The motto thus, _Sic spectanda fides._ + + The sixth Knight, Pericles, passes in rusty armour with bases, and + unaccompanied. He presents his device directly to Thaisa. + +SIMONIDES. +And what’s the sixth and last, the which the knight himself +With such a graceful courtesy deliver’d? + +THAISA. +He seems to be a stranger; but his present is +A wither’d branch, that’s only green at top; +The motto, _In hac spe vivo._ + +SIMONIDES. +A pretty moral; +From the dejected state wherein he is, +He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. + +FIRST LORD. +He had need mean better than his outward show +Can any way speak in his just commend; +For by his rusty outside he appears +To have practised more the whipstock than the lance. + +SECOND LORD. +He well may be a stranger, for he comes +To an honour’d triumph strangely furnished. + +THIRD LORD. +And on set purpose let his armour rust +Until this day, to scour it in the dust. + +SIMONIDES. +Opinion’s but a fool, that makes us scan +The outward habit by the inward man. +But stay, the knights are coming. +We will withdraw into the gallery. + + [_Exeunt. Great shouts within, and all cry_ ‘The mean Knight!’] + + + +SCENE III. The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared. + + Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and Knights, from tilting. + +SIMONIDES. +Knights, +To say you’re welcome were superfluous. +To place upon the volume of your deeds, +As in a title-page, your worth in arms, +Were more than you expect, or more than’s fit, +Since every worth in show commends itself. +Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast: +You are princes and my guests. + +THAISA. +But you, my knight and guest; +To whom this wreath of victory I give, +And crown you king of this day’s happiness. + +PERICLES. +’Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit. + +SIMONIDES. +Call it by what you will, the day is yours; +And here, I hope, is none that envies it. +In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed, +To make some good, but others to exceed; +And you are her labour’d scholar. Come queen of the feast, — +For, daughter, so you are, — here take your place: +Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. + +KNIGHTS. +We are honour’d much by good Simonides. + +SIMONIDES. +Your presence glads our days; honour we love; +For who hates honour hates the gods above. + +MARSHALL. +Sir, yonder is your place. + +PERICLES. +Some other is more fit. + +FIRST KNIGHT. +Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen +Have neither in our hearts nor outward eyes +Envied the great, nor shall the low despise. + +PERICLES. +You are right courteous knights. + +SIMONIDES. +Sit, sir, sit. +By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts, +These cates resist me, he but thought upon. + +THAISA. +By Juno, that is queen of marriage, +All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury, +Wishing him my meat. Sure, he’s a gallant gentleman. + +SIMONIDES. +He’s but a country gentleman; +Has done no more than other knights have done; +Has broken a staff or so; so let it pass. + +THAISA. +To me he seems like diamond to glass. + +PERICLES. +Yon king’s to me like to my father’s picture, +Which tells me in that glory once he was; +Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, +And he the sun, for them to reverence; +None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, +Did vail their crowns to his supremacy: +Where now his son’s like a glow-worm in the night, +The which hath fire in darkness, none in light: +Whereby I see that time’s the king of men, +He’s both their parent, and he is their grave, +And gives them what he will, not what they crave. + +SIMONIDES. +What, are you merry, knights? + +KNIGHTS. +Who can be other in this royal presence? + +SIMONIDES. +Here, with a cup that’s stored unto the brim, — +As you do love, fill to your mistress’ lips, — +We drink this health to you. + +KNIGHTS. +We thank your grace. + +SIMONIDES. +Yet pause awhile. Yon knight doth sit too melancholy, +As if the entertainment in our court +Had not a show might countervail his worth. +Note it not you, Thaisa? + +THAISA. +What is’t to me, my father? + +SIMONIDES. +O attend, my daughter: +Princes in this should live like god’s above, +Who freely give to everyone that comes to honour them: +And princes not doing so are like to gnats, +Which make a sound, but kill’d are wonder’d at. +Therefore to make his entrance more sweet, +Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him. + +THAISA. +Alas, my father, it befits not me +Unto a stranger knight to be so bold: +He may my proffer take for an offence, +Since men take women’s gifts for impudence. + +SIMONIDES. +How? Do as I bid you, or you’ll move me else. + +THAISA. +[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, he could not please me better. + +SIMONIDES. +And furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him, +Of whence he is, his name and parentage. + +THAISA. +The king my father, sir, has drunk to you. + +PERICLES. +I thank him. + +THAISA. +Wishing it so much blood unto your life. + +PERICLES. +I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely. + +THAISA. +And further he desires to know of you, +Of whence you are, your name and parentage. + +PERICLES. +A gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles; +My education been in arts and arms; +Who, looking for adventures in the world, +Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, +And after shipwreck driven upon this shore. + +THAISA. +He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles, +A gentleman of Tyre, +Who only by misfortune of the seas +Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore. + +SIMONIDES. +Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune, +And will awake him from his melancholy. +Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, +And waste the time, which looks for other revels. +Even in your armours, as you are address’d, +Will well become a soldier’s dance. +I will not have excuse, with saying this, +‘Loud music is too harsh for ladies’ heads’ +Since they love men in arms as well as beds. + + [_The Knights dance._] + +So, this was well ask’d, ’twas so well perform’d. +Come, sir; here is a lady which wants breathing too: +And I have heard you knights of Tyre +Are excellent in making ladies trip; +And that their measures are as excellent. + +PERICLES. +In those that practise them they are, my lord. + +SIMONIDES. +O, that’s as much as you would be denied +Of your fair courtesy. + + [_The Knights and Ladies dance._] + +Unclasp, unclasp: +Thanks gentlemen, to all; all have done well. +[_To Pericles._] But you the best. Pages and lights to conduct +These knights unto their several lodgings. +[_To Pericles._] Yours, sir, we have given order to be next our own. + +PERICLES. +I am at your grace’s pleasure. + +SIMONIDES. +Princes, it is too late to talk of love; +And that’s the mark I know you level at: +Therefore each one betake him to his rest; +Tomorrow all for speeding do their best. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE IV. Tyre. A room in the Governor’s house. + + Enter Helicanus and Escanes. + +HELICANUS. +No, Escanes, know this of me, +Antiochus from incest lived not free: +For which the most high gods not minding longer +To withhold the vengeance that they had in store +Due to this heinous capital offence, +Even in the height and pride of all his glory, +When he was seated in a chariot +Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with him, +A fire from heaven came and shrivell’d up +Their bodies, even to loathing, for they so stunk, +That all those eyes adored them ere their fall +Scorn now their hand should give them burial. + +ESCANES. +’Twas very strange + +HELICANUS. +And yet but justice; for though this king were great; +His greatness was no guard to bar heaven’s shaft, +But sin had his reward. + +ESCANES. +’Tis very true. + + Enter two or three Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +See, not a man in private conference +Or council has respect with him but he. + +SECOND LORD. +It shall no longer grieve without reproof. + +THIRD LORD. +And cursed be he that will not second it. + +FIRST LORD. +Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word. + +HELICANUS. +With me? and welcome: happy day, my lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Know that our griefs are risen to the top, +And now at length they overflow their banks. + +HELICANUS. +Your griefs! for what? Wrong not your prince you love. + +FIRST LORD. +Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane; +But if the prince do live, let us salute him. +Or know what ground’s made happy by his breath. +If in the world he live, we’ll seek him out; +If in his grave he rest, we’ll find him there. +We’ll be resolved he lives to govern us, +Or dead, give’s cause to mourn his funeral, +And leave us to our free election. + +SECOND LORD. +Whose death’s indeed the strongest in our censure: +And knowing this kingdom is without a head, — +Like goodly buildings left without a roof +Soon fall to ruin, — your noble self, +That best know how to rule and how to reign, +We thus submit unto, — our sovereign. + +ALL. +Live, noble Helicane! + +HELICANUS. +For honour’s cause, forbear your suffrages: +If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. +Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, +Where’s hourly trouble for a minute’s ease. +A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you +To forbear the absence of your king; +If in which time expired, he not return, +I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. +But if I cannot win you to this love, +Go search like nobles, like noble subjects, +And in your search spend your adventurous worth; +Whom if you find, and win unto return, +You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. + +FIRST LORD. +To wisdom he’s a fool that will not yield; +And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us, +We with our travels will endeavour us. + +HELICANUS. +Then you love us, we you, and we’ll clasp hands: +When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE V. Pentapolis. A room in the palace. + + Enter Simonides reading a letter at one door; the Knights meet him. + +FIRST KNIGHT. +Good morrow to the good Simonides. + +SIMONIDES. +Knights, from my daughter this I let you know, +That for this twelvemonth she’ll not undertake +A married life. +Her reason to herself is only known, +Which yet from her by no means can I get. + +SECOND KNIGHT. +May we not get access to her, my lord? + +SIMONIDES. +Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied +Her to her chamber, that ’tis impossible. +One twelve moons more she’ll wear Diana’s livery; +This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow’d, +And on her virgin honour will not break it. + +THIRD KNIGHT. +Loath to bid farewell, we take our leaves. + + [_Exeunt Knights._] + +SIMONIDES. +So, they are well dispatch’d; now to my daughter’s letter: +She tells me here, she’ll wed the stranger knight, +Or never more to view nor day nor light. +’Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine; +I like that well: nay, how absolute she’s in’t, +Not minding whether I dislike or no! +Well, I do commend her choice; +And will no longer have it be delay’d. +Soft! here he comes: I must dissemble it. + + Enter Pericles. + +PERICLES. +All fortune to the good Simonides! + +SIMONIDES. +To you as much. Sir, I am beholding to you +For your sweet music this last night: I do +Protest my ears were never better fed +With such delightful pleasing harmony. + +PERICLES. +It is your grace’s pleasure to commend; +Not my desert. + +SIMONIDES. +Sir, you are music’s master. + +PERICLES. +The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. + +SIMONIDES. +Let me ask you one thing: +What do you think of my daughter, sir? + +PERICLES. +A most virtuous princess. + +SIMONIDES. +And she is fair too, is she not? + +PERICLES. +As a fair day in summer, wondrous fair. + +SIMONIDES. +Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you; +Ay, so well, that you must be her master, +And she will be your scholar: therefore look to it. + +PERICLES. +I am unworthy for her schoolmaster. + +SIMONIDES. +She thinks not so; peruse this writing else. + +PERICLES. +[_Aside._] What’s here? A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre! +’Tis the king’s subtlety to have my life. +O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord, +A stranger and distressed gentleman, +That never aim’d so high to love your daughter, +But bent all offices to honour her. + +SIMONIDES. +Thou hast bewitch’d my daughter, +And thou art a villain. + +PERICLES. +By the gods, I have not: +Never did thought of mine levy offence; +Nor never did my actions yet commence +A deed might gain her love or your displeasure. + +SIMONIDES. +Traitor, thou liest. + +PERICLES. +Traitor? + +SIMONIDES. +Ay, traitor. + +PERICLES. +Even in his throat — unless it be the king — +That calls me traitor, I return the lie. + +SIMONIDES. +[_Aside._] Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage. + +PERICLES. +My actions are as noble as my thoughts, +That never relish’d of a base descent. +I came unto your court for honour’s cause, +And not to be a rebel to her state; +And he that otherwise accounts of me, +This sword shall prove he’s honour’s enemy. + +SIMONIDES. +No? +Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. + + Enter Thaisa. + +PERICLES. +Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, +Resolve your angry father, if my tongue +Did e’er solicit, or my hand subscribe +To any syllable that made love to you. + +THAISA. +Why, sir, say if you had, +Who takes offence at that would make me glad? + +SIMONIDES. +Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory? +[_Aside._] I am glad on’t with all my heart. — +I’ll tame you; I’ll bring you in subjection. +Will you, not having my consent, +Bestow your love and your affections +Upon a stranger? [_Aside._] Who, for aught I know +May be, nor can I think the contrary, +As great in blood as I myself. — +Therefore hear you, mistress; either frame +Your will to mine, and you, sir, hear you, +Either be ruled by me, or I will make you — +Man and wife. Nay, come, your hands, +And lips must seal it too: and being join’d, +I’ll thus your hopes destroy; and for further grief, +God give you joy! What, are you both pleased? + +THAISA. +Yes, if you love me, sir. + +PERICLES. +Even as my life my blood that fosters it. + +SIMONIDES. +What, are you both agreed? + +BOTH. +Yes, if’t please your majesty. + +SIMONIDES. +It pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed; +And then with what haste you can, get you to bed. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + + Enter Gower. + +GOWER. +Now sleep yslaked hath the rouse; +No din but snores about the house, +Made louder by the o’erfed breast +Of this most pompous marriage feast. +The cat, with eyne of burning coal, +Now couches fore the mouse’s hole; +And crickets sing at the oven’s mouth, +Are the blither for their drouth. +Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, +Where, by the loss of maidenhead, +A babe is moulded. Be attent, +And time that is so briefly spent +With your fine fancies quaintly eche: +What’s dumb in show I’ll plain with speech. + + Dumb-show. Enter, Pericles and Simonides at one door with Attendants; + a Messenger meets them, kneels, and gives Pericles a letter: Pericles + shows it Simonides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa with + child, with Lychorida, a nurse. The King shows her the letter; she + rejoices: she and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart, with + Lychorida and their Attendants. Then exeunt Simonides and the rest. + +By many a dern and painful perch +Of Pericles the careful search, +By the four opposing coigns +Which the world together joins, +Is made with all due diligence +That horse and sail and high expense +Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre, +Fame answering the most strange enquire, +To th’ court of King Simonides +Are letters brought, the tenour these: +Antiochus and his daughter dead; +The men of Tyrus on the head +Of Helicanus would set on +The crown of Tyre, but he will none: +The mutiny he there hastes t’oppress; +Says to ’em, if King Pericles +Come not home in twice six moons, +He, obedient to their dooms, +Will take the crown. The sum of this, +Brought hither to Pentapolis +Y-ravished the regions round, +And everyone with claps can sound, +‘Our heir apparent is a king! +Who dreamt, who thought of such a thing?’ +Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre: +His queen with child makes her desire — +Which who shall cross? — along to go: +Omit we all their dole and woe: +Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, +And so to sea. Their vessel shakes +On Neptune’s billow; half the flood +Hath their keel cut: but fortune’s mood +Varies again; the grisled north +Disgorges such a tempest forth, +That, as a duck for life that dives, +So up and down the poor ship drives: +The lady shrieks, and well-a-near +Does fall in travail with her fear: +And what ensues in this fell storm +Shall for itself itself perform. +I nill relate, action may +Conveniently the rest convey; +Which might not what by me is told. +In your imagination hold +This stage the ship, upon whose deck +The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE I. + + Enter Pericles, on shipboard. + +PERICLES. +Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges, +Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast +Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, +Having call’d them from the deep! O, still +Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench +Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida, +How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously; +Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman’s whistle +Is as a whisper in the ears of death, +Unheard. Lychorida! - Lucina, O! +Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle +To those that cry by night, convey thy deity +Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs +Of my queen’s travails! Now, Lychorida! + + Enter Lychorida with an infant. + +LYCHORIDA. +Here is a thing too young for such a place, +Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I +Am like to do: take in your arms this piece +Of your dead queen. + +PERICLES. +How? how, Lychorida? + +LYCHORIDA. +Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm. +Here’s all that is left living of your queen, +A little daughter: for the sake of it, +Be manly, and take comfort. + +PERICLES. +O you gods! +Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, +And snatch them straight away? We here below +Recall not what we give, and therein may +Vie honour with you. + +LYCHORIDA. +Patience, good sir. +Even for this charge. + +PERICLES. +Now, mild may be thy life! +For a more blustrous birth had never babe: +Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for +Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world +That ever was prince’s child. Happy what follows! +Thou hast as chiding a nativity +As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make, +To herald thee from the womb. +Even at the first thy loss is more than can +Thy portage quit, with all thou canst find here, +Now, the good gods throw their best eyes upon’t! + + Enter two Sailors + +FIRST SAILOR. +What courage, sir? God save you! + +PERICLES. +Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw; +It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love +Of this poor infant, this fresh new sea-farer, +I would it would be quiet. + +FIRST SAILOR. +Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split +thyself. + +SECOND SAILOR. +But sea-room, and the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care +not. + +FIRST SAILOR. +Sir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high, the wind is loud +and will not lie till the ship be cleared of the dead. + +PERICLES. +That’s your superstition. + +FIRST SAILOR. +Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it has been still observed; and we are +strong in custom. Therefore briefly yield her; for she must overboard +straight. + +PERICLES. +As you think meet. Most wretched queen! + +LYCHORIDA. +Here she lies, sir. + +PERICLES. +A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear; +No light, no fire: th’unfriendly elements +Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time +To give thee hallow’d to thy grave, but straight +Must cast thee, scarcely coffin’d, in the ooze; +Where, for a monument upon thy bones, +And e’er-remaining lamps, the belching whale +And humming water must o’erwhelm thy corpse, +Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida. +Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper, +My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander +Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe +Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say +A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman. + + [_Exit Lychorida._] + +SECOND SAILOR. +Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked and bitumed ready. + +PERICLES. +I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this? + +SECOND SAILOR. +We are near Tarsus. + +PERICLES. +Thither, gentle mariner, +Alter thy course for Tyre. When, canst thou reach it? + +SECOND SAILOR. +By break of day, if the wind cease. + +PERICLES. +O, make for Tarsus! +There will I visit Cleon, for the babe +Cannot hold out to Tyrus. There I’ll leave it +At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner: +I’ll bring the body presently. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE II. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house. + + Enter Cerimon, with a Servant, and some Persons who have been + shipwrecked. + +CERIMON. +Philemon, ho! + + Enter Philemon. + +PHILEMON. +Doth my lord call? + +CERIMON. +Get fire and meat for these poor men: +’T has been a turbulent and stormy night. + +SERVANT. +I have been in many; but such a night as this, +Till now, I ne’er endured. + +CERIMON. +Your master will be dead ere you return; +There’s nothing can be minister’d to nature +That can recover him. [_To Philemon._] Give this to the ’pothecary, +And tell me how it works. + + [_Exeunt all but Cerimon._] + + Enter two Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Good morrow. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Good morrow to your lordship. + +CERIMON. +Gentlemen, why do you stir so early? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Sir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, +Shook as the earth did quake; +The very principals did seem to rend, +And all to topple: pure surprise and fear +Made me to quit the house. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +That is the cause we trouble you so early; +’Tis not our husbandry. + +CERIMON. +O, you say well. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +But I much marvel that your lordship, having +Rich tire about you, should at these early hours +Shake off the golden slumber of repose. +’Tis most strange, +Nature should be so conversant with pain. +Being thereto not compell’d. + +CERIMON. +I hold it ever, +Virtue and cunning were endowments greater +Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs +May the two latter darken and expend; +But immortality attends the former, +Making a man a god. ’Tis known, I ever +Have studied physic, through which secret art, +By turning o’er authorities, I have, +Together with my practice, made familiar +To me and to my aid the blest infusions +That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; +And I can speak of the disturbances +That nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me +A more content in course of true delight +Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, +Or tie my pleasure up in silken bags, +To please the fool and death. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Your honour has through Ephesus pour’d forth +Your charity, and hundreds call themselves +Your creatures, who by you have been restored: +And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even +Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon +Such strong renown as time shall never— + + Enter two or three Servants with a chest. + +FIRST SERVANT. +So, lift there. + +CERIMON. +What’s that? + +FIRST SERVANT. +Sir, even now +Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest: +’Tis of some wreck. + +CERIMON. +Set’t down, let’s look upon’t. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +’Tis like a coffin, sir. + +CERIMON. +Whate’er it be, +’Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight: +If the sea’s stomach be o’ercharged with gold, +’Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +’Tis so, my lord. + +CERIMON. +How close ’tis caulk’d and bitumed! +Did the sea cast it up? + +FIRST SERVANT. +I never saw so huge a billow, sir, +As toss’d it upon shore. + +CERIMON. +Wrench it open; +Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +A delicate odour. + +CERIMON. +As ever hit my nostril. So up with it. +O you most potent gods! what’s here? a corpse! + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Most strange! + +CERIMON. +Shrouded in cloth of state; balm’d and entreasured +With full bags of spices! A passport too! +Apollo, perfect me in the characters! + + [_Reads from a scroll._] + + _Here I give to understand, + If e’er this coffin drives a-land, + I, King Pericles, have lost + This queen, worth all our mundane cost. + Who finds her, give her burying; + She was the daughter of a king: + Besides this treasure for a fee, + The gods requite his charity._ +If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart +That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Most likely, sir. + +CERIMON. +Nay, certainly tonight; +For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough +That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within +Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet. + + [_Exit a Servant._] + +Death may usurp on nature many hours, +And yet the fire of life kindle again +The o’erpress’d spirits. I heard of an Egyptian +That had nine hours lain dead, +Who was by good appliance recovered. + + Re-enter a Servant with napkins and fire. + +Well said, well said; the fire and cloths. +The rough and woeful music that we have, +Cause it to sound, beseech you +The viol once more: how thou stirr’st, thou block! +The music there! — I pray you, give her air. +Gentlemen, this queen will live. +Nature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her. +She hath not been entranced above five hours. +See how she ’gins to blow into life’s flower again! + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +The heavens, through you, increase our wonder +And sets up your fame for ever. + +CERIMON. +She is alive; behold, her eyelids, +Cases to those heavenly jewels which Pericles hath lost, +Begin to part their fringes of bright gold; +The diamonds of a most praised water doth appear, +To make the world twice rich. Live, and make us weep +To hear your fate, fair creature, rare as you seem to be. + + [_She moves._] + +THAISA. +O dear Diana, +Where am I? Where’s my lord? What world is this? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Is not this strange? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Most rare. + +CERIMON. +Hush, my gentle neighbours! +Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her. +Get linen: now this matter must be look’d to, +For her relapse is mortal. Come, come; +And Aesculapius guide us! + + [_Exeunt, carrying her away._] + + + +SCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house. + + Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza and Lychorida with Marina in her arms. + +PERICLES. +Most honour’d Cleon, I must needs be gone; +My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands +In a litigious peace. You and your lady, +Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods +Make up the rest upon you! + +CLEON. +Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally, +Yet glance full wanderingly on us. + +DIONYZA. +O, your sweet queen! +That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither, +To have bless’d mine eyes with her! + +PERICLES. +We cannot but obey +The powers above us. Could I rage and roar +As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end +Must be as ’tis. My gentle babe Marina, +Whom, for she was born at sea, I have named so, +Here I charge your charity withal, +Leaving her the infant of your care; +Beseeching you to give her princely training, +That she may be manner’d as she is born. + +CLEON. +Fear not, my lord, but think +Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, +For which the people’s prayers still fall upon you, +Must in your child be thought on. If neglection +Should therein make me vile, the common body, +By you relieved, would force me to my duty: +But if to that my nature need a spur, +The gods revenge it upon me and mine, +To the end of generation! + +PERICLES. +I believe you; +Your honour and your goodness teach me to’t, +Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, +By bright Diana, whom we honour, all +Unscissored shall this hair of mine remain, +Though I show ill in’t. So I take my leave. +Good madam, make me blessed in your care +In bringing up my child. + +DIONYZA. +I have one myself, +Who shall not be more dear to my respect +Than yours, my lord. + +PERICLES. +Madam, my thanks and prayers. + +CLEON. +We’ll bring your grace e’en to the edge o’the shore, +Then give you up to the mask’d Neptune and +The gentlest winds of heaven. + +PERICLES. +I will embrace your offer. Come, dearest madam. +O, no tears, Lychorida, no tears. +Look to your little mistress, on whose grace +You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE IV. Ephesus. A room in Cerimon’s house. + + Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. + +CERIMON. +Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, +Lay with you in your coffer, which are +At your command. Know you the character? + +THAISA. +It is my lord’s. +That I was shipp’d at sea, I well remember, +Even on my groaning time; but whether there +Deliver’d, by the holy gods, +I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles, +My wedded lord, I ne’er shall see again, +A vestal livery will I take me to, +And never more have joy. + +CERIMON. +Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak, +Diana’s temple is not distant far, +Where you may abide till your date expire. +Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine +Shall there attend you. + +THAISA. +My recompense is thanks, that’s all; +Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + + Enter Gower. + +GOWER. +Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre, +Welcomed and settled to his own desire. +His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus, +Unto Diana there a votaress. +Now to Marina bend your mind, +Whom our fast-growing scene must find +At Tarsus, and by Cleon train’d +In music’s letters; who hath gain’d +Of education all the grace, +Which makes her both the heart and place +Of general wonder. But, alack, +That monster envy, oft the wrack +Of earned praise, Marina’s life +Seeks to take off by treason’s knife, +And in this kind our Cleon hath +One daughter, and a full grown wench +Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid +Hight Philoten: and it is said +For certain in our story, she +Would ever with Marina be. +Be’t when she weaved the sleided silk +With fingers long, small, white as milk; +Or when she would with sharp needle wound, +The cambric, which she made more sound +By hurting it; or when to th’ lute +She sung, and made the night-bird mute +That still records with moan; or when +She would with rich and constant pen +Vail to her mistress Dian; still +This Philoten contends in skill +With absolute Marina: so +The dove of Paphos might with the crow +Vie feathers white. Marina gets +All praises, which are paid as debts, +And not as given. This so darks +In Philoten all graceful marks, +That Cleon’s wife, with envy rare, +A present murderer does prepare +For good Marina, that her daughter +Might stand peerless by this slaughter. +The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, +Lychorida, our nurse, is dead: +And cursed Dionyza hath +The pregnant instrument of wrath +Prest for this blow. The unborn event +I do commend to your content: +Only I carry winged time +Post on the lame feet of my rhyme; +Which never could I so convey, +Unless your thoughts went on my way. +Dionyza does appear, +With Leonine, a murderer. + + [_Exit._] + + + +Scene I. Tarsus. An open place near the seashore. + + Enter Dionyza with Leonine. + +DIONYZA. +Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do’t: +’Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. +Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon, +To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience, +Which is but cold, inflaming love i’ thy bosom, +Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which +Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be +A soldier to thy purpose. + +LEONINE. +I will do’t; but yet she is a goodly creature. + +DIONYZA. +The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here she comes weeping for +her only mistress’ death. Thou art resolved? + +LEONINE. +I am resolved. + + Enter Marina with a basket of flowers. + +MARINA. +No, I will rob Tellus of her weed +To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues, +The purple violets, and marigolds, +Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave, +While summer days do last. Ay me! poor maid, +Born in a tempest, when my mother died, +This world to me is like a lasting storm, +Whirring me from my friends. + +DIONYZA. +How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? +How chance my daughter is not with you? +Do not consume your blood with sorrowing; +Have you a nurse of me? Lord, how your favour’s +Changed with this unprofitable woe! +Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it. +Walk with Leonine; the air is quick there, +And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. +Come, Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. + +MARINA. +No, I pray you; +I’ll not bereave you of your servant. + +DIONYZA. +Come, come; +I love the king your father, and yourself, +With more than foreign heart. We every day +Expect him here: when he shall come and find +Our paragon to all reports thus blasted, +He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; +Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken +No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, +Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve +That excellent complexion, which did steal +The eyes of young and old. Care not for me; +I can go home alone. + +MARINA. +Well, I will go; +But yet I have no desire to it. + +DIONYZA. +Come, come, I know ’tis good for you. +Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least: +Remember what I have said. + +LEONINE. +I warrant you, madam. + +DIONYZA. +I’ll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while: +Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood: +What! I must have a care of you. + +MARINA. +My thanks, sweet madam. + + [_Exit Dionyza._] + +Is this wind westerly that blows? + +LEONINE. +South-west. + +MARINA. +When I was born the wind was north. + +LEONINE. +Was’t so? + +MARINA. +My father, as nurse said, did never fear, +But cried ‘Good seamen!’ to the sailors, +Galling his kingly hands, haling ropes; +And clasping to the mast, endured a sea +That almost burst the deck. + +LEONINE. +When was this? + +MARINA. +When I was born: +Never was waves nor wind more violent; +And from the ladder tackle washes off +A canvas-climber. ‘Ha!’ says one, ‘wolt out?’ +And with a dropping industry they skip +From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and +The master calls and trebles their confusion. + +LEONINE. +Come, say your prayers. + +MARINA. +What mean you? + +LEONINE. +If you require a little space for prayer, +I grant it: pray; but be not tedious, +For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn +To do my work with haste. + +MARINA. +Why will you kill me? + +LEONINE. +To satisfy my lady. + +MARINA. +Why would she have me kill’d now? +As I can remember, by my troth, +I never did her hurt in all my life: +I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn +To any living creature: believe me, la, +I never kill’d a mouse, nor hurt a fly: +I trod upon a worm against my will, +But I wept for it. How have I offended, +Wherein my death might yield her any profit, +Or my life imply her any danger? + +LEONINE. +My commission +Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. + +MARINA. +You will not do’t for all the world, I hope. +You are well favour’d, and your looks foreshow +You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, +When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: +Good sooth, it show’d well in you: do so now: +Your lady seeks my life; come you between, +And save poor me, the weaker. + +LEONINE. +I am sworn, +And will dispatch. + + [_He seizes her._] + + Enter Pirates. + +FIRST PIRATE. +Hold, villain! + + [_Leonine runs away._] + +SECOND PIRATE. +A prize! a prize! + +THIRD PIRATE. +Half part, mates, half part, +Come, let’s have her aboard suddenly. + + [_Exeunt Pirates with Marina._] + + Re-enter Leonine. + +LEONINE. +These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes; +And they have seized Marina. Let her go: +There’s no hope she will return. I’ll swear she’s dead +And thrown into the sea. But I’ll see further: +Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, +Not carry her aboard. If she remain, +Whom they have ravish’d must by me be slain. + + [_Exit._] + + + +Scene II. Mytilene. A room in a brothel. + + Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult. + +PANDAR. +Boult! + +BOULT. +Sir? + +PANDAR. +Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of gallants. We lost too +much money this mart by being too wenchless. + +BAWD. +We were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and +they can do no more than they can do; and they with continual action +are even as good as rotten. + +PANDAR. +Therefore let’s have fresh ones, whate’er we pay for them. If there be +not a conscience to be used in every trade, we shall never prosper. + +BAWD. +Thou sayest true: ’tis not our bringing up of poor bastards, — as, I +think, I have brought up some eleven — + +BOULT. +Ay, to eleven; and brought them down again. But shall I search the +market? + +BAWD. +What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to +pieces, they are so pitifully sodden. + +PANDAR. +Thou sayest true; they’re too unwholesome, o’ conscience. The poor +Transylvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage. + +BOULT. +Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat for worms. But I’ll +go search the market. + + [_Exit._] + +PANDAR. +Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live +quietly, and so give over. + +BAWD. +Why to give over, I pray you? Is it a shame to get when we are old? + +PANDAR. +O, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor the commodity wages +not with the danger: therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some +pretty estate, ’twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the +sore terms we stand upon with the gods will be strong with us for +giving over. + +BAWD. +Come, others sorts offend as well as we. + +PANDAR. +As well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our +profession any trade; it’s no calling. But here comes Boult. + + Re-enter Boult, with the Pirates and Marina. + +BOULT +[_To Pirates._] Come your ways. My masters, you say she’s a virgin? + +FIRST PIRATE. +O sir, we doubt it not. + +BOULT. +Master, I have gone through for this piece, you see: if you like her, +so; if not, I have lost my earnest. + +BAWD. +Boult, has she any qualities? + +BOULT. +She has a good face, speaks well and has excellent good clothes: +there’s no farther necessity of qualities can make her be refused. + +BAWD. +What is her price, Boult? + +BOULT. +I cannot be baited one doit of a thousand pieces. + +PANDAR. +Well, follow me, my masters, you shall have your money presently. Wife, +take her in; instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw +in her entertainment. + + [_Exeunt Pandar and Pirates._] + +BAWD. +Boult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her hair, complexion, +height, her age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry ‘He that will +give most shall have her first.’ Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing, +if men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you. + +BOULT. +Performance shall follow. + + [_Exit._] + +MARINA. +Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow! +He should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates, +Not enough barbarous, had not o’erboard thrown me +For to seek my mother! + +BAWD. +Why lament you, pretty one? + +MARINA. +That I am pretty. + +BAWD. +Come, the gods have done their part in you. + +MARINA. +I accuse them not. + +BAWD. +You are light into my hands, where you are like to live. + +MARINA. +The more my fault +To scape his hands where I was like to die. + +BAWD. +Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. + +MARINA. +No. + +BAWD. +Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all fashions: you shall +fare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do +you stop your ears? + +MARINA. +Are you a woman? + +BAWD. +What would you have me be, an I be not a woman? + +MARINA. +An honest woman, or not a woman. + +BAWD. +Marry, whip the gosling: I think I shall have something to do with you. +Come, you’re a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have +you. + +MARINA. +The gods defend me! + +BAWD. +If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you, +men must feed you, men stir you up. Boult’s returned. + + Re-enter Boult. + +Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market? + +BOULT. +I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her +picture with my voice. + +BAWD. +And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the +people, especially of the younger sort? + +BOULT. +Faith, they listened to me as they would have hearkened to their +father’s testament. There was a Spaniard’s mouth so watered, that he +went to bed to her very description. + +BAWD. +We shall have him here tomorrow with his best ruff on. + +BOULT. +Tonight, tonight. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that +cowers i’ the hams? + +BAWD. +Who, Monsieur Veroles? + +BOULT. +Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the proclamation; but he made a +groan at it, and swore he would see her tomorrow. + +BAWD. +Well, well, as for him, he brought his disease hither: here he does but +repair it. I know he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in +the sun. + +BOULT. +Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we should lodge them with +this sign. + +[_To Marina._] Pray you, come hither awhile. You have fortunes coming +upon you. Mark me: you must seem to do that fearfully which you commit +willingly, despise profit where you have most gain. To weep that you +live as ye do makes pity in your lovers: seldom but that pity begets +you a good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit. + +MARINA. +I understand you not. + +BOULT. +O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must +be quenched with some present practice. + +BAWD. +Thou sayest true, i’faith so they must; for your bride goes to that +with shame which is her way to go with warrant. + +BOULT. +Faith, some do and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for +the joint, — + +BAWD. +Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. + +BOULT. +I may so. + +BAWD. Who should deny it? Come young one, I like the manner of your +garments well. + +BOULT. +Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. + +BAWD. +Boult, spend thou that in the town: report what a sojourner we have; +you’ll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant +thee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou hast +the harvest out of thine own report. + +BOULT. +I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels as +my giving out her beauty stirs up the lewdly inclined. I’ll bring home +some tonight. + +BAWD. +Come your ways; follow me. + +MARINA. +If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, +Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. +Diana, aid my purpose! + +BAWD. +What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us? + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE III. Tarsus. A room in Cleon’s house. + + Enter Cleon and Dionyza. + +DIONYZA. +Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone? + +CLEON. +O, Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter +The sun and moon ne’er look’d upon! + +DIONYZA. +I think you’ll turn a child again. + +CLEON. +Were I chief lord of all this spacious world, +I’d give it to undo the deed. A lady, +Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess +To equal any single crown o’ the earth +I’ the justice of compare! O villain Leonine! +Whom thou hast poison’d too: +If thou hadst drunk to him, ’t had been a kindness +Becoming well thy face. What canst thou say +When noble Pericles shall demand his child? + +DIONYZA. +That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates, +To foster it, nor ever to preserve. +She died at night; I’ll say so. Who can cross it? +Unless you play the pious innocent, +And for an honest attribute cry out +‘She died by foul play.’ + +CLEON. +O, go to. Well, well, +Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods +Do like this worst. + +DIONYZA. +Be one of those that thinks +The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence, +And open this to Pericles. I do shame +To think of what a noble strain you are, +And of how coward a spirit. + +CLEON. +To such proceeding +Whoever but his approbation added, +Though not his prime consent, he did not flow +From honourable sources, + +DIONYZA. +Be it so, then: +Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead, +Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. +She did distain my child, and stood between +Her and her fortunes: none would look on her, +But cast their gazes on Marina’s face; +Whilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin +Not worth the time of day. It pierced me through; +And though you call my course unnatural, +You not your child well loving, yet I find +It greets me as an enterprise of kindness +Perform’d to your sole daughter. + +CLEON. +Heavens forgive it! + +DIONYZA. +And as for Pericles, what should he say? +We wept after her hearse, and yet we mourn. +Her monument is almost finish’d, and her epitaphs +In glittering golden characters express +A general praise to her, and care in us +At whose expense ’tis done. + +CLEON. +Thou art like the harpy, +Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel’s face, +Seize with thine eagle’s talons. + +DIONYZA. +You are like one that superstitiously +Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies: +But yet I know you’ll do as I advise. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE IV. + + Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tarsus. + +GOWER. +Thus time we waste, and long leagues make short; +Sail seas in cockles, have and wish but for’t; +Making, to take your imagination, +From bourn to bourn, region to region. +By you being pardon’d, we commit no crime +To use one language in each several clime +Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you +To learn of me, who stand i’the gaps to teach you, +The stages of our story. Pericles +Is now again thwarting the wayward seas +Attended on by many a lord and knight, +To see his daughter, all his life’s delight. +Old Helicanus goes along. Behind +Is left to govern, if you bear in mind, +Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late +Advanced in time to great and high estate. +Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought +This king to Tarsus, — think his pilot thought; +So with his steerage shall your thoughts go on, — +To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. +Like motes and shadows see them move awhile; +Your ears unto your eyes I’ll reconcile. + + Dumb-show. Enter Pericles at one door with all his train; Cleon and + Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb; whereat Pericles + makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth and in a mighty passion departs. + Then exeunt Cleon and Dionyza. + +See how belief may suffer by foul show; +This borrow’d passion stands for true old woe; +And Pericles, in sorrow all devour’d, +With sighs shot through; and biggest tears o’ershower’d, +Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears +Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs: +He puts on sackcloth, and to sea he bears +A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, +And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit +The epitaph is for Marina writ +By wicked Dionyza. + + [_Reads the inscription on Marina’s monument._] + + _The fairest, sweet’st, and best lies here, + Who wither’d in her spring of year. + She was of Tyrus the King’s daughter, + On whom foul death hath made this slaughter; + Marina was she call’d; and at her birth, + Thetis, being proud, swallow’d some part o’ the earth: + Therefore the earth, fearing to be o’erflow’d, + Hath Thetis’ birth-child on the heavens bestow’d: + Wherefore she does, and swears she’ll never stint, + Make raging battery upon shores of flint._ + +No visor does become black villany +So well as soft and tender flattery. +Let Pericles believe his daughter’s dead, +And bear his courses to be ordered +By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play +His daughter’s woe and heavy well-a-day +In her unholy service. Patience, then, +And think you now are all in Mytilene. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE V. Mytilene. A street before the brothel. + + Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Did you ever hear the like? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +But to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a +thing? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy houses: shall’s go hear the +vestals sing? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I’ll do anything now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of +rutting for ever. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE VI. The same. A room in the brothel. + + Enter Pandar, Bawd and Boult. + +PANDAR. +Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her she had ne’er come here. + +BAWD. +Fie, fie upon her! She’s able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a +whole generation. We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. +When she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of +our profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master reasons, +her prayers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if +he should cheapen a kiss of her. + +BOULT. +Faith, I must ravish her, or she’ll disfurnish us of all our cavaliers, +and make our swearers priests. + +PANDAR. +Now, the pox upon her green sickness for me! + +BAWD. +Faith, there’s no way to be rid on’t but by the way to the pox. +Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised. + +BOULT. +We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish baggage would but +give way to customers. + + Enter Lysimachus. + +LYSIMACHUS. +How now! How a dozen of virginities? + +BAWD. +Now, the gods to bless your honour! + +BOULT. +I am glad to see your honour in good health. + +LYSIMACHUS. +You may so; ’tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon +sound legs. How now? Wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal +withal, and defy the surgeon? + +BAWD. +We have here one, sir, if she would — but there never came her like in +Mytilene. + +LYSIMACHUS. +If she’d do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say. + +BAWD. +Your honour knows what ’tis to say well enough. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Well, call forth, call forth. + +BOULT. +For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she +were a rose indeed, if she had but — + +LYSIMACHUS. +What, prithee? + +BOULT. +O, sir, I can be modest. + +LYSIMACHUS. +That dignifies the renown of a bawd no less than it gives a good report +to a number to be chaste. + + [_Exit Boult._] + +BAWD. +Here comes that which grows to the stalk; never plucked yet, I can +assure you. + + Re-enter Boult with Marina. + +Is she not a fair creature? + +LYSIMACHUS. +Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea. Well, there’s for +you: leave us. + +BAWD. +I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and I’ll have done +presently. + +LYSIMACHUS. +I beseech you, do. + +BAWD. +[_To Marina._] First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man. + +MARINA. +I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him. + +BAWD. +Next, he’s the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to. + +MARINA. +If he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how +honourable he is in that, I know not. + +BAWD. Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him +kindly? He will line your apron with gold. + +MARINA. +What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Ha’ you done? + +BAWD. +My lord, she’s not paced yet: you must take some pains to work her to +your manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. Go thy +ways. + + [_Exeunt Bawd, Pandar and Boult._] + +LYSIMACHUS. +Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade? + +MARINA. +What trade, sir? + +LYSIMACHUS. +Why, I cannot name’t but I shall offend. + +MARINA. +I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it. + +LYSIMACHUS. +How long have you been of this profession? + +MARINA. +E’er since I can remember. + +LYSIMACHUS. Did you go to’t so young? Were you a gamester at five or at +seven? + +MARINA. +Earlier, too, sir, if now I be one. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a creature of sale. + +MARINA. +Do you know this house to be a place of such resort, and will come +into’t? I hear say you are of honourable parts, and are the governor of +this place. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am? + +MARINA. +Who is my principal? + +LYSIMACHUS. +Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots of shame and +iniquity. O, you have heard something of my power, and so stand aloof +for more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my +authority shall not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. Come, +bring me to some private place: come, come. + +MARINA. +If you were born to honour, show it now; +If put upon you, make the judgement good +That thought you worthy of it. + +LYSIMACHUS. +How’s this? how’s this? Some more; be sage. + +MARINA. +For me, +That am a maid, though most ungentle Fortune +Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came, +Diseases have been sold dearer than physic, +O, that the gods +Would set me free from this unhallow’d place, +Though they did change me to the meanest bird +That flies i’ the purer air! + +LYSIMACHUS. +I did not think +Thou couldst have spoke so well; ne’er dream’d thou couldst. +Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, +Thy speech had alter’d it. Hold, here’s gold for thee: +Persever in that clear way thou goest, +And the gods strengthen thee! + +MARINA. +The good gods preserve you! + +LYSIMACHUS. +For me, be you thoughten +That I came with no ill intent; for to me +The very doors and windows savour vilely. +Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and +I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. +Hold, here’s more gold for thee. +A curse upon him, die he like a thief, +That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost +Hear from me, it shall be for thy good. + + Re-enter Boult. + +BOULT. +I beseech your honour, one piece for me. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper! +Your house but for this virgin that doth prop it, +Would sink and overwhelm you. Away! + + [_Exit._] + +BOULT. +How’s this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish +chastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under +the cope, shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like a +spaniel. Come your ways. + +MARINA. +Whither would you have me? + +BOULT. +I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall +execute it. Come your ways. We’ll have no more gentlemen driven away. +Come your ways, I say. + + Re-enter Bawd. + +BAWD. +How now! what’s the matter? + +BOULT. +Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the Lord +Lysimachus. + +BAWD. +O, abominable! + +BOULT. +She makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the +gods. + +BAWD. +Marry, hang her up for ever! + +BOULT. +The nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent +him away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too. + +BAWD. +Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her +virginity, and make the rest malleable. + +BOULT. +An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she is, she shall be +ploughed. + +MARINA. +Hark, hark, you gods! + +BAWD. +She conjures: away with her! Would she had never come within my doors! +Marry, hang you! She’s born to undo us. Will you not go the way of +womankind? Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays! + + [_Exit._] + +BOULT. +Come, mistress; come your way with me. + +MARINA. +Whither wilt thou have me? + +BOULT. +To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. + +MARINA. +Prithee, tell me one thing first. + +BOULT. +Come now, your one thing? + +MARINA. +What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? + +BOULT. +Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress. + +MARINA. +Neither of these are so bad as thou art, +Since they do better thee in their command. +Thou hold’st a place, for which the pained’st fiend +Of hell would not in reputation change: +Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every +Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib. +To the choleric fisting of every rogue +Thy ear is liable, thy food is such +As hath been belch’d on by infected lungs. + +BOULT. +What would you have me do? Go to the wars, would you? where a man may +serve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in +the end to buy him a wooden one? + +MARINA. +Do anything but this thou doest. Empty +Old receptacles, or common shores, of filth; +Serve by indenture to the common hangman: +Any of these ways are yet better than this; +For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak, +Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods +Would safely deliver me from this place! +Here, here’s gold for thee. +If that thy master would gain by me, +Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, +With other virtues, which I’ll keep from boast; +And I will undertake all these to teach. +I doubt not but this populous city will +Yield many scholars. + +BOULT. +But can you teach all this you speak of? + +MARINA. +Prove that I cannot, take me home again, +And prostitute me to the basest groom +That doth frequent your house. + +BOULT. +Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will. + +MARINA. +But amongst honest women. + +BOULT. +Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master +and mistress have bought you, there’s no going but by their consent: +therefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt +not but I shall find them tractable enough. Come, I’ll do for thee what +I can; come your ways. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + + Enter Gower. + +GOWER. +Marina thus the brothel ’scapes, and chances +Into an honest house, our story says. +She sings like one immortal, and she dances +As goddess-like to her admired lays; +Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her nee’le composes +Nature’s own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry, +That even her art sisters the natural roses; +Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry: +That pupils lacks she none of noble race, +Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain +She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place; +And to her father turn our thoughts again, +Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost; +Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived +Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast +Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived +God Neptune’s annual feast to keep: from whence +Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies, +His banners sable, trimm’d with rich expense; +And to him in his barge with fervour hies. +In your supposing once more put your sight +Of heavy Pericles; think this his bark: +Where what is done in action, more, if might, +Shall be discover’d; please you, sit and hark. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE I. On board Pericles’ ship, off Mytilene. A close pavilion on +deck, with a curtain before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a +couch. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel. + + Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, the other to + the barge; to them Helicanus. + +TYRIAN SAILOR. +[_To the Sailor of Mytilene._] +Where is lord Helicanus? He can resolve you. +O, here he is. +Sir, there’s a barge put off from Mytilene, +And in it is Lysimachus the governor, +Who craves to come aboard. What is your will? + +HELICANUS. +That he have his. Call up some gentlemen. + +TYRIAN SAILOR. +Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls. + + Enter two or three Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Doth your lordship call? + +HELICANUS. +Gentlemen, there is some of worth would come aboard; +I pray ye, greet them fairly. + + [_The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend and go on board the + barge._] + + Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the + two Sailors. + +TYRIAN SAILOR. +Sir, +This is the man that can, in aught you would, +Resolve you. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you! + +HELICANUS. +And you, sir, to outlive the age I am, +And die as I would do. + +LYSIMACHUS. +You wish me well. +Being on shore, honouring of Neptune’s triumphs, +Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, +I made to it, to know of whence you are. + +HELICANUS. +First, what is your place? + +LYSIMACHUS. +I am the governor of this place you lie before. + +HELICANUS. +Sir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king; +A man who for this three months hath not spoken +To anyone, nor taken sustenance +But to prorogue his grief. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Upon what ground is his distemperature? + +HELICANUS. +’Twould be too tedious to repeat; +But the main grief springs from the loss +Of a beloved daughter and a wife. + +LYSIMACHUS. +May we not see him? + +HELICANUS. +You may; +But bootless is your sight: he will not speak +To any. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Yet let me obtain my wish. + +HELICANUS. +Behold him. +[_Pericles discovered._] +This was a goodly person. +Till the disaster that, one mortal night, +Drove him to this. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Sir king, all hail! The gods preserve you! +Hail, royal sir! + +HELICANUS. +It is in vain; he will not speak to you. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, we have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager, +Would win some words of him. + +LYSIMACHUS. +’Tis well bethought. +She questionless with her sweet harmony +And other chosen attractions, would allure, +And make a battery through his deafen’d parts, +Which now are midway stopp’d: +She is all happy as the fairest of all, +And, with her fellow maids, is now upon +The leafy shelter that abuts against +The island’s side. + + [_Whispers a Lord who goes off in the barge of Lysimachus._] + +HELICANUS. +Sure, all’s effectless; yet nothing we’ll omit +That bears recovery’s name. But, since your kindness +We have stretch’d thus far, let us beseech you +That for our gold we may provision have, +Wherein we are not destitute for want, +But weary for the staleness. + +LYSIMACHUS. +O, sir, a courtesy +Which if we should deny, the most just gods +For every graff would send a caterpillar, +And so inflict our province. Yet once more +Let me entreat to know at large the cause +Of your king’s sorrow. + +HELICANUS. +Sit, sir, I will recount it to you: +But, see, I am prevented. + + Re-enter from the barge, Lord with Marina and a young Lady. + +LYSIMACHUS. +O, here is the lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one! +Is’t not a goodly presence? + +HELICANUS. +She’s a gallant lady. + +LYSIMACHUS. +She’s such a one, that, were I well assured +Came of a gentle kind and noble stock, +I’d wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed. +Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty +Expect even here, where is a kingly patient: +If that thy prosperous and artificial feat +Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, +Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay +As thy desires can wish. + +MARINA. +Sir, I will use +My utmost skill in his recovery, provided +That none but I and my companion maid +Be suffer’d to come near him. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Come, let us leave her, +And the gods make her prosperous! + + [_Marina sings._] + +LYSIMACHUS. +Mark’d he your music? + +MARINA. +No, nor look’d on us, + +LYSIMACHUS. +See, she will speak to him. + +MARINA. +Hail, sir! My lord, lend ear. + +PERICLES. +Hum, ha! + +MARINA. +I am a maid, +My lord, that ne’er before invited eyes, +But have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks, +My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief +Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh’d. +Though wayward Fortune did malign my state, +My derivation was from ancestors +Who stood equivalent with mighty kings: +But time hath rooted out my parentage, +And to the world and awkward casualties +Bound me in servitude. +[_Aside._] I will desist; +But there is something glows upon my cheek, +And whispers in mine ear ‘Go not till he speak.’ + +PERICLES. +My fortunes — parentage — good parentage — +To equal mine! — was it not thus? what say you? + +MARINA. +I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage. +You would not do me violence. + +PERICLES. +I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me. +You are like something that — what country-woman? +Here of these shores? + +MARINA. +No, nor of any shores: +Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am +No other than I appear. + +PERICLES. +I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping. +My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one +My daughter might have been: my queen’s square brows; +Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight; +As silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like +And cased as richly; in pace another Juno; +Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, +The more she gives them speech. Where do you live? + +MARINA. +Where I am but a stranger: from the deck +You may discern the place. + +PERICLES. +Where were you bred? +And how achieved you these endowments, which +You make more rich to owe? + +MARINA. +If I should tell my history, it would seem +Like lies disdain’d in the reporting. + +PERICLES. +Prithee, speak: +Falseness cannot come from thee; for thou look’st +Modest as Justice, and thou seem’st a palace +For the crown’d Truth to dwell in: I will believe thee, +And make my senses credit thy relation +To points that seem impossible; for thou look’st +Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends? +Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back — +Which was when I perceived thee — that thou cam’st +From good descending? + +MARINA. +So indeed I did. + +PERICLES. +Report thy parentage. I think thou said’st +Thou hadst been toss’d from wrong to injury, +And that thou thought’st thy griefs might equal mine, +If both were open’d. + +MARINA. +Some such thing, +I said, and said no more but what my thoughts +Did warrant me was likely. + +PERICLES. +Tell thy story; +If thine consider’d prove the thousand part +Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I +Have suffer’d like a girl: yet thou dost look +Like Patience gazing on kings’ graves, and smiling +Extremity out of act. What were thy friends? +How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin? +Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me. + +MARINA. +My name is Marina. + +PERICLES. +O, I am mock’d, +And thou by some incensed god sent hither +To make the world to laugh at me. + +MARINA. +Patience, good sir, +Or here I’ll cease. + +PERICLES. +Nay, I’ll be patient. +Thou little know’st how thou dost startle me, +To call thyself Marina. + +MARINA. +The name +Was given me by one that had some power, +My father, and a king. + +PERICLES. +How! a king’s daughter? +And call’d Marina? + +MARINA. +You said you would believe me; +But, not to be a troubler of your peace, +I will end here. + +PERICLES. +But are you flesh and blood? +Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy? +Motion! Well; speak on. Where were you born? +And wherefore call’d Marina? + +MARINA. +Call’d Marina +For I was born at sea. + +PERICLES. +At sea! What mother? + +MARINA. +My mother was the daughter of a king; +Who died the minute I was born, +As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft +Deliver’d weeping. + +PERICLES. +O, stop there a little! [_Aside._] This is the rarest dream that e’er +dull sleep +Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be: +My daughter, buried. Well, where were you bred? +I’ll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, +And never interrupt you. + +MARINA. +You scorn: believe me, ’twere best I did give o’er. + +PERICLES. +I will believe you by the syllable +Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave: +How came you in these parts? Where were you bred? + +MARINA. +The king my father did in Tarsus leave me; +Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, +Did seek to murder me: and having woo’d +A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do’t, +A crew of pirates came and rescued me; +Brought me to Mytilene. But, good sir. +Whither will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be, +You think me an impostor: no, good faith; +I am the daughter to King Pericles, +If good King Pericles be. + +PERICLES. +Ho, Helicanus! + + Enter Helicanus and Lysimachus. + +HELICANUS. +Calls my lord? + +PERICLES. +Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, +Most wise in general: tell me, if thou canst, +What this maid is, or what is like to be, +That thus hath made me weep. + +HELICANUS. +I know not, +But here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene +Speaks nobly of her. + +LYSIMACHUS. +She would never tell +Her parentage; being demanded that, +She would sit still and weep. + +PERICLES. +O Helicanus, strike me, honour’d sir; +Give me a gash, put me to present pain; +Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me +O’erbear the shores of my mortality, +And drown me with their sweetness. +[_To Marina_] O, come hither, +Thou that beget’st him that did thee beget; +Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus, +And found at sea again! O Helicanus, +Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud +As thunder threatens us: this is Marina. +What was thy mother’s name? tell me but that, +For truth can never be confirm’d enough, +Though doubts did ever sleep. + +MARINA. +First, sir, I pray, what is your title? + +PERICLES. +I am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now +My drown’d queen’s name, as in the rest you said +Thou hast been godlike perfect, +The heir of kingdoms and another life +To Pericles thy father. + +MARINA. +Is it no more to be your daughter than +To say my mother’s name was Thaisa? +Thaisa was my mother, who did end +The minute I began. + +PERICLES. +Now, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child. +Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus; +She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been, +By savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all; +When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge +She is thy very princess. Who is this? + +HELICANUS. +Sir, ’tis the governor of Mytilene, +Who, hearing of your melancholy state, +Did come to see you. + +PERICLES. +I embrace you. +Give me my robes. I am wild in my beholding. +O heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music? +Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him +O’er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, +How sure you are my daughter. But, what music? + +HELICANUS. +My lord, I hear none. + +PERICLES. +None! +The music of the spheres! List, my Marina. + +LYSIMACHUS. +It is not good to cross him; give him way. + +PERICLES. +Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear? + +LYSIMACHUS. +Music, my lord? I hear. + + [_Music._] + +PERICLES. +Most heavenly music! +It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber +Hangs upon mine eyes: let me rest. + + [_Sleeps._] + +LYSIMACHUS. +A pillow for his head: +So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends, +If this but answer to my just belief, +I’ll well remember you. + + [_Exeunt all but Pericles._] + + Diana appears to Pericles as in a vision. + +DIANA. +My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither, +And do upon mine altar sacrifice. +There, when my maiden priests are met together, +Before the people all, +Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife: +To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call +And give them repetition to the life. +Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe: +Do it, and happy; by my silver bow! +Awake and tell thy dream. + + [_Disappears._] + +PERICLES. +Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, +I will obey thee. Helicanus! + + Re-enter Helicanus, Lysimachus and Marina. + +HELICANUS. +Sir? + +PERICLES. +My purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike +The inhospitable Cleon; but I am +For other service first: toward Ephesus +Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I’ll tell thee why. +[_To Lysimachus._] Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore, +And give you gold for such provision +As our intents will need? + +LYSIMACHUS. +Sir, with all my heart, +And when you come ashore I have another suit. + +PERICLES. +You shall prevail, were it to woo my daughter; +For it seems you have been noble towards her. + +LYSIMACHUS. +Sir, lend me your arm. + +PERICLES. +Come, my Marina. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +SCENE II. + + Enter Gower before the temple of Diana at Ephesus. + +GOWER. +Now our sands are almost run; +More a little, and then dumb. +This, my last boon, give me, +For such kindness must relieve me, +That you aptly will suppose +What pageantry, what feats, what shows, +What minstrelsy, and pretty din, +The regent made in Mytilene +To greet the king. So he thrived, +That he is promised to be wived +To fair Marina; but in no wise +Till he had done his sacrifice, +As Dian bade: whereto being bound, +The interim, pray you, all confound. +In feather’d briefness sails are fill’d, +And wishes fall out as they’re will’d. +At Ephesus, the temple see, +Our king and all his company. +That he can hither come so soon, +Is by your fancy’s thankful doom. + + [_Exit._] + + + +SCENE III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa standing near the +altar, as high priestess; a number of Virgins on each side; Cerimon and +other inhabitants of Ephesus attending. + + Enter Pericles with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina and a + Lady. + +PERICLES. +Hail, Dian! to perform thy just command, +I here confess myself the King of Tyre; +Who, frighted from my country, did wed +At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa. +At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth +A maid child call’d Marina; whom, O goddess, +Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus +Was nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years +He sought to murder: but her better stars +Brought her to Mytilene; ’gainst whose shore +Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, +Where by her own most clear remembrance, she +Made known herself my daughter. + +THAISA. +Voice and favour! +You are, you are — O royal Pericles! + + [_Faints._] + +PERICLES. +What means the nun? She dies! help, gentlemen! + +CERIMON. +Noble sir, +If you have told Diana’s altar true, +This is your wife. + +PERICLES. +Reverend appearer, no; +I threw her overboard with these very arms. + +CERIMON. +Upon this coast, I warrant you. + +PERICLES. +’Tis most certain. + +CERIMON. +Look to the lady; O, she’s but o’er-joy’d. +Early in blustering morn this lady was +Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin, +Found there rich jewels; recover’d her, and placed her +Here in Diana’s temple. + +PERICLES. +May we see them? + +CERIMON. +Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house, +Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is +Recovered. + +THAISA. +O, let me look! +If he be none of mine, my sanctity +Will to my sense bend no licentious ear, +But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord, +Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake, +Like him you are: did you not name a tempest, +A birth, and death? + +PERICLES. +The voice of dead Thaisa! + +THAISA. +That Thaisa am I, supposed dead +And drown’d. + +PERICLES. +Immortal Dian! + +THAISA. +Now I know you better, +When we with tears parted Pentapolis, +The king my father gave you such a ring. + + [_Shows a ring._] + +PERICLES. +This, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness +Makes my past miseries sports: you shall do well, +That on the touching of her lips I may +Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried +A second time within these arms. + +MARINA. +My heart +Leaps to be gone into my mother’s bosom. + + [_Kneels to Thaisa._] + +PERICLES. +Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa; +Thy burden at the sea, and call’d Marina +For she was yielded there. + +THAISA. +Blest, and mine own! + +HELICANUS. +Hail, madam, and my queen! + +THAISA. +I know you not. + +PERICLES. +You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre, +I left behind an ancient substitute: +Can you remember what I call’d the man +I have named him oft. + +THAISA. +’Twas Helicanus then. + +PERICLES. +Still confirmation: +Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he. +Now do I long to hear how you were found: +How possibly preserved; and who to thank, +Besides the gods, for this great miracle. + +THAISA. +Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man, +Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can +From first to last resolve you. + +PERICLES. +Reverend sir, +The gods can have no mortal officer +More like a god than you. Will you deliver +How this dead queen relives? + +CERIMON. +I will, my lord. +Beseech you, first go with me to my house, +Where shall be shown you all was found with her; +How she came placed here in the temple; +No needful thing omitted. + +PERICLES. +Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I +Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, +This prince, the fair betrothed of your daughter, +Shall marry her at Pentapolis. +And now this ornament +Makes me look dismal will I clip to form; +And what this fourteen years no razor touch’d +To grace thy marriage-day, I’ll beautify. + +THAISA. +Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir, +My father’s dead. + +PERICLES. +Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen, +We’ll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves +Will in that kingdom spend our following days: +Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. +Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay +To hear the rest untold. Sir, lead’s the way. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Enter Gower. + +GOWER. +In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard +Of monstrous lust the due and just reward: +In Pericles, his queen and daughter seen, +Although assail’d with Fortune fierce and keen, +Virtue preserved from fell destruction’s blast, +Led on by heaven, and crown’d with joy at last. +In Helicanus may you well descry +A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty: +In reverend Cerimon there well appears +The worth that learned charity aye wears: +For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame +Had spread their cursed deed, the honour’d name +Of Pericles, to rage the city turn, +That him and his they in his palace burn. +The gods for murder seemed so content +To punish, although not done, but meant. +So on your patience evermore attending, +New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending. + + [_Exit._] + + + +KING RICHARD THE SECOND + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + KING RICHARD THE SECOND + JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King + EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King + HENRY, surnamed BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of + John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV + DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York + THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk + DUKE OF SURREY + EARL OF SALISBURY + EARL BERKELEY + BUSHY - favourites of King Richard + BAGOT - " " " " + GREEN - " " " " + EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND + HENRY PERCY, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son + LORD Ross LORD WILLOUGHBY + LORD FITZWATER BISHOP OF CARLISLE + ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER LORD MARSHAL + SIR STEPHEN SCROOP SIR PIERCE OF EXTON + CAPTAIN of a band of Welshmen TWO GARDENERS + + QUEEN to King Richard + DUCHESS OF YORK + DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock, + Duke of Gloucester + LADY attending on the Queen + + Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger, + Groom, and other Attendants + +SCENE: England and Wales + +ACT I. SCENE I. London. The palace + +Enter RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other NOBLES and attendants + + KING RICHARD. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, + Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, + Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, + Here to make good the boist'rous late appeal, + Which then our leisure would not let us hear, + Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? + GAUNT. I have, my liege. + KING RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him + If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice, + Or worthily, as a good subject should, + On some known ground of treachery in him? + GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument, + On some apparent danger seen in him + Aim'd at your Highness-no inveterate malice. + KING RICHARD. Then call them to our presence: face to face + And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear + The accuser and the accused freely speak. + High-stomach'd are they both and full of ire, + In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. + + Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY + + BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befall + My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! + MOWBRAY. Each day still better other's happiness + Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, + Add an immortal title to your crown! + KING RICHARD. We thank you both; yet one but flatters us, + As well appeareth by the cause you come; + Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. + Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object + Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? + BOLINGBROKE. First-heaven be the record to my speech! + In the devotion of a subject's love, + Tend'ring the precious safety of my prince, + And free from other misbegotten hate, + Come I appellant to this princely presence. + Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, + And mark my greeting well; for what I speak + My body shall make good upon this earth, + Or my divine soul answer it in heaven- + Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, + Too good to be so, and too bad to live, + Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, + The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. + Once more, the more to aggravate the note, + With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; + And wish-so please my sovereign-ere I move, + What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove. + MOWBRAY. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. + 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, + The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, + Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; + The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this. + Yet can I not of such tame patience boast + As to be hush'd and nought at an to say. + First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me + From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; + Which else would post until it had return'd + These terms of treason doubled down his throat. + Setting aside his high blood's royalty, + And let him be no kinsman to my liege, + I do defy him, and I spit at him, + Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; + Which to maintain, I would allow him odds + And meet him, were I tied to run afoot + Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, + Or any other ground inhabitable + Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. + Meantime let this defend my loyalty- + By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie + BOLINGBROKE. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, + Disclaiming here the kindred of the King; + And lay aside my high blood's royalty, + Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. + If guilty dread have left thee so much strength + As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. + By that and all the rites of knighthood else + Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, + What I have spoke or thou canst worst devise. + MOWBRAY. I take it up; and by that sword I swear + Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder + I'll answer thee in any fair degree + Or chivalrous design of knightly trial; + And when I mount, alive may I not light + If I be traitor or unjustly fight! + KING RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? + It must be great that can inherit us + So much as of a thought of ill in him. + BOLINGBROKE. Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true- + That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles + In name of lendings for your Highness' soldiers, + The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments + Like a false traitor and injurious villain. + Besides, I say and will in battle prove- + Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest verge + That ever was survey'd by English eye- + That all the treasons for these eighteen years + Complotted and contrived in this land + Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. + Further I say, and further will maintain + Upon his bad life to make all this good, + That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, + Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, + And consequently, like a traitor coward, + Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood; + Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, + Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, + To me for justice and rough chastisement; + And, by the glorious worth of my descent, + This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. + KING RICHARD. How high a pitch his resolution soars! + Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? + MOWBRAY. O, let my sovereign turn away his face + And bid his ears a little while be deaf, + Till I have told this slander of his blood + How God and good men hate so foul a liar. + KING RICHARD. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and cars. + Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, + As he is but my father's brother's son, + Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, + Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood + Should nothing privilege him nor partialize + The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. + He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: + Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. + MOWBRAY. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, + Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. + Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais + Disburs'd I duly to his Highness' soldiers; + The other part reserv'd I by consent, + For that my sovereign liege was in my debt + Upon remainder of a dear account + Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: + Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death- + I slew him not, but to my own disgrace + Neglected my sworn duty in that case. + For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, + The honourable father to my foe, + Once did I lay an ambush for your life, + A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul; + But ere I last receiv'd the sacrament + I did confess it, and exactly begg'd + Your Grace's pardon; and I hope I had it. + This is my fault. As for the rest appeal'd, + It issues from the rancour of a villain, + A recreant and most degenerate traitor; + Which in myself I boldly will defend, + And interchangeably hurl down my gage + Upon this overweening traitor's foot + To prove myself a loyal gentleman + Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. + In haste whereof, most heartily I pray + Your Highness to assign our trial day. + KING RICHARD. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; + Let's purge this choler without letting blood- + This we prescribe, though no physician; + Deep malice makes too deep incision. + Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed: + Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. + Good uncle, let this end where it begun; + We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. + GAUNT. To be a make-peace shall become my age. + Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. + KING RICHARD. And, Norfolk, throw down his. + GAUNT. When, Harry, when? + Obedience bids I should not bid again. + KING RICHARD. Norfolk, throw down; we bid. + There is no boot. + MOWBRAY. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot; + My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: + The one my duty owes; but my fair name, + Despite of death, that lives upon my grave + To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. + I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffl'd here; + Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, + The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood + Which breath'd this poison. + KING RICHARD. Rage must be withstood: + Give me his gage-lions make leopards tame. + MOWBRAY. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, + And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, + The purest treasure mortal times afford + Is spotless reputation; that away, + Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. + A jewel in a ten-times barr'd-up chest + Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. + Mine honour is my life; both grow in one; + Take honour from me, and my life is done: + Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; + In that I live, and for that will I die. + KING RICHARD. Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. + BOLINGBROKE. O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! + Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? + Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height + Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue + Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong + Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear + The slavish motive of recanting fear, + And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, + Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. + Exit GAUNT + KING RICHARD. We were not born to sue, but to command; + Which since we cannot do to make you friends, + Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, + At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day. + There shall your swords and lances arbitrate + The swelling difference of your settled hate; + Since we can not atone you, we shall see + Justice design the victor's chivalry. + Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms + Be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. London. The DUKE OF LANCASTER'S palace + +Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER + + GAUNT. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood + Doth more solicit me than your exclaims + To stir against the butchers of his life! + But since correction lieth in those hands + Which made the fault that we cannot correct, + Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; + Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, + Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. + DUCHESS. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? + Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? + Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, + Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, + Or seven fair branches springing from one root. + Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, + Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; + But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, + One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, + One flourishing branch of his most royal root, + Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; + Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, + By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. + Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb, + That mettle, that self mould, that fashion'd thee, + Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, + Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent + In some large measure to thy father's death + In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, + Who was the model of thy father's life. + Call it not patience, Gaunt-it is despair; + In suff'ring thus thy brother to be slaught'red, + Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, + Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. + That which in mean men we entitle patience + Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. + What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life + The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. + GAUNT. God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, + His deputy anointed in His sight, + Hath caus'd his death; the which if wrongfully, + Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift + An angry arm against His minister. + DUCHESS. Where then, alas, may I complain myself? + GAUNT. To God, the widow's champion and defence. + DUCHESS. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. + Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold + Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. + O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, + That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! + Or, if misfortune miss the first career, + Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom + That they may break his foaming courser's back + And throw the rider headlong in the lists, + A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! + Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife, + With her companion, Grief, must end her life. + GAUNT. Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry. + As much good stay with thee as go with me! + DUCHESS. Yet one word more- grief boundeth where it falls, + Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. + I take my leave before I have begun, + For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. + Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. + Lo, this is all- nay, yet depart not so; + Though this be all, do not so quickly go; + I shall remember more. Bid him- ah, what?- + With all good speed at Plashy visit me. + Alack, and what shall good old York there see + But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, + Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? + And what hear there for welcome but my groans? + Therefore commend me; let him not come there + To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. + Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die; + The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. The lists at Coventry + +Enter the LORD MARSHAL and the DUKE OF AUMERLE + + MARSHAL. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? + AUMERLE. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. + MARSHAL. The Duke of Norfolk, spightfully and bold, + Stays but the summons of the appelant's trumpet. + AUMERLE. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay + For nothing but his Majesty's approach. + + The trumpets sound, and the KING enters with his nobles, + GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and others. When they are set, + enter MOWBRAY, Duke of Nor folk, in arms, defendant, and + a HERALD + + KING RICHARD. Marshal, demand of yonder champion + The cause of his arrival here in arms; + Ask him his name; and orderly proceed + To swear him in the justice of his cause. + MARSHAL. In God's name and the King's, say who thou art, + And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms; + Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel. + Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath; + As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! + MOWBRAY. My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; + Who hither come engaged by my oath- + Which God defend a knight should violate!- + Both to defend my loyalty and truth + To God, my King, and my succeeding issue, + Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me; + And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, + To prove him, in defending of myself, + A traitor to my God, my King, and me. + And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! + + The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, + appellant, in armour, and a HERALD + + KING RICHARD. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, + Both who he is and why he cometh hither + Thus plated in habiliments of war; + And formally, according to our law, + Depose him in the justice of his cause. + MARSHAL. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou hither + Before King Richard in his royal lists? + Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? + Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! + BOLINGBROKE. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + Am I; who ready here do stand in arms + To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, + In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, + That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, + To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me. + And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! + MARSHAL. On pain of death, no person be so bold + Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, + Except the Marshal and such officers + Appointed to direct these fair designs. + BOLINGBROKE. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, + And bow my knee before his Majesty; + For Mowbray and myself are like two men + That vow a long and weary pilgrimage. + Then let us take a ceremonious leave + And loving farewell of our several friends. + MARSHAL. The appellant in all duty greets your Highness, + And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. + KING RICHARD. We will descend and fold him in our arms. + Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, + So be thy fortune in this royal fight! + Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, + Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. + BOLINGBROKE. O, let no noble eye profane a tear + For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear. + As confident as is the falcon's flight + Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. + My loving lord, I take my leave of you; + Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; + Not sick, although I have to do with death, + But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. + Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet + The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. + O thou, the earthly author of my blood, + Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, + Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up + To reach at victory above my head, + Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, + And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, + That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat + And furbish new the name of John o' Gaunt, + Even in the lusty haviour of his son. + GAUNT. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! + Be swift like lightning in the execution, + And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, + Fall like amazing thunder on the casque + Of thy adverse pernicious enemy. + Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. + BOLINGBROKE. Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive! + MOWBRAY. However God or fortune cast my lot, + There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, + A loyal, just, and upright gentleman. + Never did captive with a freer heart + Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace + His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, + More than my dancing soul doth celebrate + This feast of battle with mine adversary. + Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, + Take from my mouth the wish of happy years. + As gentle and as jocund as to jest + Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. + KING RICHARD. Farewell, my lord, securely I espy + Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. + Order the trial, Marshal, and begin. + MARSHAL. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! + BOLINGBROKE. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. + MARSHAL. [To an officer] Go bear this lance to Thomas, + Duke of Norfolk. + FIRST HERALD. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, + On pain to be found false and recreant, + To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, + A traitor to his God, his King, and him; + And dares him to set forward to the fight. + SECOND HERALD. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, + On pain to be found false and recreant, + Both to defend himself, and to approve + Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, + To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal, + Courageously and with a free desire + Attending but the signal to begin. + MARSHAL. Sound trumpets; and set forward, combatants. + [A charge sounded] + Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down. + KING RICHARD. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, + And both return back to their chairs again. + Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound + While we return these dukes what we decree. + + A long flourish, while the KING consults his Council + + Draw near, + And list what with our council we have done. + For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd + With that dear blood which it hath fostered; + And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect + Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; + And for we think the eagle-winged pride + Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, + With rival-hating envy, set on you + To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle + Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; + Which so rous'd up with boist'rous untun'd drums, + With harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, + And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, + Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace + And make us wade even in our kindred's blood- + Therefore we banish you our territories. + You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, + Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields + Shall not regreet our fair dominions, + But tread the stranger paths of banishment. + BOLINGBROKE. Your will be done. This must my comfort be- + That sun that warms you here shall shine on me, + And those his golden beams to you here lent + Shall point on me and gild my banishment. + KING RICHARD. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, + Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: + The sly slow hours shall not determinate + The dateless limit of thy dear exile; + The hopeless word of 'never to return' + Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. + MOWBRAY. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, + And all unlook'd for from your Highness' mouth. + A dearer merit, not so deep a maim + As to be cast forth in the common air, + Have I deserved at your Highness' hands. + The language I have learnt these forty years, + My native English, now I must forgo; + And now my tongue's use is to me no more + Than an unstringed viol or a harp; + Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up + Or, being open, put into his hands + That knows no touch to tune the harmony. + Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, + Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; + And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance + Is made my gaoler to attend on me. + I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, + Too far in years to be a pupil now. + What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, + Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? + KING RICHARD. It boots thee not to be compassionate; + After our sentence plaining comes too late. + MOWBRAY. Then thus I turn me from my countrv's light, + To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. + KING RICHARD. Return again, and take an oath with thee. + Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; + Swear by the duty that you owe to God, + Our part therein we banish with yourselves, + To keep the oath that we administer: + You never shall, so help you truth and God, + Embrace each other's love in banishment; + Nor never look upon each other's face; + Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile + This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; + Nor never by advised purpose meet + To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, + 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. + BOLINGBROKE. I swear. + MOWBRAY. And I, to keep all this. + BOLINGBROKE. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy. + By this time, had the King permitted us, + One of our souls had wand'red in the air, + Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, + As now our flesh is banish'd from this land- + Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; + Since thou hast far to go, bear not along + The clogging burden of a guilty soul. + MOWBRAY. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, + My name be blotted from the book of life, + And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! + But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know; + And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. + Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: + Save back to England, an the world's my way. Exit + KING RICHARD. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes + I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect + Hath from the number of his banish'd years + Pluck'd four away. [To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen winters spent, + Return with welcome home from banishment. + BOLINGBROKE. How long a time lies in one little word! + Four lagging winters and four wanton springs + End in a word: such is the breath of Kings. + GAUNT. I thank my liege that in regard of me + He shortens four years of my son's exile; + But little vantage shall I reap thereby, + For ere the six years that he hath to spend + Can change their moons and bring their times about, + My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light + Shall be extinct with age and endless night; + My inch of taper will be burnt and done, + And blindfold death not let me see my son. + KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. + GAUNT. But not a minute, King, that thou canst give: + Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow + And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; + Thou can'st help time to furrow me with age, + But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; + Thy word is current with him for my death, + But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. + KING RICHARD. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, + Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave. + Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? + GAUNT. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. + You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather + You would have bid me argue like a father. + O, had it been a stranger, not my child, + To smooth his fault I should have been more mild. + A partial slander sought I to avoid, + And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. + Alas, I look'd when some of you should say + I was too strict to make mine own away; + But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue + Against my will to do myself this wrong. + KING RICHARD. Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so. + Six years we banish him, and he shall go. + Flourish. Exit KING with train + AUMERLE. Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know, + From where you do remain let paper show. + MARSHAL. My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride + As far as land will let me by your side. + GAUNT. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, + That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends? + BOLINGBROKE. I have too few to take my leave of you, + When the tongue's office should be prodigal + To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. + GAUNT. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. + BOLINGBROKE. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. + GAUNT. What is six winters? They are quickly gone. + BOLINGBROKE. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. + GAUNT. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. + BOLINGBROKE. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, + Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. + GAUNT. The sullen passage of thy weary steps + Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set + The precious jewel of thy home return. + BOLINGBROKE. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make + Will but remember me what a deal of world + I wander from the jewels that I love. + Must I not serve a long apprenticehood + To foreign passages; and in the end, + Having my freedom, boast of nothing else + But that I was a journeyman to grief? + GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits + Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. + Teach thy necessity to reason thus: + There is no virtue like necessity. + Think not the King did banish thee, + But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit + Where it perceives it is but faintly home. + Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, + And not the King exil'd thee; or suppose + Devouring pestilence hangs in our air + And thou art flying to a fresher clime. + Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it + To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com'st. + Suppose the singing birds musicians, + The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, + The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more + Than a delightful measure or a dance; + For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite + The man that mocks at it and sets it light. + BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand + By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? + Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite + By bare imagination of a feast? + Or wallow naked in December snow + By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? + O, no! the apprehension of the good + Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. + Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more + Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. + GAUNT. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way. + Had I thy youtli and cause, I would not stay. + BOLINGBROKE. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; + My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! + Where'er I wander, boast of this I can: + Though banish'd, yet a trueborn English man. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. London. The court + +Enter the KING, with BAGOT and GREEN, at one door; and the DUKE OF +AUMERLE at another + + KING RICHARD. We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, + How far brought you high Hereford on his way? + AUMERLE. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, + But to the next high way, and there I left him. + KING RICHARD. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? + AUMERLE. Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, + Which then blew bitterly against our faces, + Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance + Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. + KING RICHARD. What said our cousin when you parted with him? + AUMERLE. 'Farewell.' + And, for my heart disdained that my tongue + Should so profane the word, that taught me craft + To counterfeit oppression of such grief + That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. + Marry, would the word 'farewell' have length'ned hours + And added years to his short banishment, + He should have had a volume of farewells; + But since it would not, he had none of me. + KING RICHARD. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, + When time shall call him home from banishment, + Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. + Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, + Observ'd his courtship to the common people; + How he did seem to dive into their hearts + With humble and familiar courtesy; + What reverence he did throw away on slaves, + Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles + And patient underbearing of his fortune, + As 'twere to banish their affects with him. + Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; + A brace of draymen bid God speed him well + And had the tribute of his supple knee, + With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends'; + As were our England in reversion his, + And he our subjects' next degree in hope. + GREEN. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts! + Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, + Expedient manage must be made, my liege, + Ere further leisure yicld them further means + For their advantage and your Highness' loss. + KING RICHARD. We will ourself in person to this war; + And, for our coffers, with too great a court + And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, + We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; + The revenue whereof shall furnish us + For our affairs in hand. If that come short, + Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; + Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, + They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, + And send them after to supply our wants; + For we will make for Ireland presently. + + Enter BUSHY + + Bushy, what news? + BUSHY. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, + Suddenly taken; and hath sent poste-haste + To entreat your Majesty to visit him. + KING RICHARD. Where lies he? + BUSHY. At Ely House. + KING RICHARD. Now put it, God, in the physician's mind + To help him to his grave immediately! + The lining of his coffers shall make coats + To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. + Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him. + Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! + ALL. Amen. Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. London. Ely House + +Enter JOHN OF GAUNT, sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc. + + GAUNT. Will the King come, that I may breathe my last + In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? + YORK. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; + For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. + GAUNT. O, but they say the tongues of dying men + Enforce attention like deep harmony. + Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; + For they breathe truth that breathe their words -in pain. + He that no more must say is listen'd more + Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; + More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before. + The setting sun, and music at the close, + As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, + Writ in remembrance more than things long past. + Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, + My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. + YORK. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, + As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, + Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound + The open ear of youth doth always listen; + Report of fashions in proud Italy, + Whose manners still our tardy apish nation + Limps after in base imitation. + Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity- + So it be new, there's no respect how vile- + That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? + Then all too late comes counsel to be heard + Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. + Direct not him whose way himself will choose. + 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. + GAUNT. Methinks I am a prophet new inspir'd, + And thus expiring do foretell of him: + His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, + For violent fires soon burn out themselves; + Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; + He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; + With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder; + Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, + Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. + This royal throne of kings, this scept'red isle, + This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, + This other Eden, demi-paradise, + This fortress built by Nature for herself + Against infection and the hand of war, + This happy breed of men, this little world, + This precious stone set in the silver sea, + Which serves it in the office of a wall, + Or as a moat defensive to a house, + Against the envy of less happier lands; + This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, + This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, + Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, + Renowned for their deeds as far from home, + For Christian service and true chivalry, + As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry + Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son; + This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, + Dear for her reputation through the world, + Is now leas'd out-I die pronouncing it- + Like to a tenement or pelting farm. + England, bound in with the triumphant sea, + Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege + Of wat'ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame, + With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds; + That England, that was wont to conquer others, + Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. + Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, + How happy then were my ensuing death! + + Enter KING and QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, + Ross, and WILLOUGHBY + + YORK. The King is come; deal mildly with his youth, + For young hot colts being rag'd do rage the more. + QUEEN. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? + KING RICHARD. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaunt? + GAUNT. O, how that name befits my composition! + Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old. + Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; + And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? + For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; + Watching breeds leanness, leanness is an gaunt. + The pleasure that some fathers feed upon + Is my strict fast-I mean my children's looks; + And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt. + Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, + Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. + KING RICHARD. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? + GAUNT. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: + Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, + I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. + KING RICHARD. Should dying men flatter with those that live? + GAUNT. No, no; men living flatter those that die. + KING RICHARD. Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me. + GAUNT. O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. + KING RICHARD. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. + GAUNT. Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; + Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. + Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land + Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; + And thou, too careless patient as thou art, + Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure + Of those physicians that first wounded thee: + A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, + Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; + And yet, incaged in so small a verge, + The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. + O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye + Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, + From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, + Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, + Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. + Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, + It were a shame to let this land by lease; + But for thy world enjoying but this land, + Is it not more than shame to shame it so? + Landlord of England art thou now, not King. + Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; + And thou- + KING RICHARD. A lunatic lean-witted fool, + Presuming on an ague's privilege, + Darest with thy frozen admonition + Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood + With fury from his native residence. + Now by my seat's right royal majesty, + Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, + This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head + Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. + GAUNT. O, Spare me not, my brother Edward's son, + For that I was his father Edward's son; + That blood already, like the pelican, + Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. + My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul- + Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!- + May be a precedent and witness good + That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood. + Join with the present sickness that I have; + And thy unkindness be like crooked age, + To crop at once a too long withered flower. + Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! + These words hereafter thy tormentors be! + Convey me to my bed, then to my grave. + Love they to live that love and honour have. + Exit, borne out by his attendants + KING RICHARD. And let them die that age and sullens have; + For both hast thou, and both become the grave. + YORK. I do beseech your Majesty impute his words + To wayward sickliness and age in him. + He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear + As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. + KING RICHARD. Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; + As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND + + NORTHUMBERLAND. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty. + KING RICHARD. What says he? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, nothing; all is said. + His tongue is now a stringless instrument; + Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. + YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! + Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. + KING RICHARD. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; + His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. + So much for that. Now for our Irish wars. + We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, + Which live like venom where no venom else + But only they have privilege to live. + And for these great affairs do ask some charge, + Towards our assistance we do seize to us + The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, + Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. + YORK. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long + Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? + Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment, + Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, + Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke + About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, + Have ever made me sour my patient cheek + Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. + I am the last of noble Edward's sons, + Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first. + In war was never lion rag'd more fierce, + In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, + Than was that young and princely gentleman. + His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, + Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; + But when he frown'd, it was against the French + And not against his friends. His noble hand + Did win what he did spend, and spent not that + Which his triumphant father's hand had won. + His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, + But bloody with the enemies of his kin. + O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, + Or else he never would compare between- + KING RICHARD. Why, uncle, what's the matter? + YORK. O my liege, + Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd + Not to be pardoned, am content withal. + Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands + The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? + Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? + Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? + Did not the one deserve to have an heir? + Is not his heir a well-deserving son? + Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time + His charters and his customary rights; + Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; + Be not thyself-for how art thou a king + But by fair sequence and succession? + Now, afore God-God forbid I say true!- + If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, + Call in the letters patents that he hath + By his attorneys-general to sue + His livery, and deny his off'red homage, + You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, + You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, + And prick my tender patience to those thoughts + Which honour and allegiance cannot think. + KING RICHARD. Think what you will, we seize into our hands + His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. + YORK. I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell. + What will ensue hereof there's none can tell; + But by bad courses may be understood + That their events can never fall out good. Exit + KING RICHARD. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight; + Bid him repair to us to Ely House + To see this business. To-morrow next + We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow. + And we create, in absence of ourself, + Our Uncle York Lord Governor of England; + For he is just, and always lov'd us well. + Come on, our queen; to-morrow must we part; + Be merry, for our time of stay is short. + Flourish. Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE, + GREEN, and BAGOT + NORTHUMBERLAND. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. + Ross. And living too; for now his son is Duke. + WILLOUGHBY. Barely in title, not in revenues. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Richly in both, if justice had her right. + ROSS. My heart is great; but it must break with silence, + Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more + That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! + WILLOUGHBY. Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? + If it be so, out with it boldly, man; + Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. + ROSS. No good at all that I can do for him; + Unless you call it good to pity him, + Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne + In him, a royal prince, and many moe + Of noble blood in this declining land. + The King is not himself, but basely led + By flatterers; and what they will inform, + Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us an, + That will the King severely prosecute + 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. + ROSS. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes; + And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he find + For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts. + WILLOUGHBY. And daily new exactions are devis'd, + As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what; + But what, a God's name, doth become of this? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Wars hath not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, + But basely yielded upon compromise + That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows. + More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. + ROSS. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. + WILLOUGHBY. The King's grown bankrupt like a broken man. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. + ROSS. He hath not money for these Irish wars, + His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, + But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke. + NORTHUMBERLAND. His noble kinsman-most degenerate king! + But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, + Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm; + We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, + And yet we strike not, but securely perish. + ROSS. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; + And unavoided is the danger now + For suffering so the causes of our wreck. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death + I spy life peering; but I dare not say + How near the tidings of our comfort is. + WILLOUGHBY. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours. + ROSS. Be confident to speak, Northumberland. + We three are but thyself, and, speaking so, + Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay + In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence + That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, + That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, + His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, + Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, + Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Quoint- + All these, well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine, + With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, + Are making hither with all due expedience, + And shortly mean to touch our northern shore. + Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay + The first departing of the King for Ireland. + If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, + Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, + Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, + Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt, + And make high majesty look like itself, + Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; + But if you faint, as fearing to do so, + Stay and be secret, and myself will go. + ROSS. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear. + WILLOUGHBY. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. + Exeunt + +SCENE 2. Windsor Castle + +Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT + + BUSHY. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad. + You promis'd, when you parted with the King, + To lay aside life-harming heaviness + And entertain a cheerful disposition. + QUEEN. To please the King, I did; to please myself + I cannot do it; yet I know no cause + Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, + Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest + As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks + Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, + Is coming towards me, and my inward soul + With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves + More than with parting from my lord the King. + BUSHY. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, + Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; + For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, + Divides one thing entire to many objects, + Like perspectives which, rightly gaz'd upon, + Show nothing but confusion-ey'd awry, + Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty, + Looking awry upon your lord's departure, + Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail; + Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows + Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen, + More than your lord's departure weep not-more is not seen; + Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, + Which for things true weeps things imaginary. + QUEEN. It may be so; but yet my inward soul + Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be, + I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad + As-though, on thinking, on no thought I think- + Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. + BUSHY. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. + QUEEN. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd + From some forefather grief; mine is not so, + For nothing hath begot my something grief, + Or something hath the nothing that I grieve; + 'Tis in reversion that I do possess- + But what it is that is not yet known what, + I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. + + Enter GREEN + + GREEN. God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen. + I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. + QUEEN. Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is; + For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope. + Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? + GREEN. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power + And driven into despair an enemy's hope + Who strongly hath set footing in this land. + The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, + And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd + At Ravenspurgh. + QUEEN. Now God in heaven forbid! + GREEN. Ah, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse, + The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, + The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, + With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. + BUSHY. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland + And all the rest revolted faction traitors? + GREEN. We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester + Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship, + And all the household servants fled with him + To Bolingbroke. + QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, + And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir. + Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; + And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, + Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. + BUSHY. Despair not, madam. + QUEEN. Who shall hinder me? + I will despair, and be at enmity + With cozening hope-he is a flatterer, + A parasite, a keeper-back of death, + Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, + Which false hope lingers in extremity. + + Enter YORK + + GREEN. Here comes the Duke of York. + QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck. + O, full of careful business are his looks! + Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. + YORK. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. + Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, + Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief. + Your husband, he is gone to save far off, + Whilst others come to make him lose at home. + Here am I left to underprop his land, + Who, weak with age, cannot support myself. + Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; + Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. + + Enter a SERVINGMAN + + SERVINGMAN. My lord, your son was gone before I came. + YORK. He was-why so go all which way it will! + The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold + And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. + Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; + Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. + Hold, take my ring. + SERVINGMAN. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, + To-day, as I came by, I called there- + But I shall grieve you to report the rest. + YORK. What is't, knave? + SERVINGMAN. An hour before I came, the Duchess died. + YORK. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes + Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! + I know not what to do. I would to God, + So my untruth had not provok'd him to it, + The King had cut off my head with my brother's. + What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? + How shall we do for money for these wars? + Come, sister-cousin, I would say-pray, pardon me. + Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts, + And bring away the armour that is there. + Exit SERVINGMAN + Gentlemen, will you go muster men? + If I know how or which way to order these affairs + Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, + Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen. + T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath + And duty bids defend; t'other again + Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd, + Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. + Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, + I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men + And meet me presently at Berkeley. + I should to Plashy too, + But time will not permit. All is uneven, + And everything is left at six and seven. + Exeunt YORK and QUEEN + BUSHY. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland. + But none returns. For us to levy power + Proportionable to the enemy + Is all unpossible. + GREEN. Besides, our nearness to the King in love + Is near the hate of those love not the King. + BAGOT. And that is the wavering commons; for their love + Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, + By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. + BUSHY. Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd. + BAGOT. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, + Because we ever have been near the King. + GREEN. Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle. + The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. + BUSHY. Thither will I with you; for little office + Will the hateful commons perform for us, + Except Eke curs to tear us all to pieces. + Will you go along with us? + BAGOT. No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty. + Farewell. If heart's presages be not vain, + We three here part that ne'er shall meet again. + BUSHY. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. + GREEN. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes + Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry. + Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. + Farewell at once-for once, for all, and ever. + BUSHY. Well, we may meet again. + BAGOT. I fear me, never. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. Gloucestershire + +Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, forces + + BOLINGBROKE. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Believe me, noble lord, + I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire. + These high wild hills and rough uneven ways + Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome; + And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, + Making the hard way sweet and delectable. + But I bethink me what a weary way + From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found + In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, + Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd + The tediousness and process of my travel. + But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have + The present benefit which I possess; + And hope to joy is little less in joy + Than hope enjoy'd. By this the weary lords + Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done + By sight of what I have, your noble company. + BOLINGBROKE. Of much less value is my company + Than your good words. But who comes here? + + Enter HARRY PERCY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my son, young Harry Percy, + Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. + Harry, how fares your uncle? + PERCY. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Why, is he not with the Queen? + PERCY. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, + Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd + The household of the King. + NORTHUMBERLAND. What was his reason? + He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. + PERCY. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. + But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, + To offer service to the Duke of Hereford; + And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover + What power the Duke of York had levied there; + Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? + PERCY. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot + Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge, + I never in my life did look on him. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke. + PERCY. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, + Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; + Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm + To more approved service and desert. + BOLINGBROKE. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure + I count myself in nothing else so happy + As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; + And as my fortune ripens with thy love, + It shall be still thy true love's recompense. + My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. + NORTHUMBERLAND. How far is it to Berkeley? And what stir + Keeps good old York there with his men of war? + PERCY. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, + Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; + And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour- + None else of name and noble estimate. + + Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, + Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. + BOLINGBROKE. Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues + A banish'd traitor. All my treasury + Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, + Shall be your love and labour's recompense. + ROSS. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. + WILLOUGHBY. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. + BOLINGBROKE. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; + Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, + Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? + + Enter BERKELEY + + NORTHUMBERLAND. It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. + BERKELEY. My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you. + BOLINGBROKE. My lord, my answer is-'to Lancaster'; + And I am come to seek that name in England; + And I must find that title in your tongue + Before I make reply to aught you say. + BERKELEY. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning + To raze one title of your honour out. + To you, my lord, I come-what lord you will- + From the most gracious regent of this land, + The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on + To take advantage of the absent time, + And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. + + Enter YORK, attended + + BOLINGBROKE. I shall not need transport my words by you; + Here comes his Grace in person. My noble uncle! + [Kneels] + YORK. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, + Whose duty is deceivable and false. + BOLINGBROKE. My gracious uncle!- + YORK. Tut, tut! + Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle. + I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace' + In an ungracious mouth is but profane. + Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs + Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? + But then more 'why?'-why have they dar'd to march + So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, + Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war + And ostentation of despised arms? + Com'st thou because the anointed King is hence? + Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind, + And in my loyal bosom lies his power. + Were I but now lord of such hot youth + As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself + Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, + From forth the ranks of many thousand French, + O, then how quickly should this arm of mine, + Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise the + And minister correction to thy fault! + BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; + On what condition stands it and wherein? + YORK. Even in condition of the worst degree- + In gross rebellion and detested treason. + Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come + Before the expiration of thy time, + In braving arms against thy sovereign. + BOLINGBROKE. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; + But as I come, I come for Lancaster. + And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace + Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye. + You are my father, for methinks in you + I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father, + Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd + A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties + Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away + To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? + If that my cousin king be King in England, + It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. + You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; + Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, + He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father + To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. + I am denied to sue my livery here, + And yet my letters patents give me leave. + My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; + And these and all are all amiss employ'd. + What would you have me do? I am a subject, + And I challenge law-attorneys are denied me; + And therefore personally I lay my claim + To my inheritance of free descent. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath been too much abused. + ROSS. It stands your Grace upon to do him right. + WILLOUGHBY. Base men by his endowments are made great. + YORK. My lords of England, let me tell you this: + I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, + And labour'd all I could to do him right; + But in this kind to come, in braving arms, + Be his own carver and cut out his way, + To find out right with wrong-it may not be; + And you that do abet him in this kind + Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is + But for his own; and for the right of that + We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; + And let him never see joy that breaks that oath! + YORK. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. + I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, + Because my power is weak and all ill left; + But if I could, by Him that gave me life, + I would attach you all and make you stoop + Unto the sovereign mercy of the King; + But since I cannot, be it known unto you + I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; + Unless you please to enter in the castle, + And there repose you for this night. + BOLINGBROKE. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. + But we must win your Grace to go with us + To Bristow Castle, which they say is held + By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, + The caterpillars of the commonwealth, + Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. + YORK. It may be I will go with you; but yet I'll pause, + For I am loath to break our country's laws. + Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are. + Things past redress are now with me past care. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. A camp in Wales + +Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a WELSH CAPTAIN + + CAPTAIN. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days + And hardly kept our countrymen together, + And yet we hear no tidings from the King; + Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. + SALISBURY. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; + The King reposeth all his confidence in thee. + CAPTAIN. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay. + The bay trees in our country are all wither'd, + And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; + The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, + And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; + Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap- + The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, + The other to enjoy by rage and war. + These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. + Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled, + As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. Exit + SALISBURY. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, + I see thy glory like a shooting star + Fall to the base earth from the firmament! + The sun sets weeping in the lowly west, + Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest; + Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; + And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. Exit + +ACT III. SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE'S camp at Bristol + +Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY, +BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners + + BOLINGBROKE. Bring forth these men. + Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls- + Since presently your souls must part your bodies- + With too much urging your pernicious lives, + For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood + From off my hands, here in the view of men + I will unfold some causes of your deaths: + You have misled a prince, a royal king, + A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, + By you unhappied and disfigured clean; + You have in manner with your sinful hours + Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; + Broke the possession of a royal bed, + And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks + With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs; + Myself-a prince by fortune of my birth, + Near to the King in blood, and near in love + Till you did make him misinterpret me- + Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries + And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, + Eating the bitter bread of banishment, + Whilst you have fed upon my signories, + Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, + From my own windows torn my household coat, + Raz'd out my imprese, leaving me no sign + Save men's opinions and my living blood + To show the world I am a gentleman. + This and much more, much more than twice all this, + Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over + To execution and the hand of death. + BUSHY. More welcome is the stroke of death to me + Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. + GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls, + And plague injustice with the pains of hell. + BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. + Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners + Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house; + For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated. + Tell her I send to her my kind commends; + Take special care my greetings be delivered. + YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd + With letters of your love to her at large. + BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away, + To fight with Glendower and his complices. + Awhile to work, and after holiday. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. The coast of Wales. A castle in view + +Drums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, +AUMERLE, and soldiers + + KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand? + AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air + After your late tossing on the breaking seas? + KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy + To stand upon my kingdom once again. + Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, + Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs. + As a long-parted mother with her child + Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, + So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth, + And do thee favours with my royal hands. + Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, + Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; + But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, + And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way, + Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet + Which with usurping steps do trample thee; + Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; + And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, + Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder, + Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch + Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. + Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords. + This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones + Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king + Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. + CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king + Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. + The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd + And not neglected; else, if heaven would, + And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, + The proffered means of succour and redress. + AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; + Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, + Grows strong and great in substance and in power. + KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not + That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, + Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, + Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen + In murders and in outrage boldly here; + But when from under this terrestrial ball + He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines + And darts his light through every guilty hole, + Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, + The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, + Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? + So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, + Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, + Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes, + Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, + His treasons will sit blushing in his face, + Not able to endure the sight of day, + But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. + Not all the water in the rough rude sea + Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; + The breath of worldly men cannot depose + The deputy elected by the Lord. + For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd + To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, + God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay + A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight, + Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right. + + Enter SALISBURY + + Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power? + SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, + Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue, + And bids me speak of nothing but despair. + One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, + Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. + O, call back yesterday, bid time return, + And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! + To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, + O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; + For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, + Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. + AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale? + KING RICHARD. But now the blood of twenty thousand men + Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; + And, till so much blood thither come again, + Have I not reason to look pale and dead? + All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; + For time hath set a blot upon my pride. + AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. + KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King? + Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. + Is not the King's name twenty thousand names? + Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes + At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, + Ye favourites of a king; are we not high? + High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York + Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? + + Enter SCROOP + + SCROOP. More health and happiness betide my liege + Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. + KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd. + The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. + Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care, + And what loss is it to be rid of care? + Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? + Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, + We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so. + Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend; + They break their faith to God as well as us. + Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay- + The worst is death, and death will have his day. + SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd + To bear the tidings of calamity. + Like an unseasonable stormy day + Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, + As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears, + So high above his limits swells the rage + Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land + With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. + White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps + Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, + Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints + In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown; + Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows + Of double-fatal yew against thy state; + Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills + Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, + And all goes worse than I have power to tell. + KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so in. + Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot? + What is become of Bushy? Where is Green? + That they have let the dangerous enemy + Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? + If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. + I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. + SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. + KING RICHARD. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! + Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! + Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! + Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! + Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war + Upon their spotted souls for this offence! + SCROOP. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, + Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. + Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made + With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse + Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound + And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. + AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? + SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads. + AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power? + KING RICHARD. No matter where-of comfort no man speak. + Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; + Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes + Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. + Let's choose executors and talk of wills; + And yet not so-for what can we bequeath + Save our deposed bodies to the ground? + Our lands, our lives, and an, are Bolingbroke's. + And nothing can we can our own but death + And that small model of the barren earth + Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. + For God's sake let us sit upon the ground + And tell sad stories of the death of kings: + How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, + Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, + Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd, + All murder'd-for within the hollow crown + That rounds the mortal temples of a king + Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits, + Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; + Allowing him a breath, a little scene, + To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; + Infusing him with self and vain conceit, + As if this flesh which walls about our life + Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, + Comes at the last, and with a little pin + Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king! + Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood + With solemn reverence; throw away respect, + Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty; + For you have but mistook me all this while. + I live with bread like you, feel want, + Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, + How can you say to me I am a king? + CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, + But presently prevent the ways to wail. + To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, + Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, + And so your follies fight against yourself. + Fear and be slain-no worse can come to fight; + And fight and die is death destroying death, + Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. + AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him, + And learn to make a body of a limb. + KING RICHARD. Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come + To change blows with thee for our day of doom. + This ague fit of fear is over-blown; + An easy task it is to win our own. + Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? + Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. + SCROOP. Men judge by the complexion of the sky + The state in inclination of the day; + So may you by my dull and heavy eye, + My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. + I play the torturer, by small and small + To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: + Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke; + And all your northern castles yielded up, + And all your southern gentlemen in arms + Upon his party. + KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough. + [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth + Of that sweet way I was in to despair! + What say you now? What comfort have we now? + By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly + That bids me be of comfort any more. + Go to Flint Castle; there I'll pine away; + A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. + That power I have, discharge; and let them go + To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, + For I have none. Let no man speak again + To alter this, for counsel is but vain. + AUMERLE. My liege, one word. + KING RICHARD. He does me double wrong + That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. + Discharge my followers; let them hence away, + From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. Wales. Before Flint Castle + +Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and +forces + + BOLINGBROKE. So that by this intelligence we learn + The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury + Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed + With some few private friends upon this coast. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The news is very fair and good, my lord. + Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. + YORK. It would beseem the Lord Northumberland + To say 'King Richard.' Alack the heavy day + When such a sacred king should hide his head! + NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief, + Left I his title out. + YORK. The time hath been, + Would you have been so brief with him, he would + Have been so brief with you to shorten you, + For taking so the head, your whole head's length. + BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. + YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, + Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads. + BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself + Against their will. But who comes here? + + Enter PERCY + + Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield? + PIERCY. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, + Against thy entrance. + BOLINGBROKE. Royally! + Why, it contains no king? + PERCY. Yes, my good lord, + It doth contain a king; King Richard lies + Within the limits of yon lime and stone; + And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, + Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman + Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. + NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. + BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord, + Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; + Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley + Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: + Henry Bolingbroke + On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand, + And sends allegiance and true faith of heart + To his most royal person; hither come + Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, + Provided that my banishment repeal'd + And lands restor'd again be freely granted; + If not, I'll use the advantage of my power + And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood + Rain'd from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen; + The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke + It is such crimson tempest should bedrench + The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, + My stooping duty tenderly shall show. + Go, signify as much, while here we march + Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. + [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle, with a trumpet] + Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, + That from this castle's tottered battlements + Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. + Methinks King Richard and myself should meet + With no less terror than the elements + Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock + At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. + Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water; + The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain + My waters-on the earth, and not on him. + March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. + + Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish. + Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, + AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY + + See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, + As doth the blushing discontented sun + From out the fiery portal of the east, + When he perceives the envious clouds are bent + To dim his glory and to stain the track + Of his bright passage to the occident. + YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye, + As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth + Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe, + That any harm should stain so fair a show! + KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz'd; and thus long + have we stood + To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, + Because we thought ourself thy lawful King; + And if we be, how dare thy joints forget + To pay their awful duty to our presence? + If we be not, show us the hand of God + That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; + For well we know no hand of blood and bone + Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, + Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. + And though you think that all, as you have done, + Have torn their souls by turning them from us, + And we are barren and bereft of friends, + Yet know-my master, God omnipotent, + Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf + Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike + Your children yet unborn and unbegot, + That lift your vassal hands against my head + And threat the glory of my precious crown. + Tell Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he stands, + That every stride he makes upon my land + Is dangerous treason; he is come to open + The purple testament of bleeding war; + But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, + Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons + Shall ill become the flower of England's face, + Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace + To scarlet indignation, and bedew + Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The King of Heaven forbid our lord the King + Should so with civil and uncivil arms + Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin, + Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; + And by the honourable tomb he swears + That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, + And by the royalties of both your bloods, + Currents that spring from one most gracious head, + And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, + And by the worth and honour of himself, + Comprising all that may be sworn or said, + His coming hither hath no further scope + Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg + Enfranchisement immediate on his knees; + Which on thy royal party granted once, + His glittering arms he will commend to rust, + His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart + To faithful service of your Majesty. + This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; + And as I am a gentleman I credit him. + KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King returns: + His noble cousin is right welcome hither; + And all the number of his fair demands + Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction. + With all the gracious utterance thou hast + Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. + [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, + To look so poorly and to speak so fair? + Shall we call back Northumberland, and send + Defiance to the traitor, and so die? + AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words + Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. + KING RICHARD. O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine + That laid the sentence of dread banishment + On yon proud man should take it off again + With words of sooth! O that I were as great + As is my grief, or lesser than my name! + Or that I could forget what I have been! + Or not remember what I must be now! + Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, + Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. + AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. + KING RICHARD. What must the King do now? Must he submit? + The King shall do it. Must he be depos'd? + The King shall be contented. Must he lose + The name of king? A God's name, let it go. + I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, + My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, + My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, + My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, + My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, + My subjects for a pair of carved saints, + And my large kingdom for a little grave, + A little little grave, an obscure grave- + Or I'll be buried in the king's high way, + Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet + May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; + For on my heart they tread now whilst I live, + And buried once, why not upon my head? + Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! + We'll make foul weather with despised tears; + Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn + And make a dearth in this revolting land. + Or shall we play the wantons with our woes + And make some pretty match with shedding tears? + As thus: to drop them still upon one place + Till they have fretted us a pair of graves + Within the earth; and, therein laid-there lies + Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. + Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see + I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. + Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, + What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty + Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? + You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend + To speak with you; may it please you to come down? + KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist'ring Phaethon, + Wanting the manage of unruly jades. + In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, + To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. + In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! + For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. + Exeunt from above + BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty? + NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart + Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man; + Yet he is come. + + Enter the KING, and his attendants, below + + BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart, + And show fair duty to his Majesty. [He kneels down] + My gracious lord- + KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee + To make the base earth proud with kissing it. + Me rather had my heart might feel your love + Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. + Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, + [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your + knee be low. + BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. + KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. + BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, + As my true service shall deserve your love. + KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have + That know the strong'st and surest way to get. + Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes: + Tears show their love, but want their remedies. + Cousin, I am too young to be your father, + Though you are old enough to be my heir. + What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; + For do we must what force will have us do. + Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so? + BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord. + KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. The DUKE OF YORK's garden + +Enter the QUEEN and two LADIES + + QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden + To drive away the heavy thought of care? + LADY. Madam, we'll play at bowls. + QUEEN. 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs + And that my fortune runs against the bias. + LADY. Madam, we'll dance. + QUEEN. My legs can keep no measure in delight, + When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief; + Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport. + LADY. Madam, we'll tell tales. + QUEEN. Of sorrow or of joy? + LADY. Of either, madam. + QUEEN. Of neither, girl; + For if of joy, being altogether wanting, + It doth remember me the more of sorrow; + Or if of grief, being altogether had, + It adds more sorrow to my want of joy; + For what I have I need not to repeat, + And what I want it boots not to complain. + LADY. Madam, I'll sing. + QUEEN. 'Tis well' that thou hast cause; + But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep. + LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. + QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good, + And never borrow any tear of thee. + + Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS + + But stay, here come the gardeners. + Let's step into the shadow of these trees. + My wretchedness unto a row of pins, + They will talk of state, for every one doth so + Against a change: woe is forerun with woe. + [QUEEN and LADIES retire] + GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, + Which, like unruly children, make their sire + Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight; + Give some supportance to the bending twigs. + Go thou, and Eke an executioner + Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays + That look too lofty in our commonwealth: + All must be even in our government. + You thus employ'd, I will go root away + The noisome weeds which without profit suck + The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. + SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, + Keep law and form and due proportion, + Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, + When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, + Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, + Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, + Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs + Swarming with caterpillars? + GARDENER. Hold thy peace. + He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring + Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf; + The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, + That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, + Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke- + I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. + SERVANT. What, are they dead? + GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke + Hath seiz'd the wasteful King. O, what pity is it + That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land + As we this garden! We at time of year + Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees, + Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, + With too much riches it confound itself; + Had he done so to great and growing men, + They might have Ev'd to bear, and he to taste + Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches + We lop away, that bearing boughs may live; + Had he done so, himself had home the crown, + Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. + SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed? + GARDENER. Depress'd he is already, and depos'd + 'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night + To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's + That tell black tidings. + QUEEN. O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking! + [Coming forward] + Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, + How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? + What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the + To make a second fall of cursed man? + Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd? + Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, + Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, + Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch. + GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have + To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. + King Richard, he is in the mighty hold + Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weigh'd. + In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, + And some few vanities that make him light; + But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, + Besides himself, are all the English peers, + And with that odds he weighs King Richard down. + Post you to London, and you will find it so; + I speak no more than every one doth know. + QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, + Doth not thy embassage belong to me, + And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest + To serve me last, that I may longest keep + Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go + To meet at London London's King in woe. + What, was I born to this, that my sad look + Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? + Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe, + Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow! + Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES + GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse, + I would my skill were subject to thy curse. + Here did she fall a tear; here in this place + I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace. + Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, + In the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. Westminster Hall + +Enter, as to the Parliament, BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, +PERCY, FITZWATER, SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF +WESTMINSTER, and others; HERALD, OFFICERS, and BAGOT + + BOLINGBROKE. Call forth Bagot. + Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind- + What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death; + Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd + The bloody office of his timeless end. + BAGOT. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. + BOLINGBROKE. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. + BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue + Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. + In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted + I heard you say 'Is not my arm of length, + That reacheth from the restful English Court + As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?' + Amongst much other talk that very time + I heard you say that you had rather refuse + The offer of an hundred thousand crowns + Than Bolingbroke's return to England; + Adding withal, how blest this land would be + In this your cousin's death. + AUMERLE. Princes, and noble lords, + What answer shall I make to this base man? + Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars + On equal terms to give him chastisement? + Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd + With the attainder of his slanderous lips. + There is my gage, the manual seal of death + That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest, + And will maintain what thou hast said is false + In thy heart-blood, through being all too base + To stain the temper of my knightly sword. + BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up. + AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best + In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. + FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy, + There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. + By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, + I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, + That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death. + If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest; + And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, + Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. + AUMERLE. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. + FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. + AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. + PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true + In this appeal as thou art an unjust; + And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, + To prove it on thee to the extremest point + Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st. + AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of + And never brandish more revengeful steel + Over the glittering helmet of my foe! + ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; + And spur thee on with fun as many lies + As may be halloa'd in thy treacherous ear + From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn; + Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. + AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I'll throw at all! + I have a thousand spirits in one breast + To answer twenty thousand such as you. + SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well + The very time Aumerle and you did talk. + FITZWATER. 'Tis very true; you were in presence then, + And you can witness with me this is true. + SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. + FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest. + SURREY. Dishonourable boy! + That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword + That it shall render vengeance and revenge + Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he + In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. + In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; + Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. + FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! + If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, + I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, + And spit upon him whilst I say he lies, + And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith, + To tie thee to my strong correction. + As I intend to thrive in this new world, + Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal. + Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say + That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men + To execute the noble Duke at Calais. + AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage + That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this, + If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. + BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage + Till Norfolk be repeal'd-repeal'd he shall be + And, though mine enemy, restor'd again + To all his lands and signories. When he is return'd, + Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. + CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen. + Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought + For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, + Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross + Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; + And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself + To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave + His body to that pleasant country's earth, + And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, + Under whose colours he had fought so long. + BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead? + CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord. + BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom + Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, + Your differences shall all rest under gage + Till we assign you to your days of trial + + Enter YORK, attended + + YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the + From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul + Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields + To the possession of thy royal hand. + Ascend his throne, descending now from him- + And long live Henry, fourth of that name! + BOLINGBROKE. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. + CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid! + Worst in this royal presence may I speak, + Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. + Would God that any in this noble presence + Were enough noble to be upright judge + Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would + Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. + What subject can give sentence on his king? + And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? + Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear, + Although apparent guilt be seen in them; + And shall the figure of God's majesty, + His captain, steward, deputy elect, + Anointed, crowned, planted many years, + Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, + And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, + That in a Christian climate souls refin'd + Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! + I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, + Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king. + My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, + Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; + And if you crown him, let me prophesy- + The blood of English shall manure the ground, + And future ages groan for this foul act; + Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, + And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars + Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; + Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, + Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd + The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. + O, if you raise this house against this house, + It will the woefullest division prove + That ever fell upon this cursed earth. + Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, + Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe. + NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, + Of capital treason we arrest you here. + My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge + To keep him safely till his day of trial. + May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? + BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view + He may surrender; so we shall proceed + Without suspicion. + YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit + BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest, + Procure your sureties for your days of answer. + Little are we beholding to your love, + And little look'd for at your helping hands. + + Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS + bearing the regalia + + KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, + Before I have shook off the regal thoughts + Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd + To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee. + Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me + To this submission. Yet I well remember + The favours of these men. Were they not mine? + Did they not sometime cry 'All hail!' to me? + So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve, + Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. + God save the King! Will no man say amen? + Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. + God save the King! although I be not he; + And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. + To do what service am I sent for hither? + YORK. To do that office of thine own good will + Which tired majesty did make thee offer- + The resignation of thy state and crown + To Henry Bolingbroke. + KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown. + Here, cousin, + On this side my hand, and on that side thine. + Now is this golden crown like a deep well + That owes two buckets, filling one another; + The emptier ever dancing in the air, + The other down, unseen, and full of water. + That bucket down and fun of tears am I, + Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. + BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign. + KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine. + You may my glories and my state depose, + But not my griefs; still am I king of those. + BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. + KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. + My care is loss of care, by old care done; + Your care is gain of care, by new care won. + The cares I give I have, though given away; + They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. + BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown? + KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; + Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. + Now mark me how I will undo myself: + I give this heavy weight from off my head, + And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, + The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; + With mine own tears I wash away my balm, + With mine own hands I give away my crown, + With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, + With mine own breath release all duteous oaths; + All pomp and majesty I do forswear; + My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo; + My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny. + God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! + God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee! + Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, + And thou with all pleas'd, that hast an achiev'd. + Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, + And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit. + God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says, + And send him many years of sunshine days! + What more remains? + NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read + These accusations, and these grievous crimes + Committed by your person and your followers + Against the state and profit of this land; + That, by confessing them, the souls of men + May deem that you are worthily depos'd. + KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out + My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, + If thy offences were upon record, + Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop + To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, + There shouldst thou find one heinous article, + Containing the deposing of a king + And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, + Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven. + Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me + Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, + Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, + Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates + Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, + And water cannot wash away your sin. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these + articles. + KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see. + And yet salt water blinds them not so much + But they can see a sort of traitors here. + Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, + I find myself a traitor with the rest; + For I have given here my soul's consent + T'undeck the pompous body of a king; + Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave, + Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord- + KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, + Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no tide- + No, not that name was given me at the font- + But 'tis usurp'd. Alack the heavy day, + That I have worn so many winters out, + And know not now what name to call myself! + O that I were a mockery king of snow, + Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke + To melt myself away in water drops! + Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, + An if my word be sterling yet in England, + Let it command a mirror hither straight, + That it may show me what a face I have + Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. + BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. + Exit an attendant + NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. + KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell. + BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. + NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied. + KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I'll read enough, + When I do see the very book indeed + Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. + + Re-enter attendant with glass + + Give me that glass, and therein will I read. + No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck + So many blows upon this face of mine + And made no deeper wounds? O flatt'ring glass, + Like to my followers in prosperity, + Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face + That every day under his household roof + Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face + That like the sun did make beholders wink? + Is this the face which fac'd so many follies + That was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? + A brittle glory shineth in this face; + As brittle as the glory is the face; + [Dashes the glass against the ground] + For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. + Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport- + How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. + BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd + The shadow of your face. + KING RICHARD. Say that again. + The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see. + 'Tis very true: my grief lies all within; + And these external manner of laments + Are merely shadows to the unseen grief + That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul. + There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king, + For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st + Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way + How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, + And then be gone and trouble you no more. + Shall I obtain it? + BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin. + KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king; + For when I was a king, my flatterers + Were then but subjects; being now a subject, + I have a king here to my flatterer. + Being so great, I have no need to beg. + BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask. + KING RICHARD. And shall I have? + BOLINGBROKE. You shall. + KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go. + BOLINGBROKE. Whither? + KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. + BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. + KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all, + That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. + Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard + BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down + Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves. + Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the + BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE + ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. + CARLISLE. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn + Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. + AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot + To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? + ABBOT. My lord, + Before I freely speak my mind herein, + You shall not only take the sacrament + To bury mine intents, but also to effect + Whatever I shall happen to devise. + I see your brows are full of discontent, + Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears. + Come home with me to supper; I will lay + A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 1. London. A street leading to the Tower + +Enter the QUEEN, with her attendants + + QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way + To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, + To whose flint bosom my condemned lord + Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke. + Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth + Have any resting for her true King's queen. + + Enter KING RICHARD and Guard + + But soft, but see, or rather do not see, + My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold, + That you in pity may dissolve to dew, + And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. + Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; + Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, + And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, + Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, + When triumph is become an alehouse guest? + KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, + To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul, + To think our former state a happy dream; + From which awak'd, the truth of what we are + Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, + To grim Necessity; and he and + Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, + And cloister thee in some religious house. + Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, + Which our profane hours here have thrown down. + QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind + Transform'd and weak'ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos'd + Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? + The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw + And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage + To be o'erpow'r'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, + Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod, + And fawn on rage with base humility, + Which art a lion and the king of beasts? + KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts, + I had been still a happy king of men. + Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France. + Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest, + As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. + In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire + With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales + Of woeful ages long ago betid; + And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs + Tell thou the lamentable tale of me, + And send the hearers weeping to their beds; + For why, the senseless brands will sympathize + The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, + And in compassion weep the fire out; + And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, + For the deposing of a rightful king. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended + + NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; + You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. + And, madam, there is order ta'en for you: + With all swift speed you must away to France. + KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal + The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, + The time shall not be many hours of age + More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head + Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think + Though he divide the realm and give thee half + It is too little, helping him to all; + And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way + To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, + Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way + To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. + The love of wicked men converts to fear; + That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both + To worthy danger and deserved death. + NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. + Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. + KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you violate + A twofold marriage-'twixt my crown and me, + And then betwixt me and my married wife. + Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; + And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. + Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, + Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; + My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp, + She came adorned hither like sweet May, + Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. + QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part? + KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. + QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me. + NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy. + QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go. + KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe. + Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; + Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. + Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. + QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans. + KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, + And piece the way out with a heavy heart. + Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, + Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. + One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; + Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. + QUEEN. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part + To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. + So, now I have mine own again, be gone. + That I may strive to kill it with a groan. + KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. + Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. The DUKE OF YORK's palace + +Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS + + DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest, + When weeping made you break the story off, + Of our two cousins' coming into London. + YORK. Where did I leave? + DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord, + Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops + Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. + YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, + Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed + Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, + With slow but stately pace kept on his course, + Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!' + You would have thought the very windows spake, + So many greedy looks of young and old + Through casements darted their desiring eyes + Upon his visage; and that all the walls + With painted imagery had said at once + 'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!' + Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, + Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, + Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen.' + And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. + DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? + YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men + After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage + Are idly bent on him that enters next, + Thinking his prattle to be tedious; + Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes + Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!' + No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; + But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; + Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, + His face still combating with tears and smiles, + The badges of his grief and patience, + That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd + The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, + And barbarism itself have pitied him. + But heaven hath a hand in these events, + To whose high will we bound our calm contents. + To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, + Whose state and honour I for aye allow. + DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle. + YORK. Aumerle that was + But that is lost for being Richard's friend, + And madam, you must call him Rudand now. + I am in Parliament pledge for his truth + And lasting fealty to the new-made king. + + Enter AUMERLE + + DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now + That strew the green lap of the new come spring? + AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. + God knows I had as lief be none as one. + YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, + Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. + What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold? + AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do. + YORK. You will be there, I know. + AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so. + YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom? + Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing. + AUMERLE. My lord, 'tis nothing. + YORK. No matter, then, who see it. + I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. + AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me; + It is a matter of small consequence + Which for some reasons I would not have seen. + YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. + I fear, I fear- + DUCHESS. What should you fear? + 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red into + For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph-day. + YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond + That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. + Boy, let me see the writing. + AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. + YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. + [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it] + Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! + DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord? + YORK. Ho! who is within there? + + Enter a servant + + Saddle my horse. + God for his mercy, what treachery is here! + DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord? + YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. + Exit servant + Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, + I will appeach the villain. + DUCHESS. What is the matter? + YORK. Peace, foolish woman. + DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle? + AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more + Than my poor life must answer. + DUCHESS. Thy life answer! + YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. + + His man enters with his boots + + DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd. + Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. + YORK. Give me my boots, I say. + DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do? + Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? + Have we more sons? or are we like to have? + Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? + And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age + And rob me of a happy mother's name? + Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own? + YORK. Thou fond mad woman, + Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? + A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, + And interchangeably set down their hands + To kill the King at Oxford. + DUCHESS. He shall be none; + We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him? + YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son + I would appeach him. + DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan'd for him + As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. + But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect + That I have been disloyal to thy bed + And that he is a bastard, not thy son. + Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind. + He is as like thee as a man may be + Not like to me, or any of my kin, + And yet I love him. + YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit + DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse; + Spur post, and get before him to the King, + And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. + I'll not be long behind; though I be old, + I doubt not but to ride as fast as York; + And never will I rise up from the ground + Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone. + Exeunt + +SCENE 3. Windsor Castle + +Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS + + BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? + 'Tis full three months since I did see him last. + If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. + I would to God, my lords, he might be found. + Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, + For there, they say, he daily doth frequent + With unrestrained loose companions, + Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes + And beat our watch and rob our passengers, + Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, + Takes on the point of honour to support + So dissolute a crew. + PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince, + And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. + BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant? + PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews, + And from the common'st creature pluck a glove + And wear it as a favour; and with that + He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. + BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both + I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years + May happily bring forth. But who comes here? + + Enter AUMERLE amazed + + AUMERLE. Where is the King? + BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks + So wildly? + AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty, + To have some conference with your Grace alone. + BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. + Exeunt PERCY and LORDS + What is the matter with our cousin now? + AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, + [Kneels] + My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, + Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. + BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault? + If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, + To win thy after-love I pardon thee. + AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, + That no man enter till my tale be done. + BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire. + [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth] + YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself; + Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. + BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I'll make thee safe. + AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. + YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King. + Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? + Open the door, or I will break it open. + + Enter YORK + + BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak; + Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, + That we may arm us to encounter it. + YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know + The treason that my haste forbids me show. + AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd. + I do repent me; read not my name there; + My heart is not confederate with my hand. + YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. + I tore it from the traitor's bosom, King; + Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. + Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove + A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. + BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! + O loyal father of a treacherous son! + Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, + From whence this stream through muddy passages + Hath held his current and defil'd himself! + Thy overflow of good converts to bad; + And thy abundant goodness shall excuse + This deadly blot in thy digressing son. + YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; + And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, + As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. + Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, + Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies. + Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, + The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. + DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God's sake, let me in. + BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? + DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; 'tis I. + Speak with me, pity me, open the door. + A beggar begs that never begg'd before. + BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt'red from a serious thing, + And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the King.' + My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. + I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. + YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray, + More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. + This fest'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound; + This let alone will all the rest confound. + + Enter DUCHESS + + DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man! + Love loving not itself, none other can. + YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? + Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? + DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. + [Kneels] + BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt. + DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech. + For ever will I walk upon my knees, + And never see day that the happy sees + Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy + By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. + AUMERLE. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. + [Kneels] + YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be. + [Kneels] + Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! + DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face; + His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; + His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast. + He prays but faintly and would be denied; + We pray with heart and soul, and all beside. + His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; + Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow. + His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; + Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. + Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have + That mercy which true prayer ought to have. + BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up. + DUCHESS. do not say 'stand up'; + Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' + An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, + 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. + I never long'd to hear a word till now; + Say 'pardon,' King; let pity teach thee how. + The word is short, but not so short as sweet; + No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet. + YORK. Speak it in French, King, say 'pardonne moy.' + DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? + Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, + That sets the word itself against the word! + Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; + The chopping French we do not understand. + Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there; + Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, + That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, + Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. + BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up. + DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand; + Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. + BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. + DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! + Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again. + Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, + But makes one pardon strong. + BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart + I pardon him. + DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art. + BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot, + With all the rest of that consorted crew, + Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. + Good uncle, help to order several powers + To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are. + They shall not live within this world, I swear, + But I will have them, if I once know where. + Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu; + Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. + DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. Windsor Castle + +Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant + + EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake? + 'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' + Was it not so? + SERVANT. These were his very words. + EXTON. 'Have I no friend?' quoth he. He spake it twice + And urg'd it twice together, did he not? + SERVANT. He did. + EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look'd on me, + As who should say 'I would thou wert the man + That would divorce this terror from my heart'; + Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go. + I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt + +SCENE 5. Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle + +Enter KING RICHARD + + KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare + This prison where I live unto the world + And, for because the world is populous + And here is not a creature but myself, + I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out. + My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, + My soul the father; and these two beget + A generation of still-breeding thoughts, + And these same thoughts people this little world, + In humours like the people of this world, + For no thought is contented. The better sort, + As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd + With scruples, and do set the word itself + Against the word, + As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again, + 'It is as hard to come as for a camel + To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' + Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot + Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails + May tear a passage through the flinty ribs + Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; + And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. + Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves + That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, + Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars + Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, + That many have and others must sit there; + And in this thought they find a kind of ease, + Bearing their own misfortunes on the back + Of such as have before endur'd the like. + Thus play I in one person many people, + And none contented. Sometimes am I king; + Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, + And so I am. Then crushing penury + Persuades me I was better when a king; + Then am I king'd again; and by and by + Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, + And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be, + Nor I, nor any man that but man is, + With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd + With being nothing. [The music plays] + Music do I hear? + Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is + When time is broke and no proportion kept! + So is it in the music of men's lives. + And here have I the daintiness of ear + To check time broke in a disorder'd string; + But, for the concord of my state and time, + Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. + I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; + For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: + My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar + Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, + Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, + Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. + Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is + Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, + Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans, + Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time + Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, + While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock. + This music mads me. Let it sound no more; + For though it have holp madmen to their wits, + In me it seems it will make wise men mad. + Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! + For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard + Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. + + Enter a GROOM of the stable + + GROOM. Hail, royal Prince! + KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer! + The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. + What art thou? and how comest thou hither, + Where no man never comes but that sad dog + That brings me food to make misfortune live? + GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King, + When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, + With much ado at length have gotten leave + To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. + O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld, + In London streets, that coronation-day, + When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary- + That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, + That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! + KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, + How went he under him? + GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. + KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! + That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; + This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. + Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, + Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck + Of that proud man that did usurp his back? + Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee, + Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, + Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; + And yet I bear a burden like an ass, + Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. + + Enter KEEPER with meat + + KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. + KING RICHARD. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. + GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. + Exit + KEEPER. My lord, will't please you to fall to? + KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. + KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, + Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary. + KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! + Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. + [Beats the KEEPER] + KEEPER. Help, help, help! + The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed + KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault? + Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. + [Snatching a weapon and killing one] + Go thou and fill another room in hell. + [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down] + That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire + That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand + Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land. + Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; + Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. + [Dies] + EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood. + Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good! + For now the devil, that told me I did well, + Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. + This dead King to the living King I'll bear. + Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt + +SCENE 6. Windsor Castle + +Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and +attendants + + BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear + Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire + Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire; + But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. + + Enter NORTHUMBERLAND + + Welcome, my lord. What is the news? + NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. + The next news is, I have to London sent + The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. + The manner of their taking may appear + At large discoursed in this paper here. + BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; + And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. + + Enter FITZWATER + + FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London + The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely; + Two of the dangerous consorted traitors + That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. + BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; + Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. + + Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE + + PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, + With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, + Hath yielded up his body to the grave; + But here is Carlisle living, to abide + Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. + BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom: + Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, + More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; + So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife; + For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, + High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. + + Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin + + EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present + Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies + The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, + Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. + BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought + A deed of slander with thy fatal hand + Upon my head and all this famous land. + EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. + BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need, + Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, + I hate the murderer, love him murdered. + The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, + But neither my good word nor princely favour; + With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, + And never show thy head by day nor light. + Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe + That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. + Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, + And put on sullen black incontinent. + I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, + To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. + March sadly after; grace my mournings here + In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt + + + + +KING RICHARD THE THIRD + +Dramatis Personae + + EDWARD THE FOURTH + + Sons to the King + EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V + RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK, + + Brothers to the King + GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE, + RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III + + A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick) + HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII + CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY + THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK + JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY + DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM + DUKE OF NORFOLK + EARL OF SURREY, his son + EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward's Queen + MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons + EARL OF OXFORD + LORD HASTINGS + LORD LOVEL + LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY + SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN + SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF + SIR WILLIAM CATESBY + SIR JAMES TYRREL + SIR JAMES BLOUNT + SIR WALTER HERBERT + SIR WILLIAM BRANDON + SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower + CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest + LORD MAYOR OF LONDON + SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE + HASTINGS, a pursuivant + TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne + ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV + MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI + DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV + LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King + Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester + A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet, + Countess of Salisbury) + Ghosts, of Richard's victims + Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops, + Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper + +SCENE: England + +King Richard the Third + +ACT I. SCENE 1. + +London. A street + +Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus + + GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent + Made glorious summer by this sun of York; + And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house + In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. + Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; + Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; + Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, + Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. + Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front, + And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds + To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, + He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber + To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. + But I-that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, + Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass- + I-that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty + To strut before a wanton ambling nymph- + I-that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, + Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, + Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time + Into this breathing world scarce half made up, + And that so lamely and unfashionable + That dogs bark at me as I halt by them- + Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, + Have no delight to pass away the time, + Unless to spy my shadow in the sun + And descant on mine own deformity. + And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover + To entertain these fair well-spoken days, + I am determined to prove a villain + And hate the idle pleasures of these days. + Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, + By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, + To set my brother Clarence and the King + In deadly hate the one against the other; + And if King Edward be as true and just + As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, + This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up- + About a prophecy which says that G + Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. + Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes. + + Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY + + Brother, good day. What means this armed guard + That waits upon your Grace? + CLARENCE. His Majesty, + Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed + This conduct to convey me to th' Tower. + GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause? + CLARENCE. Because my name is George. + GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours: + He should, for that, commit your godfathers. + O, belike his Majesty hath some intent + That you should be new-christ'ned in the Tower. + But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know? + CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest + As yet I do not; but, as I can learn, + He hearkens after prophecies and dreams, + And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, + And says a wizard told him that by G + His issue disinherited should be; + And, for my name of George begins with G, + It follows in his thought that I am he. + These, as I learn, and such like toys as these + Hath mov'd his Highness to commit me now. + GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women: + 'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower; + My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she + That tempers him to this extremity. + Was it not she and that good man of worship, + Antony Woodville, her brother there, + That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, + From whence this present day he is delivered? + We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. + CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure + But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds + That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore. + Heard you not what an humble suppliant + Lord Hastings was, for her delivery? + GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity + Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty. + I'll tell you what-I think it is our way, + If we will keep in favour with the King, + To be her men and wear her livery: + The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself, + Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, + Are mighty gossips in our monarchy. + BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me: + His Majesty hath straitly given in charge + That no man shall have private conference, + Of what degree soever, with your brother. + GLOUCESTER. Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, + You may partake of any thing we say: + We speak no treason, man; we say the King + Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen + Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; + We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, + A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; + And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks. + How say you, sir? Can you deny all this? + BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do. + GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, + fellow, + He that doth naught with her, excepting one, + Were best to do it secretly alone. + BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord? + GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me? + BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and + withal + Forbear your conference with the noble Duke. + CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will + obey. + GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen's abjects and must obey. + Brother, farewell; I will unto the King; + And whatsoe'er you will employ me in- + Were it to call King Edward's widow sister- + I will perform it to enfranchise you. + Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood + Touches me deeper than you can imagine. + CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. + GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; + I will deliver or else lie for you. + Meantime, have patience. + CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell. + Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard + GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. + Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so + That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, + If heaven will take the present at our hands. + But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings? + + Enter LORD HASTINGS + + HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! + GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain! + Well are you welcome to the open air. + How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? + HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must; + But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks + That were the cause of my imprisonment. + GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; + For they that were your enemies are his, + And have prevail'd as much on him as you. + HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew'd + Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty. + GLOUCESTER. What news abroad? + HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home: + The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, + And his physicians fear him mightily. + GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed. + O, he hath kept an evil diet long + And overmuch consum'd his royal person! + 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. + Where is he? In his bed? + HASTINGS. He is. + GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you. + Exit HASTINGS + He cannot live, I hope, and must not die + Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. + I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence + With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; + And, if I fail not in my deep intent, + Clarence hath not another day to live; + Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, + And leave the world for me to bustle in! + For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. + What though I kill'd her husband and her father? + The readiest way to make the wench amends + Is to become her husband and her father; + The which will I-not all so much for love + As for another secret close intent + By marrying her which I must reach unto. + But yet I run before my horse to market. + Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns; + When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit + +SCENE 2. + +London. Another street + +Enter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it; +LADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY + + ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load- + If honour may be shrouded in a hearse; + Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament + Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. + Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! + Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! + Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! + Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost + To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, + Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son, + Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds. + Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life + I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. + O, cursed be the hand that made these holes! + Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it! + Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! + More direful hap betide that hated wretch + That makes us wretched by the death of thee + Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, + Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! + If ever he have child, abortive be it, + Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, + Whose ugly and unnatural aspect + May fright the hopeful mother at the view, + And that be heir to his unhappiness! + If ever he have wife, let her be made + More miserable by the death of him + Than I am made by my young lord and thee! + Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, + Taken from Paul's to be interred there; + And still as you are weary of this weight + Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. + [The bearers take up the coffin] + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. + ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend + To stop devoted charitable deeds? + GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, + I'll make a corse of him that disobeys! + FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin + pass. + GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command. + Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, + Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot + And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. + [The bearers set down the coffin] + ANNE. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid? + Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, + And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. + Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! + Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, + His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone. + GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. + ANNE. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not; + For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell + Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. + If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, + Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. + O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds + Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh. + Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, + For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood + From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells; + Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural + Provokes this deluge most unnatural. + O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! + O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death! + Either, heav'n, with lightning strike the murd'rer dead; + Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, + As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, + Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered. + GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity, + Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. + ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man: + No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. + GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. + ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! + GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry. + Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, + Of these supposed crimes to give me leave + By circumstance but to acquit myself. + ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, + Of these known evils but to give me leave + By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self. + GLOUCESTER. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have + Some patient leisure to excuse myself. + ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make + No excuse current but to hang thyself. + GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself. + ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused + For doing worthy vengeance on thyself + That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. + GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not? + ANNE. Then say they were not slain. + But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. + GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband. + ANNE. Why, then he is alive. + GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's hands. + ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw + Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood; + The which thou once didst bend against her breast, + But that thy brothers beat aside the point. + GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue + That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. + ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, + That never dream'st on aught but butcheries. + Didst thou not kill this king? + GLOUCESTER. I grant ye. + ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to + Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! + O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! + GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath + him. + ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. + GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him + thither, + For he was fitter for that place than earth. + ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell. + GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. + ANNE. Some dungeon. + GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber. + ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! + GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. + ANNE. I hope so. + GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, + To leave this keen encounter of our wits, + And fall something into a slower method- + Is not the causer of the timeless deaths + Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, + As blameful as the executioner? + ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd effect. + GLOUCESTER. Your beauty was the cause of that effect- + Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep + To undertake the death of all the world + So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. + ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, + These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. + GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty's + wreck; + You should not blemish it if I stood by. + As all the world is cheered by the sun, + So I by that; it is my day, my life. + ANNE. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! + GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. + ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. + GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural, + To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. + ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, + To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. + GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband + Did it to help thee to a better husband. + ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. + GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could. + ANNE. Name him. + GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet. + ANNE. Why, that was he. + GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature. + ANNE. Where is he? + GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit + at me? + ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! + GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place. + ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. + Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes. + GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. + ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead! + GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once; + For now they kill me with a living death. + Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, + Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops- + These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, + No, when my father York and Edward wept + To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made + When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him; + Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, + Told the sad story of my father's death, + And twenty times made pause to sob and weep + That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks + Like trees bedash'd with rain-in that sad time + My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; + And what these sorrows could not thence exhale + Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. + I never sued to friend nor enemy; + My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; + But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, + My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. + [She looks scornfully at him] + Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made + For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. + If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, + Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; + Which if thou please to hide in this true breast + And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, + I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, + And humbly beg the death upon my knee. + [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword] + Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry- + But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. + Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward- + But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. + [She falls the sword] + Take up the sword again, or take up me. + ANNE. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death, + I will not be thy executioner. + GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it; + ANNE. I have already. + GLOUCESTER. That was in thy rage. + Speak it again, and even with the word + This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, + Shall for thy love kill a far truer love; + To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. + ANNE. I would I knew thy heart. + GLOUCESTER. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. + ANNE. I fear me both are false. + GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true. + ANNE. well put up your sword. + GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made. + ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter. + GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope? + ANNE. All men, I hope, live so. + GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. + ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring] + GLOUCESTER. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger, + Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; + Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. + And if thy poor devoted servant may + But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, + Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. + ANNE. What is it? + GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs + To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, + And presently repair to Crosby House; + Where-after I have solemnly interr'd + At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king, + And wet his grave with my repentant tears- + I will with all expedient duty see you. + For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, + Grant me this boon. + ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too + To see you are become so penitent. + Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. + GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell. + ANNE. 'Tis more than you deserve; + But since you teach me how to flatter you, + Imagine I have said farewell already. + Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE + GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse. + GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? + GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? + Was ever woman in this humour won? + I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. + What! I that kill'd her husband and his father- + To take her in her heart's extremest hate, + With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, + The bleeding witness of my hatred by; + Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, + And I no friends to back my suit at all + But the plain devil and dissembling looks, + And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! + Ha! + Hath she forgot already that brave prince, + Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, + Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? + A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman- + Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, + Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal- + The spacious world cannot again afford; + And will she yet abase her eyes on me, + That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince + And made her widow to a woeful bed? + On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? + On me, that halts and am misshapen thus? + My dukedom to a beggarly denier, + I do mistake my person all this while. + Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, + Myself to be a marv'llous proper man. + I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, + And entertain a score or two of tailors + To study fashions to adorn my body. + Since I am crept in favour with myself, + I will maintain it with some little cost. + But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave, + And then return lamenting to my love. + Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, + That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit + +SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY + + RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his Majesty + Will soon recover his accustom'd health. + GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse; + Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, + And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on + me? + GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all + harms. + GREY. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son + To be your comforter when he is gone. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority + Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, + A man that loves not me, nor none of you. + RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin'd, not concluded yet; + But so it must be, if the King miscarry. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY + + GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby. + BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace! + DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord + of Derby, + To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. + Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife + And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd + I hate not you for her proud arrogance. + DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe + The envious slanders of her false accusers; + Or, if she be accus'd on true report, + Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds + From wayward sickness and no grounded malice. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of + Derby? + DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I + Are come from visiting his Majesty. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment, + Lords? + BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks + cheerfully. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer + with him? + BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement + Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, + And between them and my Lord Chamberlain; + And sent to warn them to his royal presence. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will + never be. + I fear our happiness is at the height. + + Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET + + GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it. + Who is it that complains unto the King + That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not? + By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly + That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. + Because I cannot flatter and look fair, + Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, + Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, + I must be held a rancorous enemy. + Cannot a plain man live and think no harm + But thus his simple truth must be abus'd + With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? + GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace? + GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. + When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong, + Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction? + A plague upon you all! His royal Grace- + Whom God preserve better than you would wish!- + Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while + But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the + matter. + The King, on his own royal disposition + And not provok'd by any suitor else- + Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred + That in your outward action shows itself + Against my children, brothers, and myself- + Makes him to send that he may learn the ground. + GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad + That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. + Since every Jack became a gentleman, + There's many a gentle person made a Jack. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning, + brother Gloucester: + You envy my advancement and my friends'; + God grant we never may have need of you! + GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you. + Our brother is imprison'd by your means, + Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility + Held in contempt; while great promotions + Are daily given to ennoble those + That scarce some two days since were worth a noble. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais'd me to this careful + height + From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, + I never did incense his Majesty + Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been + An earnest advocate to plead for him. + My lord, you do me shameful injury + Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. + GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean + Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. + RIVERS. She may, my lord; for- + GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows + not so? + She may do more, sir, than denying that: + She may help you to many fair preferments + And then deny her aiding hand therein, + And lay those honours on your high desert. + What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she- + RIVERS. What, marry, may she? + GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king, + A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too. + Iwis your grandam had a worser match. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long + borne + Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs. + By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty + Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd. + I had rather be a country servant-maid + Than a great queen with this condition- + To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at. + + Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind + + Small joy have I in being England's Queen. + QUEEN MARGARET. And less'ned be that small, God, I + beseech Him! + Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. + GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the + King? + Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said + I will avouch't in presence of the King. + I dare adventure to be sent to th' Tow'r. + 'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot. + QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to + well: + Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, + And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. + GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband + King, + I was a pack-horse in his great affairs, + A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, + A liberal rewarder of his friends; + To royalize his blood I spent mine own. + QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or + thine. + GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey + Were factious for the house of Lancaster; + And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband + In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain? + Let me put in your minds, if you forget, + What you have been ere this, and what you are; + Withal, what I have been, and what I am. + QUEEN MARGARET. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. + GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick, + Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!- + QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge! + GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward's party for the crown; + And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up. + I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's, + Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine. + I am too childish-foolish for this world. + QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this + world, + Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is. + RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days + Which here you urge to prove us enemies, + We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king. + So should we you, if you should be our king. + GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar. + Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose + You should enjoy were you this country's king, + As little joy you may suppose in me + That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof. + QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof; + For I am she, and altogether joyless. + I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing] + Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out + In sharing that which you have pill'd from me. + Which of you trembles not that looks on me? + If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects, + Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? + Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away! + GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my + sight? + QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd, + That will I make before I let thee go. + GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? + QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in + banishment + Than death can yield me here by my abode. + A husband and a son thou ow'st to me; + And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance. + This sorrow that I have by right is yours; + And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. + GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee, + When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper + And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, + And then to dry them gav'st the Duke a clout + Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland- + His curses then from bitterness of soul + Denounc'd against thee are all fall'n upon thee; + And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent. + HASTINGS. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, + And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! + RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. + DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it. + BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. + QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came, + Ready to catch each other by the throat, + And turn you all your hatred now on me? + Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven + That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, + Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment, + Should all but answer for that peevish brat? + Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? + Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! + Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, + As ours by murder, to make him a king! + Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, + For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales, + Die in his youth by like untimely violence! + Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, + Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! + Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death, + And see another, as I see thee now, + Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! + Long die thy happy days before thy death; + And, after many length'ned hours of grief, + Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen! + Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, + And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son + Was stabb'd with bloody daggers. God, I pray him, + That none of you may live his natural age, + But by some unlook'd accident cut off! + GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd + hag. + QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou + shalt hear me. + If heaven have any grievous plague in store + Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, + O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, + And then hurl down their indignation + On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! + The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! + Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, + And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! + No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, + Unless it be while some tormenting dream + Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! + Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog, + Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity + The slave of nature and the son of hell, + Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb, + Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins, + Thou rag of honour, thou detested- + GLOUCESTER. Margaret! + QUEEN MARGARET. Richard! + GLOUCESTER. Ha? + QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not. + GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think + That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. + QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply. + O, let me make the period to my curse! + GLOUCESTER. 'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath'd your curse + against yourself. + QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my + fortune! + Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider + Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? + Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. + The day will come that thou shalt wish for me + To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back'd toad. + HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, + Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. + QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all + mov'd mine. + RIVERS. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your + duty. + QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me + duty, + Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects. + O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! + DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. + QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert; + Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. + O, that your young nobility could judge + What 'twere to lose it and be miserable! + They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, + And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. + GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis. + DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. + GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high, + Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, + And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. + QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas! + Witness my son, now in the shade of death, + Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath + Hath in eternal darkness folded up. + Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. + O God that seest it, do not suffer it; + As it is won with blood, lost be it so! + BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity! + QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me. + Uncharitably with me have you dealt, + And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. + My charity is outrage, life my shame; + And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage! + BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done. + QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy + hand + In sign of league and amity with thee. + Now fair befall thee and thy noble house! + Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, + Nor thou within the compass of my curse. + BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass + The lips of those that breathe them in the air. + QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky + And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. + O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! + Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, + His venom tooth will rankle to the death: + Have not to do with him, beware of him; + Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him, + And all their ministers attend on him. + GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? + BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. + QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle + counsel, + And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? + O, but remember this another day, + When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, + And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! + Live each of you the subjects to his hate, + And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit + BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses. + RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty. + GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God's holy Mother, + She hath had too much wrong; and I repent + My part thereof that I have done to her. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge. + GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. + I was too hot to do somebody good + That is too cold in thinking of it now. + Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; + He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains; + God pardon them that are the cause thereof! + RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, + To pray for them that have done scathe to us! + GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis'd; + For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. + + Enter CATESBY + + CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you, + And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go + with me? + RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. + The secret mischiefs that I set abroach + I lay unto the grievous charge of others. + Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness, + I do beweep to many simple gulls; + Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham; + And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies + That stir the King against the Duke my brother. + Now they believe it, and withal whet me + To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey; + But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture, + Tell them that God bids us do good for evil. + And thus I clothe my naked villainy + With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ, + And seem a saint when most I play the devil. + + Enter two MURDERERS + + But, soft, here come my executioners. + How now, my hardy stout resolved mates! + Are you now going to dispatch this thing? + FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the + warrant, + That we may be admitted where he is. + GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me. + [Gives the warrant] + When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. + But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, + Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; + For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps + May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. + FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to + prate; + Talkers are no good doers. Be assur'd + We go to use our hands and not our tongues. + GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall + tears. + I like you, lads; about your business straight; + Go, go, dispatch. + FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +London. The Tower + +Enter CLARENCE and KEEPER + + KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day? + CLARENCE. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, + So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, + That, as I am a Christian faithful man, + I would not spend another such a night + Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days- + So full of dismal terror was the time! + KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you + tell me. + CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower + And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; + And in my company my brother Gloucester, + Who from my cabin tempted me to walk + Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England, + And cited up a thousand heavy times, + During the wars of York and Lancaster, + That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along + Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, + Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling + Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard + Into the tumbling billows of the main. + O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, + What dreadful noise of waters in my ears, + What sights of ugly death within my eyes! + Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, + A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon, + Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, + Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, + All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea; + Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes + Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept, + As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, + That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep + And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatt'red by. + KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death + To gaze upon these secrets of the deep? + CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive + To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood + Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth + To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; + But smother'd it within my panting bulk, + Who almost burst to belch it in the sea. + KEEPER. Awak'd you not in this sore agony? + CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life. + O, then began the tempest to my soul! + I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood + With that sour ferryman which poets write of, + Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. + The first that there did greet my stranger soul + Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, + Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury + Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' + And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by + A shadow like an angel, with bright hair + Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud + 'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, + That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury. + Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!' + With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends + Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears + Such hideous cries that, with the very noise, + I trembling wak'd, and for a season after + Could not believe but that I was in hell, + Such terrible impression made my dream. + KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; + I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. + CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things + That now give evidence against my soul + For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me! + O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee, + But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, + Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone; + O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! + KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile; + My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. + KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest. + [CLARENCE sleeps] + + Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant + + BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, + Makes the night morning and the noontide night. + Princes have but their titles for their glories, + An outward honour for an inward toil; + And for unfelt imaginations + They often feel a world of restless cares, + So that between their tides and low name + There's nothing differs but the outward fame. + + Enter the two MURDERERS + + FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who's here? + BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st + thou hither? + FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came + hither on my legs. + BRAKENBURY. What, so brief? + SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let + him see our commission and talk no more. + [BRAKENBURY reads it] + BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver + The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. + I will not reason what is meant hereby, + Because I will be guiltless from the meaning. + There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys. + I'll to the King and signify to him + That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. + FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare + you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER + SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps? + FIRST MURDERER. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when + he wakes. + SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great + judgment-day. + FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him + sleeping. + SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath + bred a kind of remorse in me. + FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid? + SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to + be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can + defend me. + FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute. + SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live. + FIRST MURDERER. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and + tell him so. + SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this + passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to + hold me but while one tells twenty. + FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now? + SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience + are yet within me. + FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed's + done. + SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward. + FIRST MURDERER. Where's thy conscience now? + SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse! + FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our + reward, thy conscience flies out. + SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or + none will entertain it. + FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again? + SECOND MURDERER. I'll not meddle with it-it makes a man + coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man + cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his + neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame- + fac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man + full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold + that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it. + It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing; + and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust + to himself and live without it. + FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, 'tis even now at my elbow, + persuading me not to kill the Duke. + SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe + him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the + sigh. + FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with + me. + SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy + reputation. Come, shall we fall to work? + FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of + thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the + next room. + SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of + him. + FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes. + SECOND MURDERER. Strike! + FIRST MURDERER. No, we'll reason with him. + CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine. + SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord, + anon. + CLARENCE. In God's name, what art thou? + FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are. + CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal. + SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal. + CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. + FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King's, my looks + mine own. + CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! + Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale? + Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? + SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to- + CLARENCE. To murder me? + BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay. + CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, + And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. + Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? + FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King. + CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. + SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. + CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men + To slay the innocent? What is my offence? + Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? + What lawful quest have given their verdict up + Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc'd + The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? + Before I be convict by course of law, + To threaten me with death is most unlawful. + I charge you, as you hope to have redemption + By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, + That you depart and lay no hands on me. + The deed you undertake is damnable. + FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command. + SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our + King. + CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings + Hath in the tables of his law commanded + That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then + Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? + Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand + To hurl upon their heads that break his law. + SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl + on thee + For false forswearing, and for murder too; + Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight + In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. + FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God + Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade + Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sov'reign's son. + SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and + defend. + FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law + to us, + When thou hast broke it in such dear degree? + CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? + For Edward, for my brother, for his sake. + He sends you not to murder me for this, + For in that sin he is as deep as I. + If God will be avenged for the deed, + O, know you yet He doth it publicly. + Take not the quarrel from His pow'rful arm; + He needs no indirect or lawless course + To cut off those that have offended Him. + FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister + When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, + That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? + CLARENCE. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. + FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy + faults, + Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. + CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me; + I am his brother, and I love him well. + If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, + And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, + Who shall reward you better for my life + Than Edward will for tidings of my death. + SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv'd: your brother Gloucester + hates you. + CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear. + Go you to him from me. + FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will. + CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York + Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm + And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, + He little thought of this divided friendship. + Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. + FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep. + CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. + FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you + deceive yourself: + 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. + CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune + And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore with sobs + That he would labour my delivery. + FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you + From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. + SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die, + my lord. + CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls + To counsel me to make my peace with God, + And are you yet to your own souls so blind + That you will war with God by murd'ring me? + O, sirs, consider: they that set you on + To do this deed will hate you for the deed. + SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do? + CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls. + FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, 'tis cowardly and womanish. + CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. + Which of you, if you were a prince's son, + Being pent from liberty as I am now, + If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, + Would not entreat for life? + My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; + O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, + Come thou on my side and entreat for me- + As you would beg were you in my distress. + A begging prince what beggar pities not? + SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord. + FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all + this will not do, + I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. + Exit with the body + SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately + dispatch'd! + How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands + Of this most grievous murder! + + Re-enter FIRST MURDERER + + FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean'st thou that thou + help'st me not? + By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have + been! + SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav'd his + brother! + Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; + For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit + FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art. + Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole, + Till that the Duke give order for his burial; + And when I have my meed, I will away; + For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit + +ACT II. SCENE 1. + +London. The palace + +Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, +HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others + + KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day's + work. + You peers, continue this united league. + I every day expect an embassage + From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; + And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven, + Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. + Hastings and Rivers, take each other's hand; + Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. + RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; + And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. + HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! + KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king; + Lest He that is the supreme King of kings + Confound your hidden falsehood and award + Either of you to be the other's end. + HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! + RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! + KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this; + Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you: + You have been factious one against the other. + Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; + And what you do, do it unfeignedly. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more + remember + Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! + KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord + Marquis. + DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest, + Upon my part shall be inviolable. + HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace] + KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this + league + With thy embracements to my wife's allies, + And make me happy in your unity. + BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham + doth turn his hate + Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love + Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me + With hate in those where I expect most love! + When I have most need to employ a friend + And most assured that he is a friend, + Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, + Be he unto me! This do I beg of God + When I am cold in love to you or yours. + [They embrace] + KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, + Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. + There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here + To make the blessed period of this peace. + BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, + Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke. + + Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF + + GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and + Queen; + And, princely peers, a happy time of day! + KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. + Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, + Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, + Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. + GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord. + Among this princely heap, if any here, + By false intelligence or wrong surmise, + Hold me a foe- + If I unwittingly, or in my rage, + Have aught committed that is hardly borne + To any in this presence, I desire + To reconcile me to his friendly peace: + 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; + I hate it, and desire all good men's love. + First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, + Which I will purchase with my duteous service; + Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, + If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us; + Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset, + That all without desert have frown'd on me; + Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you; + Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all. + I do not know that Englishman alive + With whom my soul is any jot at odds + More than the infant that is born to-night. + I thank my God for my humility. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter. + I would to God all strifes were well compounded. + My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness + To take our brother Clarence to your grace. + GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off'red love for this, + To be so flouted in this royal presence? + Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead? + [They all start] + You do him injury to scorn his corse. + KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows + he is? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! + BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? + DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence + But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. + KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers'd. + GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died, + And that a winged Mercury did bear; + Some tardy cripple bare the countermand + That came too lag to see him buried. + God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, + Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood, + Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, + And yet go current from suspicion! + + Enter DERBY + + DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! + KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow. + DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me. + KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests. + DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; + Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman + Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. + KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, + And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? + My brother killed no man-his fault was thought, + And yet his punishment was bitter death. + Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath, + Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd? + Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love? + Who told me how the poor soul did forsake + The mighty Warwick and did fight for me? + Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury + When Oxford had me down, he rescued me + And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'? + Who told me, when we both lay in the field + Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me + Even in his garments, and did give himself, + All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? + All this from my remembrance brutish wrath + Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you + Had so much race to put it in my mind. + But when your carters or your waiting-vassals + Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd + The precious image of our dear Redeemer, + You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; + And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises] + But for my brother not a man would speak; + Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself + For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all + Have been beholding to him in his life; + Yet none of you would once beg for his life. + O God, I fear thy justice will take hold + On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this! + Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence! + Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN + GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not + How that the guilty kindred of the Queen + Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? + O, they did urge it still unto the King! + God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go + To comfort Edward with our company? + BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE + + SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? + DUCHESS. No, boy. + DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, + And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'? + SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, + And call us orphans, wretches, castaways, + If that our noble father were alive? + DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both; + I do lament the sickness of the King, + As loath to lose him, not your father's death; + It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. + SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead. + The King mine uncle is to blame for it. + God will revenge it; whom I will importune + With earnest prayers all to that effect. + DAUGHTER. And so will I. + DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you + well. + Incapable and shallow innocents, + You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. + SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester + Told me the King, provok'd to it by the Queen, + Devis'd impeachments to imprison him. + And when my uncle told me so, he wept, + And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; + Bade me rely on him as on my father, + And he would love me dearly as a child. + DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape, + And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice! + He is my son; ay, and therein my shame; + Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. + SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? + DUCHESS. Ay, boy. + SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? + + Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her + ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her + + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and + weep, + To chide my fortune, and torment myself? + I'll join with black despair against my soul + And to myself become an enemy. + DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence. + EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. + Why grow the branches when the root is gone? + Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? + If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, + That our swift-winged souls may catch the King's, + Or like obedient subjects follow him + To his new kingdom of ne'er-changing night. + DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow + As I had title in thy noble husband! + I have bewept a worthy husband's death, + And liv'd with looking on his images; + But now two mirrors of his princely semblance + Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, + And I for comfort have but one false glass, + That grieves me when I see my shame in him. + Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother + And hast the comfort of thy children left; + But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms + And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands- + Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I- + Thine being but a moiety of my moan- + To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries? + SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death! + How can we aid you with our kindred tears? + DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; + Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation; + I am not barren to bring forth complaints. + All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes + That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, + May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! + Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward! + CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence! + DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he's + gone. + CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. + DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss. + CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss. + DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss. + Alas, I am the mother of these griefs! + Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general. + She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: + I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she. + These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: + I for an Edward weep, so do not they. + Alas, you three on me, threefold distress'd, + Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, + And I will pamper it with lamentation. + DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas'd + That you take with unthankfulness his doing. + In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful + With dull unwillingness to repay a debt + Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; + Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, + For it requires the royal debt it lent you. + RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, + Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him; + Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives. + Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, + And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. + + Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, + HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF + + GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause + To wail the dimming of our shining star; + But none can help our harms by wailing them. + Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; + I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee + I crave your blessing. + DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, + Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! + GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old + man! + That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; + I marvel that her Grace did leave it out. + BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing + peers, + That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, + Now cheer each other in each other's love. + Though we have spent our harvest of this king, + We are to reap the harvest of his son. + The broken rancour of your high-swol'n hearts, + But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, + Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept. + Me seemeth good that, with some little train, + Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet + Hither to London, to be crown'd our King. + + RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of + Buckingham? + BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude + The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, + Which would be so much the more dangerous + By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd; + Where every horse bears his commanding rein + And may direct his course as please himself, + As well the fear of harm as harm apparent, + In my opinion, ought to be prevented. + GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us; + And the compact is firm and true in me. + RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an. + Yet, since it is but green, it should be put + To no apparent likelihood of breach, + Which haply by much company might be urg'd; + Therefore I say with noble Buckingham + That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince. + HASTINGS. And so say I. + GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine + Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. + Madam, and you, my sister, will you go + To give your censures in this business? + Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, + For God sake, let not us two stay at home; + For by the way I'll sort occasion, + As index to the story we late talk'd of, + To part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince. + GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel's consistory, + My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin, + I, as a child, will go by thy direction. + Toward Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +London. A street + +Enter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other + + FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so + fast? + SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself. + Hear you the news abroad? + FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead. + SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the + better. + I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world. + + Enter another CITIZEN + + THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed! + FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir. + THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward's + death? + SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! + THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous + world. + FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall + reign. + THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child. + SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government, + Which, in his nonage, council under him, + And, in his full and ripened years, himself, + No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. + FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth + Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. + THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, + God wot; + For then this land was famously enrich'd + With politic grave counsel; then the King + Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace. + FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and + mother. + THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father, + Or by his father there were none at all; + For emulation who shall now be nearest + Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. + O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester! + And the Queen's sons and brothers haught and proud; + And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, + This sickly land might solace as before. + FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be + well. + THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on + their cloaks; + When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; + When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? + Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. + All may be well; but, if God sort it so, + 'Tis more than we deserve or I expect. + SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear. + You cannot reason almost with a man + That looks not heavily and fun of dread. + THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so; + By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust + Ensuing danger; as by proof we see + The water swell before a boist'rous storm. + But leave it all to God. Whither away? + SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. + THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I'll bear you company. + Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +London. The palace + +Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH, +and the DUCHESS OF YORK + + ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford, + And at Northampton they do rest to-night; + To-morrow or next day they will be here. + DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince. + I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York + Has almost overta'en him in his growth. + YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so. + DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow. + YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper, + My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow + More than my brother. 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester + 'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.' + And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, + Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste. + DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold + In him that did object the same to thee. + He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, + So long a-growing and so leisurely + That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. + ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam. + DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt. + YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb'red, + I could have given my uncle's Grace a flout + To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. + DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it. + YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast + That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old. + 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. + Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. + DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this? + YORK. Grandam, his nurse. + DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast + born. + YORK. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too + shrewd. + ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears. + + Enter a MESSENGER + + ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news? + MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince? + MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health. + DUCHESS. What is thy news? + MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey + Are sent to Pomfret, and with them + Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. + DUCHESS. Who hath committed them? + MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham. + ARCHBISHOP. For what offence? + MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd. + Why or for what the nobles were committed + Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house! + The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind; + Insulting tyranny begins to jet + Upon the innocent and aweless throne. + Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre! + I see, as in a map, the end of all. + DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, + How many of you have mine eyes beheld! + My husband lost his life to get the crown; + And often up and down my sons were toss'd + For me to joy and weep their gain and loss; + And being seated, and domestic broils + Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors + Make war upon themselves-brother to brother, + Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous + And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen, + Or let me die, to look on death no more! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to + sanctuary. + Madam, farewell. + DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause. + ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go. + And thither bear your treasure and your goods. + For my part, I'll resign unto your Grace + The seal I keep; and so betide to me + As well I tender you and all of yours! + Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE 1. + +London. A street + +The trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, +CATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others + + BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your + chamber. + GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign. + The weary way hath made you melancholy. + PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way + Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy. + I want more uncles here to welcome me. + GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your + years + Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit; + Nor more can you distinguish of a man + Than of his outward show; which, God He knows, + Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. + Those uncles which you want were dangerous; + Your Grace attended to their sug'red words + But look'd not on the poison of their hearts. + God keep you from them and from such false friends! + PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were + none. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet + you. + + Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train + + MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days! + PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all. + I thought my mother and my brother York + Would long ere this have met us on the way. + Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not + To tell us whether they will come or no! + + Enter LORD HASTINGS + + BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating + Lord. + PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come? + HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I, + The Queen your mother and your brother York + Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince + Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace, + But by his mother was perforce withheld. + BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course + Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace + Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York + Unto his princely brother presently? + If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him + And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. + CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory + Can from his mother win the Duke of York, + Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate + To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid + We should infringe the holy privilege + Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land + Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. + BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, + Too ceremonious and traditional. + Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, + You break not sanctuary in seizing him. + The benefit thereof is always granted + To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place + And those who have the wit to claim the place. + This Prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it, + And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it. + Then, taking him from thence that is not there, + You break no privilege nor charter there. + Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; + But sanctuary children never till now. + CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once. + Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? + HASTINGS. I go, my lord. + PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. + Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS + Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, + Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? + GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self. + If I may counsel you, some day or two + Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower, + Then where you please and shall be thought most fit + For your best health and recreation. + PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place. + Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord? + BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place, + Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. + PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported + Successively from age to age, he built it? + BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord. + PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist'red, + Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age, + As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, + Even to the general all-ending day. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never + live long. + PRINCE. What say you, uncle? + GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long. + [Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, + I moralize two meanings in one word. + PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man; + With what his valour did enrich his wit, + His wit set down to make his valour live. + Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; + For now he lives in fame, though not in life. + I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham- + BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord? + PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man, + I'll win our ancient right in France again, + Or die a soldier as I liv'd a king. + GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward + spring. + + Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL + + BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of + York. + PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother? + YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now. + PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours. + Too late he died that might have kept that title, + Which by his death hath lost much majesty. + GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York? + YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, + You said that idle weeds are fast in growth. + The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far. + GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord. + YORK. And therefore is he idle? + GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. + YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I. + GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign; + But you have power in me as in a kinsman. + YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. + GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart! + PRINCE. A beggar, brother? + YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give, + And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. + GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. + YORK. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it! + GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. + YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts: + In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay. + GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear. + YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. + GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little + Lord? + YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me. + GLOUCESTER. How? + YORK. Little. + PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk. + Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him. + YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me. + Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; + Because that I am little, like an ape, + He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. + BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! + To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle + He prettily and aptly taunts himself. + So cunning and so young is wonderful. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, will't please you pass along? + Myself and my good cousin Buckingham + Will to your mother, to entreat of her + To meet you at the Tower and welcome you. + YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord? + PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so. + YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. + GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear? + YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost. + My grandam told me he was murder'd there. + PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead. + GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope. + PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. + But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart, + Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. + A sennet. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY + BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York + Was not incensed by his subtle mother + To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? + GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, 'tis a perilous boy; + Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable. + He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. + BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby. + Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend + As closely to conceal what we impart. + Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way. + What think'st thou? Is it not an easy matter + To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, + For the instalment of this noble Duke + In the seat royal of this famous isle? + CATESBY. He for his father's sake so loves the Prince + That he will not be won to aught against him. + BUCKINGHAM. What think'st thou then of Stanley? Will + not he? + CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. + BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle + Catesby, + And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings + How he doth stand affected to our purpose; + And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, + To sit about the coronation. + If thou dost find him tractable to us, + Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons; + If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, + Be thou so too, and so break off the talk, + And give us notice of his inclination; + For we to-morrow hold divided councils, + Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. + GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, + Catesby, + His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries + To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle; + And bid my lord, for joy of this good news, + Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. + BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly. + CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can. + GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? + CATESBY. You shall, my lord. + GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both. + Exit CATESBY + BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we + perceive + Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? + GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will + determine. + And, look when I am King, claim thou of me + The earldom of Hereford and all the movables + Whereof the King my brother was possess'd. + BUCKINGHAM. I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand. + GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. + Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards + We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +Before LORD HASTING'S house + +Enter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS + + MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking] + HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks? + MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley. + HASTINGS. [Within] What is't o'clock? + MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four. + + Enter LORD HASTINGS + + HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious + nights? + MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say. + First, he commends him to your noble self. + HASTINGS. What then? + MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night + He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm. + Besides, he says there are two councils kept, + And that may be determin'd at the one + Which may make you and him to rue at th' other. + Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure- + If you will presently take horse with him + And with all speed post with him toward the north + To shun the danger that his soul divines. + HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; + Bid him not fear the separated council: + His honour and myself are at the one, + And at the other is my good friend Catesby; + Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us + Whereof I shall not have intelligence. + Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance; + And for his dreams, I wonder he's so simple + To trust the mock'ry of unquiet slumbers. + To fly the boar before the boar pursues + Were to incense the boar to follow us + And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. + Go, bid thy master rise and come to me; + And we will both together to the Tower, + Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. + MESSENGER. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. + Exit + + Enter CATESBY + + CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord! + HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring. + What news, what news, in this our tott'ring state? + CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord; + And I believe will never stand upright + Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. + HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the + crown? + CATESBY. Ay, my good lord. + HASTINGS. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my + shoulders + Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd. + But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? + CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward + Upon his party for the gain thereof; + And thereupon he sends you this good news, + That this same very day your enemies, + The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret. + HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, + Because they have been still my adversaries; + But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side + To bar my master's heirs in true descent, + God knows I will not do it to the death. + CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! + HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence, + That they which brought me in my master's hate, + I live to look upon their tragedy. + Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, + I'll send some packing that yet think not on't. + CATESBY. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, + When men are unprepar'd and look not for it. + HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out + With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do + With some men else that think themselves as safe + As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear + To princely Richard and to Buckingham. + CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you- + [Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge. + HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it. + + Enter LORD STANLEY + + Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man? + Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? + STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby. + You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, + I do not like these several councils, I. + HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours, + And never in my days, I do protest, + Was it so precious to me as 'tis now. + Think you, but that I know our state secure, + I would be so triumphant as I am? + STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from + London, + Were jocund and suppos'd their states were sure, + And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; + But yet you see how soon the day o'ercast. + This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt; + Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward. + What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent. + HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my + Lord? + To-day the lords you talk'd of are beheaded. + STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their + heads + Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats. + But come, my lord, let's away. + + Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant + + HASTINGS. Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow. + Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY + How now, Hastings! How goes the world with thee? + PURSUIVANT. The better that your lordship please to ask. + HASTINGS. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now + Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet: + Then was I going prisoner to the Tower + By the suggestion of the Queen's allies; + But now, I tell thee-keep it to thyself- + This day those enernies are put to death, + And I in better state than e'er I was. + PURSUIVANT. God hold it, to your honour's good content! + HASTINGS. Gramercy, Hastings; there, drink that for me. + [Throws him his purse] + PURSUIVANT. I thank your honour. Exit + + Enter a PRIEST + + PRIEST. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour. + HASTINGS. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. + I am in your debt for your last exercise; + Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. + [He whispers in his ear] + PRIEST. I'll wait upon your lordship. + + Enter BUCKINGHAM + + BUCKINGHAM. What, talking with a priest, Lord + Chamberlain! + Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest: + Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. + HASTINGS. Good faith, and when I met this holy man, + The men you talk of came into my mind. + What, go you toward the Tower? + BUCKINGHAM. I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there; + I shall return before your lordship thence. + HASTINGS. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. + BUCKINGHAM. [Aside] And supper too, although thou + knowest it not.- + Come, will you go? + HASTINGS. I'll wait upon your lordship. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +Pomfret Castle + +Enter SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying the Nobles, +RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN, to death + + RIVERS. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this: + To-day shalt thou behold a subject die + For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. + GREY. God bless the Prince from all the pack of you! + A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. + VAUGHAN. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter. + RATCLIFF. Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out. + RIVERS. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, + Fatal and ominous to noble peers! + Within the guilty closure of thy walls + RICHARD the Second here was hack'd to death; + And for more slander to thy dismal seat, + We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink. + GREY. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads, + When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, + For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. + RIVERS. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she + Buckingham, + Then curs'd she Hastings. O, remember, God, + To hear her prayer for them, as now for us! + And for my sister, and her princely sons, + Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, + Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. + RATCLIFF. Make haste; the hour of death is expiate. + RIVERS. Come, Grey; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace. + Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. Exeunt + +SCENE 4 + +London. The Tower + +Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, +with others and seat themselves at a table + + HASTINGS. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met + Is to determine of the coronation. + In God's name speak-when is the royal day? + BUCKINGHAM. Is all things ready for the royal time? + DERBY. It is, and wants but nomination. + BISHOP OF ELY. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. + BUCKINGHAM. Who knows the Lord Protector's mind + herein? + Who is most inward with the noble Duke? + BISHOP OF ELY. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know + his mind. + BUCKINGHAM. We know each other's faces; for our hearts, + He knows no more of mine than I of yours; + Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine. + Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. + HASTINGS. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well; + But for his purpose in the coronation + I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd + His gracious pleasure any way therein. + But you, my honourable lords, may name the time; + And in the Duke's behalf I'll give my voice, + Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. + + Enter GLOUCESTER + + BISHOP OF ELY. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself. + GLOUCESTER. My noble lords and cousins an, good morrow. + I have been long a sleeper, but I trust + My absence doth neglect no great design + Which by my presence might have been concluded. + BUCKINGHAM. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, + WILLIAM Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part- + I mean, your voice for crowning of the King. + GLOUCESTER. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be + bolder; + His lordship knows me well and loves me well. + My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn + I saw good strawberries in your garden there. + I do beseech you send for some of them. + BISHOP of ELY. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart. + Exit + GLOUCESTER. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. + [Takes him aside] + Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, + And finds the testy gentleman so hot + That he will lose his head ere give consent + His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, + Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. + BUCKINGHAM. Withdraw yourself awhile; I'll go with you. + Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM + DERBY. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. + To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden; + For I myself am not so well provided + As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. + + Re-enter the BISHOP OF ELY + + BISHOP OF ELY. Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester? + I have sent for these strawberries. + HASTINGS. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this + morning; + There's some conceit or other likes him well + When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. + I think there's never a man in Christendom + Can lesser hide his love or hate than he; + For by his face straight shall you know his heart. + DERBY. What of his heart perceive you in his face + By any livelihood he show'd to-day? + HASTINGS. Marry, that with no man here he is offended; + For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. + + Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM + + GLOUCESTER. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve + That do conspire my death with devilish plots + Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd + Upon my body with their hellish charms? + HASTINGS. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord, + Makes me most forward in this princely presence + To doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be. + I say, my lord, they have deserved death. + GLOUCESTER. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. + Look how I am bewitch'd; behold, mine arm + Is like a blasted sapling wither'd up. + And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, + Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, + That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. + HASTINGS. If they have done this deed, my noble lord- + GLOUCESTER. If?-thou protector of this damned strumpet, + Talk'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor. + Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear + I will not dine until I see the same. + Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done. + The rest that love me, rise and follow me. + Exeunt all but HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF + HASTINGS. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me; + For I, too fond, might have prevented this. + STANLEY did dream the boar did raze our helms, + And I did scorn it and disdain to fly. + Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, + And started when he look'd upon the Tower, + As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. + O, now I need the priest that spake to me! + I now repent I told the pursuivant, + As too triumphing, how mine enemies + To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, + And I myself secure in grace and favour. + O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse + Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head! + RATCLIFF. Come, come, dispatch; the Duke would be at + dinner. + Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head. + HASTINGS. O momentary grace of mortal men, + Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! + Who builds his hope in air of your good looks + Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, + Ready with every nod to tumble down + Into the fatal bowels of the deep. + LOVEL. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. + HASTINGS. O bloody Richard! Miserable England! + I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee + That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. + Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head. + They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt + +SCENE 5. + +London. The Tower-walls + +Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM in rotten armour, marvellous +ill-favoured + + GLOUCESTER. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change + thy colour, + Murder thy breath in middle of a word, + And then again begin, and stop again, + As if thou were distraught and mad with terror? + BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; + Speak and look back, and pry on every side, + Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, + Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks + Are at my service, like enforced smiles; + And both are ready in their offices + At any time to grace my stratagems. + But what, is Catesby gone? + GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. + + Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY + + BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor- + GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there! + BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum. + GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. + BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent- + GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies. + BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us! + + Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head + + GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel. + LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, + The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. + GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep. + I took him for the plainest harmless creature + That breath'd upon the earth a Christian; + Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded + The history of all her secret thoughts. + So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue + That, his apparent open guilt omitted, + I mean his conversation with Shore's wife- + He liv'd from all attainder of suspects. + BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelt'red + traitor + That ever liv'd. + Would you imagine, or almost believe- + Were't not that by great preservation + We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor + This day had plotted, in the council-house, + To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester. + MAYOR. Had he done so? + GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels? + Or that we would, against the form of law, + Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death + But that the extreme peril of the case, + The peace of England and our persons' safety, + Enforc'd us to this execution? + MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv'd his death; + And your good Graces both have well proceeded + To warn false traitors from the like attempts. + I never look'd for better at his hands + After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. + BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin'd he should die + Until your lordship came to see his end- + Which now the loving haste of these our friends, + Something against our meanings, have prevented- + Because, my lord, I would have had you heard + The traitor speak, and timorously confess + The manner and the purpose of his treasons: + That you might well have signified the same + Unto the citizens, who haply may + Misconster us in him and wail his death. + MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace's words shall serve + As well as I had seen and heard him speak; + And do not doubt, right noble Princes both, + But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens + With all your just proceedings in this cause. + GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, + T' avoid the the the censures of the carping world. + BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent, + Yet witness what you hear we did intend. + And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell. + Exit LORD MAYOR + GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. + The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post. + There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, + Infer the bastardy of Edward's children. + Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen + Only for saying he would make his son + Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house, + Which by the sign thereof was termed so. + Moreover, urge his hateful luxury + And bestial appetite in change of lust, + Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, + Even where his raging eye or savage heart + Without control lusted to make a prey. + Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: + Tell them, when that my mother went with child + Of that insatiate Edward, noble York + My princely father then had wars in France + And, by true computation of the time, + Found that the issue was not his begot; + Which well appeared in his lineaments, + Being nothing like the noble Duke my father. + Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; + Because, my lord, you know my mother lives. + BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator + As if the golden fee for which I plead + Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu. + GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's + Castle; + Where you shall find me well accompanied + With reverend fathers and well learned bishops. + BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o'clock + Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit + GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw. + [To CATESBY] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both + Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. + Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER + Now will I go to take some privy order + To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight, + And to give order that no manner person + Have any time recourse unto the Princes. Exit + +SCENE 6. + +London. A street + +Enter a SCRIVENER + + SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; + Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd + That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. + And mark how well the sequel hangs together: + Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, + For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; + The precedent was full as long a-doing; + And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, + Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. + Here's a good world the while! Who is so gros + That cannot see this palpable device? + Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not? + Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, + When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. Exit + +SCENE 7. + +London. Baynard's Castle + +Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors + + GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens? + BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord, + The citizens are mum, say not a word. + GLOUCESTER. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's + children? + BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy, + And his contract by deputy in France; + Th' insatiate greediness of his desire, + And his enforcement of the city wives; + His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, + As being got, your father then in France, + And his resemblance, being not like the Duke. + Withal I did infer your lineaments, + Being the right idea of your father, + Both in your form and nobleness of mind; + Laid open all your victories in Scotland, + Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, + Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; + Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose + Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse. + And when mine oratory drew toward end + I bid them that did love their country's good + Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal King!' + GLOUCESTER. And did they so? + BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word; + But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, + Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale. + Which when I saw, I reprehended them, + And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence. + His answer was, the people were not used + To be spoke to but by the Recorder. + Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again. + 'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd'- + But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. + When he had done, some followers of mine own + At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps, + And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!' + And thus I took the vantage of those few- + 'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I + 'This general applause and cheerful shout + Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.' + And even here brake off and came away. + GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would + they not speak? + Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come? + BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear; + Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit; + And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, + And stand between two churchmen, good my lord; + For on that ground I'll make a holy descant; + And be not easily won to our requests. + Play the maid's part: still answer nay, and take it. + GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them + As I can say nay to thee for myself, + No doubt we bring it to a happy issue. + BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor + knocks. Exit GLOUCESTER + + Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens + + Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here; + I think the Duke will not be spoke withal. + + Enter CATESBY + + Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request? + CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord, + To visit him to-morrow or next day. + He is within, with two right reverend fathers, + Divinely bent to meditation; + And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd, + To draw him from his holy exercise. + BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke; + Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen, + In deep designs, in matter of great moment, + No less importing than our general good, + Are come to have some conference with his Grace. + CATESBY. I'll signify so much unto him straight. Exit + BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward! + He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed, + But on his knees at meditation; + Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, + But meditating with two deep divines; + Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, + But praying, to enrich his watchful soul. + Happy were England would this virtuous prince + Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof; + But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it. + MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay! + BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again. + + Re-enter CATESBY + + Now, Catesby, what says his Grace? + CATESBY. My lord, + He wonders to what end you have assembled + Such troops of citizens to come to him. + His Grace not being warn'd thereof before, + He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. + BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should + Suspect me that I mean no good to him. + By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; + And so once more return and tell his Grace. + Exit CATESBY + When holy and devout religious men + Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence, + So sweet is zealous contemplation. + + Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS. + CATESBY returns + + MAYOR. See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen! + BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, + To stay him from the fall of vanity; + And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, + True ornaments to know a holy man. + Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince, + Lend favourable ear to our requests, + And pardon us the interruption + Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. + GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology: + I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, + Who, earnest in the service of my God, + Deferr'd the visitation of my friends. + But, leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure? + BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, + And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. + GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence + That seems disgracious in the city's eye, + And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. + BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please + your Grace, + On our entreaties, to amend your fault! + GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land? + BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign + The supreme seat, the throne majestical, + The scept'red office of your ancestors, + Your state of fortune and your due of birth, + The lineal glory of your royal house, + To the corruption of a blemish'd stock; + Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, + Which here we waken to our country's good, + The noble isle doth want her proper limbs; + Her face defac'd with scars of infamy, + Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, + And almost should'red in the swallowing gulf + Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. + Which to recure, we heartily solicit + Your gracious self to take on you the charge + And kingly government of this your land- + Not as protector, steward, substitute, + Or lowly factor for another's gain; + But as successively, from blood to blood, + Your right of birth, your empery, your own. + For this, consorted with the citizens, + Your very worshipful and loving friends, + And by their vehement instigation, + In this just cause come I to move your Grace. + GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence + Or bitterly to speak in your reproof + Best fitteth my degree or your condition. + If not to answer, you might haply think + Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded + To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, + Which fondly you would here impose on me; + If to reprove you for this suit of yours, + So season'd with your faithful love to me, + Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. + Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first, + And then, in speaking, not to incur the last- + Definitively thus I answer you: + Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert + Unmeritable shuns your high request. + First, if all obstacles were cut away, + And that my path were even to the crown, + As the ripe revenue and due of birth, + Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, + So mighty and so many my defects, + That I would rather hide me from my greatness- + Being a bark to brook no mighty sea- + Than in my greatness covet to be hid, + And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. + But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me- + And much I need to help you, were there need. + The royal tree hath left us royal fruit + Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, + Will well become the seat of majesty + And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. + On him I lay that you would lay on me- + The right and fortune of his happy stars, + Which God defend that I should wring from him. + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your + Grace; + But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, + All circumstances well considered. + You say that Edward is your brother's son. + So say we too, but not by Edward's wife; + For first was he contract to Lady Lucy- + Your mother lives a witness to his vow- + And afterward by substitute betroth'd + To Bona, sister to the King of France. + These both put off, a poor petitioner, + A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, + A beauty-waning and distressed widow, + Even in the afternoon of her best days, + Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, + Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree + To base declension and loath'd bigamy. + By her, in his unlawful bed, he got + This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince. + More bitterly could I expostulate, + Save that, for reverence to some alive, + I give a sparing limit to my tongue. + Then, good my lord, take to your royal self + This proffer'd benefit of dignity; + If not to bless us and the land withal, + Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry + From the corruption of abusing times + Unto a lineal true-derived course. + MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you. + BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. + CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit! + GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me? + I am unfit for state and majesty. + I do beseech you, take it not amiss: + I cannot nor I will not yield to you. + BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal, + Loath to depose the child, your brother's son; + As well we know your tenderness of heart + And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, + Which we have noted in you to your kindred + And egally indeed to all estates- + Yet know, whe'er you accept our suit or no, + Your brother's son shall never reign our king; + But we will plant some other in the throne + To the disgrace and downfall of your house; + And in this resolution here we leave you. + Come, citizens. Zounds, I'll entreat no more. + GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. + Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens + CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit. + If you deny them, all the land will rue it. + GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? + Call them again. I am not made of stones, + But penetrable to your kind entreaties, + Albeit against my conscience and my soul. + + Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest + + Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men, + Since you will buckle fortune on my back, + To bear her burden, whe'er I will or no, + I must have patience to endure the load; + But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach + Attend the sequel of your imposition, + Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me + From all the impure blots and stains thereof; + For God doth know, and you may partly see, + How far I am from the desire of this. + MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it. + GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. + BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title- + Long live King Richard, England's worthy King! + ALL. Amen. + BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd? + GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so. + BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace; + And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. + GLOUCESTER. [To the BISHOPS] Come, let us to our holy + work again. + Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE 1. + +London. Before the Tower + +Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one +door; +ANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET, +CLARENCE's young daughter, at another door + + DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet, + Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? + Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower, + On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes. + Daughter, well met. + ANNE. God give your Graces both + A happy and a joyful time of day! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither + away? + ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, + Upon the like devotion as yourselves, + To gratulate the gentle Princes there. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter + all together. + + Enter BRAKENBURY + + And in good time, here the lieutenant comes. + Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, + How doth the Prince, and my young son of York? + BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience, + I may not suffer you to visit them. + The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who's that? + BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly + title! + Hath he set bounds between their love and me? + I am their mother; who shall bar me from them? + DUCHESS. I am their father's mother; I will see them. + ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother. + Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame, + And take thy office from thee on my peril. + BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so; + I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit + + Enter STANLEY + + STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, + And I'll salute your Grace of York as mother + And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. + [To ANNE] Come, madam, you must straight to + Westminster, + There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder + That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, + Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news! + ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! + DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee + gone! + Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels; + Thy mother's name is ominous to children. + If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, + And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. + Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, + Lest thou increase the number of the dead, + And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, + Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. + STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. + Take all the swift advantage of the hours; + You shall have letters from me to my son + In your behalf, to meet you on the way. + Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. + DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery! + O my accursed womb, the bed of death! + A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, + Whose unavoided eye is murderous. + STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. + ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go. + O, would to God that the inclusive verge + Of golden metal that must round my brow + Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains! + Anointed let me be with deadly venom, + And die ere men can say 'God save the Queen!' + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory. + To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. + ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now + Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; + When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands + Which issued from my other angel husband, + And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd- + O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, + This was my wish: 'Be thou' quoth I 'accurs'd + For making me, so young, so old a widow; + And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; + And be thy wife, if any be so mad, + More miserable by the life of thee + Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death.' + Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, + Within so small a time, my woman's heart + Grossly grew captive to his honey words + And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse, + Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest; + For never yet one hour in his bed + Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, + But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. + Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; + And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. + ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours. + DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory! + ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! + DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good + fortune guide thee! + [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend + thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good + thoughts possess thee! + I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! + Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, + And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the + Tower. + Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes + Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls, + Rough cradle for such little pretty ones. + Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow + For tender princes, use my babies well. + So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +London. The palace + +Sound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, +RATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others + + KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham! + BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign? + KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand. + [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound] + Thus high, by thy advice + And thy assistance, is King Richard seated. + But shall we wear these glories for a day; + Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? + BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last! + KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, + To try if thou be current gold indeed. + Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak. + BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord. + KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King. + BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord. + KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? 'Tis so; but Edward lives. + BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince. + KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence: + That Edward still should live-true noble Prince! + Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull. + Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead. + And I would have it suddenly perform'd. + What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief. + BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure. + KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes. + Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? + BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause, + dear Lord, + Before I positively speak in this. + I will resolve you herein presently. Exit + CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; see, he + gnaws his lip. + KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools + [Descends from the throne] + And unrespective boys; none are for me + That look into me with considerate eyes. + High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. + Boy! + PAGE. My lord? + KING RICHARD. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting + gold + Will tempt unto a close exploit of death? + PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman + Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit. + Gold were as good as twenty orators, + And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything. + KING RICHARD. What is his name? + PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. + KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, + boy. Exit PAGE + The deep-revolving witty Buckingham + No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels. + Hath he so long held out with me, untir'd, + And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so. + + Enter STANLEY + + How now, Lord Stanley! What's the news? + STANLEY. Know, my loving lord, + The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled + To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart] + KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad + That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; + I will take order for her keeping close. + Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman, + Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter- + The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. + Look how thou dream'st! I say again, give out + That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die. + About it; for it stands me much upon + To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. + Exit CATESBY + I must be married to my brother's daughter, + Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. + Murder her brothers, and then marry her! + Uncertain way of gain! But I am in + So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. + Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. + + Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL + + Is thy name Tyrrel? + TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. + KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed? + TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord. + KING RICHARD. Dar'st'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? + TYRREL. Please you; + But I had rather kill two enemies. + KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies, + Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, + Are they that I would have thee deal upon. + TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower. + TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them, + And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. + KING RICHARD. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come + hither, Tyrrel. + Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers] + There is no more but so: say it is done, + And I will love thee and prefer thee for it. + TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit + + Re-enter BUCKINGHAM + + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind + The late request that you did sound me in. + KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to + Richmond. + BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look + unto it. + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, + For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd: + Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables + Which you have promised I shall possess. + KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey + Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. + BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request? + KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth + Did prophesy that Richmond should be King, + When Richmond was a little peevish boy. + A king!-perhaps- + BUCKINGHAM. My lord- + KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that + time + Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? + BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom- + KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter, + The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle + And call'd it Rugemount, at which name I started, + Because a bard of Ireland told me once + I should not live long after I saw Richmond. + BUCKINGHAM. My lord- + KING RICHARD. Ay, what's o'clock? + BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind + Of what you promis'd me. + KING RICHARD. Well, but o'clock? + BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten. + KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike. + BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike? + KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep'st the + stroke + Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. + I am not in the giving vein to-day. + BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit. + KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. + Exeunt all but Buckingham + BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service + With such contempt? Made I him King for this? + O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone + To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit + +SCENE 3. + +London. The palace + +Enter TYRREL + + TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done, + The most arch deed of piteous massacre + That ever yet this land was guilty of. + Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn + To do this piece of ruthless butchery, + Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, + Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, + Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story. + 'O, thus' quoth Dighton 'lay the gentle babes'- + 'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest 'girdling one another + Within their alabaster innocent arms. + Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, + And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. + A book of prayers on their pillow lay; + Which once,' quoth Forrest 'almost chang'd my mind; + But, O, the devil'-there the villain stopp'd; + When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered + The most replenished sweet work of nature + That from the prime creation e'er she framed.' + Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse + They could not speak; and so I left them both, + To bear this tidings to the bloody King. + + Enter KING RICHARD + + And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord! + KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news? + TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge + Beget your happiness, be happy then, + For it is done. + KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead? + TYRREL. I did, my lord. + KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? + TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; + But where, to say the truth, I do not know. + KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, + When thou shalt tell the process of their death. + Meantime, but think how I may do thee good + And be inheritor of thy desire. + Farewell till then. + TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit + KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close; + His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; + The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, + And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night. + Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims + At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, + And by that knot looks proudly on the crown, + To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. + + Enter RATCLIFF + + RATCLIFF. My lord! + KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so + bluntly? + RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; + And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, + Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. + KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near + Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. + Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting + Is leaden servitor to dull delay; + Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary. + Then fiery expedition be my wing, + Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! + Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield. + We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +London. Before the palace + +Enter old QUEEN MARGARET + + QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow + And drop into the rotten mouth of death. + Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd + To watch the waning of mine enemies. + A dire induction am I witness to, + And will to France, hoping the consequence + Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. + Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here? + [Retires] + + Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK + + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender + babes! + My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! + If yet your gentle souls fly in the air + And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, + Hover about me with your airy wings + And hear your mother's lamentation. + QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right + Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. + DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz'd my voice + That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. + Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? + QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, + Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle + lambs + And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? + When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? + QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet + son. + DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, + Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, + Brief abstract and record of tedious days, + Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down] + Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a + grave + As thou canst yield a melancholy seat! + Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. + Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we? + [Sitting down by her] + QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be + most reverend, + Give mine the benefit of seniory, + And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. + If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them] + Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine. + I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; + I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: + Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; + Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. + DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; + I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. + QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard + kill'd him. + From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept + A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death. + That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes + To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, + That foul defacer of God's handiwork, + That excellent grand tyrant of the earth + That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, + Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves. + O upright, just, and true-disposing God, + How do I thank thee that this carnal cur + Preys on the issue of his mother's body + And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! + DUCHESS. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes! + God witness with me, I have wept for thine. + QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, + And now I cloy me with beholding it. + Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; + The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; + Young York he is but boot, because both they + Match'd not the high perfection of my loss. + Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward; + And the beholders of this frantic play, + Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, + Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. + Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; + Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls + And send them thither. But at hand, at hand, + Ensues his piteous and unpitied end. + Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, + To have him suddenly convey'd from hence. + Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, + That I may live and say 'The dog is dead.' + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would + come + That I should wish for thee to help me curse + That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad! + QUEEN MARGARET. I Call'd thee then vain flourish of my + fortune; + I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen, + The presentation of but what I was, + The flattering index of a direful pageant, + One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below, + A mother only mock'd with two fair babes, + A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag + To be the aim of every dangerous shot, + A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble, + A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. + Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers? + Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy? + Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'? + Where be the bending peers that flattered thee? + Where be the thronging troops that followed thee? + Decline an this, and see what now thou art: + For happy wife, a most distressed widow; + For joyful mother, one that wails the name; + For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues; + For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; + For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; + For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one; + For she commanding all, obey'd of none. + Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about + And left thee but a very prey to time, + Having no more but thought of what thou wast + To torture thee the more, being what thou art. + Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not + Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? + Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke, + From which even here I slip my weary head + And leave the burden of it all on thee. + Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance; + These English woes shall make me smile in France. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile + And teach me how to curse mine enemies! + QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the + days; + Compare dead happiness with living woe; + Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, + And he that slew them fouler than he is. + Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; + Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them + with thine! + QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and + pierce like mine. Exit + DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes, + Airy succeeders of intestate joys, + Poor breathing orators of miseries, + Let them have scope; though what they will impart + Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart. + DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me, + And in the breath of bitter words let's smother + My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd. + The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims. + + Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with + drums and trumpets + + KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition? + DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee, + By strangling thee in her accursed womb, + From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden + crown + Where't should be branded, if that right were right, + The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown, + And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? + Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children? + DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother + Clarence? + And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, + Grey? + DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings? + KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums! + Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women + Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say! + [Flourish. Alarums] + Either be patient and entreat me fair, + Or with the clamorous report of war + Thus will I drown your exclamations. + DUCHESS. Art thou my son? + KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself. + DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience. + KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition + That cannot brook the accent of reproof. + DUCHESS. O, let me speak! + KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I'll not hear. + DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words. + KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. + DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee, + God knows, in torment and in agony. + KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you? + DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well + Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. + A grievous burden was thy birth to me; + Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; + Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious; + Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous; + Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, + More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred. + What comfortable hour canst thou name + That ever grac'd me with thy company? + KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd + your Grace + To breakfast once forth of my company. + If I be so disgracious in your eye, + Let me march on and not offend you, madam. + Strike up the drum. + DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak. + KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly. + DUCHESS. Hear me a word; + For I shall never speak to thee again. + KING RICHARD. So. + DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance + Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror; + Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish + And never more behold thy face again. + Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse, + Which in the day of battle tire thee more + Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st! + My prayers on the adverse party fight; + And there the little souls of Edward's children + Whisper the spirits of thine enemies + And promise them success and victory. + Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end. + Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less + spirit to curse + Abides in me; I say amen to her. + KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood + For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard, + They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; + And therefore level not to hit their lives. + KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth. + Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her + live, + And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, + Slander myself as false to Edward's bed, + Throw over her the veil of infamy; + So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, + I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. + KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal + Princess. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I'll say she is not so. + KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her + brothers. + KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were + contrary. + KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny. + My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, + If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. + KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle + cozen'd + Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. + Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts, + Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction. + No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt + Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart + To revel in the entrails of my lambs. + But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame, + My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys + Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; + And I, in such a desp'rate bay of death, + Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, + Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. + KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise + And dangerous success of bloody wars, + As I intend more good to you and yours + Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd! + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover'd with the face of + heaven, + To be discover'd, that can do me good? + KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle + lady. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their + heads? + KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune, + The high imperial type of this earth's glory. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it; + Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, + Canst thou demise to any child of mine? + KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all + Will I withal endow a child of thine; + So in the Lethe of thy angry soul + Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs + Which thou supposest I have done to thee. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy + kindness + Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. + KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy + daughter. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter's mother thinks it with her + soul. + KING RICHARD. What do you think? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from + thy soul. + So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers, + And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. + KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning. + I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter + And do intend to make her Queen of England. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be + her king? + KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else + should be? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou? + KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it? + QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her? + KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you, + As one being best acquainted with her humour. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me? + KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her + brothers, + A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave + 'Edward' and 'York.' Then haply will she weep; + Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret + Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood- + A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain + The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, + And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. + If this inducement move her not to love, + Send her a letter of thy noble deeds; + Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, + Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake + Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. + KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way + To win your daughter. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way; + Unless thou couldst put on some other shape + And not be Richard that hath done all this. + KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but + hate thee, + Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. + KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended. + Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, + Which after-hours gives leisure to repent. + If I did take the kingdom from your sons, + To make amends I'll give it to your daughter. + If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, + To quicken your increase I will beget + Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. + A grandam's name is little less in love + Than is the doating title of a mother; + They are as children but one step below, + Even of your metal, of your very blood; + Of all one pain, save for a night of groans + Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. + Your children were vexation to your youth; + But mine shall be a comfort to your age. + The loss you have is but a son being King, + And by that loss your daughter is made Queen. + I cannot make you what amends I would, + Therefore accept such kindness as I can. + Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul + Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, + This fair alliance quickly shall can home + To high promotions and great dignity. + The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife, + Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother; + Again shall you be mother to a king, + And all the ruins of distressful times + Repair'd with double riches of content. + What! we have many goodly days to see. + The liquid drops of tears that you have shed + Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, + Advantaging their loan with interest + Of ten times double gain of happiness. + Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go; + Make bold her bashful years with your experience; + Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; + Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame + Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes + With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys. + And when this arm of mine hath chastised + The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, + Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, + And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; + To whom I will retail my conquest won, + And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar's Caesar. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father's + brother + Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle? + Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles? + Under what title shall I woo for thee + That God, the law, my honour, and her love + Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? + KING RICHARD. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with + still-lasting war. + KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command, + entreats. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King's + King forbids. + KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth. + KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title 'ever' last? + KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life + last? + KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it. + KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such + sovereignty. + KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly + told. + KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. + KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and + dead- + Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. + KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings + break. + KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my + crown- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third + usurp'd. + KING RICHARD. I swear- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath: + Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour; + Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; + Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory. + If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, + Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. + KING RICHARD. Then, by my self- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus'd. + KING RICHARD. Now, by the world- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. + KING RICHARD. My father's death- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour'd. + KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God- + QUEEN ELIZABETH. God's wrong is most of all. + If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him, + The unity the King my husband made + Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. + If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, + Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head, + Had grac'd the tender temples of my child; + And both the Princes had been breathing here, + Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, + Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. + What canst thou swear by now? + KING RICHARD. The time to come. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time + o'erpast; + For I myself have many tears to wash + Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. + The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd, + Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; + The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed, + Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. + Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast + Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast. + KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent, + So thrive I in my dangerous affairs + Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound! + Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! + Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! + Be opposite all planets of good luck + To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart's love, + Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, + I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter. + In her consists my happiness and thine; + Without her, follows to myself and thee, + Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, + Death, desolation, ruin, and decay. + It cannot be avoided but by this; + It will not be avoided but by this. + Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so- + Be the attorney of my love to her; + Plead what I will be, not what I have been; + Not my deserts, but what I will deserve. + Urge the necessity and state of times, + And be not peevish-fond in great designs. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? + KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself? + KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong + yourself. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children. + KING RICHARD. But in your daughter's womb I bury them; + Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed + Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? + KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed. + QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly, + And you shall understand from me her mind. + KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell. + Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH + Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman! + + Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following + + How now! what news? + RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast + Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores + Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, + Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back. + 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; + And there they hull, expecting but the aid + Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. + KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of + Norfolk. + Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he? + CATESBY. Here, my good lord. + KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke. + CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste. + KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury; + When thou com'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull, + unmindfull villain, + Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke? + CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure, + What from your Grace I shall deliver to him. + KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight + The greatest strength and power that he can make + And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. + CATESBY. I go. Exit + RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? + KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I + go? + RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before. + KING RICHARD. My mind is chang'd. + + Enter LORD STANLEY + + STANLEY, what news with you? + STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with + the hearing; + Nor none so bad but well may be reported. + KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! + What need'st thou run so many miles about, + When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way? + Once more, what news? + STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas. + KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him! + White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? + STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. + KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess? + STANLEY. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, + He makes for England here to claim the crown. + KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd? + Is the King dead, the empire unpossess'd? + What heir of York is there alive but we? + And who is England's King but great York's heir? + Then tell me what makes he upon the seas. + STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. + KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, + You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. + Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear. + STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not. + KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back? + Where be thy tenants and thy followers? + Are they not now upon the western shore, + Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? + STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. + KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the + north, + When they should serve their sovereign in the west? + STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King. + Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave, + I'll muster up my friends and meet your Grace + Where and what time your Majesty shall please. + KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with + Richmond; + But I'll not trust thee. + STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign, + You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. + I never was nor never will be false. + KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind + Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm, + Or else his head's assurance is but frail. + STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit + + Enter a MESSENGER + + MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, + As I by friends am well advertised, + Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate, + Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, + With many moe confederates, are in arms. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in + arms; + And every hour more competitors + Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham- + KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of + death? [He strikes him] + There, take thou that till thou bring better news. + THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty + Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters + Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd; + And he himself wand'red away alone, + No man knows whither. + KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy. + There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. + Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd + Reward to him that brings the traitor in? + THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made, + my Lord. + + Enter another MESSENGER + + FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis + Dorset, + 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. + But this good comfort bring I to your Highness- + The Britaine navy is dispers'd by tempest. + Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat + Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks + If they were his assistants, yea or no; + Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham + Upon his party. He, mistrusting them, + Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britaine. + KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in + arms; + If not to fight with foreign enemies, + Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. + + Re-enter CATESBY + + CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken- + That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond + Is with a mighty power landed at Milford + Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. + KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason + here + A royal battle might be won and lost. + Some one take order Buckingham be brought + To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. + Flourish. Exeunt + +SCENE 5. + +LORD DERBY'S house + +Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK + + STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: + That in the sty of the most deadly boar + My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold; + If I revolt, off goes young George's head; + The fear of that holds off my present aid. + So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord. + Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented + He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. + But tell me, where is princely Richmond now? + CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford west in Wales. + STANLEY. What men of name resort to him? + CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; + SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, + OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, + And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew; + And many other of great name and worth; + And towards London do they bend their power, + If by the way they be not fought withal. + STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand; + My letter will resolve him of my mind. + Farewell. Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE 1. + +Salisbury. An open place + +Enter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution + + BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with + him? + SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient. + BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and + Rivers, + Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, + Vaughan, and all that have miscarried + By underhand corrupted foul injustice, + If that your moody discontented souls + Do through the clouds behold this present hour, + Even for revenge mock my destruction! + This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not? + SHERIFF. It is, my lord. + BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's + doomsday. + This is the day which in King Edward's time + I wish'd might fall on me when I was found + False to his children and his wife's allies; + This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall + By the false faith of him whom most I trusted; + This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul + Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs; + That high All-Seer which I dallied with + Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head + And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. + Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men + To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms. + Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck. + 'When he' quoth she 'shall split thy heart with sorrow, + Remember Margaret was a prophetess.' + Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame; + Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt + +SCENE 2. + +Camp near Tamworth + +Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and +others, with drum and colours + + RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, + Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, + Thus far into the bowels of the land + Have we march'd on without impediment; + And here receive we from our father Stanley + Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. + The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, + That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines, + Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough + In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine + Is now even in the centre of this isle, + Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn. + From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. + In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, + To reap the harvest of perpetual peace + By this one bloody trial of sharp war. + OXFORD. Every man's conscience is a thousand men, + To fight against this guilty homicide. + HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us. + BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear, + Which in his dearest need will fly from him. + RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God's name march. + True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings; + Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt + +SCENE 3. + +Bosworth Field + +Enter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, the EARL of SURREYS +and others + + KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth + field. + My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? + SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. + KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk! + NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege. + KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we + not? + NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord. + KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night; + [Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent] + But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. + Who hath descried the number of the traitors? + NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. + KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account; + Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength, + Which they upon the adverse faction want. + Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen, + Let us survey the vantage of the ground. + Call for some men of sound direction. + Let's lack no discipline, make no delay; + For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt + + Enter, on the other side of the field, + RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET, + and others. Some pitch RICHMOND'S tent + + RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set, + And by the bright tract of his fiery car + Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. + Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. + Give me some ink and paper in my tent. + I'll draw the form and model of our battle, + Limit each leader to his several charge, + And part in just proportion our small power. + My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon- + And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me. + The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; + Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, + And by the second hour in the morning + Desire the Earl to see me in my tent. + Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me- + Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? + BLUNT. Unless I have mista'en his colours much- + Which well I am assur'd I have not done- + His regiment lies half a mile at least + South from the mighty power of the King. + RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible, + Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him + And give him from me this most needful note. + BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; + And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! + RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come, + gentlemen, + Let us consult upon to-morrow's business. + In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold. + [They withdraw into the tent] + + Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK, + RATCLIFF, and CATESBY + + KING RICHARD. What is't o'clock? + CATESBY. It's supper-time, my lord; + It's nine o'clock. + KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night. + Give me some ink and paper. + What, is my beaver easier than it was? + And all my armour laid into my tent? + CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness. + KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; + Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. + NORFOLK. I go, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. + NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord. Exit + KING RICHARD. Catesby! + CATESBY. My lord? + KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms + To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power + Before sunrising, lest his son George fall + Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY + Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. + Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. + Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. + Ratcliff! + RATCLIFF. My lord? + KING RICHARD. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord + Northumberland? + RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself, + Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop + Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. + KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine. + I have not that alacrity of spirit + Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have. + Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? + RATCLIFF. It is, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me. + RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent + And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. + Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps + + Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent; + LORDS attending + + DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! + RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford + Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! + Tell me, how fares our loving mother? + DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, + Who prays continually for Richmond's good. + So much for that. The silent hours steal on, + And flaky darkness breaks within the east. + In brief, for so the season bids us be, + Prepare thy battle early in the morning, + And put thy fortune to the arbitrement + Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. + I, as I may-that which I would I cannot- + With best advantage will deceive the time + And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms; + But on thy side I may not be too forward, + Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, + Be executed in his father's sight. + Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time + Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love + And ample interchange of sweet discourse + Which so-long-sund'red friends should dwell upon. + God give us leisure for these rites of love! + Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well! + RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. + I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, + Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow + When I should mount with wings of victory. + Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. + Exeunt all but RICHMOND + O Thou, whose captain I account myself, + Look on my forces with a gracious eye; + Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath, + That they may crush down with a heavy fall + The usurping helmets of our adversaries! + Make us Thy ministers of chastisement, + That we may praise Thee in the victory! + To Thee I do commend my watchful soul + Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. + Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps] + + Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD, + son to HENRY THE SIXTH + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul + to-morrow! + Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth + At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die! + [To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged + souls + Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf. + King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. + + Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed + body + By thee was punched full of deadly holes. + Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die. + Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror! + Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King, + Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish! + + Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul + to-morrow! I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, + Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! + To-morrow in the battle think on me, + And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die! + [To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, + The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee. + Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish! + + Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN + + GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy + soul to-morrow, + Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die! + GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let + thy soul despair! + GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan, + and with guilty fear + Let fall thy lance. Despair and die! + ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in + Richard's bosom + Will conquer him. Awake and win the day. + + Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, + And in a bloody battle end thy days! + Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake! + Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! + + Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES + + GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in + the Tower. + Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, + And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! + Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and + wake in joy; + Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! + Live, and beget a happy race of kings! + Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. + + Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched + Anne thy wife + That never slept a quiet hour with thee + Now fills thy sleep with perturbations. + To-morrow in the battle think on me, + And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die. + [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep; + Dream of success and happy victory. + Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. + + Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM + + GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help'd thee + to the crown; + The last was I that felt thy tyranny. + O, in the battle think on Buckingham, + And die in terror of thy guiltiness! + Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death; + Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath! + [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid; + But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd: + God and good angels fight on Richmond's side; + And Richard falls in height of all his pride. + [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream] + KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds. + Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream. + O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! + The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. + Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. + What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by. + Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. + Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am. + Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why- + Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself! + Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good + That I myself have done unto myself? + O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself + For hateful deeds committed by myself! + I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not. + Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter. + My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, + And every tongue brings in a several tale, + And every tale condemns me for a villain. + Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; + Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; + All several sins, all us'd in each degree, + Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!' + I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; + And if I die no soul will pity me: + And wherefore should they, since that I myself + Find in myself no pity to myself? + Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd + Came to my tent, and every one did threat + To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. + + Enter RATCLIFF + + RATCLIFF. My lord! + KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there? + RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock + Hath twice done salutation to the morn; + Your friends are up and buckle on their armour. + KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! + What think'st thou-will our friends prove all true? + RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord. + KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear. + RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. + KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night + Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard + Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers + Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. + 'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me; + Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, + To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt + + Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent + + LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond! + RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, + That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. + LORDS. How have you slept, my lord? + RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams + That ever ent'red in a drowsy head + Have I since your departure had, my lords. + Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd + Came to my tent and cried on victory. + I promise you my soul is very jocund + In the remembrance of so fair a dream. + How far into the morning is it, lords? + LORDS. Upon the stroke of four. + RICHMOND. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction. + + His ORATION to his SOLDIERS + + More than I have said, loving countrymen, + The leisure and enforcement of the time + Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this: + God and our good cause fight upon our side; + The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, + Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; + Richard except, those whom we fight against + Had rather have us win than him they follow. + For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen, + A bloody tyrant and a homicide; + One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; + One that made means to come by what he hath, + And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; + A base foul stone, made precious by the foil + Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; + One that hath ever been God's enemy. + Then if you fight against God's enemy, + God will in justice ward you as his soldiers; + If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, + You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; + If you do fight against your country's foes, + Your country's foes shall pay your pains the hire; + If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, + Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; + If you do free your children from the sword, + Your children's children quits it in your age. + Then, in the name of God and all these rights, + Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. + For me, the ransom of my bold attempt + Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; + But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt + The least of you shall share his part thereof. + Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully; + God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt + + Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants, + and forces + + KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching + Richmond? + RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms. + KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey + then? + RATCLIFF. He smil'd, and said 'The better for our purpose.' + KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is. + [Clock strikes] + Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. + Who saw the sun to-day? + RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord. + KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book + He should have brav'd the east an hour ago. + A black day will it be to somebody. + Ratcliff! + RATCLIFF. My lord? + KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day; + The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. + I would these dewy tears were from the ground. + Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me + More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven + That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. + + Enter NORFOLK + + NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. + KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse; + Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power. + I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, + And thus my battle shall be ordered: + My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, + Consisting equally of horse and foot; + Our archers shall be placed in the midst. + John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, + Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. + They thus directed, we will follow + In the main battle, whose puissance on either side + Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. + This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, + Norfolk? + NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign. + This found I on my tent this morning. + [He sheweth him a paper] + KING RICHARD. [Reads] + 'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold, + For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.' + A thing devised by the enemy. + Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge. + Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls; + Conscience is but a word that cowards use, + Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe. + Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. + March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell; + If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. + + His ORATION to his ARMY + + What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? + Remember whom you are to cope withal- + A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, + A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants, + Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth + To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction. + You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; + You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, + They would restrain the one, distain the other. + And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, + Long kept in Britaine at our mother's cost? + A milk-sop, one that never in his life + Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? + Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; + Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, + These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; + Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, + For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves. + If we be conquered, let men conquer us, + And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers + Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, + And, in record, left them the heirs of shame. + Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives, + Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their + drum. + Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen! + Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! + Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; + Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! + + Enter a MESSENGER + + What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power? + MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come. + KING RICHARD. Off with his son George's head! + NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh. + After the battle let George Stanley die. + KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my + bosom. + Advance our standards, set upon our foes; + Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, + Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! + Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt + +SCENE 4. + +Another part of the field + +Alarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY + + CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! + The King enacts more wonders than a man, + Daring an opposite to every danger. + His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, + Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. + Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost. + + Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD + + KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! + CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse. + KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast + And I Will stand the hazard of the die. + I think there be six Richmonds in the field; + Five have I slain to-day instead of him. + A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt + +SCENE 5. + +Another part of the field + +Alarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain. +Retreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with +other LORDS + + RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends; + The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. + DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee! + Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty + From the dead temples of this bloody wretch + Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal. + Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. + RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all! + But, teLL me is young George Stanley living. + DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, + Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. + RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side? + DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers, + Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. + RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. + Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled + That in submission will return to us. + And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, + We will unite the white rose and the red. + Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, + That long have frown'd upon their emnity! + What traitor hears me, and says not Amen? + England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; + The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, + The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, + The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire; + All this divided York and Lancaster, + Divided in their dire division, + O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, + The true succeeders of each royal house, + By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! + And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so, + Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace, + With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! + Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, + That would reduce these bloody days again + And make poor England weep in streams of blood! + Let them not live to taste this land's increase + That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! + Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again- + That she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET + + + +Contents + +THE PROLOGUE. + +ACT I +Scene I. A public place. +Scene II. A Street. +Scene III. Room in Capulet’s House. +Scene IV. A Street. +Scene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House. + + +ACT II +CHORUS. +Scene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden. +Scene II. Capulet’s Garden. +Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. +Scene IV. A Street. +Scene V. Capulet’s Garden. +Scene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. + + +ACT III +Scene I. A public Place. +Scene II. A Room in Capulet’s House. +Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell. +Scene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House. +Scene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. +Scene II. Hall in Capulet’s House. +Scene III. Juliet’s Chamber. +Scene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House. +Scene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed. + + +ACT V +Scene I. Mantua. A Street. +Scene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. +Scene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets. + + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +ESCALUS, Prince of Verona. +MERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo. +PARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. +Page to Paris. + +MONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets. +LADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague. +ROMEO, son to Montague. +BENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. +ABRAM, servant to Montague. +BALTHASAR, servant to Romeo. + +CAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues. +LADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet. +JULIET, daughter to Capulet. +TYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet. +CAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man. +NURSE to Juliet. +PETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse. +SAMPSON, servant to Capulet. +GREGORY, servant to Capulet. +Servants. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan. +FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order. +An Apothecary. +CHORUS. +Three Musicians. +An Officer. +Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses; +Maskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants. + +SCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the +Fifth Act, at Mantua. + + +THE PROLOGUE + + Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Two households, both alike in dignity, +In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, +From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, +Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. +From forth the fatal loins of these two foes +A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; +Whose misadventur’d piteous overthrows +Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife. +The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love, +And the continuance of their parents’ rage, +Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, +Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage; +The which, if you with patient ears attend, +What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. A public place. + + Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers. + +SAMPSON. +Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals. + +GREGORY. +No, for then we should be colliers. + +SAMPSON. +I mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw. + +GREGORY. +Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar. + +SAMPSON. +I strike quickly, being moved. + +GREGORY. +But thou art not quickly moved to strike. + +SAMPSON. +A dog of the house of Montague moves me. + +GREGORY. +To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou +art moved, thou runn’st away. + +SAMPSON. +A dog of that house shall move me to stand. +I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s. + +GREGORY. +That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall. + +SAMPSON. +True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to +the wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and +thrust his maids to the wall. + +GREGORY. +The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. + +SAMPSON. +’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the +men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads. + +GREGORY. +The heads of the maids? + +SAMPSON. +Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense +thou wilt. + +GREGORY. +They must take it in sense that feel it. + +SAMPSON. +Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a +pretty piece of flesh. + +GREGORY. +’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. +Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues. + + Enter Abram and Balthasar. + +SAMPSON. +My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. + +GREGORY. +How? Turn thy back and run? + +SAMPSON. +Fear me not. + +GREGORY. +No, marry; I fear thee! + +SAMPSON. +Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. + +GREGORY. +I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. + +SAMPSON. +Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to +them if they bear it. + +ABRAM. +Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? + +SAMPSON. +I do bite my thumb, sir. + +ABRAM. +Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? + +SAMPSON. +Is the law of our side if I say ay? + +GREGORY. +No. + +SAMPSON. +No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. + +GREGORY. +Do you quarrel, sir? + +ABRAM. +Quarrel, sir? No, sir. + +SAMPSON. +But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you. + +ABRAM. +No better. + +SAMPSON. +Well, sir. + + Enter Benvolio. + +GREGORY. +Say better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen. + +SAMPSON. +Yes, better, sir. + +ABRAM. +You lie. + +SAMPSON. +Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow. + + [_They fight._] + +BENVOLIO. +Part, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do. + + [_Beats down their swords._] + + Enter Tybalt. + +TYBALT. +What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? +Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death. + +BENVOLIO. +I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword, +Or manage it to part these men with me. + +TYBALT. +What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word +As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: +Have at thee, coward. + + [_They fight._] + + Enter three or four Citizens with clubs. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Clubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down! +Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues! + + Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet. + +CAPULET. +What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! + +LADY CAPULET. +A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword? + +CAPULET. +My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, +And flourishes his blade in spite of me. + + Enter Montague and his Lady Montague. + +MONTAGUE. +Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go. + +LADY MONTAGUE. +Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. + + Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants. + +PRINCE. +Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, +Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,— +Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts, +That quench the fire of your pernicious rage +With purple fountains issuing from your veins, +On pain of torture, from those bloody hands +Throw your mistemper’d weapons to the ground +And hear the sentence of your moved prince. +Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, +By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, +Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets, +And made Verona’s ancient citizens +Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, +To wield old partisans, in hands as old, +Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate. +If ever you disturb our streets again, +Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. +For this time all the rest depart away: +You, Capulet, shall go along with me, +And Montague, come you this afternoon, +To know our farther pleasure in this case, +To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. +Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. + + [_Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, + Citizens and Servants._] + +MONTAGUE. +Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? +Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? + +BENVOLIO. +Here were the servants of your adversary +And yours, close fighting ere I did approach. +I drew to part them, in the instant came +The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d, +Which, as he breath’d defiance to my ears, +He swung about his head, and cut the winds, +Who nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn. +While we were interchanging thrusts and blows +Came more and more, and fought on part and part, +Till the Prince came, who parted either part. + +LADY MONTAGUE. +O where is Romeo, saw you him today? +Right glad I am he was not at this fray. + +BENVOLIO. +Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun +Peer’d forth the golden window of the east, +A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad, +Where underneath the grove of sycamore +That westward rooteth from this city side, +So early walking did I see your son. +Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, +And stole into the covert of the wood. +I, measuring his affections by my own, +Which then most sought where most might not be found, +Being one too many by my weary self, +Pursu’d my humour, not pursuing his, +And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me. + +MONTAGUE. +Many a morning hath he there been seen, +With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew, +Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; +But all so soon as the all-cheering sun +Should in the farthest east begin to draw +The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed, +Away from light steals home my heavy son, +And private in his chamber pens himself, +Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out +And makes himself an artificial night. +Black and portentous must this humour prove, +Unless good counsel may the cause remove. + +BENVOLIO. +My noble uncle, do you know the cause? + +MONTAGUE. +I neither know it nor can learn of him. + +BENVOLIO. +Have you importun’d him by any means? + +MONTAGUE. +Both by myself and many other friends; +But he, his own affections’ counsellor, +Is to himself—I will not say how true— +But to himself so secret and so close, +So far from sounding and discovery, +As is the bud bit with an envious worm +Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, +Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. +Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, +We would as willingly give cure as know. + + Enter Romeo. + +BENVOLIO. +See, where he comes. So please you step aside; +I’ll know his grievance or be much denied. + +MONTAGUE. +I would thou wert so happy by thy stay +To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away, + + [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._] + +BENVOLIO. +Good morrow, cousin. + +ROMEO. +Is the day so young? + +BENVOLIO. +But new struck nine. + +ROMEO. +Ay me, sad hours seem long. +Was that my father that went hence so fast? + +BENVOLIO. +It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours? + +ROMEO. +Not having that which, having, makes them short. + +BENVOLIO. +In love? + +ROMEO. +Out. + +BENVOLIO. +Of love? + +ROMEO. +Out of her favour where I am in love. + +BENVOLIO. +Alas that love so gentle in his view, +Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof. + +ROMEO. +Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, +Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! +Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? +Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. +Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love: +Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! +O anything, of nothing first create! +O heavy lightness! serious vanity! +Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! +Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! +Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! +This love feel I, that feel no love in this. +Dost thou not laugh? + +BENVOLIO. +No coz, I rather weep. + +ROMEO. +Good heart, at what? + +BENVOLIO. +At thy good heart’s oppression. + +ROMEO. +Why such is love’s transgression. +Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, +Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest +With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown +Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. +Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; +Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; +Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears: +What is it else? A madness most discreet, +A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. +Farewell, my coz. + + [_Going._] + +BENVOLIO. +Soft! I will go along: +And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. + +ROMEO. +Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here. +This is not Romeo, he’s some other where. + +BENVOLIO. +Tell me in sadness who is that you love? + +ROMEO. +What, shall I groan and tell thee? + +BENVOLIO. +Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who. + +ROMEO. +Bid a sick man in sadness make his will, +A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill. +In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. + +BENVOLIO. +I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d. + +ROMEO. +A right good markman, and she’s fair I love. + +BENVOLIO. +A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. + +ROMEO. +Well, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit +With Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit; +And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d, +From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d. +She will not stay the siege of loving terms +Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes, +Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: +O she’s rich in beauty, only poor +That when she dies, with beauty dies her store. + +BENVOLIO. +Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? + +ROMEO. +She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; +For beauty starv’d with her severity, +Cuts beauty off from all posterity. +She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, +To merit bliss by making me despair. +She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow +Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. + +BENVOLIO. +Be rul’d by me, forget to think of her. + +ROMEO. +O teach me how I should forget to think. + +BENVOLIO. +By giving liberty unto thine eyes; +Examine other beauties. + +ROMEO. +’Tis the way +To call hers, exquisite, in question more. +These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows, +Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair; +He that is strucken blind cannot forget +The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. +Show me a mistress that is passing fair, +What doth her beauty serve but as a note +Where I may read who pass’d that passing fair? +Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget. + +BENVOLIO. +I’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Street. + + Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant. + +CAPULET. +But Montague is bound as well as I, +In penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think, +For men so old as we to keep the peace. + +PARIS. +Of honourable reckoning are you both, +And pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long. +But now my lord, what say you to my suit? + +CAPULET. +But saying o’er what I have said before. +My child is yet a stranger in the world, +She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; +Let two more summers wither in their pride +Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. + +PARIS. +Younger than she are happy mothers made. + +CAPULET. +And too soon marr’d are those so early made. +The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, +She is the hopeful lady of my earth: +But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, +My will to her consent is but a part; +And she agree, within her scope of choice +Lies my consent and fair according voice. +This night I hold an old accustom’d feast, +Whereto I have invited many a guest, +Such as I love, and you among the store, +One more, most welcome, makes my number more. +At my poor house look to behold this night +Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: +Such comfort as do lusty young men feel +When well apparell’d April on the heel +Of limping winter treads, even such delight +Among fresh female buds shall you this night +Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see, +And like her most whose merit most shall be: +Which, on more view of many, mine, being one, +May stand in number, though in reckoning none. +Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about +Through fair Verona; find those persons out +Whose names are written there, [_gives a paper_] and to them say, +My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. + + [_Exeunt Capulet and Paris._] + +SERVANT. +Find them out whose names are written here! It is written that the +shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the +fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to +find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what +names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good +time! + + Enter Benvolio and Romeo. + +BENVOLIO. +Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning, +One pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish; +Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; +One desperate grief cures with another’s languish: +Take thou some new infection to thy eye, +And the rank poison of the old will die. + +ROMEO. +Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. + +BENVOLIO. +For what, I pray thee? + +ROMEO. +For your broken shin. + +BENVOLIO. +Why, Romeo, art thou mad? + +ROMEO. +Not mad, but bound more than a madman is: +Shut up in prison, kept without my food, +Whipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow. + +SERVANT. +God gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read? + +ROMEO. +Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. + +SERVANT. +Perhaps you have learned it without book. +But I pray, can you read anything you see? + +ROMEO. +Ay, If I know the letters and the language. + +SERVANT. +Ye say honestly, rest you merry! + +ROMEO. +Stay, fellow; I can read. + + [_He reads the letter._] + +_Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; +County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters; +The lady widow of Utruvio; +Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; +Mercutio and his brother Valentine; +Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; +My fair niece Rosaline and Livia; +Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; +Lucio and the lively Helena. _ + + +A fair assembly. [_Gives back the paper_] Whither should they come? + +SERVANT. +Up. + +ROMEO. +Whither to supper? + +SERVANT. +To our house. + +ROMEO. +Whose house? + +SERVANT. +My master’s. + +ROMEO. +Indeed I should have ask’d you that before. + +SERVANT. +Now I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet, +and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a +cup of wine. Rest you merry. + + [_Exit._] + +BENVOLIO. +At this same ancient feast of Capulet’s +Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st; +With all the admired beauties of Verona. +Go thither and with unattainted eye, +Compare her face with some that I shall show, +And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. + +ROMEO. +When the devout religion of mine eye +Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire; +And these who, often drown’d, could never die, +Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. +One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun +Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun. + +BENVOLIO. +Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, +Herself pois’d with herself in either eye: +But in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d +Your lady’s love against some other maid +That I will show you shining at this feast, +And she shall scant show well that now shows best. + +ROMEO. +I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown, +But to rejoice in splendour of my own. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Room in Capulet’s House. + + Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. + +LADY CAPULET. +Nurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me. + +NURSE. +Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, +I bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird! +God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet! + + Enter Juliet. + +JULIET. +How now, who calls? + +NURSE. +Your mother. + +JULIET. +Madam, I am here. What is your will? + +LADY CAPULET. +This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile, +We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again, +I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel. +Thou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age. + +NURSE. +Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. + +LADY CAPULET. +She’s not fourteen. + +NURSE. +I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth, +And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, +She is not fourteen. How long is it now +To Lammas-tide? + +LADY CAPULET. +A fortnight and odd days. + +NURSE. +Even or odd, of all days in the year, +Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen. +Susan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!— +Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; +She was too good for me. But as I said, +On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen; +That shall she, marry; I remember it well. +’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; +And she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it—, +Of all the days of the year, upon that day: +For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, +Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall; +My lord and you were then at Mantua: +Nay, I do bear a brain. But as I said, +When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple +Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, +To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug! +Shake, quoth the dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow, +To bid me trudge. +And since that time it is eleven years; +For then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood +She could have run and waddled all about; +For even the day before she broke her brow, +And then my husband,—God be with his soul! +A was a merry man,—took up the child: +‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face? +Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; +Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame, +The pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’. +To see now how a jest shall come about. +I warrant, and I should live a thousand years, +I never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he; +And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’ + +LADY CAPULET. +Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace. + +NURSE. +Yes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh, +To think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’; +And yet I warrant it had upon it brow +A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone; +A perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. +‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face? +Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; +Wilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’. + +JULIET. +And stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I. + +NURSE. +Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace +Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d: +And I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. + +LADY CAPULET. +Marry, that marry is the very theme +I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, +How stands your disposition to be married? + +JULIET. +It is an honour that I dream not of. + +NURSE. +An honour! Were not I thine only nurse, +I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat. + +LADY CAPULET. +Well, think of marriage now: younger than you, +Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, +Are made already mothers. By my count +I was your mother much upon these years +That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief; +The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. + +NURSE. +A man, young lady! Lady, such a man +As all the world—why he’s a man of wax. + +LADY CAPULET. +Verona’s summer hath not such a flower. + +NURSE. +Nay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower. + +LADY CAPULET. +What say you, can you love the gentleman? +This night you shall behold him at our feast; +Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face, +And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. +Examine every married lineament, +And see how one another lends content; +And what obscur’d in this fair volume lies, +Find written in the margent of his eyes. +This precious book of love, this unbound lover, +To beautify him, only lacks a cover: +The fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride +For fair without the fair within to hide. +That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory, +That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; +So shall you share all that he doth possess, +By having him, making yourself no less. + +NURSE. +No less, nay bigger. Women grow by men. + +LADY CAPULET. +Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love? + +JULIET. +I’ll look to like, if looking liking move: +But no more deep will I endart mine eye +Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady +asked for, the Nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. +I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight. + +LADY CAPULET. +We follow thee. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +Juliet, the County stays. + +NURSE. +Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Street. + + Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers; + Torch-bearers and others. + +ROMEO. +What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? +Or shall we on without apology? + +BENVOLIO. +The date is out of such prolixity: +We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf, +Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath, +Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; +Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke +After the prompter, for our entrance: +But let them measure us by what they will, +We’ll measure them a measure, and be gone. + +ROMEO. +Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling; +Being but heavy I will bear the light. + +MERCUTIO. +Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. + +ROMEO. +Not I, believe me, you have dancing shoes, +With nimble soles, I have a soul of lead +So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. + +MERCUTIO. +You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings, +And soar with them above a common bound. + +ROMEO. +I am too sore enpierced with his shaft +To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, +I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. +Under love’s heavy burden do I sink. + +MERCUTIO. +And, to sink in it, should you burden love; +Too great oppression for a tender thing. + +ROMEO. +Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, +Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. + +MERCUTIO. +If love be rough with you, be rough with love; +Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. +Give me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._] +A visor for a visor. What care I +What curious eye doth quote deformities? +Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me. + +BENVOLIO. +Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in +But every man betake him to his legs. + +ROMEO. +A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, +Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; +For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase, +I’ll be a candle-holder and look on, +The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done. + +MERCUTIO. +Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word: +If thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire +Or save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest +Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho. + +ROMEO. +Nay, that’s not so. + +MERCUTIO. +I mean sir, in delay +We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day. +Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits +Five times in that ere once in our five wits. + +ROMEO. +And we mean well in going to this mask; +But ’tis no wit to go. + +MERCUTIO. +Why, may one ask? + +ROMEO. +I dreamt a dream tonight. + +MERCUTIO. +And so did I. + +ROMEO. +Well what was yours? + +MERCUTIO. +That dreamers often lie. + +ROMEO. +In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. + +MERCUTIO. +O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. +She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes +In shape no bigger than an agate-stone +On the fore-finger of an alderman, +Drawn with a team of little atomies +Over men’s noses as they lie asleep: +Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs; +The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; +Her traces, of the smallest spider’s web; +The collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams; +Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film; +Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, +Not half so big as a round little worm +Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid: +Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, +Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, +Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers. +And in this state she gallops night by night +Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love; +O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight; +O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees; +O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream, +Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, +Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: +Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose, +And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; +And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail, +Tickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep, +Then dreams he of another benefice: +Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck, +And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, +Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades, +Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon +Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes; +And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, +And sleeps again. This is that very Mab +That plats the manes of horses in the night; +And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, +Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes: +This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, +That presses them, and learns them first to bear, +Making them women of good carriage: +This is she,— + +ROMEO. +Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, +Thou talk’st of nothing. + +MERCUTIO. +True, I talk of dreams, +Which are the children of an idle brain, +Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, +Which is as thin of substance as the air, +And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes +Even now the frozen bosom of the north, +And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence, +Turning his side to the dew-dropping south. + +BENVOLIO. +This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: +Supper is done, and we shall come too late. + +ROMEO. +I fear too early: for my mind misgives +Some consequence yet hanging in the stars, +Shall bitterly begin his fearful date +With this night’s revels; and expire the term +Of a despised life, clos’d in my breast +By some vile forfeit of untimely death. +But he that hath the steerage of my course +Direct my suit. On, lusty gentlemen! + +BENVOLIO. +Strike, drum. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. A Hall in Capulet’s House. + + Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. + +FIRST SERVANT. +Where’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away? +He shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher! + +SECOND SERVANT. +When good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands, and they +unwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing. + +FIRST SERVANT. +Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the +plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me, +let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan! + +SECOND SERVANT. +Ay, boy, ready. + +FIRST SERVANT. +You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the +great chamber. + +SECOND SERVANT. +We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and +the longer liver take all. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers. + +CAPULET. +Welcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes +Unplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you. +Ah my mistresses, which of you all +Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, +She I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now? +Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day +That I have worn a visor, and could tell +A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear, +Such as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone, +You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play. +A hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls. + + [_Music plays, and they dance._] + +More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, +And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. +Ah sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well. +Nay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet, +For you and I are past our dancing days; +How long is’t now since last yourself and I +Were in a mask? + +CAPULET’S COUSIN. +By’r Lady, thirty years. + +CAPULET. +What, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much: +’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, +Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, +Some five and twenty years; and then we mask’d. + +CAPULET’S COUSIN. +’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir; +His son is thirty. + +CAPULET. +Will you tell me that? +His son was but a ward two years ago. + +ROMEO. +What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand +Of yonder knight? + +SERVANT. +I know not, sir. + +ROMEO. +O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! +It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night +As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear; +Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! +So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows +As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. +The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, +And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. +Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! +For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night. + +TYBALT. +This by his voice, should be a Montague. +Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave +Come hither, cover’d with an antic face, +To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? +Now by the stock and honour of my kin, +To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. + +CAPULET. +Why how now, kinsman! +Wherefore storm you so? + +TYBALT. +Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; +A villain that is hither come in spite, +To scorn at our solemnity this night. + +CAPULET. +Young Romeo, is it? + +TYBALT. +’Tis he, that villain Romeo. + +CAPULET. +Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, +A bears him like a portly gentleman; +And, to say truth, Verona brags of him +To be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth. +I would not for the wealth of all the town +Here in my house do him disparagement. +Therefore be patient, take no note of him, +It is my will; the which if thou respect, +Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, +An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. + +TYBALT. +It fits when such a villain is a guest: +I’ll not endure him. + +CAPULET. +He shall be endur’d. +What, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to; +Am I the master here, or you? Go to. +You’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul, +You’ll make a mutiny among my guests! +You will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man! + +TYBALT. +Why, uncle, ’tis a shame. + +CAPULET. +Go to, go to! +You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed? +This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what. +You must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time. +Well said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go: +Be quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame! +I’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts. + +TYBALT. +Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting +Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. +I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, +Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. + + [_Exit._] + +ROMEO. +[_To Juliet._] If I profane with my unworthiest hand +This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, +My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand +To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. + +JULIET. +Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, +Which mannerly devotion shows in this; +For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, +And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss. + +ROMEO. +Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? + +JULIET. +Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. + +ROMEO. +O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: +They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. + +JULIET. +Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake. + +ROMEO. +Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take. +Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d. +[_Kissing her._] + +JULIET. +Then have my lips the sin that they have took. + +ROMEO. +Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! +Give me my sin again. + +JULIET. +You kiss by the book. + +NURSE. +Madam, your mother craves a word with you. + +ROMEO. +What is her mother? + +NURSE. +Marry, bachelor, +Her mother is the lady of the house, +And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. +I nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal. +I tell you, he that can lay hold of her +Shall have the chinks. + +ROMEO. +Is she a Capulet? +O dear account! My life is my foe’s debt. + +BENVOLIO. +Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. + +ROMEO. +Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. + +CAPULET. +Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone, +We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. +Is it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all; +I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. +More torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed. +Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late, +I’ll to my rest. + + [_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._] + +JULIET. +Come hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman? + +NURSE. +The son and heir of old Tiberio. + +JULIET. +What’s he that now is going out of door? + +NURSE. +Marry, that I think be young Petruchio. + +JULIET. +What’s he that follows here, that would not dance? + +NURSE. +I know not. + +JULIET. +Go ask his name. If he be married, +My grave is like to be my wedding bed. + +NURSE. +His name is Romeo, and a Montague, +The only son of your great enemy. + +JULIET. +My only love sprung from my only hate! +Too early seen unknown, and known too late! +Prodigious birth of love it is to me, +That I must love a loathed enemy. + +NURSE. +What’s this? What’s this? + +JULIET. +A rhyme I learn’d even now +Of one I danc’d withal. + + [_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._] + +NURSE. +Anon, anon! +Come let’s away, the strangers all are gone. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + + Enter Chorus. + +CHORUS. +Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, +And young affection gapes to be his heir; +That fair for which love groan’d for and would die, +With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair. +Now Romeo is belov’d, and loves again, +Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; +But to his foe suppos’d he must complain, +And she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks: +Being held a foe, he may not have access +To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; +And she as much in love, her means much less +To meet her new beloved anywhere. +But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, +Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden. + + Enter Romeo. + +ROMEO. +Can I go forward when my heart is here? +Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. + + [_He climbs the wall and leaps down within it._] + + Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. + +BENVOLIO. +Romeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo! + +MERCUTIO. +He is wise, +And on my life hath stol’n him home to bed. + +BENVOLIO. +He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: +Call, good Mercutio. + +MERCUTIO. +Nay, I’ll conjure too. +Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover! +Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, +Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; +Cry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove; +Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, +One nickname for her purblind son and heir, +Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim +When King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid. +He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; +The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. +I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, +By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, +By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, +And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, +That in thy likeness thou appear to us. + +BENVOLIO. +An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. + +MERCUTIO. +This cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him +To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle, +Of some strange nature, letting it there stand +Till she had laid it, and conjur’d it down; +That were some spite. My invocation +Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name, +I conjure only but to raise up him. + +BENVOLIO. +Come, he hath hid himself among these trees +To be consorted with the humorous night. +Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. + +MERCUTIO. +If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. +Now will he sit under a medlar tree, +And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit +As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. +O Romeo, that she were, O that she were +An open-arse and thou a poperin pear! +Romeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed. +This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. +Come, shall we go? + +BENVOLIO. +Go then; for ’tis in vain +To seek him here that means not to be found. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Capulet’s Garden. + + Enter Romeo. + +ROMEO. +He jests at scars that never felt a wound. + + Juliet appears above at a window. + +But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? +It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! +Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, +Who is already sick and pale with grief, +That thou her maid art far more fair than she. +Be not her maid since she is envious; +Her vestal livery is but sick and green, +And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. +It is my lady, O it is my love! +O, that she knew she were! +She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that? +Her eye discourses, I will answer it. +I am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks. +Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, +Having some business, do entreat her eyes +To twinkle in their spheres till they return. +What if her eyes were there, they in her head? +The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, +As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven +Would through the airy region stream so bright +That birds would sing and think it were not night. +See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. +O that I were a glove upon that hand, +That I might touch that cheek. + +JULIET. +Ay me. + +ROMEO. +She speaks. +O speak again bright angel, for thou art +As glorious to this night, being o’er my head, +As is a winged messenger of heaven +Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes +Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him +When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds +And sails upon the bosom of the air. + +JULIET. +O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? +Deny thy father and refuse thy name. +Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, +And I’ll no longer be a Capulet. + +ROMEO. +[_Aside._] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? + +JULIET. +’Tis but thy name that is my enemy; +Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. +What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, +Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part +Belonging to a man. O be some other name. +What’s in a name? That which we call a rose +By any other name would smell as sweet; +So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, +Retain that dear perfection which he owes +Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, +And for thy name, which is no part of thee, +Take all myself. + +ROMEO. +I take thee at thy word. +Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d; +Henceforth I never will be Romeo. + +JULIET. +What man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night +So stumblest on my counsel? + +ROMEO. +By a name +I know not how to tell thee who I am: +My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, +Because it is an enemy to thee. +Had I it written, I would tear the word. + +JULIET. +My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words +Of thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound. +Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? + +ROMEO. +Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike. + +JULIET. +How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? +The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, +And the place death, considering who thou art, +If any of my kinsmen find thee here. + +ROMEO. +With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, +For stony limits cannot hold love out, +And what love can do, that dares love attempt: +Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. + +JULIET. +If they do see thee, they will murder thee. + +ROMEO. +Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye +Than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, +And I am proof against their enmity. + +JULIET. +I would not for the world they saw thee here. + +ROMEO. +I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes, +And but thou love me, let them find me here. +My life were better ended by their hate +Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. + +JULIET. +By whose direction found’st thou out this place? + +ROMEO. +By love, that first did prompt me to enquire; +He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. +I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far +As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea, +I should adventure for such merchandise. + +JULIET. +Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, +Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek +For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. +Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny +What I have spoke; but farewell compliment. +Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay, +And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st, +Thou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries, +They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, +If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. +Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, +I’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay, +So thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world. +In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; +And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light: +But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true +Than those that have more cunning to be strange. +I should have been more strange, I must confess, +But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware, +My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, +And not impute this yielding to light love, +Which the dark night hath so discovered. + +ROMEO. +Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, +That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,— + +JULIET. +O swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon, +That monthly changes in her circled orb, +Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. + +ROMEO. +What shall I swear by? + +JULIET. +Do not swear at all. +Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, +Which is the god of my idolatry, +And I’ll believe thee. + +ROMEO. +If my heart’s dear love,— + +JULIET. +Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, +I have no joy of this contract tonight; +It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden, +Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be +Ere one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night. +This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, +May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. +Good night, good night. As sweet repose and rest +Come to thy heart as that within my breast. + +ROMEO. +O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? + +JULIET. +What satisfaction canst thou have tonight? + +ROMEO. +Th’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine. + +JULIET. +I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; +And yet I would it were to give again. + +ROMEO. +Would’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love? + +JULIET. +But to be frank and give it thee again. +And yet I wish but for the thing I have; +My bounty is as boundless as the sea, +My love as deep; the more I give to thee, +The more I have, for both are infinite. +I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu. +[_Nurse calls within._] +Anon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true. +Stay but a little, I will come again. + + [_Exit._] + +ROMEO. +O blessed, blessed night. I am afeard, +Being in night, all this is but a dream, +Too flattering sweet to be substantial. + + Enter Juliet above. + +JULIET. +Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. +If that thy bent of love be honourable, +Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow, +By one that I’ll procure to come to thee, +Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite, +And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay +And follow thee my lord throughout the world. + +NURSE. +[_Within._] Madam. + +JULIET. +I come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well, +I do beseech thee,— + +NURSE. +[_Within._] Madam. + +JULIET. +By and by I come— +To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief. +Tomorrow will I send. + +ROMEO. +So thrive my soul,— + +JULIET. +A thousand times good night. + + [_Exit._] + +ROMEO. +A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. +Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, +But love from love, towards school with heavy looks. + + [_Retiring slowly._] + + Re-enter Juliet, above. + +JULIET. +Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice +To lure this tassel-gentle back again. +Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud, +Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, +And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine +With repetition of my Romeo’s name. + +ROMEO. +It is my soul that calls upon my name. +How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, +Like softest music to attending ears. + +JULIET. +Romeo. + +ROMEO. +My nyas? + +JULIET. +What o’clock tomorrow +Shall I send to thee? + +ROMEO. +By the hour of nine. + +JULIET. +I will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then. +I have forgot why I did call thee back. + +ROMEO. +Let me stand here till thou remember it. + +JULIET. +I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, +Remembering how I love thy company. + +ROMEO. +And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, +Forgetting any other home but this. + +JULIET. +’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone, +And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird, +That lets it hop a little from her hand, +Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, +And with a silk thread plucks it back again, +So loving-jealous of his liberty. + +ROMEO. +I would I were thy bird. + +JULIET. +Sweet, so would I: +Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. +Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow +That I shall say good night till it be morrow. + + [_Exit._] + +ROMEO. +Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. +Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest. +The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night, +Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; +And darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels +From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels +Hence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell, +His help to crave and my dear hap to tell. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. + + Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, +The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry, +I must upfill this osier cage of ours +With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. +The earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb; +What is her burying grave, that is her womb: +And from her womb children of divers kind +We sucking on her natural bosom find. +Many for many virtues excellent, +None but for some, and yet all different. +O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies +In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities. +For naught so vile that on the earth doth live +But to the earth some special good doth give; +Nor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use, +Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. +Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied, +And vice sometime’s by action dignified. + + Enter Romeo. + +Within the infant rind of this weak flower +Poison hath residence, and medicine power: +For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; +Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. +Two such opposed kings encamp them still +In man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will; +And where the worser is predominant, +Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. + +ROMEO. +Good morrow, father. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Benedicite! +What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? +Young son, it argues a distemper’d head +So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed. +Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, +And where care lodges sleep will never lie; +But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain +Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. +Therefore thy earliness doth me assure +Thou art uprous’d with some distemperature; +Or if not so, then here I hit it right, +Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight. + +ROMEO. +That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +God pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline? + +ROMEO. +With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. +I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +That’s my good son. But where hast thou been then? + +ROMEO. +I’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again. +I have been feasting with mine enemy, +Where on a sudden one hath wounded me +That’s by me wounded. Both our remedies +Within thy help and holy physic lies. +I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo, +My intercession likewise steads my foe. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; +Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. + +ROMEO. +Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set +On the fair daughter of rich Capulet. +As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; +And all combin’d, save what thou must combine +By holy marriage. When, and where, and how +We met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow, +I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, +That thou consent to marry us today. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! +Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, +So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies +Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. +Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine +Hath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! +How much salt water thrown away in waste, +To season love, that of it doth not taste. +The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, +Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears. +Lo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit +Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet. +If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, +Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, +And art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then, +Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men. + +ROMEO. +Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. + +ROMEO. +And bad’st me bury love. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Not in a grave +To lay one in, another out to have. + +ROMEO. +I pray thee chide me not, her I love now +Doth grace for grace and love for love allow. +The other did not so. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +O, she knew well +Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell. +But come young waverer, come go with me, +In one respect I’ll thy assistant be; +For this alliance may so happy prove, +To turn your households’ rancour to pure love. + +ROMEO. +O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Street. + + Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. + +MERCUTIO. +Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight? + +BENVOLIO. +Not to his father’s; I spoke with his man. + +MERCUTIO. +Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so +that he will sure run mad. + +BENVOLIO. +Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s +house. + +MERCUTIO. +A challenge, on my life. + +BENVOLIO. +Romeo will answer it. + +MERCUTIO. +Any man that can write may answer a letter. + +BENVOLIO. +Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared. + +MERCUTIO. +Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black +eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart +cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter +Tybalt? + +BENVOLIO. +Why, what is Tybalt? + +MERCUTIO. +More than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of +compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, +and proportion. He rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in +your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; +a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, +the immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay. + +BENVOLIO. +The what? + +MERCUTIO. +The pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners +of accent. By Jesu, a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good +whore. Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should +be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, +these pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot +sit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones! + + Enter Romeo. + +BENVOLIO. +Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo! + +MERCUTIO. +Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou +fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to +his lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to +berhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings +and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior +Romeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You +gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. + +ROMEO. +Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? + +MERCUTIO. +The slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive? + +ROMEO. +Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as +mine a man may strain courtesy. + +MERCUTIO. +That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow +in the hams. + +ROMEO. +Meaning, to curtsy. + +MERCUTIO. +Thou hast most kindly hit it. + +ROMEO. +A most courteous exposition. + +MERCUTIO. +Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. + +ROMEO. +Pink for flower. + +MERCUTIO. +Right. + +ROMEO. +Why, then is my pump well flowered. + +MERCUTIO. +Sure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump, +that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the +wearing, solely singular. + +ROMEO. +O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness! + +MERCUTIO. +Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. + +ROMEO. +Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match. + +MERCUTIO. +Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done. For thou hast +more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my +whole five. Was I with you there for the goose? + +ROMEO. +Thou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the +goose. + +MERCUTIO. +I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. + +ROMEO. +Nay, good goose, bite not. + +MERCUTIO. +Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce. + +ROMEO. +And is it not then well served in to a sweet goose? + +MERCUTIO. +O here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an +ell broad. + +ROMEO. +I stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves +thee far and wide a broad goose. + +MERCUTIO. +Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou +sociable, now art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by art as +well as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a great natural, +that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. + +BENVOLIO. +Stop there, stop there. + +MERCUTIO. +Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. + +BENVOLIO. +Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. + +MERCUTIO. +O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the +whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no +longer. + + Enter Nurse and Peter. + +ROMEO. +Here’s goodly gear! +A sail, a sail! + +MERCUTIO. +Two, two; a shirt and a smock. + +NURSE. +Peter! + +PETER. +Anon. + +NURSE. +My fan, Peter. + +MERCUTIO. +Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face. + +NURSE. +God ye good morrow, gentlemen. + +MERCUTIO. +God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. + +NURSE. +Is it good-den? + +MERCUTIO. +’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the +prick of noon. + +NURSE. +Out upon you! What a man are you? + +ROMEO. +One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. + +NURSE. +By my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar, quoth a? Gentlemen, +can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? + +ROMEO. +I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him +than he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for +fault of a worse. + +NURSE. +You say well. + +MERCUTIO. +Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely. + +NURSE. +If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. + +BENVOLIO. +She will endite him to some supper. + +MERCUTIO. +A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! + +ROMEO. +What hast thou found? + +MERCUTIO. +No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something +stale and hoar ere it be spent. +[_Sings._] + An old hare hoar, + And an old hare hoar, + Is very good meat in Lent; + But a hare that is hoar + Is too much for a score + When it hoars ere it be spent. +Romeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither. + +ROMEO. +I will follow you. + +MERCUTIO. +Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. + + [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._] + +NURSE. +I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his +ropery? + +ROMEO. +A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak +more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. + +NURSE. +And a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier +than he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those +that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of +his skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to +use me at his pleasure! + +PETER. +I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should +quickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another +man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. + +NURSE. +Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy +knave. Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me +enquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first +let me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they +say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the +gentlewoman is young. And therefore, if you should deal double with +her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and +very weak dealing. + +ROMEO. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto +thee,— + +NURSE. +Good heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will +be a joyful woman. + +ROMEO. +What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me. + +NURSE. +I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a +gentlemanlike offer. + +ROMEO. +Bid her devise +Some means to come to shrift this afternoon, +And there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell +Be shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains. + +NURSE. +No truly, sir; not a penny. + +ROMEO. +Go to; I say you shall. + +NURSE. +This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there. + +ROMEO. +And stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall. +Within this hour my man shall be with thee, +And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, +Which to the high topgallant of my joy +Must be my convoy in the secret night. +Farewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains; +Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. + +NURSE. +Now God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir. + +ROMEO. +What say’st thou, my dear Nurse? + +NURSE. +Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say, +Two may keep counsel, putting one away? + +ROMEO. +I warrant thee my man’s as true as steel. + +NURSE. +Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a +little prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that +would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a +toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that +Paris is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she +looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and +Romeo begin both with a letter? + +ROMEO. +Ay, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R. + +NURSE. +Ah, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins +with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, +of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. + +ROMEO. +Commend me to thy lady. + +NURSE. +Ay, a thousand times. Peter! + + [_Exit Romeo._] + +PETER. +Anon. + +NURSE. +Before and apace. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Capulet’s Garden. + + Enter Juliet. + +JULIET. +The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse, +In half an hour she promised to return. +Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. +O, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts, +Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams, +Driving back shadows over lowering hills: +Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, +And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. +Now is the sun upon the highmost hill +Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve +Is three long hours, yet she is not come. +Had she affections and warm youthful blood, +She’d be as swift in motion as a ball; +My words would bandy her to my sweet love, +And his to me. +But old folks, many feign as they were dead; +Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. + + Enter Nurse and Peter. + +O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news? +Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. + +NURSE. +Peter, stay at the gate. + + [_Exit Peter._] + +JULIET. +Now, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad? +Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; +If good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news +By playing it to me with so sour a face. + +NURSE. +I am aweary, give me leave awhile; +Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! + +JULIET. +I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: +Nay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak. + +NURSE. +Jesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am +out of breath? + +JULIET. +How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath +To say to me that thou art out of breath? +The excuse that thou dost make in this delay +Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. +Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that; +Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance. +Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad? + +NURSE. +Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. +Romeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his +leg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though +they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the +flower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy +ways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home? + +JULIET. +No, no. But all this did I know before. +What says he of our marriage? What of that? + +NURSE. +Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I! +It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. +My back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back! +Beshrew your heart for sending me about +To catch my death with jauncing up and down. + +JULIET. +I’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. +Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love? + +NURSE. +Your love says like an honest gentleman, +And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, +And I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother? + +JULIET. +Where is my mother? Why, she is within. +Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest. +‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman, +‘Where is your mother?’ + +NURSE. +O God’s lady dear, +Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow. +Is this the poultice for my aching bones? +Henceforward do your messages yourself. + +JULIET. +Here’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo? + +NURSE. +Have you got leave to go to shrift today? + +JULIET. +I have. + +NURSE. +Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell; +There stays a husband to make you a wife. +Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, +They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news. +Hie you to church. I must another way, +To fetch a ladder by the which your love +Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark. +I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; +But you shall bear the burden soon at night. +Go. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell. + +JULIET. +Hie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. + + Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +So smile the heavens upon this holy act +That after-hours with sorrow chide us not. + +ROMEO. +Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can, +It cannot countervail the exchange of joy +That one short minute gives me in her sight. +Do thou but close our hands with holy words, +Then love-devouring death do what he dare, +It is enough I may but call her mine. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +These violent delights have violent ends, +And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, +Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey +Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, +And in the taste confounds the appetite. +Therefore love moderately: long love doth so; +Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. + + Enter Juliet. + +Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot +Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint. +A lover may bestride the gossamers +That idles in the wanton summer air +And yet not fall; so light is vanity. + +JULIET. +Good even to my ghostly confessor. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. + +JULIET. +As much to him, else is his thanks too much. + +ROMEO. +Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy +Be heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more +To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath +This neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue +Unfold the imagin’d happiness that both +Receive in either by this dear encounter. + +JULIET. +Conceit more rich in matter than in words, +Brags of his substance, not of ornament. +They are but beggars that can count their worth; +But my true love is grown to such excess, +I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Come, come with me, and we will make short work, +For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone +Till holy church incorporate two in one. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A public Place. + + Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and Servants. + +BENVOLIO. +I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire: +The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, +And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl, +For now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. + +MERCUTIO. +Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of +a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no +need of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the +drawer, when indeed there is no need. + +BENVOLIO. +Am I like such a fellow? + +MERCUTIO. +Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as +soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. + +BENVOLIO. +And what to? + +MERCUTIO. +Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would +kill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a +hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel +with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou +hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? +Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy +head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast +quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath +wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall +out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with +another for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt +tutor me from quarrelling! + +BENVOLIO. +And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee +simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. + +MERCUTIO. +The fee simple! O simple! + + Enter Tybalt and others. + +BENVOLIO. +By my head, here comes the Capulets. + +MERCUTIO. +By my heel, I care not. + +TYBALT. +Follow me close, for I will speak to them. +Gentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you. + +MERCUTIO. +And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a +word and a blow. + +TYBALT. +You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me +occasion. + +MERCUTIO. +Could you not take some occasion without giving? + +TYBALT. +Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo. + +MERCUTIO. +Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of +us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s +that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort! + +BENVOLIO. +We talk here in the public haunt of men. +Either withdraw unto some private place, +And reason coldly of your grievances, +Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. + +MERCUTIO. +Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. +I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I. + + Enter Romeo. + +TYBALT. +Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man. + +MERCUTIO. +But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery. +Marry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower; +Your worship in that sense may call him man. + +TYBALT. +Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford +No better term than this: Thou art a villain. + +ROMEO. +Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee +Doth much excuse the appertaining rage +To such a greeting. Villain am I none; +Therefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not. + +TYBALT. +Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries +That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw. + +ROMEO. +I do protest I never injur’d thee, +But love thee better than thou canst devise +Till thou shalt know the reason of my love. +And so good Capulet, which name I tender +As dearly as mine own, be satisfied. + +MERCUTIO. +O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! +[_Draws._] Alla stoccata carries it away. +Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? + +TYBALT. +What wouldst thou have with me? + +MERCUTIO. +Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to +make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest +of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? +Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. + +TYBALT. +[_Drawing._] I am for you. + +ROMEO. +Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. + +MERCUTIO. +Come, sir, your passado. + + [_They fight._] + +ROMEO. +Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. +Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage, +Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath +Forbid this bandying in Verona streets. +Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio! + + [_Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans._] + +MERCUTIO. +I am hurt. +A plague o’ both your houses. I am sped. +Is he gone, and hath nothing? + +BENVOLIO. +What, art thou hurt? + +MERCUTIO. +Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough. +Where is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon. + + [_Exit Page._] + +ROMEO. +Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. + +MERCUTIO. +No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but ’tis +enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a +grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’ both +your houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to +death. A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of +arithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your +arm. + +ROMEO. +I thought all for the best. + +MERCUTIO. +Help me into some house, Benvolio, +Or I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses. +They have made worms’ meat of me. +I have it, and soundly too. Your houses! + + [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._] + +ROMEO. +This gentleman, the Prince’s near ally, +My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt +In my behalf; my reputation stain’d +With Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour +Hath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet, +Thy beauty hath made me effeminate +And in my temper soften’d valour’s steel. + + Re-enter Benvolio. + +BENVOLIO. +O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead, +That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds, +Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. + +ROMEO. +This day’s black fate on mo days doth depend; +This but begins the woe others must end. + + Re-enter Tybalt. + +BENVOLIO. +Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. + +ROMEO. +Again in triumph, and Mercutio slain? +Away to heaven respective lenity, +And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now! +Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again +That late thou gav’st me, for Mercutio’s soul +Is but a little way above our heads, +Staying for thine to keep him company. +Either thou or I, or both, must go with him. + +TYBALT. +Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here, +Shalt with him hence. + +ROMEO. +This shall determine that. + + [_They fight; Tybalt falls._] + +BENVOLIO. +Romeo, away, be gone! +The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. +Stand not amaz’d. The Prince will doom thee death +If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away! + +ROMEO. +O, I am fortune’s fool! + +BENVOLIO. +Why dost thou stay? + + [_Exit Romeo._] + + Enter Citizens. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio? +Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? + +BENVOLIO. +There lies that Tybalt. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Up, sir, go with me. +I charge thee in the Prince’s name obey. + + Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives and others. + +PRINCE. +Where are the vile beginners of this fray? + +BENVOLIO. +O noble Prince, I can discover all +The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl. +There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, +That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. + +LADY CAPULET. +Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child! +O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d +Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, +For blood of ours shed blood of Montague. +O cousin, cousin. + +PRINCE. +Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? + +BENVOLIO. +Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay; +Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink +How nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal +Your high displeasure. All this uttered +With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d +Could not take truce with the unruly spleen +Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts +With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast, +Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, +And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats +Cold death aside, and with the other sends +It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity +Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud, +‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue, +His agile arm beats down their fatal points, +And ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm +An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life +Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled. +But by and by comes back to Romeo, +Who had but newly entertain’d revenge, +And to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I +Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain; +And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly. +This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. + +LADY CAPULET. +He is a kinsman to the Montague. +Affection makes him false, he speaks not true. +Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, +And all those twenty could but kill one life. +I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give; +Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. + +PRINCE. +Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio. +Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? + +MONTAGUE. +Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend; +His fault concludes but what the law should end, +The life of Tybalt. + +PRINCE. +And for that offence +Immediately we do exile him hence. +I have an interest in your hate’s proceeding, +My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding. +But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine +That you shall all repent the loss of mine. +I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; +Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses. +Therefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste, +Else, when he is found, that hour is his last. +Bear hence this body, and attend our will. +Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House. + + Enter Juliet. + +JULIET. +Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, +Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner +As Phaeton would whip you to the west +And bring in cloudy night immediately. +Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, +That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo +Leap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen. +Lovers can see to do their amorous rites +By their own beauties: or, if love be blind, +It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, +Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, +And learn me how to lose a winning match, +Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. +Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks, +With thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold, +Think true love acted simple modesty. +Come, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night; +For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night +Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back. +Come gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night, +Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die, +Take him and cut him out in little stars, +And he will make the face of heaven so fine +That all the world will be in love with night, +And pay no worship to the garish sun. +O, I have bought the mansion of a love, +But not possess’d it; and though I am sold, +Not yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day +As is the night before some festival +To an impatient child that hath new robes +And may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse, +And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks +But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence. + + Enter Nurse, with cords. + +Now, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there? +The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch? + +NURSE. +Ay, ay, the cords. + + [_Throws them down._] + +JULIET. +Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands? + +NURSE. +Ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! +We are undone, lady, we are undone. +Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead. + +JULIET. +Can heaven be so envious? + +NURSE. +Romeo can, +Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo. +Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! + +JULIET. +What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? +This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell. +Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay, +And that bare vowel I shall poison more +Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. +I am not I if there be such an I; +Or those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay. +If he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No. +Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. + +NURSE. +I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, +God save the mark!—here on his manly breast. +A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; +Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood, +All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight. + +JULIET. +O, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once. +To prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty. +Vile earth to earth resign; end motion here, +And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier. + +NURSE. +O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had. +O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman! +That ever I should live to see thee dead. + +JULIET. +What storm is this that blows so contrary? +Is Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead? +My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord? +Then dreadful trumpet sound the general doom, +For who is living, if those two are gone? + +NURSE. +Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished, +Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished. + +JULIET. +O God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood? + +NURSE. +It did, it did; alas the day, it did. + +JULIET. +O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! +Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? +Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical, +Dove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! +Despised substance of divinest show! +Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st, +A damned saint, an honourable villain! +O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell +When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend +In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? +Was ever book containing such vile matter +So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell +In such a gorgeous palace. + +NURSE. +There’s no trust, +No faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d, +All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. +Ah, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae. +These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. +Shame come to Romeo. + +JULIET. +Blister’d be thy tongue +For such a wish! He was not born to shame. +Upon his brow shame is asham’d to sit; +For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d +Sole monarch of the universal earth. +O, what a beast was I to chide at him! + +NURSE. +Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin? + +JULIET. +Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? +Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, +When I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it? +But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? +That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband. +Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring, +Your tributary drops belong to woe, +Which you mistaking offer up to joy. +My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain, +And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband. +All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? +Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death, +That murder’d me. I would forget it fain, +But O, it presses to my memory +Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds. +Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished. +That ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’ +Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death +Was woe enough, if it had ended there. +Or if sour woe delights in fellowship, +And needly will be rank’d with other griefs, +Why follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead, +Thy father or thy mother, nay or both, +Which modern lamentation might have mov’d? +But with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death, +‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word +Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, +All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished, +There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, +In that word’s death, no words can that woe sound. +Where is my father and my mother, Nurse? + +NURSE. +Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse. +Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. + +JULIET. +Wash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent, +When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment. +Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d, +Both you and I; for Romeo is exil’d. +He made you for a highway to my bed, +But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. +Come cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed, +And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead. + +NURSE. +Hie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo +To comfort you. I wot well where he is. +Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night. +I’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell. + +JULIET. +O find him, give this ring to my true knight, +And bid him come to take his last farewell. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell. + + Enter Friar Lawrence. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man. +Affliction is enanmour’d of thy parts +And thou art wedded to calamity. + + Enter Romeo. + +ROMEO. +Father, what news? What is the Prince’s doom? +What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, +That I yet know not? + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Too familiar +Is my dear son with such sour company. +I bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom. + +ROMEO. +What less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom? + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +A gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips, +Not body’s death, but body’s banishment. + +ROMEO. +Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say death; +For exile hath more terror in his look, +Much more than death. Do not say banishment. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Hence from Verona art thou banished. +Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. + +ROMEO. +There is no world without Verona walls, +But purgatory, torture, hell itself. +Hence banished is banish’d from the world, +And world’s exile is death. Then banished +Is death misterm’d. Calling death banished, +Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe, +And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +O deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness! +Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince, +Taking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law, +And turn’d that black word death to banishment. +This is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not. + +ROMEO. +’Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here +Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog, +And little mouse, every unworthy thing, +Live here in heaven and may look on her, +But Romeo may not. More validity, +More honourable state, more courtship lives +In carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize +On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand, +And steal immortal blessing from her lips, +Who, even in pure and vestal modesty +Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin. +But Romeo may not, he is banished. +This may flies do, when I from this must fly. +They are free men but I am banished. +And say’st thou yet that exile is not death? +Hadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife, +No sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean, +But banished to kill me? Banished? +O Friar, the damned use that word in hell. +Howlings attends it. How hast thou the heart, +Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, +A sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d, +To mangle me with that word banished? + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Thou fond mad man, hear me speak a little, + +ROMEO. +O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +I’ll give thee armour to keep off that word, +Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy, +To comfort thee, though thou art banished. + +ROMEO. +Yet banished? Hang up philosophy. +Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, +Displant a town, reverse a Prince’s doom, +It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +O, then I see that mad men have no ears. + +ROMEO. +How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. + +ROMEO. +Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel. +Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, +An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, +Doting like me, and like me banished, +Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, +And fall upon the ground as I do now, +Taking the measure of an unmade grave. + + [_Knocking within._] + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself. + +ROMEO. +Not I, unless the breath of heartsick groans +Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. + + [_Knocking._] + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Hark, how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise, +Thou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile.—Stand up. + + [_Knocking._] + +Run to my study.—By-and-by.—God’s will, +What simpleness is this.—I come, I come. + + [_Knocking._] + +Who knocks so hard? Whence come you, what’s your will? + +NURSE. +[_Within._] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand. +I come from Lady Juliet. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Welcome then. + + Enter Nurse. + +NURSE. +O holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar, +Where is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo? + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. + +NURSE. +O, he is even in my mistress’ case. +Just in her case! O woeful sympathy! +Piteous predicament. Even so lies she, +Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. +Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man. +For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand. +Why should you fall into so deep an O? + +ROMEO. +Nurse. + +NURSE. +Ah sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all. + +ROMEO. +Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her? +Doth not she think me an old murderer, +Now I have stain’d the childhood of our joy +With blood remov’d but little from her own? +Where is she? And how doth she? And what says +My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love? + +NURSE. +O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; +And now falls on her bed, and then starts up, +And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries, +And then down falls again. + +ROMEO. +As if that name, +Shot from the deadly level of a gun, +Did murder her, as that name’s cursed hand +Murder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me, +In what vile part of this anatomy +Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack +The hateful mansion. + + [_Drawing his sword._] + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Hold thy desperate hand. +Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art. +Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote +The unreasonable fury of a beast. +Unseemly woman in a seeming man, +And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! +Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order, +I thought thy disposition better temper’d. +Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself? +And slay thy lady, that in thy life lives, +By doing damned hate upon thyself? +Why rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth? +Since birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet +In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. +Fie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit, +Which, like a usurer, abound’st in all, +And usest none in that true use indeed +Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. +Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, +Digressing from the valour of a man; +Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, +Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish; +Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, +Misshapen in the conduct of them both, +Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask, +Is set afire by thine own ignorance, +And thou dismember’d with thine own defence. +What, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive, +For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead. +There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, +But thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy. +The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend, +And turns it to exile; there art thou happy. +A pack of blessings light upon thy back; +Happiness courts thee in her best array; +But like a misshaped and sullen wench, +Thou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love. +Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. +Go, get thee to thy love as was decreed, +Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her. +But look thou stay not till the watch be set, +For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; +Where thou shalt live till we can find a time +To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, +Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back +With twenty hundred thousand times more joy +Than thou went’st forth in lamentation. +Go before, Nurse. Commend me to thy lady, +And bid her hasten all the house to bed, +Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto. +Romeo is coming. + +NURSE. +O Lord, I could have stay’d here all the night +To hear good counsel. O, what learning is! +My lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come. + +ROMEO. +Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. + +NURSE. +Here sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir. +Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. + + [_Exit._] + +ROMEO. +How well my comfort is reviv’d by this. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Go hence, good night, and here stands all your state: +Either be gone before the watch be set, +Or by the break of day disguis’d from hence. +Sojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man, +And he shall signify from time to time +Every good hap to you that chances here. +Give me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night. + +ROMEO. +But that a joy past joy calls out on me, +It were a grief so brief to part with thee. +Farewell. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Room in Capulet’s House. + + Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and Paris. + +CAPULET. +Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily +That we have had no time to move our daughter. +Look you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly, +And so did I. Well, we were born to die. +’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight. +I promise you, but for your company, +I would have been abed an hour ago. + +PARIS. +These times of woe afford no tune to woo. +Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter. + +LADY CAPULET. +I will, and know her mind early tomorrow; +Tonight she’s mew’d up to her heaviness. + +CAPULET. +Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender +Of my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d +In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. +Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed, +Acquaint her here of my son Paris’ love, +And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next, +But, soft, what day is this? + +PARIS. +Monday, my lord. + +CAPULET. +Monday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, +A Thursday let it be; a Thursday, tell her, +She shall be married to this noble earl. +Will you be ready? Do you like this haste? +We’ll keep no great ado,—a friend or two, +For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, +It may be thought we held him carelessly, +Being our kinsman, if we revel much. +Therefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends, +And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? + +PARIS. +My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow. + +CAPULET. +Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then. +Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, +Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. +Farewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho! +Afore me, it is so very very late that we +May call it early by and by. Good night. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden. + + Enter Romeo and Juliet. + +JULIET. +Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. +It was the nightingale, and not the lark, +That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear; +Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. +Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. + +ROMEO. +It was the lark, the herald of the morn, +No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks +Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. +Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day +Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. +I must be gone and live, or stay and die. + +JULIET. +Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I. +It is some meteor that the sun exhales +To be to thee this night a torchbearer +And light thee on thy way to Mantua. +Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone. + +ROMEO. +Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death, +I am content, so thou wilt have it so. +I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye, +’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow. +Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat +The vaulty heaven so high above our heads. +I have more care to stay than will to go. +Come, death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so. +How is’t, my soul? Let’s talk. It is not day. + +JULIET. +It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away. +It is the lark that sings so out of tune, +Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. +Some say the lark makes sweet division; +This doth not so, for she divideth us. +Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes. +O, now I would they had chang’d voices too, +Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, +Hunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day. +O now be gone, more light and light it grows. + +ROMEO. +More light and light, more dark and dark our woes. + + Enter Nurse. + +NURSE. +Madam. + +JULIET. +Nurse? + +NURSE. +Your lady mother is coming to your chamber. +The day is broke, be wary, look about. + + [_Exit._] + +JULIET. +Then, window, let day in, and let life out. + +ROMEO. +Farewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend. + + [_Descends._] + +JULIET. +Art thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend, +I must hear from thee every day in the hour, +For in a minute there are many days. +O, by this count I shall be much in years +Ere I again behold my Romeo. + +ROMEO. +Farewell! +I will omit no opportunity +That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. + +JULIET. +O thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? + +ROMEO. +I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve +For sweet discourses in our time to come. + +JULIET. +O God! I have an ill-divining soul! +Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low, +As one dead in the bottom of a tomb. +Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale. + +ROMEO. +And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. +Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu. + + [_Exit below._] + +JULIET. +O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle, +If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him +That is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune; +For then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long +But send him back. + +LADY CAPULET. +[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up? + +JULIET. +Who is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother? +Is she not down so late, or up so early? +What unaccustom’d cause procures her hither? + + Enter Lady Capulet. + +LADY CAPULET. +Why, how now, Juliet? + +JULIET. +Madam, I am not well. + +LADY CAPULET. +Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death? +What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? +And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live. +Therefore have done: some grief shows much of love, +But much of grief shows still some want of wit. + +JULIET. +Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. + +LADY CAPULET. +So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend +Which you weep for. + +JULIET. +Feeling so the loss, +I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. + +LADY CAPULET. +Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death +As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him. + +JULIET. +What villain, madam? + +LADY CAPULET. +That same villain Romeo. + +JULIET. +Villain and he be many miles asunder. +God pardon him. I do, with all my heart. +And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. + +LADY CAPULET. +That is because the traitor murderer lives. + +JULIET. +Ay madam, from the reach of these my hands. +Would none but I might venge my cousin’s death. + +LADY CAPULET. +We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not. +Then weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua, +Where that same banish’d runagate doth live, +Shall give him such an unaccustom’d dram +That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: +And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. + +JULIET. +Indeed I never shall be satisfied +With Romeo till I behold him—dead— +Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d. +Madam, if you could find out but a man +To bear a poison, I would temper it, +That Romeo should upon receipt thereof, +Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors +To hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him, +To wreak the love I bore my cousin +Upon his body that hath slaughter’d him. + +LADY CAPULET. +Find thou the means, and I’ll find such a man. +But now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. + +JULIET. +And joy comes well in such a needy time. +What are they, I beseech your ladyship? + +LADY CAPULET. +Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; +One who to put thee from thy heaviness, +Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, +That thou expects not, nor I look’d not for. + +JULIET. +Madam, in happy time, what day is that? + +LADY CAPULET. +Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn +The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, +The County Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church, +Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. + +JULIET. +Now by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, +He shall not make me there a joyful bride. +I wonder at this haste, that I must wed +Ere he that should be husband comes to woo. +I pray you tell my lord and father, madam, +I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear +It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, +Rather than Paris. These are news indeed. + +LADY CAPULET. +Here comes your father, tell him so yourself, +And see how he will take it at your hands. + + Enter Capulet and Nurse. + +CAPULET. +When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; +But for the sunset of my brother’s son +It rains downright. +How now? A conduit, girl? What, still in tears? +Evermore showering? In one little body +Thou counterfeits a bark, a sea, a wind. +For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, +Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, +Sailing in this salt flood, the winds, thy sighs, +Who raging with thy tears and they with them, +Without a sudden calm will overset +Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife? +Have you deliver’d to her our decree? + +LADY CAPULET. +Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. +I would the fool were married to her grave. + +CAPULET. +Soft. Take me with you, take me with you, wife. +How, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks? +Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blest, +Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought +So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? + +JULIET. +Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. +Proud can I never be of what I hate; +But thankful even for hate that is meant love. + +CAPULET. +How now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this? +Proud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not; +And yet not proud. Mistress minion you, +Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, +But fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next +To go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church, +Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. +Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage! +You tallow-face! + +LADY CAPULET. +Fie, fie! What, are you mad? + +JULIET. +Good father, I beseech you on my knees, +Hear me with patience but to speak a word. + +CAPULET. +Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch! +I tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday, +Or never after look me in the face. +Speak not, reply not, do not answer me. +My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest +That God had lent us but this only child; +But now I see this one is one too much, +And that we have a curse in having her. +Out on her, hilding. + +NURSE. +God in heaven bless her. +You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. + +CAPULET. +And why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue, +Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. + +NURSE. +I speak no treason. + +CAPULET. +O God ye good-en! + +NURSE. +May not one speak? + +CAPULET. +Peace, you mumbling fool! +Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl, +For here we need it not. + +LADY CAPULET. +You are too hot. + +CAPULET. +God’s bread, it makes me mad! +Day, night, hour, ride, time, work, play, +Alone, in company, still my care hath been +To have her match’d, and having now provided +A gentleman of noble parentage, +Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied, +Stuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts, +Proportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man, +And then to have a wretched puling fool, +A whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender, +To answer, ‘I’ll not wed, I cannot love, +I am too young, I pray you pardon me.’ +But, and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you. +Graze where you will, you shall not house with me. +Look to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest. +Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise. +And you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend; +And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, +For by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee, +Nor what is mine shall never do thee good. +Trust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn. + + [_Exit._] + +JULIET. +Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, +That sees into the bottom of my grief? +O sweet my mother, cast me not away, +Delay this marriage for a month, a week, +Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed +In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. + +LADY CAPULET. +Talk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word. +Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. + + [_Exit._] + +JULIET. +O God! O Nurse, how shall this be prevented? +My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven. +How shall that faith return again to earth, +Unless that husband send it me from heaven +By leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me. +Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems +Upon so soft a subject as myself. +What say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy? +Some comfort, Nurse. + +NURSE. +Faith, here it is. +Romeo is banished; and all the world to nothing +That he dares ne’er come back to challenge you. +Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth. +Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, +I think it best you married with the County. +O, he’s a lovely gentleman. +Romeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam, +Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye +As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, +I think you are happy in this second match, +For it excels your first: or if it did not, +Your first is dead, or ’twere as good he were, +As living here and you no use of him. + +JULIET. +Speakest thou from thy heart? + +NURSE. +And from my soul too, +Or else beshrew them both. + +JULIET. +Amen. + +NURSE. +What? + +JULIET. +Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. +Go in, and tell my lady I am gone, +Having displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell, +To make confession and to be absolv’d. + +NURSE. +Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. + + [_Exit._] + +JULIET. +Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! +Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, +Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue +Which she hath prais’d him with above compare +So many thousand times? Go, counsellor. +Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. +I’ll to the Friar to know his remedy. +If all else fail, myself have power to die. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. + + Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +On Thursday, sir? The time is very short. + +PARIS. +My father Capulet will have it so; +And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +You say you do not know the lady’s mind. +Uneven is the course; I like it not. + +PARIS. +Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death, +And therefore have I little talk’d of love; +For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. +Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous +That she do give her sorrow so much sway; +And in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, +To stop the inundation of her tears, +Which, too much minded by herself alone, +May be put from her by society. +Now do you know the reason of this haste. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +[_Aside._] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d.— +Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell. + + Enter Juliet. + +PARIS. +Happily met, my lady and my wife! + +JULIET. +That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. + +PARIS. +That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next. + +JULIET. +What must be shall be. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +That’s a certain text. + +PARIS. +Come you to make confession to this father? + +JULIET. +To answer that, I should confess to you. + +PARIS. +Do not deny to him that you love me. + +JULIET. +I will confess to you that I love him. + +PARIS. +So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. + +JULIET. +If I do so, it will be of more price, +Being spoke behind your back than to your face. + +PARIS. +Poor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears. + +JULIET. +The tears have got small victory by that; +For it was bad enough before their spite. + +PARIS. +Thou wrong’st it more than tears with that report. + +JULIET. +That is no slander, sir, which is a truth, +And what I spake, I spake it to my face. + +PARIS. +Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it. + +JULIET. +It may be so, for it is not mine own. +Are you at leisure, holy father, now, +Or shall I come to you at evening mass? + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.— +My lord, we must entreat the time alone. + +PARIS. +God shield I should disturb devotion!— +Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye, +Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. + + [_Exit._] + +JULIET. +O shut the door, and when thou hast done so, +Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help! + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +O Juliet, I already know thy grief; +It strains me past the compass of my wits. +I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, +On Thursday next be married to this County. + +JULIET. +Tell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st of this, +Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it. +If in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, +Do thou but call my resolution wise, +And with this knife I’ll help it presently. +God join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands; +And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d, +Shall be the label to another deed, +Or my true heart with treacherous revolt +Turn to another, this shall slay them both. +Therefore, out of thy long-experienc’d time, +Give me some present counsel, or behold +’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife +Shall play the empire, arbitrating that +Which the commission of thy years and art +Could to no issue of true honour bring. +Be not so long to speak. I long to die, +If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope, +Which craves as desperate an execution +As that is desperate which we would prevent. +If, rather than to marry County Paris +Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, +Then is it likely thou wilt undertake +A thing like death to chide away this shame, +That cop’st with death himself to scape from it. +And if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy. + +JULIET. +O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, +From off the battlements of yonder tower, +Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk +Where serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears; +Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house, +O’er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones, +With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls. +Or bid me go into a new-made grave, +And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; +Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble, +And I will do it without fear or doubt, +To live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Hold then. Go home, be merry, give consent +To marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow; +Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone, +Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. +Take thou this vial, being then in bed, +And this distilled liquor drink thou off, +When presently through all thy veins shall run +A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse +Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. +No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest, +The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade +To paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall, +Like death when he shuts up the day of life. +Each part depriv’d of supple government, +Shall stiff and stark and cold appear like death. +And in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death +Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, +And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. +Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes +To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. +Then as the manner of our country is, +In thy best robes, uncover’d, on the bier, +Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault +Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. +In the meantime, against thou shalt awake, +Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, +And hither shall he come, and he and I +Will watch thy waking, and that very night +Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. +And this shall free thee from this present shame, +If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear +Abate thy valour in the acting it. + +JULIET. +Give me, give me! O tell not me of fear! + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous +In this resolve. I’ll send a friar with speed +To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. + +JULIET. +Love give me strength, and strength shall help afford. +Farewell, dear father. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Hall in Capulet’s House. + + Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse and Servants. + +CAPULET. +So many guests invite as here are writ. + + [_Exit first Servant._] + +Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. + +SECOND SERVANT. +You shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their +fingers. + +CAPULET. +How canst thou try them so? + +SECOND SERVANT. +Marry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; +therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. + +CAPULET. +Go, begone. + + [_Exit second Servant._] + +We shall be much unfurnish’d for this time. +What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence? + +NURSE. +Ay, forsooth. + +CAPULET. +Well, he may chance to do some good on her. +A peevish self-will’d harlotry it is. + + Enter Juliet. + +NURSE. +See where she comes from shrift with merry look. + +CAPULET. +How now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding? + +JULIET. +Where I have learnt me to repent the sin +Of disobedient opposition +To you and your behests; and am enjoin’d +By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here, +To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you. +Henceforward I am ever rul’d by you. + +CAPULET. +Send for the County, go tell him of this. +I’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning. + +JULIET. +I met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell, +And gave him what becomed love I might, +Not stepping o’er the bounds of modesty. + +CAPULET. +Why, I am glad on’t. This is well. Stand up. +This is as’t should be. Let me see the County. +Ay, marry. Go, I say, and fetch him hither. +Now afore God, this reverend holy Friar, +All our whole city is much bound to him. + +JULIET. +Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, +To help me sort such needful ornaments +As you think fit to furnish me tomorrow? + +LADY CAPULET. +No, not till Thursday. There is time enough. + +CAPULET. +Go, Nurse, go with her. We’ll to church tomorrow. + + [_Exeunt Juliet and Nurse._] + +LADY CAPULET. +We shall be short in our provision, +’Tis now near night. + +CAPULET. +Tush, I will stir about, +And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife. +Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her. +I’ll not to bed tonight, let me alone. +I’ll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!— +They are all forth: well, I will walk myself +To County Paris, to prepare him up +Against tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light +Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Juliet’s Chamber. + + Enter Juliet and Nurse. + +JULIET. +Ay, those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse, +I pray thee leave me to myself tonight; +For I have need of many orisons +To move the heavens to smile upon my state, +Which, well thou know’st, is cross and full of sin. + + Enter Lady Capulet. + +LADY CAPULET. +What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help? + +JULIET. +No, madam; we have cull’d such necessaries +As are behoveful for our state tomorrow. +So please you, let me now be left alone, +And let the nurse this night sit up with you, +For I am sure you have your hands full all +In this so sudden business. + +LADY CAPULET. +Good night. +Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need. + + [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._] + +JULIET. +Farewell. God knows when we shall meet again. +I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins +That almost freezes up the heat of life. +I’ll call them back again to comfort me. +Nurse!—What should she do here? +My dismal scene I needs must act alone. +Come, vial. +What if this mixture do not work at all? +Shall I be married then tomorrow morning? +No, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there. + + [_Laying down her dagger._] + +What if it be a poison, which the Friar +Subtly hath minister’d to have me dead, +Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour’d, +Because he married me before to Romeo? +I fear it is. And yet methinks it should not, +For he hath still been tried a holy man. +How if, when I am laid into the tomb, +I wake before the time that Romeo +Come to redeem me? There’s a fearful point! +Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, +To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, +And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? +Or, if I live, is it not very like, +The horrible conceit of death and night, +Together with the terror of the place, +As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, +Where for this many hundred years the bones +Of all my buried ancestors are pack’d, +Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, +Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, +At some hours in the night spirits resort— +Alack, alack, is it not like that I, +So early waking, what with loathsome smells, +And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, +That living mortals, hearing them, run mad. +O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, +Environed with all these hideous fears, +And madly play with my forefathers’ joints? +And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? +And, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone, +As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? +O look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost +Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body +Upon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay! +Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, here’s drink! I drink to thee. + + [_Throws herself on the bed._] + +SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet’s House. + + Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. + +LADY CAPULET. +Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse. + +NURSE. +They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. + + Enter Capulet. + +CAPULET. +Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d, +The curfew bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock. +Look to the bak’d meats, good Angelica; +Spare not for cost. + +NURSE. +Go, you cot-quean, go, +Get you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow +For this night’s watching. + +CAPULET. +No, not a whit. What! I have watch’d ere now +All night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick. + +LADY CAPULET. +Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; +But I will watch you from such watching now. + + [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse._] + +CAPULET. +A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood! + + Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets. + +Now, fellow, what’s there? + +FIRST SERVANT. +Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. + +CAPULET. +Make haste, make haste. + + [_Exit First Servant._] + +—Sirrah, fetch drier logs. +Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. + +SECOND SERVANT. +I have a head, sir, that will find out logs +And never trouble Peter for the matter. + + [_Exit._] + +CAPULET. +Mass and well said; a merry whoreson, ha. +Thou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ’tis day. +The County will be here with music straight, +For so he said he would. I hear him near. + + [_Play music._] + +Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, Nurse, I say! + + Re-enter Nurse. + +Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up. +I’ll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste, +Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already. +Make haste I say. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed. + + Enter Nurse. + +NURSE. +Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she. +Why, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed! +Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride! +What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now. +Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, +The County Paris hath set up his rest +That you shall rest but little. God forgive me! +Marry and amen. How sound is she asleep! +I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam! +Ay, let the County take you in your bed, +He’ll fright you up, i’faith. Will it not be? +What, dress’d, and in your clothes, and down again? +I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady! +Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead! +O, well-a-day that ever I was born. +Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady! + + Enter Lady Capulet. + +LADY CAPULET. +What noise is here? + +NURSE. +O lamentable day! + +LADY CAPULET. +What is the matter? + +NURSE. +Look, look! O heavy day! + +LADY CAPULET. +O me, O me! My child, my only life. +Revive, look up, or I will die with thee. +Help, help! Call help. + + Enter Capulet. + +CAPULET. +For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come. + +NURSE. +She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day! + +LADY CAPULET. +Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead! + +CAPULET. +Ha! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold, +Her blood is settled and her joints are stiff. +Life and these lips have long been separated. +Death lies on her like an untimely frost +Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. + +NURSE. +O lamentable day! + +LADY CAPULET. +O woful time! + +CAPULET. +Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail, +Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak. + + Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Come, is the bride ready to go to church? + +CAPULET. +Ready to go, but never to return. +O son, the night before thy wedding day +Hath death lain with thy bride. There she lies, +Flower as she was, deflowered by him. +Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; +My daughter he hath wedded. I will die. +And leave him all; life, living, all is death’s. + +PARIS. +Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, +And doth it give me such a sight as this? + +LADY CAPULET. +Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. +Most miserable hour that e’er time saw +In lasting labour of his pilgrimage. +But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, +But one thing to rejoice and solace in, +And cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight. + +NURSE. +O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day. +Most lamentable day, most woeful day +That ever, ever, I did yet behold! +O day, O day, O day, O hateful day. +Never was seen so black a day as this. +O woeful day, O woeful day. + +PARIS. +Beguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain. +Most detestable death, by thee beguil’d, +By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown. +O love! O life! Not life, but love in death! + +CAPULET. +Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d. +Uncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now +To murder, murder our solemnity? +O child! O child! My soul, and not my child, +Dead art thou. Alack, my child is dead, +And with my child my joys are buried. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Peace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not +In these confusions. Heaven and yourself +Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all, +And all the better is it for the maid. +Your part in her you could not keep from death, +But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. +The most you sought was her promotion, +For ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d, +And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d +Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? +O, in this love, you love your child so ill +That you run mad, seeing that she is well. +She’s not well married that lives married long, +But she’s best married that dies married young. +Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary +On this fair corse, and, as the custom is, +And in her best array bear her to church; +For though fond nature bids us all lament, +Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment. + +CAPULET. +All things that we ordained festival +Turn from their office to black funeral: +Our instruments to melancholy bells, +Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; +Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; +Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, +And all things change them to the contrary. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him, +And go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare +To follow this fair corse unto her grave. +The heavens do lower upon you for some ill; +Move them no more by crossing their high will. + + [_Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar._] + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. + +NURSE. +Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up, +For well you know this is a pitiful case. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. + + [_Exit Nurse._] + + Enter Peter. + +PETER. +Musicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you +will have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’ + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Why ‘Heart’s ease’? + +PETER. +O musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play +me some merry dump to comfort me. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Not a dump we, ’tis no time to play now. + +PETER. +You will not then? + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +No. + +PETER. +I will then give it you soundly. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +What will you give us? + +PETER. +No money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel. + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Then will I give you the serving-creature. + +PETER. +Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will +carry no crotchets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me? + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +And you re us and fa us, you note us. + +SECOND MUSICIAN. +Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. + +PETER. +Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and +put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men. + ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound, + And doleful dumps the mind oppress, + Then music with her silver sound’— +Why ‘silver sound’? Why ‘music with her silver sound’? What say you, +Simon Catling? + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. + +PETER. +Prates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck? + +SECOND MUSICIAN. +I say ‘silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver. + +PETER. +Prates too! What say you, James Soundpost? + +THIRD MUSICIAN. +Faith, I know not what to say. + +PETER. +O, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is +‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for +sounding. + ‘Then music with her silver sound + With speedy help doth lend redress.’ + + [_Exit._] + +FIRST MUSICIAN. +What a pestilent knave is this same! + +SECOND MUSICIAN. +Hang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay +dinner. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Mantua. A Street. + + Enter Romeo. + +ROMEO. +If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, +My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. +My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne; +And all this day an unaccustom’d spirit +Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. +I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,— +Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!— +And breath’d such life with kisses in my lips, +That I reviv’d, and was an emperor. +Ah me, how sweet is love itself possess’d, +When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy. + + Enter Balthasar. + +News from Verona! How now, Balthasar? +Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar? +How doth my lady? Is my father well? +How fares my Juliet? That I ask again; +For nothing can be ill if she be well. + +BALTHASAR. +Then she is well, and nothing can be ill. +Her body sleeps in Capel’s monument, +And her immortal part with angels lives. +I saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault, +And presently took post to tell it you. +O pardon me for bringing these ill news, +Since you did leave it for my office, sir. + +ROMEO. +Is it even so? Then I defy you, stars! +Thou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper, +And hire post-horses. I will hence tonight. + +BALTHASAR. +I do beseech you sir, have patience. +Your looks are pale and wild, and do import +Some misadventure. + +ROMEO. +Tush, thou art deceiv’d. +Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. +Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar? + +BALTHASAR. +No, my good lord. + +ROMEO. +No matter. Get thee gone, +And hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight. + + [_Exit Balthasar._] + +Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. +Let’s see for means. O mischief thou art swift +To enter in the thoughts of desperate men. +I do remember an apothecary,— +And hereabouts he dwells,—which late I noted +In tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows, +Culling of simples, meagre were his looks, +Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; +And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, +An alligator stuff’d, and other skins +Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves +A beggarly account of empty boxes, +Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, +Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses +Were thinly scatter’d, to make up a show. +Noting this penury, to myself I said, +And if a man did need a poison now, +Whose sale is present death in Mantua, +Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. +O, this same thought did but forerun my need, +And this same needy man must sell it me. +As I remember, this should be the house. +Being holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut. +What, ho! Apothecary! + + Enter Apothecary. + +APOTHECARY. +Who calls so loud? + +ROMEO. +Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor. +Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have +A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear +As will disperse itself through all the veins, +That the life-weary taker may fall dead, +And that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath +As violently as hasty powder fir’d +Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb. + +APOTHECARY. +Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law +Is death to any he that utters them. + +ROMEO. +Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, +And fear’st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, +Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, +Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back. +The world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law; +The world affords no law to make thee rich; +Then be not poor, but break it and take this. + +APOTHECARY. +My poverty, but not my will consents. + +ROMEO. +I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. + +APOTHECARY. +Put this in any liquid thing you will +And drink it off; and, if you had the strength +Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. + +ROMEO. +There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls, +Doing more murder in this loathsome world +Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. +I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. +Farewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh. +Come, cordial and not poison, go with me +To Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. + + Enter Friar John. + +FRIAR JOHN. +Holy Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho! + + Enter Friar Lawrence. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +This same should be the voice of Friar John. +Welcome from Mantua. What says Romeo? +Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. + +FRIAR JOHN. +Going to find a barefoot brother out, +One of our order, to associate me, +Here in this city visiting the sick, +And finding him, the searchers of the town, +Suspecting that we both were in a house +Where the infectious pestilence did reign, +Seal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth, +So that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Who bare my letter then to Romeo? + +FRIAR JOHN. +I could not send it,—here it is again,— +Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, +So fearful were they of infection. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Unhappy fortune! By my brotherhood, +The letter was not nice, but full of charge, +Of dear import, and the neglecting it +May do much danger. Friar John, go hence, +Get me an iron crow and bring it straight +Unto my cell. + +FRIAR JOHN. +Brother, I’ll go and bring it thee. + + [_Exit._] + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Now must I to the monument alone. +Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake. +She will beshrew me much that Romeo +Hath had no notice of these accidents; +But I will write again to Mantua, +And keep her at my cell till Romeo come. +Poor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets. + + Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch. + +PARIS. +Give me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof. +Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. +Under yond yew tree lay thee all along, +Holding thy ear close to the hollow ground; +So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, +Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, +But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me, +As signal that thou hear’st something approach. +Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. + +PAGE. +[_Aside._] I am almost afraid to stand alone +Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. + + [_Retires._] + +PARIS. +Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew. +O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones, +Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, +Or wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans. +The obsequies that I for thee will keep, +Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. + + [_The Page whistles._] + +The boy gives warning something doth approach. +What cursed foot wanders this way tonight, +To cross my obsequies and true love’s rite? +What, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile. + + [_Retires._] + + Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c. + +ROMEO. +Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. +Hold, take this letter; early in the morning +See thou deliver it to my lord and father. +Give me the light; upon thy life I charge thee, +Whate’er thou hear’st or seest, stand all aloof +And do not interrupt me in my course. +Why I descend into this bed of death +Is partly to behold my lady’s face, +But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger +A precious ring, a ring that I must use +In dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone. +But if thou jealous dost return to pry +In what I further shall intend to do, +By heaven I will tear thee joint by joint, +And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs. +The time and my intents are savage-wild; +More fierce and more inexorable far +Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. + +BALTHASAR. +I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. + +ROMEO. +So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that. +Live, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow. + +BALTHASAR. +For all this same, I’ll hide me hereabout. +His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. + + [_Retires_] + +ROMEO. +Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, +Gorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth, +Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, + + [_Breaking open the door of the monument._] + +And in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food. + +PARIS. +This is that banish’d haughty Montague +That murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief, +It is supposed, the fair creature died,— +And here is come to do some villanous shame +To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him. + + [_Advances._] + +Stop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague. +Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death? +Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee. +Obey, and go with me, for thou must die. + +ROMEO. +I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. +Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. +Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone; +Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, +Put not another sin upon my head +By urging me to fury. O be gone. +By heaven I love thee better than myself; +For I come hither arm’d against myself. +Stay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say, +A madman’s mercy bid thee run away. + +PARIS. +I do defy thy conjuration, +And apprehend thee for a felon here. + +ROMEO. +Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy! + + [_They fight._] + +PAGE. +O lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. + + [_Exit._] + +PARIS. +O, I am slain! [_Falls._] If thou be merciful, +Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. + + [_Dies._] + +ROMEO. +In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. +Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris! +What said my man, when my betossed soul +Did not attend him as we rode? I think +He told me Paris should have married Juliet. +Said he not so? Or did I dream it so? +Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, +To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, +One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book. +I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave. +A grave? O no, a lantern, slaught’red youth, +For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes +This vault a feasting presence full of light. +Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d. + + [_Laying Paris in the monument._] + +How oft when men are at the point of death +Have they been merry! Which their keepers call +A lightning before death. O, how may I +Call this a lightning? O my love, my wife, +Death that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath, +Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. +Thou art not conquer’d. Beauty’s ensign yet +Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, +And death’s pale flag is not advanced there. +Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? +O, what more favour can I do to thee +Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain +To sunder his that was thine enemy? +Forgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet, +Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe +That unsubstantial death is amorous; +And that the lean abhorred monster keeps +Thee here in dark to be his paramour? +For fear of that I still will stay with thee, +And never from this palace of dim night +Depart again. Here, here will I remain +With worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here +Will I set up my everlasting rest; +And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars +From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last. +Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you +The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss +A dateless bargain to engrossing death. +Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide. +Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on +The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark. +Here’s to my love! [_Drinks._] O true apothecary! +Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. + + [_Dies._] + + Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a + lantern, crow, and spade. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Saint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight +Have my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there? +Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead? + +BALTHASAR. +Here’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Bliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend, +What torch is yond that vainly lends his light +To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern, +It burneth in the Capels’ monument. + +BALTHASAR. +It doth so, holy sir, and there’s my master, +One that you love. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Who is it? + +BALTHASAR. +Romeo. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +How long hath he been there? + +BALTHASAR. +Full half an hour. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Go with me to the vault. + +BALTHASAR. +I dare not, sir; +My master knows not but I am gone hence, +And fearfully did menace me with death +If I did stay to look on his intents. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Stay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me. +O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. + +BALTHASAR. +As I did sleep under this yew tree here, +I dreamt my master and another fought, +And that my master slew him. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +Romeo! [_Advances._] +Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains +The stony entrance of this sepulchre? +What mean these masterless and gory swords +To lie discolour’d by this place of peace? + + [_Enters the monument._] + +Romeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too? +And steep’d in blood? Ah what an unkind hour +Is guilty of this lamentable chance? +The lady stirs. + + [_Juliet wakes and stirs._] + +JULIET. +O comfortable Friar, where is my lord? +I do remember well where I should be, +And there I am. Where is my Romeo? + + [_Noise within._] + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest +Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep. +A greater power than we can contradict +Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. +Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; +And Paris too. Come, I’ll dispose of thee +Among a sisterhood of holy nuns. +Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. +Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay. + +JULIET. +Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. + + [_Exit Friar Lawrence._] + +What’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand? +Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. +O churl. Drink all, and left no friendly drop +To help me after? I will kiss thy lips. +Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, +To make me die with a restorative. + + [_Kisses him._] + +Thy lips are warm! + +FIRST WATCH. +[_Within._] Lead, boy. Which way? + +JULIET. +Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger. + + [_Snatching Romeo’s dagger._] + +This is thy sheath. [_stabs herself_] There rest, and let me die. + + [_Falls on Romeo’s body and dies._] + + Enter Watch with the Page of Paris. + +PAGE. +This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn. + +FIRST WATCH. +The ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard. +Go, some of you, whoe’er you find attach. + + [_Exeunt some of the Watch._] + +Pitiful sight! Here lies the County slain, +And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, +Who here hath lain this two days buried. +Go tell the Prince; run to the Capulets. +Raise up the Montagues, some others search. + + [_Exeunt others of the Watch._] + +We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, +But the true ground of all these piteous woes +We cannot without circumstance descry. + + Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar. + +SECOND WATCH. +Here’s Romeo’s man. We found him in the churchyard. + +FIRST WATCH. +Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither. + + Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence. + +THIRD WATCH. Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps. +We took this mattock and this spade from him +As he was coming from this churchyard side. + +FIRST WATCH. +A great suspicion. Stay the Friar too. + + Enter the Prince and Attendants. + +PRINCE. +What misadventure is so early up, +That calls our person from our morning’s rest? + + Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and others. + +CAPULET. +What should it be that they so shriek abroad? + +LADY CAPULET. +O the people in the street cry Romeo, +Some Juliet, and some Paris, and all run +With open outcry toward our monument. + +PRINCE. +What fear is this which startles in our ears? + +FIRST WATCH. +Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain, +And Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before, +Warm and new kill’d. + +PRINCE. +Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. + +FIRST WATCH. +Here is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man, +With instruments upon them fit to open +These dead men’s tombs. + +CAPULET. +O heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! +This dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house +Is empty on the back of Montague, +And it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom. + +LADY CAPULET. +O me! This sight of death is as a bell +That warns my old age to a sepulchre. + + Enter Montague and others. + +PRINCE. +Come, Montague, for thou art early up, +To see thy son and heir more early down. + +MONTAGUE. +Alas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight. +Grief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath. +What further woe conspires against mine age? + +PRINCE. +Look, and thou shalt see. + +MONTAGUE. +O thou untaught! What manners is in this, +To press before thy father to a grave? + +PRINCE. +Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, +Till we can clear these ambiguities, +And know their spring, their head, their true descent, +And then will I be general of your woes, +And lead you even to death. Meantime forbear, +And let mischance be slave to patience. +Bring forth the parties of suspicion. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +I am the greatest, able to do least, +Yet most suspected, as the time and place +Doth make against me, of this direful murder. +And here I stand, both to impeach and purge +Myself condemned and myself excus’d. + +PRINCE. +Then say at once what thou dost know in this. + +FRIAR LAWRENCE. +I will be brief, for my short date of breath +Is not so long as is a tedious tale. +Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet, +And she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife. +I married them; and their stol’n marriage day +Was Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely death +Banish’d the new-made bridegroom from this city; +For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin’d. +You, to remove that siege of grief from her, +Betroth’d, and would have married her perforce +To County Paris. Then comes she to me, +And with wild looks, bid me devise some means +To rid her from this second marriage, +Or in my cell there would she kill herself. +Then gave I her, so tutored by my art, +A sleeping potion, which so took effect +As I intended, for it wrought on her +The form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo +That he should hither come as this dire night +To help to take her from her borrow’d grave, +Being the time the potion’s force should cease. +But he which bore my letter, Friar John, +Was stay’d by accident; and yesternight +Return’d my letter back. Then all alone +At the prefixed hour of her waking +Came I to take her from her kindred’s vault, +Meaning to keep her closely at my cell +Till I conveniently could send to Romeo. +But when I came, some minute ere the time +Of her awaking, here untimely lay +The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. +She wakes; and I entreated her come forth +And bear this work of heaven with patience. +But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; +And she, too desperate, would not go with me, +But, as it seems, did violence on herself. +All this I know; and to the marriage +Her Nurse is privy. And if ought in this +Miscarried by my fault, let my old life +Be sacrific’d, some hour before his time, +Unto the rigour of severest law. + +PRINCE. +We still have known thee for a holy man. +Where’s Romeo’s man? What can he say to this? + +BALTHASAR. +I brought my master news of Juliet’s death, +And then in post he came from Mantua +To this same place, to this same monument. +This letter he early bid me give his father, +And threaten’d me with death, going in the vault, +If I departed not, and left him there. + +PRINCE. +Give me the letter, I will look on it. +Where is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch? +Sirrah, what made your master in this place? + +PAGE. +He came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave, +And bid me stand aloof, and so I did. +Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb, +And by and by my master drew on him, +And then I ran away to call the watch. + +PRINCE. +This letter doth make good the Friar’s words, +Their course of love, the tidings of her death. +And here he writes that he did buy a poison +Of a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal +Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. +Where be these enemies? Capulet, Montague, +See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, +That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! +And I, for winking at your discords too, +Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d. + +CAPULET. +O brother Montague, give me thy hand. +This is my daughter’s jointure, for no more +Can I demand. + +MONTAGUE. +But I can give thee more, +For I will raise her statue in pure gold, +That whiles Verona by that name is known, +There shall no figure at such rate be set +As that of true and faithful Juliet. + +CAPULET. +As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie, +Poor sacrifices of our enmity. + +PRINCE. +A glooming peace this morning with it brings; +The sun for sorrow will not show his head. +Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. +Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished, +For never was a story of more woe +Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +THE TAMING OF THE SHREW + + + +Contents + +INDUCTION +Scene I. Before an alehouse on a heath. +Scene II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house. + +ACT I +Scene I. Padua. A public place. +Scene II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house. + +ACT II +Scene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house. + +ACT III +Scene I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house. +Scene II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house. + +ACT IV +Scene I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house. +Scene II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house. +Scene III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house. +Scene IV. Before BAPTISTA’S house. +Scene V. A public road. + +ACT V +Scene I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house. +Scene II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house. + + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +Persons in the Induction +A LORD +CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker +HOSTESS +PAGE +PLAYERS +HUNTSMEN +SERVANTS + +BAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich gentleman of Padua +VINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa +LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca +PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina + +Suitors to Bianca +GREMIO +HORTENSIO + +Servants to Lucentio +TRANIO +BIONDELLO + +Servants to Petruchio +GRUMIO +CURTIS + +PEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio + +Daughters to Baptista +KATHERINA, the shrew +BIANCA + +WIDOW + +Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio + +SCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO’S house in the +country. + + + + +INDUCTION + +SCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath. + +Enter Hostess and Sly + +SLY. +I’ll pheeze you, in faith. + +HOSTESS. +A pair of stocks, you rogue! + +SLY. +Y’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we +came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the +world slide. Sessa! + +HOSTESS. +You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? + +SLY. +No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm +thee. + +HOSTESS. +I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. + +[_Exit_] + +SLY. +Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not +budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. + +[_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep._] + +Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. + +LORD. +Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds; +Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d, +And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach. +Saw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good +At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? +I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. + +FIRST HUNTSMAN. +Why, Bellman is as good as he, my lord; +He cried upon it at the merest loss, +And twice today pick’d out the dullest scent; +Trust me, I take him for the better dog. + +LORD. +Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, +I would esteem him worth a dozen such. +But sup them well, and look unto them all; +Tomorrow I intend to hunt again. + +FIRST HUNTSMAN. +I will, my lord. + +LORD. +[ _Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk? +See, doth he breathe? + +SECOND HUNTSMAN. +He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale, +This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. + +LORD. +O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! +Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! +Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. +What think you, if he were convey’d to bed, +Wrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, +A most delicious banquet by his bed, +And brave attendants near him when he wakes, +Would not the beggar then forget himself? + +FIRST HUNTSMAN. +Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. + +SECOND HUNTSMAN. +It would seem strange unto him when he wak’d. + +LORD. +Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. +Then take him up, and manage well the jest. +Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, +And hang it round with all my wanton pictures; +Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, +And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet. +Procure me music ready when he wakes, +To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; +And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, +And with a low submissive reverence +Say ‘What is it your honour will command?’ +Let one attend him with a silver basin +Full of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers; +Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, +And say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’ +Someone be ready with a costly suit, +And ask him what apparel he will wear; +Another tell him of his hounds and horse, +And that his lady mourns at his disease. +Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; +And, when he says he is—say that he dreams, +For he is nothing but a mighty lord. +This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; +It will be pastime passing excellent, +If it be husbanded with modesty. + +FIRST HUNTSMAN. +My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, +As he shall think by our true diligence, +He is no less than what we say he is. + +LORD. +Take him up gently, and to bed with him, +And each one to his office when he wakes. + +[Sly _is bourne out. A trumpet sounds._] + +Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds: + +[_Exit_ Servant.] + +Belike some noble gentleman that means, +Travelling some journey, to repose him here. + + +Re-enter Servant. + +How now! who is it? + +SERVANT. +An it please your honour, players +That offer service to your lordship. + +LORD. +Bid them come near. + + +Enter Players. + +Now, fellows, you are welcome. + +PLAYERS. +We thank your honour. + +LORD. +Do you intend to stay with me tonight? + +PLAYER. +So please your lordship to accept our duty. + +LORD. +With all my heart. This fellow I remember +Since once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son; +’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well. +I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part +Was aptly fitted and naturally perform’d. + +PLAYER. +I think ’twas Soto that your honour means. + +LORD. +’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent. +Well, you are come to me in happy time, +The rather for I have some sport in hand +Wherein your cunning can assist me much. +There is a lord will hear you play tonight; +But I am doubtful of your modesties, +Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,— +For yet his honour never heard a play,— +You break into some merry passion +And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, +If you should smile, he grows impatient. + +PLAYER. +Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, +Were he the veriest antick in the world. + +LORD. +Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, +And give them friendly welcome everyone: +Let them want nothing that my house affords. + +[_Exit one with the Players._] + +Sirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page, +And see him dress’d in all suits like a lady; +That done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber, +And call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance. +Tell him from me—as he will win my love,— +He bear himself with honourable action, +Such as he hath observ’d in noble ladies +Unto their lords, by them accomplished; +Such duty to the drunkard let him do, +With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, +And say ‘What is’t your honour will command, +Wherein your lady and your humble wife +May show her duty and make known her love?’ +And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, +And with declining head into his bosom, +Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d +To see her noble lord restor’d to health, +Who for this seven years hath esteemed him +No better than a poor and loathsome beggar. +And if the boy have not a woman’s gift +To rain a shower of commanded tears, +An onion will do well for such a shift, +Which, in a napkin being close convey’d, +Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. +See this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst; +Anon I’ll give thee more instructions. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +I know the boy will well usurp the grace, +Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman; +I long to hear him call the drunkard husband; +And how my men will stay themselves from laughter +When they do homage to this simple peasant. +I’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence +May well abate the over-merry spleen, +Which otherwise would grow into extremes. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +SCENE II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house. + +Sly is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants: some with +apparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord, dressed like a +servant. + +SLY. +For God’s sake! a pot of small ale. + +FIRST SERVANT. +Will’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack? + +SECOND SERVANT. +Will’t please your honour taste of these conserves? + +THIRD SERVANT. +What raiment will your honour wear today? + +SLY. +I am Christophero Sly; call not me honour nor lordship. I ne’er drank +sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of +beef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets +than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet: +nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look +through the over-leather. + +LORD. +Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! +O, that a mighty man of such descent, +Of such possessions, and so high esteem, +Should be infused with so foul a spirit! + +SLY. +What! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly’s son of +Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by +transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask +Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she +say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for +the lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s— + +THIRD SERVANT. +O! this it is that makes your lady mourn. + +SECOND SERVANT. +O! this is it that makes your servants droop. + +LORD. +Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house, +As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. +O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, +Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, +And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. +Look how thy servants do attend on thee, +Each in his office ready at thy beck: +Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, + +[_Music._] + +And twenty caged nightingales do sing: +Or wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch +Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed +On purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis. +Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground: +Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d, +Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. +Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar +Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt? +Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them +And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. + +FIRST SERVANT. +Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift +As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight +Adonis painted by a running brook, +And Cytherea all in sedges hid, +Which seem to move and wanton with her breath +Even as the waving sedges play with wind. + +LORD. +We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid +And how she was beguiled and surpris’d, +As lively painted as the deed was done. + +THIRD SERVANT. +Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, +Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds +And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, +So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. + +LORD. +Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: +Thou hast a lady far more beautiful +Than any woman in this waning age. + +FIRST SERVANT. +And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee +Like envious floods o’er-run her lovely face, +She was the fairest creature in the world; +And yet she is inferior to none. + +SLY. +Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? +Or do I dream? Or have I dream’d till now? +I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; +I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things: +Upon my life, I am a lord indeed; +And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. +Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; +And once again, a pot o’ the smallest ale. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Will’t please your mightiness to wash your hands? + +[_Servants present a ewer, basin and napkin._] + +O, how we joy to see your wit restor’d! +O, that once more you knew but what you are! +These fifteen years you have been in a dream, +Or, when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept. + +SLY. +These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. +But did I never speak of all that time? + +FIRST SERVANT. +O! yes, my lord, but very idle words; +For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, +Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door, +And rail upon the hostess of the house, +And say you would present her at the leet, +Because she brought stone jugs and no seal’d quarts. +Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. + +SLY. +Ay, the woman’s maid of the house. + +THIRD SERVANT. +Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid, +Nor no such men as you have reckon’d up, +As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, +And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell; +And twenty more such names and men as these, +Which never were, nor no man ever saw. + +SLY. +Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! + +ALL. +Amen. + + +Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants. + +SLY. +I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. + +PAGE. +How fares my noble lord? + +SLY. +Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. +Where is my wife? + +PAGE. +Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her? + +SLY. +Are you my wife, and will not call me husband? +My men should call me lord: I am your goodman. + +PAGE. +My husband and my lord, my lord and husband; +I am your wife in all obedience. + +SLY. +I know it well. What must I call her? + +LORD. +Madam. + +SLY. +Alice madam, or Joan madam? + +LORD. +Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies. + +SLY. +Madam wife, they say that I have dream’d +And slept above some fifteen year or more. + +PAGE. +Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, +Being all this time abandon’d from your bed. + +SLY. +’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone. +Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. + +PAGE. +Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you +To pardon me yet for a night or two; +Or, if not so, until the sun be set: +For your physicians have expressly charg’d, +In peril to incur your former malady, +That I should yet absent me from your bed: +I hope this reason stands for my excuse. + +SLY. +Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath +to fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the +flesh and the blood. + +Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Your honour’s players, hearing your amendment, +Are come to play a pleasant comedy; +For so your doctors hold it very meet, +Seeing too much sadness hath congeal’d your blood, +And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy: +Therefore they thought it good you hear a play, +And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, +Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. + +SLY. +Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambold +or a tumbling-trick? + +PAGE. +No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. + +SLY. +What! household stuff? + +PAGE. +It is a kind of history. + +SLY. +Well, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world +slip: we shall ne’er be younger. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Padua. A public place. + +Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio. + +LUCENTIO. +Tranio, since for the great desire I had +To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, +I am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy, +The pleasant garden of great Italy, +And by my father’s love and leave am arm’d +With his good will and thy good company, +My trusty servant well approv’d in all, +Here let us breathe, and haply institute +A course of learning and ingenious studies. +Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, +Gave me my being and my father first, +A merchant of great traffic through the world, +Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. +Vincentio’s son, brought up in Florence, +It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv’d, +To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds: +And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, +Virtue and that part of philosophy +Will I apply that treats of happiness +By virtue specially to be achiev’d. +Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left +And am to Padua come as he that leaves +A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep, +And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. + +TRANIO. +_Mi perdonato_, gentle master mine; +I am in all affected as yourself; +Glad that you thus continue your resolve +To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. +Only, good master, while we do admire +This virtue and this moral discipline, +Let’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray; +Or so devote to Aristotle’s checks +As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur’d. +Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, +And practise rhetoric in your common talk; +Music and poesy use to quicken you; +The mathematics and the metaphysics, +Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you: +No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en; +In brief, sir, study what you most affect. + +LUCENTIO. +Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. +If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, +We could at once put us in readiness, +And take a lodging fit to entertain +Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. +But stay awhile; what company is this? + +TRANIO. +Master, some show to welcome us to town. + +[_Lucentio and Tranio stand aside._] + +Enter Baptista, Katherina, Bianca, Gremio and Hortensio. + +BAPTISTA. +Gentlemen, importune me no farther, +For how I firmly am resolv’d you know; +That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter +Before I have a husband for the elder. +If either of you both love Katherina, +Because I know you well and love you well, +Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. + +GREMIO. +To cart her rather: she’s too rough for me. +There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? + +KATHERINA. +[_To Baptista_] I pray you, sir, is it your will +To make a stale of me amongst these mates? + +HORTENSIO. +Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you, +Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. + +KATHERINA. +I’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear; +I wis it is not half way to her heart; +But if it were, doubt not her care should be +To comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool, +And paint your face, and use you like a fool. + +HORTENSIO. +From all such devils, good Lord deliver us! + +GREMIO. +And me, too, good Lord! + +TRANIO. +Husht, master! Here’s some good pastime toward: +That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. + +LUCENTIO. +But in the other’s silence do I see +Maid’s mild behaviour and sobriety. +Peace, Tranio! + +TRANIO. +Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. + +BAPTISTA. +Gentlemen, that I may soon make good +What I have said,—Bianca, get you in: +And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, +For I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl. + +KATHERINA. +A pretty peat! it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why. + +BIANCA. +Sister, content you in my discontent. +Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: +My books and instruments shall be my company, +On them to look, and practise by myself. + +LUCENTIO. +Hark, Tranio! thou mayst hear Minerva speak. + +HORTENSIO. +Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? +Sorry am I that our good will effects +Bianca’s grief. + +GREMIO. +Why will you mew her up, +Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, +And make her bear the penance of her tongue? + +BAPTISTA. +Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv’d. +Go in, Bianca. + +[_Exit Bianca._] + +And for I know she taketh most delight +In music, instruments, and poetry, +Schoolmasters will I keep within my house +Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, +Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such, +Prefer them hither; for to cunning men +I will be very kind, and liberal +To mine own children in good bringing up; +And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay; +For I have more to commune with Bianca. + +[_Exit._] + +KATHERINA. +Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What! shall I be appointed +hours, as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave? +Ha! + +[_Exit._] + +GREMIO. +You may go to the devil’s dam: your gifts are so good here’s none will +hold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our +nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake’s dough on both sides. +Farewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any +means light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will +wish him to her father. + +HORTENSIO. +So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our +quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us +both,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be +happy rivals in Bianca’s love,—to labour and effect one thing +specially. + +GREMIO. +What’s that, I pray? + +HORTENSIO. +Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. + +GREMIO. +A husband! a devil. + +HORTENSIO. +I say, a husband. + +GREMIO. +I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very +rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell? + +HORTENSIO. +Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud +alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, and a man could +light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. + +GREMIO. +I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to +be whipp’d at the high cross every morning. + +HORTENSIO. +Faith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten apples. But come; +since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth +friendly maintained, till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter to a +husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to’t +afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets +the ring. How say you, Signior Gremio? + +GREMIO. +I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin +his wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and +rid the house of her. Come on. + +[_Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio._] + +TRANIO. +I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible +That love should of a sudden take such hold? + +LUCENTIO. +O Tranio! till I found it to be true, +I never thought it possible or likely; +But see, while idly I stood looking on, +I found the effect of love in idleness; +And now in plainness do confess to thee, +That art to me as secret and as dear +As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was, +Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, +If I achieve not this young modest girl. +Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst: +Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. + +TRANIO. +Master, it is no time to chide you now; +Affection is not rated from the heart: +If love have touch’d you, nought remains but so: +_Redime te captum quam queas minimo._ + +LUCENTIO. +Gramercies, lad; go forward; this contents; +The rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound. + +TRANIO. +Master, you look’d so longly on the maid. +Perhaps you mark’d not what’s the pith of all. + +LUCENTIO. +O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, +Such as the daughter of Agenor had, +That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, +When with his knees he kiss’d the Cretan strand. + +TRANIO. +Saw you no more? mark’d you not how her sister +Began to scold and raise up such a storm +That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? + +LUCENTIO. +Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, +And with her breath she did perfume the air; +Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. + +TRANIO. +Nay, then, ’tis time to stir him from his trance. +I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid, +Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands: +Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd, +That till the father rid his hands of her, +Master, your love must live a maid at home; +And therefore has he closely mew’d her up, +Because she will not be annoy’d with suitors. + +LUCENTIO. +Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he! +But art thou not advis’d he took some care +To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? + +TRANIO. +Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now ’tis plotted. + +LUCENTIO. +I have it, Tranio. + +TRANIO. +Master, for my hand, +Both our inventions meet and jump in one. + +LUCENTIO. +Tell me thine first. + +TRANIO. +You will be schoolmaster, +And undertake the teaching of the maid: +That’s your device. + +LUCENTIO. +It is: may it be done? + +TRANIO. +Not possible; for who shall bear your part +And be in Padua here Vincentio’s son; +Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends; +Visit his countrymen, and banquet them? + +LUCENTIO. +_Basta_, content thee, for I have it full. +We have not yet been seen in any house, +Nor can we be distinguish’d by our faces +For man or master: then it follows thus: +Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, +Keep house and port and servants, as I should; +I will some other be; some Florentine, +Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. +’Tis hatch’d, and shall be so: Tranio, at once +Uncase thee; take my colour’d hat and cloak. +When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; +But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. + +[_They exchange habits_] + +TRANIO. +So had you need. +In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, +And I am tied to be obedient; +For so your father charg’d me at our parting, +‘Be serviceable to my son,’ quoth he, +Although I think ’twas in another sense: +I am content to be Lucentio, +Because so well I love Lucentio. + +LUCENTIO. +Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves; +And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid +Whose sudden sight hath thrall’d my wounded eye. + + +Enter Biondello. + +Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been? + +BIONDELLO. +Where have I been? Nay, how now! where are you? +Master, has my fellow Tranio stol’n your clothes? +Or you stol’n his? or both? Pray, what’s the news? + +LUCENTIO. +Sirrah, come hither: ’tis no time to jest, +And therefore frame your manners to the time. +Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, +Puts my apparel and my count’nance on, +And I for my escape have put on his; +For in a quarrel since I came ashore +I kill’d a man, and fear I was descried. +Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, +While I make way from hence to save my life. +You understand me? + +BIONDELLO. +I, sir! Ne’er a whit. + +LUCENTIO. +And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth: +Tranio is changed to Lucentio. + +BIONDELLO. +The better for him: would I were so too! + +TRANIO. +So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, +That Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest daughter. +But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master’s, I advise +You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies: +When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; +But in all places else your master, Lucentio. + +LUCENTIO. +Tranio, let’s go. +One thing more rests, that thyself execute, +To make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why, +Sufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty. + +[_Exeunt._] + +[_The Presenters above speak._] + +FIRST SERVANT. +My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. + +SLY. +Yes, by Saint Anne, I do. A good matter, surely: comes there any more +of it? + +PAGE. +My lord, ’tis but begun. + +SLY. +’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would ’twere done! + +[_They sit and mark._] + + + + +SCENE II. Padua. Before HORTENSIO’S house. + +Enter Petruchio and his man Grumio. + +PETRUCHIO. +Verona, for a while I take my leave, +To see my friends in Padua; but of all +My best beloved and approved friend, +Hortensio; and I trow this is his house. +Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say. + +GRUMIO. +Knock, sir? Whom should I knock? Is there any man has rebused your +worship? + +PETRUCHIO. +Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. + +GRUMIO. +Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you +here, sir? + +PETRUCHIO. +Villain, I say, knock me at this gate; +And rap me well, or I’ll knock your knave’s pate. + +GRUMIO. +My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first, +And then I know after who comes by the worst. + +PETRUCHIO. +Will it not be? +Faith, sirrah, and you’ll not knock, I’ll ring it; +I’ll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. + +[_He wrings Grumio by the ears._] + +GRUMIO. +Help, masters, help! my master is mad. + +PETRUCHIO. +Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain! + + +Enter Hortensio. + +HORTENSIO. +How now! what’s the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend +Petruchio! How do you all at Verona? + +PETRUCHIO. +Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? +_Con tutto il cuore ben trovato_, may I say. + +HORTENSIO. +_Alla nostra casa ben venuto; molto honorato signor mio Petruchio._ +Rise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel. + +GRUMIO. +Nay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in Latin. If this be not a +lawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me +knock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to +use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two-and-thirty, a +pip out? Whom would to God I had well knock’d at first, then had not +Grumio come by the worst. + +PETRUCHIO. +A senseless villain! Good Hortensio, +I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, +And could not get him for my heart to do it. + +GRUMIO. +Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: ‘Sirrah +knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly’? And +come you now with ‘knocking at the gate’? + +PETRUCHIO. +Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. + +HORTENSIO. +Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio’s pledge; +Why, this’s a heavy chance ’twixt him and you, +Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. +And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale +Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? + +PETRUCHIO. +Such wind as scatters young men through the world +To seek their fortunes farther than at home, +Where small experience grows. But in a few, +Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: +Antonio, my father, is deceas’d, +And I have thrust myself into this maze, +Haply to wive and thrive as best I may; +Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, +And so am come abroad to see the world. + +HORTENSIO. +Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee +And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour’d wife? +Thou’dst thank me but a little for my counsel; +And yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich, +And very rich: but th’art too much my friend, +And I’ll not wish thee to her. + +PETRUCHIO. +Signior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as we +Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know +One rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife, +As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, +Be she as foul as was Florentius’ love, +As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd +As Socrates’ Xanthippe or a worse, +She moves me not, or not removes, at least, +Affection’s edge in me, were she as rough +As are the swelling Adriatic seas: +I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; +If wealthily, then happily in Padua. + +GRUMIO. +Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: why, give him +gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot +with ne’er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as +two-and-fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. + +HORTENSIO. +Petruchio, since we are stepp’d thus far in, +I will continue that I broach’d in jest. +I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife +With wealth enough, and young and beauteous; +Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman: +Her only fault,—and that is faults enough,— +Is, that she is intolerable curst, +And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure, +That, were my state far worser than it is, +I would not wed her for a mine of gold. + +PETRUCHIO. +Hortensio, peace! thou know’st not gold’s effect: +Tell me her father’s name, and ’tis enough; +For I will board her, though she chide as loud +As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. + +HORTENSIO. +Her father is Baptista Minola, +An affable and courteous gentleman; +Her name is Katherina Minola, +Renown’d in Padua for her scolding tongue. + +PETRUCHIO. +I know her father, though I know not her; +And he knew my deceased father well. +I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; +And therefore let me be thus bold with you, +To give you over at this first encounter, +Unless you will accompany me thither. + +GRUMIO. +I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O’ my word, and she +knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good +upon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so; why, +that’s nothing; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll +tell you what, sir, and she stand him but a little, he will throw a +figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no +more eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir. + +HORTENSIO. +Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, +For in Baptista’s keep my treasure is: +He hath the jewel of my life in hold, +His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca, +And her withholds from me and other more, +Suitors to her and rivals in my love; +Supposing it a thing impossible, +For those defects I have before rehears’d, +That ever Katherina will be woo’d: +Therefore this order hath Baptista ta’en, +That none shall have access unto Bianca +Till Katherine the curst have got a husband. + +GRUMIO. +Katherine the curst! +A title for a maid of all titles the worst. + +HORTENSIO. +Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, +And offer me disguis’d in sober robes, +To old Baptista as a schoolmaster +Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; +That so I may, by this device at least +Have leave and leisure to make love to her, +And unsuspected court her by herself. + +GRUMIO. +Here’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks +lay their heads together! + +Enter Gremio and Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm. + +Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha? + +HORTENSIO. +Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile. + +GRUMIO. +A proper stripling, and an amorous! + +GREMIO. +O! very well; I have perus’d the note. +Hark you, sir; I’ll have them very fairly bound: +All books of love, see that at any hand, +And see you read no other lectures to her. +You understand me. Over and beside +Signior Baptista’s liberality, +I’ll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too, +And let me have them very well perfum’d; +For she is sweeter than perfume itself +To whom they go to. What will you read to her? + +LUCENTIO. +Whate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you, +As for my patron, stand you so assur’d, +As firmly as yourself were still in place; +Yea, and perhaps with more successful words +Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. + +GREMIO. +O! this learning, what a thing it is. + +GRUMIO. +O! this woodcock, what an ass it is. + +PETRUCHIO. +Peace, sirrah! + +HORTENSIO. +Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio! + +GREMIO. +And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. +Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. +I promis’d to enquire carefully +About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca; +And by good fortune I have lighted well +On this young man; for learning and behaviour +Fit for her turn, well read in poetry +And other books, good ones, I warrant ye. + +HORTENSIO. +’Tis well; and I have met a gentleman +Hath promis’d me to help me to another, +A fine musician to instruct our mistress: +So shall I no whit be behind in duty +To fair Bianca, so belov’d of me. + +GREMIO. +Belov’d of me, and that my deeds shall prove. + +GRUMIO. +[_Aside._] And that his bags shall prove. + +HORTENSIO. +Gremio, ’tis now no time to vent our love: +Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, +I’ll tell you news indifferent good for either. +Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, +Upon agreement from us to his liking, +Will undertake to woo curst Katherine; +Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. + +GREMIO. +So said, so done, is well. +Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? + +PETRUCHIO. +I know she is an irksome brawling scold; +If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. + +GREMIO. +No, say’st me so, friend? What countryman? + +PETRUCHIO. +Born in Verona, old Antonio’s son. +My father dead, my fortune lives for me; +And I do hope good days and long to see. + +GREMIO. +O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange! +But if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name; +You shall have me assisting you in all. +But will you woo this wild-cat? + +PETRUCHIO. +Will I live? + +GRUMIO. +Will he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why came I hither but to that intent? +Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? +Have I not in my time heard lions roar? +Have I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds, +Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? +Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, +And heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies? +Have I not in a pitched battle heard +Loud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang? +And do you tell me of a woman’s tongue, +That gives not half so great a blow to hear +As will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire? +Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs. + +GRUMIO. +[_Aside_] For he fears none. + +GREMIO. +Hortensio, hark: +This gentleman is happily arriv’d, +My mind presumes, for his own good and yours. + +HORTENSIO. +I promis’d we would be contributors, +And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er. + +GREMIO. +And so we will, provided that he win her. + +GRUMIO. +I would I were as sure of a good dinner. + + +Enter Tranio brave, and Biondello. + +TRANIO. +Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, +Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way +To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? + +BIONDELLO. +He that has the two fair daughters; is’t he you mean? + +TRANIO. +Even he, Biondello! + +GREMIO. +Hark you, sir, you mean not her to— + +TRANIO. +Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do? + +PETRUCHIO. +Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. + +TRANIO. +I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away. + +LUCENTIO. +[_Aside_] Well begun, Tranio. + +HORTENSIO. +Sir, a word ere you go. +Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? + +TRANIO. +And if I be, sir, is it any offence? + +GREMIO. +No; if without more words you will get you hence. + +TRANIO. +Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free +For me as for you? + +GREMIO. +But so is not she. + +TRANIO. +For what reason, I beseech you? + +GREMIO. +For this reason, if you’ll know, +That she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio. + +HORTENSIO. +That she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio. + +TRANIO. +Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen, +Do me this right; hear me with patience. +Baptista is a noble gentleman, +To whom my father is not all unknown; +And were his daughter fairer than she is, +She may more suitors have, and me for one. +Fair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers; +Then well one more may fair Bianca have; +And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one, +Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. + +GREMIO. +What, this gentleman will out-talk us all. + +LUCENTIO. +Sir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade. + +PETRUCHIO. +Hortensio, to what end are all these words? + +HORTENSIO. +Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, +Did you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter? + +TRANIO. +No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two, +The one as famous for a scolding tongue +As is the other for beauteous modesty. + +PETRUCHIO. +Sir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by. + +GREMIO. +Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, +And let it be more than Alcides’ twelve. + +PETRUCHIO. +Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth: +The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, +Her father keeps from all access of suitors, +And will not promise her to any man +Until the elder sister first be wed; +The younger then is free, and not before. + +TRANIO. +If it be so, sir, that you are the man +Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; +And if you break the ice, and do this feat, +Achieve the elder, set the younger free +For our access, whose hap shall be to have her +Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. + +HORTENSIO. +Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; +And since you do profess to be a suitor, +You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, +To whom we all rest generally beholding. + +TRANIO. +Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof, +Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, +And quaff carouses to our mistress’ health; +And do as adversaries do in law, +Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. + +GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. +O excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone. + +HORTENSIO. +The motion’s good indeed, and be it so:— +Petruchio, I shall be your _ben venuto_. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house. + +Enter Katherina and Bianca. + +BIANCA. +Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, +To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; +That I disdain; but for these other gawds, +Unbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself, +Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; +Or what you will command me will I do, +So well I know my duty to my elders. + +KATHERINA. +Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell +Whom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not. + +BIANCA. +Believe me, sister, of all the men alive +I never yet beheld that special face +Which I could fancy more than any other. + +KATHERINA. +Minion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio? + +BIANCA. +If you affect him, sister, here I swear +I’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him. + +KATHERINA. +O! then, belike, you fancy riches more: +You will have Gremio to keep you fair. + +BIANCA. +Is it for him you do envy me so? +Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive +You have but jested with me all this while: +I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. + +KATHERINA. +If that be jest, then all the rest was so. + +[_Strikes her._] + +Enter Baptista. + +BAPTISTA. +Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence? +Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps. +Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. +For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, +Why dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee? +When did she cross thee with a bitter word? + +KATHERINA. +Her silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d. + +[_Flies after Bianca._] + +BAPTISTA. +What! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. + +[_Exit Bianca._] + +KATHERINA. +What! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see +She is your treasure, she must have a husband; +I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, +And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. +Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep +Till I can find occasion of revenge. + +[_Exit._] + +BAPTISTA. + Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I? +But who comes here? + + +Enter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with +Hortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and +books. + +GREMIO. +Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. + +BAPTISTA. +Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen! + +PETRUCHIO. +And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter +Call’d Katherina, fair and virtuous? + +BAPTISTA. +I have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina. + +GREMIO. +You are too blunt: go to it orderly. + +PETRUCHIO. +You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave. +I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, +That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, +Her affability and bashful modesty, +Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, +Am bold to show myself a forward guest +Within your house, to make mine eye the witness +Of that report which I so oft have heard. +And, for an entrance to my entertainment, +I do present you with a man of mine, + +[_Presenting Hortensio._] + +Cunning in music and the mathematics, +To instruct her fully in those sciences, +Whereof I know she is not ignorant. +Accept of him, or else you do me wrong: +His name is Licio, born in Mantua. + +BAPTISTA. +Y’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake; +But for my daughter Katherine, this I know, +She is not for your turn, the more my grief. + +PETRUCHIO. +I see you do not mean to part with her; +Or else you like not of my company. + +BAPTISTA. +Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. +Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name? + +PETRUCHIO. +Petruchio is my name, Antonio’s son; +A man well known throughout all Italy. + +BAPTISTA. +I know him well: you are welcome for his sake. + +GREMIO. +Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, +Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too. +Backare! you are marvellous forward. + +PETRUCHIO. +O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing. + +GREMIO. +I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is +a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, +myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely +give unto you this young scholar, + +[_Presenting Lucentio._] + +that has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and +other languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is +Cambio; pray accept his service. + +BAPTISTA. +A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [_To Tranio._] +But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to +know the cause of your coming? + +TRANIO. +Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, +That, being a stranger in this city here, +Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, +Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. +Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, +In the preferment of the eldest sister. +This liberty is all that I request, +That, upon knowledge of my parentage, +I may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo, +And free access and favour as the rest: +And, toward the education of your daughters, +I here bestow a simple instrument, +And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: +If you accept them, then their worth is great. + +BAPTISTA. +Lucentio is your name, of whence, I pray? + +TRANIO. +Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. + +BAPTISTA. +A mighty man of Pisa: by report +I know him well: you are very welcome, sir. +[_To Hortensio_.] Take you the lute, +[_To Lucentio_.] and you the set of books; +You shall go see your pupils presently. +Holla, within! + + +Enter a Servant. + +Sirrah, lead these gentlemen +To my daughters, and tell them both +These are their tutors: bid them use them well. + +[_Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello._] + +We will go walk a little in the orchard, +And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, +And so I pray you all to think yourselves. + +PETRUCHIO. +Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, +And every day I cannot come to woo. +You knew my father well, and in him me, +Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, +Which I have bettered rather than decreas’d: +Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love, +What dowry shall I have with her to wife? + +BAPTISTA. +After my death, the one half of my lands, +And in possession twenty thousand crowns. + +PETRUCHIO. +And, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of +Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, +In all my lands and leases whatsoever. +Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, +That covenants may be kept on either hand. + +BAPTISTA. +Ay, when the special thing is well obtain’d, +That is, her love; for that is all in all. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, +I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; +And where two raging fires meet together, +They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: +Though little fire grows great with little wind, +Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all; +So I to her, and so she yields to me; +For I am rough and woo not like a babe. + +BAPTISTA. +Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed! +But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words. + +PETRUCHIO. +Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, +That shake not though they blow perpetually. + + +Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broke. + +BAPTISTA. +How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale? + +HORTENSIO. +For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. + +BAPTISTA. +What, will my daughter prove a good musician? + +HORTENSIO. +I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier: +Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. + +BAPTISTA. +Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? + +HORTENSIO. +Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. +I did but tell her she mistook her frets, +And bow’d her hand to teach her fingering; +When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, +’Frets, call you these?’ quoth she ‘I’ll fume with them’; +And with that word she struck me on the head, +And through the instrument my pate made way; +And there I stood amazed for a while, +As on a pillory, looking through the lute; +While she did call me rascal fiddler, +And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms, +As had she studied to misuse me so. + +PETRUCHIO. +Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench! +I love her ten times more than e’er I did: +O! how I long to have some chat with her! + +BAPTISTA. +[_To Hortensio_.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited; +Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; +She’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. +Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, +Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? + +PETRUCHIO. +I pray you do. + +[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio._] + +I will attend her here, +And woo her with some spirit when she comes. +Say that she rail; why, then I’ll tell her plain +She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: +Say that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear +As morning roses newly wash’d with dew: +Say she be mute, and will not speak a word; +Then I’ll commend her volubility, +And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: +If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks, +As though she bid me stay by her a week: +If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day +When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. +But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. + + +Enter Katherina. + +Good morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear. + +KATHERINA. +Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: +They call me Katherine that do talk of me. + +PETRUCHIO. +You lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate, +And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; +But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, +Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, +For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, +Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; +Hearing thy mildness prais’d in every town, +Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,— +Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,— +Myself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife. + +KATHERINA. +Mov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither +Remove you hence. I knew you at the first, +You were a moveable. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, what’s a moveable? + +KATHERINA. +A joint-stool. + +PETRUCHIO. +Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me. + +KATHERINA. +Asses are made to bear, and so are you. + +PETRUCHIO. +Women are made to bear, and so are you. + +KATHERINA. +No such jade as bear you, if me you mean. + +PETRUCHIO. +Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee; +For, knowing thee to be but young and light,— + +KATHERINA. +Too light for such a swain as you to catch; +And yet as heavy as my weight should be. + +PETRUCHIO. +Should be! should buz! + +KATHERINA. +Well ta’en, and like a buzzard. + +PETRUCHIO. +O, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee? + +KATHERINA. +Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. + +PETRUCHIO. +Come, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry. + +KATHERINA. +If I be waspish, best beware my sting. + +PETRUCHIO. +My remedy is then to pluck it out. + +KATHERINA. +Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. + +PETRUCHIO. +Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? +In his tail. + +KATHERINA. +In his tongue. + +PETRUCHIO. +Whose tongue? + +KATHERINA. +Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell. + +PETRUCHIO. +What! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, +Good Kate; I am a gentleman. + +KATHERINA. +That I’ll try. + +[_Striking him._] + +PETRUCHIO. +I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again. + +KATHERINA. +So may you lose your arms: +If you strike me, you are no gentleman; +And if no gentleman, why then no arms. + +PETRUCHIO. +A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books. + +KATHERINA. +What is your crest? a coxcomb? + +PETRUCHIO. +A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. + +KATHERINA. +No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven. + +PETRUCHIO. +Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. + +KATHERINA. +It is my fashion when I see a crab. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour. + +KATHERINA. +There is, there is. + +PETRUCHIO. +Then show it me. + +KATHERINA. +Had I a glass I would. + +PETRUCHIO. +What, you mean my face? + +KATHERINA. +Well aim’d of such a young one. + +PETRUCHIO. +Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. + +KATHERINA. +Yet you are wither’d. + +PETRUCHIO. +’Tis with cares. + +KATHERINA. +I care not. + +PETRUCHIO. +Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so. + +KATHERINA. +I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. + +PETRUCHIO. +No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. +’Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, +And now I find report a very liar; +For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, +But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers. +Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, +Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, +Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; +But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers; +With gentle conference, soft and affable. +Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? +O sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig +Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue +As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. +O! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt. + +KATHERINA. +Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command. + +PETRUCHIO. +Did ever Dian so become a grove +As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? +O! be thou Dian, and let her be Kate, +And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! + +KATHERINA. +Where did you study all this goodly speech? + +PETRUCHIO. +It is extempore, from my mother-wit. + +KATHERINA. +A witty mother! witless else her son. + +PETRUCHIO. +Am I not wise? + +KATHERINA. +Yes; keep you warm. + +PETRUCHIO. +Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed; +And therefore, setting all this chat aside, +Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented +That you shall be my wife your dowry ’greed on; +And will you, nill you, I will marry you. +Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; +For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,— +Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,— +Thou must be married to no man but me; +For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, +And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate +Conformable as other household Kates. + + +Re-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio. + +Here comes your father. Never make denial; +I must and will have Katherine to my wife. + +BAPTISTA. +Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? + +PETRUCHIO. +How but well, sir? how but well? +It were impossible I should speed amiss. + +BAPTISTA. +Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps? + +KATHERINA. +Call you me daughter? Now I promise you +You have show’d a tender fatherly regard +To wish me wed to one half lunatic, +A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, +That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. + +PETRUCHIO. +Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world +That talk’d of her have talk’d amiss of her: +If she be curst, it is for policy, +For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove; +She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; +For patience she will prove a second Grissel, +And Roman Lucrece for her chastity; +And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together +That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. + +KATHERINA. +I’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first. + +GREMIO. +Hark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first. + +TRANIO. +Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part! + +PETRUCHIO. +Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself; +If she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you? +’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone, +That she shall still be curst in company. +I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe +How much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate +She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss +She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, +That in a twink she won me to her love. +O! you are novices: ’tis a world to see, +How tame, when men and women are alone, +A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. +Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice, +To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day. +Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; +I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine. + +BAPTISTA. +I know not what to say; but give me your hands. +God send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match. + +GREMIO, TRANIO. +Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. + +PETRUCHIO. +Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu. +I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace; +We will have rings and things, and fine array; +And kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday. + +[_Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally._] + +GREMIO. +Was ever match clapp’d up so suddenly? + +BAPTISTA. +Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part, +And venture madly on a desperate mart. + +TRANIO. +’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you; +’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. + +BAPTISTA. +The gain I seek is, quiet in the match. + +GREMIO. +No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. +But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: +Now is the day we long have looked for; +I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. + +TRANIO. +And I am one that love Bianca more +Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess. + +GREMIO. +Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. + +TRANIO. +Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. + +GREMIO. +But thine doth fry. +Skipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth. + +TRANIO. +But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth. + +BAPTISTA. +Content you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife: +’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both +That can assure my daughter greatest dower +Shall have my Bianca’s love. +Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? + +GREMIO. +First, as you know, my house within the city +Is richly furnished with plate and gold: +Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; +My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; +In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns; +In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, +Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, +Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl, +Valance of Venice gold in needlework; +Pewter and brass, and all things that belong +To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm +I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, +Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, +And all things answerable to this portion. +Myself am struck in years, I must confess; +And if I die tomorrow this is hers, +If whilst I live she will be only mine. + +TRANIO. +That ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me: +I am my father’s heir and only son; +If I may have your daughter to my wife, +I’ll leave her houses three or four as good +Within rich Pisa’s walls as anyone +Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; +Besides two thousand ducats by the year +Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. +What, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio? + +GREMIO. +Two thousand ducats by the year of land! +My land amounts not to so much in all: +That she shall have, besides an argosy +That now is lying in Marseilles’ road. +What, have I chok’d you with an argosy? + +TRANIO. +Gremio, ’tis known my father hath no less +Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, +And twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her, +And twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next. + +GREMIO. +Nay, I have offer’d all; I have no more; +And she can have no more than all I have; +If you like me, she shall have me and mine. + +TRANIO. +Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, +By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. + +BAPTISTA. +I must confess your offer is the best; +And let your father make her the assurance, +She is your own; else, you must pardon me; +If you should die before him, where’s her dower? + +TRANIO. +That’s but a cavil; he is old, I young. + +GREMIO. +And may not young men die as well as old? + +BAPTISTA. +Well, gentlemen, +I am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know, +My daughter Katherine is to be married; +Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca +Be bride to you, if you make this assurance; +If not, to Signior Gremio. +And so I take my leave, and thank you both. + +GREMIO. +Adieu, good neighbour. + +[_Exit Baptista._] + +Now, I fear thee not: +Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool +To give thee all, and in his waning age +Set foot under thy table. Tut! a toy! +An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. + +[_Exit._] + +TRANIO. +A vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide! +Yet I have fac’d it with a card of ten. +’Tis in my head to do my master good: +I see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio +Must get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio; +And that’s a wonder: fathers commonly +Do get their children; but in this case of wooing +A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Padua. A room in BAPTISTA’S house. + +Enter Lucentio, Hortensio and Bianca. + +LUCENTIO. +Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir. +Have you so soon forgot the entertainment +Her sister Katherine welcome’d you withal? + +HORTENSIO. +But, wrangling pedant, this is +The patroness of heavenly harmony: +Then give me leave to have prerogative; +And when in music we have spent an hour, +Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. + +LUCENTIO. +Preposterous ass, that never read so far +To know the cause why music was ordain’d! +Was it not to refresh the mind of man +After his studies or his usual pain? +Then give me leave to read philosophy, +And while I pause serve in your harmony. + +HORTENSIO. +Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. + +BIANCA. +Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, +To strive for that which resteth in my choice. +I am no breeching scholar in the schools, +I’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times, +But learn my lessons as I please myself. +And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down; +Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; +His lecture will be done ere you have tun’d. + +HORTENSIO. +You’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune? + +[_Retires._] + +LUCENTIO. +That will be never: tune your instrument. + +BIANCA. +Where left we last? + +LUCENTIO. +Here, madam:— +_Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; +Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis._ + +BIANCA. +Construe them. + +LUCENTIO. +_Hic ibat_, as I told you before, _Simois_, I am Lucentio, _hic est_, +son unto Vincentio of Pisa, _Sigeia tellus_, disguised thus to get your +love, _Hic steterat_, and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, _Priami_, +is my man Tranio, _regia_, bearing my port, _celsa senis_, that we +might beguile the old pantaloon. + +HORTENSIO. [_Returning._] +Madam, my instrument’s in tune. + +BIANCA. +Let’s hear.— + +[Hortensio _plays._] + +O fie! the treble jars. + +LUCENTIO. +Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. + +BIANCA. +Now let me see if I can construe it: _Hic ibat Simois_, I know you not; +_hic est Sigeia tellus_, I trust you not; _Hic steterat Priami_, take +heed he hear us not; _regia_, presume not; _celsa senis_, despair not. + +HORTENSIO. +Madam, ’tis now in tune. + +LUCENTIO. +All but the base. + +HORTENSIO. +The base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars. +[_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is! +Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: +Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet. + +BIANCA. +In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. + +LUCENTIO. +Mistrust it not; for sure, Æacides +Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather. + +BIANCA. +I must believe my master; else, I promise you, +I should be arguing still upon that doubt; +But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you. +Good master, take it not unkindly, pray, +That I have been thus pleasant with you both. + +HORTENSIO. +[_To Lucentio_] You may go walk and give me leave a while; +My lessons make no music in three parts. + +LUCENTIO. +Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait, +[_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d, +Our fine musician groweth amorous. + +HORTENSIO. +Madam, before you touch the instrument, +To learn the order of my fingering, +I must begin with rudiments of art; +To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, +More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, +Than hath been taught by any of my trade: +And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. + +BIANCA. +Why, I am past my gamut long ago. + +HORTENSIO. +Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. + +BIANCA. + _Gamut_ I am, the ground of all accord, + _A re_, to plead Hortensio’s passion; + _B mi_, Bianca, take him for thy lord, + _C fa ut_, that loves with all affection: + _D sol re_, one clef, two notes have I + _E la mi_, show pity or I die. +Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not: +Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, +To change true rules for odd inventions. + + +Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, +And help to dress your sister’s chamber up: +You know tomorrow is the wedding-day. + +BIANCA. +Farewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone. + +[_Exeunt Bianca and Servant._] + +LUCENTIO. +Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. + +[_Exit._] + +HORTENSIO. +But I have cause to pry into this pedant: +Methinks he looks as though he were in love. +Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble +To cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale, +Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging, +Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +SCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house. + +Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherina, Bianca, Lucentio and +Attendants. + +BAPTISTA. [_To Tranio_.] +Signior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day +That Katherine and Petruchio should be married, +And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. +What will be said? What mockery will it be +To want the bridegroom when the priest attends +To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage! +What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? + +KATHERINA. +No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d +To give my hand, oppos’d against my heart, +Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen; +Who woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure. +I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, +Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour; +And to be noted for a merry man, +He’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage, +Make friends, invite, and proclaim the banns; +Yet never means to wed where he hath woo’d. +Now must the world point at poor Katherine, +And say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife, +If it would please him come and marry her.’ + +TRANIO. +Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too. +Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, +Whatever fortune stays him from his word: +Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; +Though he be merry, yet withal he’s honest. + +KATHERINA. +Would Katherine had never seen him though! + +[_Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others._] + +BAPTISTA. +Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep, +For such an injury would vex a very saint; +Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. + + +Enter Biondello. + +Master, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of! + +BAPTISTA. +Is it new and old too? How may that be? + +BIONDELLO. +Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming? + +BAPTISTA. +Is he come? + +BIONDELLO. +Why, no, sir. + +BAPTISTA. +What then? + +BIONDELLO. +He is coming. + +BAPTISTA. +When will he be here? + +BIONDELLO. +When he stands where I am and sees you there. + +TRANIO. +But say, what to thine old news? + +BIONDELLO. +Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old +breeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, +one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town +armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his +horse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred; +besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine; +troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of +windgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the +fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed +in the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a +half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which, being +restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now +repaired with knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s crupper +of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in +studs, and here and there pieced with pack-thread. + +BAPTISTA. +Who comes with him? + +BIONDELLO. +O, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with +a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered +with a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies +prick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and +not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey. + +TRANIO. +’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; +Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d. + +BAPTISTA. +I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes. + +BIONDELLO. +Why, sir, he comes not. + +BAPTISTA. +Didst thou not say he comes? + +BIONDELLO. +Who? that Petruchio came? + +BAPTISTA. +Ay, that Petruchio came. + +BIONDELLO. +No, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back. + +BAPTISTA. +Why, that’s all one. + +BIONDELLO. + Nay, by Saint Jamy, + I hold you a penny, + A horse and a man + Is more than one, + And yet not many. + + +Enter Petruchio and Grumio. + +PETRUCHIO. +Come, where be these gallants? Who is at home? + +BAPTISTA. +You are welcome, sir. + +PETRUCHIO. +And yet I come not well. + +BAPTISTA. +And yet you halt not. + +TRANIO. +Not so well apparell’d as I wish you were. + +PETRUCHIO. +Were it better, I should rush in thus. +But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride? +How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown; +And wherefore gaze this goodly company, +As if they saw some wondrous monument, +Some comet or unusual prodigy? + +BAPTISTA. +Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: +First were we sad, fearing you would not come; +Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. +Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate, +An eye-sore to our solemn festival. + +TRANIO. +And tell us what occasion of import +Hath all so long detain’d you from your wife, +And sent you hither so unlike yourself? + +PETRUCHIO. +Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear; +Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, +Though in some part enforced to digress; +Which at more leisure I will so excuse +As you shall well be satisfied withal. +But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; +The morning wears, ’tis time we were at church. + +TRANIO. +See not your bride in these unreverent robes; +Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. + +PETRUCHIO. +Not I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her. + +BAPTISTA. +But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. + +PETRUCHIO. +Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words; +To me she’s married, not unto my clothes. +Could I repair what she will wear in me +As I can change these poor accoutrements, +’Twere well for Kate and better for myself. +But what a fool am I to chat with you +When I should bid good morrow to my bride, +And seal the title with a lovely kiss! + +[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._] + +TRANIO. +He hath some meaning in his mad attire. +We will persuade him, be it possible, +To put on better ere he go to church. + +BAPTISTA. +I’ll after him and see the event of this. + +[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._] + +TRANIO. +But, sir, to love concerneth us to add +Her father’s liking; which to bring to pass, +As I before imparted to your worship, +I am to get a man,—whate’er he be +It skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,— +And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, +And make assurance here in Padua, +Of greater sums than I have promised. +So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, +And marry sweet Bianca with consent. + +LUCENTIO. +Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster +Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly, +’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; +Which once perform’d, let all the world say no, +I’ll keep mine own despite of all the world. + +TRANIO. +That by degrees we mean to look into, +And watch our vantage in this business. +We’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, +The narrow-prying father, Minola, +The quaint musician, amorous Licio; +All for my master’s sake, Lucentio. + + +Re-enter Gremio. + +Signior Gremio, came you from the church? + +GREMIO. +As willingly as e’er I came from school. + +TRANIO. +And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? + +GREMIO. +A bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed, +A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. + +TRANIO. +Curster than she? Why, ’tis impossible. + +GREMIO. +Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend. + +TRANIO. +Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam. + +GREMIO. +Tut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him. +I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest +Should ask if Katherine should be his wife, +’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud +That, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book; +And as he stoop’d again to take it up, +The mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff +That down fell priest and book, and book and priest: +‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’ + +TRANIO. +What said the wench, when he rose again? + +GREMIO. +Trembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore +As if the vicar meant to cozen him. +But after many ceremonies done, +He calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if +He had been abroad, carousing to his mates +After a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel, +And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face, +Having no other reason +But that his beard grew thin and hungerly +And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking. +This done, he took the bride about the neck, +And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack +That at the parting all the church did echo. +And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; +And after me, I know, the rout is coming. +Such a mad marriage never was before. +Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. + +[_Music plays._] + +Enter Petrucio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and +Train. + +PETRUCHIO. +Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: +I know you think to dine with me today, +And have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer +But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, +And therefore here I mean to take my leave. + +BAPTISTA. +Is’t possible you will away tonight? + +PETRUCHIO. +I must away today before night come. +Make it no wonder: if you knew my business, +You would entreat me rather go than stay. +And, honest company, I thank you all, +That have beheld me give away myself +To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife. +Dine with my father, drink a health to me. +For I must hence; and farewell to you all. + +TRANIO. +Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. + +PETRUCHIO. +It may not be. + +GREMIO. +Let me entreat you. + +PETRUCHIO. +It cannot be. + +KATHERINA. +Let me entreat you. + +PETRUCHIO. +I am content. + +KATHERINA. +Are you content to stay? + +PETRUCHIO. +I am content you shall entreat me stay; +But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. + +KATHERINA. +Now, if you love me, stay. + +PETRUCHIO. +Grumio, my horse! + +GRUMIO. +Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses. + +KATHERINA. +Nay, then, +Do what thou canst, I will not go today; +No, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself. +The door is open, sir; there lies your way; +You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; +For me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself. +’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom +That take it on you at the first so roundly. + +PETRUCHIO. +O Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry. + +KATHERINA. +I will be angry: what hast thou to do? +Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. + +GREMIO. +Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. + +KATHERINA. +Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: +I see a woman may be made a fool, +If she had not a spirit to resist. + +PETRUCHIO. +They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. +Obey the bride, you that attend on her; +Go to the feast, revel and domineer, +Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, +Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves: +But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. +Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; +I will be master of what is mine own. +She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, +My household stuff, my field, my barn, +My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything; +And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; +I’ll bring mine action on the proudest he +That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, +Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves; +Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. +Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate; +I’ll buckler thee against a million. + +[_Exeunt Petrucio, Katherina and Grumio._] + +BAPTISTA. +Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. + +GREMIO. +Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. + +TRANIO. +Of all mad matches, never was the like. + +LUCENTIO. +Mistress, what’s your opinion of your sister? + +BIANCA. +That, being mad herself, she’s madly mated. + +GREMIO. +I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. + +BAPTISTA. +Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants +For to supply the places at the table, +You know there wants no junkets at the feast. +Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place; +And let Bianca take her sister’s room. + +TRANIO. +Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? + +BAPTISTA. +She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house. + +Enter Grumio. + +GRUMIO. +Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was +ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am +sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. +Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to +my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere +I should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall +warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will +take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis! + +Enter Curtis. + +CURTIS. +Who is that calls so coldly? + +GRUMIO. +A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to +my heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good +Curtis. + +CURTIS. +Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? + +GRUMIO. +O, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water. + +CURTIS. +Is she so hot a shrew as she’s reported? + +GRUMIO. +She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames +man, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new +mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. + +CURTIS. +Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. + +GRUMIO. +Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the +least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our +mistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to +thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office? + +CURTIS. +I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world? + +GRUMIO. +A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do +thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost +frozen to death. + +CURTIS. +There’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news. + +GRUMIO. +Why, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou. + +CURTIS. +Come, you are so full of cony-catching. + +GRUMIO. +Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook? +Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the +servingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every +officer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills +fair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order? + +CURTIS. +All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news. + +GRUMIO. +First, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out. + +CURTIS. +How? + +GRUMIO. +Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale. + +CURTIS. +Let’s ha’t, good Grumio. + +GRUMIO. +Lend thine ear. + +CURTIS. +Here. + +GRUMIO. +[_Striking him._] There. + +CURTIS. +This ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. + +GRUMIO. +And therefore ’tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to +knock at your ear and beseech listening. Now I begin: _Imprimis_, we +came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,— + +CURTIS. +Both of one horse? + +GRUMIO. +What’s that to thee? + +CURTIS. +Why, a horse. + +GRUMIO. +Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have +heard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have +heard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with +the horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she +waded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she +prayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away; +how her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of +worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return +unexperienced to thy grave. + +CURTIS. +By this reckoning he is more shrew than she. + +GRUMIO. +Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes +home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, +Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly +combed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent +knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a +hair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all +ready? + +CURTIS. +They are. + +GRUMIO. +Call them forth. + +CURTIS. +Do you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress. + +GRUMIO. +Why, she hath a face of her own. + +CURTIS. +Who knows not that? + +GRUMIO. +Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her. + +CURTIS. +I call them forth to credit her. + +GRUMIO. +Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. + + +Enter four or five Servants. + +NATHANIEL. +Welcome home, Grumio! + +PHILIP. +How now, Grumio! + +JOSEPH. +What, Grumio! + +NICHOLAS. +Fellow Grumio! + +NATHANIEL. +How now, old lad! + +GRUMIO. +Welcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for +greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? + +NATHANIEL. +All things is ready. How near is our master? + +GRUMIO. +E’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,— +Cock’s passion, silence! I hear my master. + + +Enter Petrucio and Katherina. + +PETRUCHIO. +Where be these knaves? What! no man at door +To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse? +Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?— + +ALL SERVANTS. +Here, here, sir; here, sir. + +PETRUCHIO. +Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! +You logger-headed and unpolish’d grooms! +What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? +Where is the foolish knave I sent before? + +GRUMIO. +Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. + +PETRUCHIO. +You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge! +Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, +And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? + +GRUMIO. +Nathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made, +And Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel; +There was no link to colour Peter’s hat, +And Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing; +There was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; +The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; +Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. + +PETRUCHIO. +Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in. + +[_Exeunt some of the Servants._] + +Where is the life that late I led? + Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome. +Food, food, food, food! + + +Re-enter Servants with supper. + +Why, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.— +Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains! when? + It was the friar of orders grey, + As he forth walked on his way: +Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry: + +[_Strikes him._] + +Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. +Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho! +Where’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence +And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: + +[_Exit Servant._] + +One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with. +Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? +Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.— + +[_Servant lets the ewer fall. Petruchio strikes him._] + +You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? + +KATHERINA. +Patience, I pray you; ’twas a fault unwilling. + +PETRUCHIO. +A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave! +Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. +Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?— +What’s this? Mutton? + +FIRST SERVANT. +Ay. + +PETRUCHIO. +Who brought it? + +PETER. +I. + +PETRUCHIO. +’Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. +What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook? +How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, +And serve it thus to me that love it not? + +[_Throws the meat, etc., at them._] + +There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all. +You heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves! +What! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight. + +KATHERINA. +I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; +The meat was well, if you were so contented. + +PETRUCHIO. +I tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away, +And I expressly am forbid to touch it; +For it engenders choler, planteth anger; +And better ’twere that both of us did fast, +Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, +Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. +Be patient; tomorrow ’t shall be mended. +And for this night we’ll fast for company: +Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. + +[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Curtis._] + +NATHANIEL. +Peter, didst ever see the like? + +PETER. +He kills her in her own humour. + + +Re-enter Curtis. + +GRUMIO. +Where is he? + +CURTIS. +In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her; +And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, +Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, +And sits as one new risen from a dream. +Away, away! for he is coming hither. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Re-enter Petruchio. + +PETRUCHIO. +Thus have I politicly begun my reign, +And ’tis my hope to end successfully. +My falcon now is sharp and passing empty. +And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg’d, +For then she never looks upon her lure. +Another way I have to man my haggard, +To make her come, and know her keeper’s call, +That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites +That bate and beat, and will not be obedient. +She eat no meat today, nor none shall eat; +Last night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not; +As with the meat, some undeserved fault +I’ll find about the making of the bed; +And here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster, +This way the coverlet, another way the sheets; +Ay, and amid this hurly I intend +That all is done in reverend care of her; +And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night: +And if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl, +And with the clamour keep her still awake. +This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; +And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour. +He that knows better how to tame a shrew, +Now let him speak; ’tis charity to show. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +SCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house. + +Enter Tranio and Hortensio. + +TRANIO. +Is ’t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca +Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? +I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. + +HORTENSIO. +Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, +Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. + +[_They stand aside._] + +Enter Bianca and Lucentio. + +LUCENTIO. +Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? + +BIANCA. +What, master, read you? First resolve me that. + +LUCENTIO. +I read that I profess, _The Art to Love_. + +BIANCA. +And may you prove, sir, master of your art! + +LUCENTIO. +While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. + +[_They retire._] + +HORTENSIO. +Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray, +You that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca +Lov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio. + +TRANIO. +O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! +I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. + +HORTENSIO. +Mistake no more; I am not Licio. +Nor a musician as I seem to be; +But one that scorn to live in this disguise +For such a one as leaves a gentleman +And makes a god of such a cullion: +Know, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio. + +TRANIO. +Signior Hortensio, I have often heard +Of your entire affection to Bianca; +And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, +I will with you, if you be so contented, +Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. + +HORTENSIO. +See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, +Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow +Never to woo her more, but do forswear her, +As one unworthy all the former favours +That I have fondly flatter’d her withal. + +TRANIO. +And here I take the like unfeigned oath, +Never to marry with her though she would entreat; +Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him! + +HORTENSIO. +Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! +For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, +I will be married to a wealthy widow +Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me +As I have lov’d this proud disdainful haggard. +And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. +Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, +Shall win my love; and so I take my leave, +In resolution as I swore before. + +[_Exit Hortensio. Lucentio and Bianca advance._] + +TRANIO. +Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace +As ’longeth to a lover’s blessed case! +Nay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love, +And have forsworn you with Hortensio. + +BIANCA. +Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me? + +TRANIO. +Mistress, we have. + +LUCENTIO. +Then we are rid of Licio. + +TRANIO. +I’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now, +That shall be woo’d and wedded in a day. + +BIANCA. +God give him joy! + +TRANIO. +Ay, and he’ll tame her. + +BIANCA. +He says so, Tranio. + +TRANIO. +Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. + +BIANCA. +The taming-school! What, is there such a place? + +TRANIO. +Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master, +That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, +To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue. + + +Enter Biondello, running. + +BIONDELLO. +O master, master! I have watch’d so long +That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied +An ancient angel coming down the hill +Will serve the turn. + +TRANIO. +What is he, Biondello? + +BIONDELLO. +Master, a mercatante or a pedant, +I know not what; but formal in apparel, +In gait and countenance surely like a father. + +LUCENTIO. +And what of him, Tranio? + +TRANIO. +If he be credulous and trust my tale, +I’ll make him glad to seem Vincentio, +And give assurance to Baptista Minola, +As if he were the right Vincentio. +Take in your love, and then let me alone. + +[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._] + +Enter a Pedant. + +PEDANT. +God save you, sir! + +TRANIO. +And you, sir! you are welcome. +Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? + +PEDANT. +Sir, at the farthest for a week or two; +But then up farther, and as far as Rome; +And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. + +TRANIO. +What countryman, I pray? + +PEDANT. +Of Mantua. + +TRANIO. +Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid, +And come to Padua, careless of your life! + +PEDANT. +My life, sir! How, I pray? for that goes hard. + +TRANIO. +’Tis death for anyone in Mantua +To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? +Your ships are stay’d at Venice; and the Duke,— +For private quarrel ’twixt your Duke and him,— +Hath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly. +’Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come +You might have heard it else proclaim’d about. + +PEDANT. +Alas, sir! it is worse for me than so; +For I have bills for money by exchange +From Florence, and must here deliver them. + +TRANIO. +Well, sir, to do you courtesy, +This will I do, and this I will advise you: +First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? + +PEDANT. +Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, +Pisa renowned for grave citizens. + +TRANIO. +Among them know you one Vincentio? + +PEDANT. +I know him not, but I have heard of him, +A merchant of incomparable wealth. + +TRANIO. +He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, +In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. + +BIONDELLO. +[_Aside._] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. + +TRANIO. +To save your life in this extremity, +This favour will I do you for his sake; +And think it not the worst of all your fortunes +That you are like to Sir Vincentio. +His name and credit shall you undertake, +And in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d; +Look that you take upon you as you should! +You understand me, sir; so shall you stay +Till you have done your business in the city. +If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. + +PEDANT. +O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever +The patron of my life and liberty. + +TRANIO. +Then go with me to make the matter good. +This, by the way, I let you understand: +My father is here look’d for every day +To pass assurance of a dower in marriage +’Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here: +In all these circumstances I’ll instruct you. +Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +SCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house. + +Enter Katherina and Grumio. + +GRUMIO. +No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. + +KATHERINA. +The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. +What, did he marry me to famish me? +Beggars that come unto my father’s door +Upon entreaty have a present alms; +If not, elsewhere they meet with charity; +But I, who never knew how to entreat, +Nor never needed that I should entreat, +Am starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; +With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed. +And that which spites me more than all these wants, +He does it under name of perfect love; +As who should say, if I should sleep or eat +’Twere deadly sickness, or else present death. +I prithee go and get me some repast; +I care not what, so it be wholesome food. + +GRUMIO. +What say you to a neat’s foot? + +KATHERINA. +’Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it. + +GRUMIO. +I fear it is too choleric a meat. +How say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d? + +KATHERINA. +I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. + +GRUMIO. +I cannot tell; I fear ’tis choleric. +What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? + +KATHERINA. +A dish that I do love to feed upon. + +GRUMIO. +Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. + +KATHERINA. +Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest. + +GRUMIO. +Nay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard, +Or else you get no beef of Grumio. + +KATHERINA. +Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt. + +GRUMIO. +Why then the mustard without the beef. + +KATHERINA. +Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, + +[_Beats him._] + +That feed’st me with the very name of meat. +Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you +That triumph thus upon my misery! +Go, get thee gone, I say. + + +Enter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hortensio. + +PETRUCHIO. +How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? + +HORTENSIO. +Mistress, what cheer? + +KATHERINA. +Faith, as cold as can be. + +PETRUCHIO. +Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me. +Here, love; thou seest how diligent I am, +To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee: + +[_Sets the dish on a table._] + +I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. +What! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not, +And all my pains is sorted to no proof. +Here, take away this dish. + +KATHERINA. +I pray you, let it stand. + +PETRUCHIO. +The poorest service is repaid with thanks; +And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. + +KATHERINA. +I thank you, sir. + +HORTENSIO. +Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame. +Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company. + +PETRUCHIO. +[_Aside._] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me. +Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! +Kate, eat apace: and now, my honey love, +Will we return unto thy father’s house +And revel it as bravely as the best, +With silken coats and caps, and golden rings, +With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things; +With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery, +With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. +What! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure, +To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. + + +Enter Tailor. + +Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments; +Lay forth the gown.— + + +Enter Haberdasher. + +What news with you, sir? + +HABERDASHER. +Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, this was moulded on a porringer; +A velvet dish: fie, fie! ’tis lewd and filthy: +Why, ’tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, +A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap: +Away with it! come, let me have a bigger. + +KATHERINA. +I’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, +And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. + +PETRUCHIO. +When you are gentle, you shall have one too, +And not till then. + +HORTENSIO. +[_Aside_] That will not be in haste. + +KATHERINA. +Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; +And speak I will. I am no child, no babe. +Your betters have endur’d me say my mind, +And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. +My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, +Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; +And rather than it shall, I will be free +Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, thou say’st true; it is a paltry cap, +A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie; +I love thee well in that thou lik’st it not. + +KATHERINA. +Love me or love me not, I like the cap; +And it I will have, or I will have none. + +[_Exit Haberdasher._] + +PETRUCHIO. +Thy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t. +O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? +What’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon. +What, up and down, carv’d like an apple tart? +Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, +Like to a censer in a barber’s shop. +Why, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this? + +HORTENSIO. +[_Aside_] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown. + +TAILOR. +You bid me make it orderly and well, +According to the fashion and the time. + +PETRUCHIO. +Marry, and did; but if you be remember’d, +I did not bid you mar it to the time. +Go, hop me over every kennel home, +For you shall hop without my custom, sir. +I’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it. + +KATHERINA. +I never saw a better fashion’d gown, +More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable; +Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. + +TAILOR. +She says your worship means to make a puppet of her. + +PETRUCHIO. +O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, +Thou thimble, +Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail! +Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou! +Brav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread! +Away! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant, +Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard +As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st! +I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown. + +TAILOR. +Your worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made +Just as my master had direction. +Grumio gave order how it should be done. + +GRUMIO. +I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. + +TAILOR. +But how did you desire it should be made? + +GRUMIO. +Marry, sir, with needle and thread. + +TAILOR. +But did you not request to have it cut? + +GRUMIO. +Thou hast faced many things. + +TAILOR. +I have. + +GRUMIO. +Face not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be +fac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; +but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest. + +TAILOR. +Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. + +PETRUCHIO. +Read it. + +GRUMIO. +The note lies in ’s throat, if he say I said so. + +TAILOR. +’Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’ + +GRUMIO. +Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it +and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread; I said, a gown. + +PETRUCHIO. +Proceed. + +TAILOR. +’With a small compassed cape.’ + +GRUMIO. +I confess the cape. + +TAILOR. +’With a trunk sleeve.’ + +GRUMIO. +I confess two sleeves. + +TAILOR. +’The sleeves curiously cut.’ + +PETRUCHIO. +Ay, there’s the villainy. + +GRUMIO. +Error i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves +should be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee, +though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. + +TAILOR. +This is true that I say; and I had thee in place where thou shouldst +know it. + +GRUMIO. +I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and +spare not me. + +HORTENSIO. +God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds. + +PETRUCHIO. +Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. + +GRUMIO. +You are i’ the right, sir; ’tis for my mistress. + +PETRUCHIO. +Go, take it up unto thy master’s use. + +GRUMIO. +Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s +use! + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, sir, what’s your conceit in that? + +GRUMIO. +O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for. +Take up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use! +O fie, fie, fie! + +PETRUCHIO. +[_Aside_] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid. +[_To Tailor._] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more. + +HORTENSIO. +[_Aside to Tailor._] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow; +Take no unkindness of his hasty words. +Away, I say! commend me to thy master. + +[_Exit Tailor._] + +PETRUCHIO. +Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s +Even in these honest mean habiliments. +Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor +For ’tis the mind that makes the body rich; +And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, +So honour peereth in the meanest habit. +What, is the jay more precious than the lark +Because his feathers are more beautiful? +Or is the adder better than the eel +Because his painted skin contents the eye? +O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse +For this poor furniture and mean array. +If thou account’st it shame, lay it on me; +And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith, +To feast and sport us at thy father’s house. +Go call my men, and let us straight to him; +And bring our horses unto Long-lane end; +There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. +Let’s see; I think ’tis now some seven o’clock, +And well we may come there by dinner-time. + +KATHERINA. +I dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two, +And ’twill be supper-time ere you come there. + +PETRUCHIO. +It shall be seven ere I go to horse. +Look what I speak, or do, or think to do, +You are still crossing it. Sirs, let ’t alone: +I will not go today; and ere I do, +It shall be what o’clock I say it is. + +HORTENSIO. +Why, so this gallant will command the sun. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +SCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house. + +Enter Tranio and the Pedant dressed like Vincentio + +TRANIO. +Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call? + +PEDANT. +Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, +Signior Baptista may remember me, +Near twenty years ago in Genoa, +Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. + +TRANIO. +’Tis well; and hold your own, in any case, +With such austerity as ’longeth to a father. + +PEDANT. +I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy; +’Twere good he were school’d. + + +Enter Biondello. + +TRANIO. +Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, +Now do your duty throughly, I advise you. +Imagine ’twere the right Vincentio. + +BIONDELLO. +Tut! fear not me. + +TRANIO. +But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? + +BIONDELLO. +I told him that your father was at Venice, +And that you look’d for him this day in Padua. + +TRANIO. +Th’art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink. +Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir. + + +Enter Baptista and Lucentio. + +Signior Baptista, you are happily met. +[_To the Pedant_] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of; +I pray you stand good father to me now; +Give me Bianca for my patrimony. + +PEDANT. +Soft, son! +Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua +To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio +Made me acquainted with a weighty cause +Of love between your daughter and himself: +And,—for the good report I hear of you, +And for the love he beareth to your daughter, +And she to him,—to stay him not too long, +I am content, in a good father’s care, +To have him match’d; and, if you please to like +No worse than I, upon some agreement +Me shall you find ready and willing +With one consent to have her so bestow’d; +For curious I cannot be with you, +Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. + +BAPTISTA. +Sir, pardon me in what I have to say. +Your plainness and your shortness please me well. +Right true it is your son Lucentio here +Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, +Or both dissemble deeply their affections; +And therefore, if you say no more than this, +That like a father you will deal with him, +And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, +The match is made, and all is done: +Your son shall have my daughter with consent. + +TRANIO. +I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best +We be affied, and such assurance ta’en +As shall with either part’s agreement stand? + +BAPTISTA. +Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know +Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants; +Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still, +And happily we might be interrupted. + +TRANIO. +Then at my lodging, and it like you: +There doth my father lie; and there this night +We’ll pass the business privately and well. +Send for your daughter by your servant here; +My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. +The worst is this, that at so slender warning +You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. + +BAPTISTA. +It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home, +And bid Bianca make her ready straight; +And, if you will, tell what hath happened: +Lucentio’s father is arriv’d in Padua, +And how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife. + +LUCENTIO. +I pray the gods she may, with all my heart! + +TRANIO. +Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. +Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? +Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer; +Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa. + +BAPTISTA. +I follow you. + +[_Exeunt Tranio, Pedant and Baptista._] + +BIONDELLO. +Cambio! + +LUCENTIO. +What say’st thou, Biondello? + +BIONDELLO. +You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? + +LUCENTIO. +Biondello, what of that? + +BIONDELLO. +Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or +moral of his signs and tokens. + +LUCENTIO. +I pray thee moralize them. + +BIONDELLO. +Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a +deceitful son. + +LUCENTIO. +And what of him? + +BIONDELLO. +His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. + +LUCENTIO. +And then? + +BIONDELLO. +The old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours. + +LUCENTIO. +And what of all this? + +BIONDELLO. +I cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance. +Take your assurance of her, _cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum_; to +the church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest +witnesses. +If this be not that you look for, I have more to say, +But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. + +[_Going._] + +LUCENTIO. +Hear’st thou, Biondello? + +BIONDELLO. +I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to +the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so +adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke’s to bid +the priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix. + +[_Exit._] + +LUCENTIO. +I may, and will, if she be so contented. +She will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt? +Hap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her; +It shall go hard if Cambio go without her: + +[_Exit._] + + + + +SCENE V. A public road. + +Enter Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Servants. + +PETRUCHIO. +Come on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s. +Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! + +KATHERINA. +The moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now. + +PETRUCHIO. +I say it is the moon that shines so bright. + +KATHERINA. +I know it is the sun that shines so bright. + +PETRUCHIO. +Now by my mother’s son, and that’s myself, +It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, +Or ere I journey to your father’s house. +Go on and fetch our horses back again. +Evermore cross’d and cross’d; nothing but cross’d! + +HORTENSIO. +Say as he says, or we shall never go. + +KATHERINA. +Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, +And be it moon, or sun, or what you please; +And if you please to call it a rush-candle, +Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. + +PETRUCHIO. +I say it is the moon. + +KATHERINA. +I know it is the moon. + +PETRUCHIO. +Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. + +KATHERINA. +Then, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun; +But sun it is not when you say it is not, +And the moon changes even as your mind. +What you will have it nam’d, even that it is, +And so it shall be so for Katherine. + +HORTENSIO. +Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. + +PETRUCHIO. +Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, +And not unluckily against the bias. +But, soft! Company is coming here. + + +Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress. + +[_To Vincentio_] Good morrow, gentle mistress; where away? +Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, +Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? +Such war of white and red within her cheeks! +What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty +As those two eyes become that heavenly face? +Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. +Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake. + +HORTENSIO. +A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. + +KATHERINA. +Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, +Whither away, or where is thy abode? +Happy the parents of so fair a child; +Happier the man whom favourable stars +Allot thee for his lovely bedfellow. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad: +This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d, +And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is. + +KATHERINA. +Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, +That have been so bedazzled with the sun +That everything I look on seemeth green: +Now I perceive thou art a reverend father; +Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. + +PETRUCHIO. +Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known +Which way thou travellest: if along with us, +We shall be joyful of thy company. + +VINCENTIO. +Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, +That with your strange encounter much amaz’d me, +My name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa; +And bound I am to Padua, there to visit +A son of mine, which long I have not seen. + +PETRUCHIO. +What is his name? + +VINCENTIO. +Lucentio, gentle sir. + +PETRUCHIO. +Happily met; the happier for thy son. +And now by law, as well as reverend age, +I may entitle thee my loving father: +The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, +Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, +Nor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem, +Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; +Beside, so qualified as may beseem +The spouse of any noble gentleman. +Let me embrace with old Vincentio; +And wander we to see thy honest son, +Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. + +VINCENTIO. +But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, +Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest +Upon the company you overtake? + +HORTENSIO. +I do assure thee, father, so it is. + +PETRUCHIO. +Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; +For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. + +[_Exeunt all but Hortensio._] + +HORTENSIO. +Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. +Have to my widow! and if she be froward, +Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house. + +Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca; Gremio walking on +other side. + +BIONDELLO. +Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready. + +LUCENTIO. +I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore +leave us. + +BIONDELLO. +Nay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my +master’s as soon as I can. + +[_Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca and Biondello._] + +GREMIO. +I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. + + +Enter Petruchio, Katherina, Vincentio and Attendants. + +PETRUCHIO. +Sir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house: +My father’s bears more toward the market-place; +Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. + +VINCENTIO. +You shall not choose but drink before you go. +I think I shall command your welcome here, +And by all likelihood some cheer is toward. + +[_Knocks._] + +GREMIO. +They’re busy within; you were best knock louder. + + +Enter Pedant above, at a window. + +PEDANT. +What’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate? + +VINCENTIO. +Is Signior Lucentio within, sir? + +PEDANT. +He’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. + +VINCENTIO. +What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal? + +PEDANT. +Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I +live. + +PETRUCHIO. +Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? +To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that +his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with +him. + +PEDANT. +Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the +window. + +VINCENTIO. +Art thou his father? + +PEDANT. +Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. + +PETRUCHIO. +[_To Vincentio_] Why, how now, gentleman! why, this is flat knavery to +take upon you another man’s name. + +PEDANT. +Lay hands on the villain: I believe a means to cozen somebody in this +city under my countenance. + +Re-enter Biondello. + +BIONDELLO. +I have seen them in the church together: God send ’em good shipping! +But who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio! Now we are undone and +brought to nothing. + +VINCENTIO. +[_Seeing Biondello._] Come hither, crack-hemp. + +BIONDELLO. +I hope I may choose, sir. + +VINCENTIO. +Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? + +BIONDELLO. +Forgot you! No, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before +in all my life. + +VINCENTIO. +What, you notorious villain! didst thou never see thy master’s father, +Vincentio? + +BIONDELLO. +What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks +out of the window. + +VINCENTIO. +Is’t so, indeed? + +[_He beats Biondello._] + +BIONDELLO. +Help, help, help! here’s a madman will murder me. + +[_Exit._] + +PEDANT. +Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! + +[_Exit from the window._] + +PETRUCHIO. +Prithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the end of this controversy. + +[_They retire._] + +Re-enter Pedant, below; Baptista, Tranio and Servants. + +TRANIO. +Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant? + +VINCENTIO. +What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine +villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a +copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good +husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. + +TRANIO. +How now! what’s the matter? + +BAPTISTA. +What, is the man lunatic? + +TRANIO. +Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words +show you a madman. Why, sir, what ’cerns it you if I wear pearl and +gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. + +VINCENTIO. +Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. + +BAPTISTA. +You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his +name? + +VINCENTIO. +His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since +he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. + +PEDANT. +Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and +heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio. + +VINCENTIO. +Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge +you, in the Duke’s name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, +where is my son, Lucentio? + +TRANIO. +Call forth an officer. + + +Enter one with an Officer. + +Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see +that he be forthcoming. + +VINCENTIO. +Carry me to the gaol! + +GREMIO. +Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. + +BAPTISTA. +Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison. + +GREMIO. +Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business; +I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. + +PEDANT. +Swear if thou darest. + +GREMIO. +Nay, I dare not swear it. + +TRANIO. +Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio. + +GREMIO. +Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. + +BAPTISTA. +Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him! + +VINCENTIO. +Thus strangers may be haled and abus’d: O monstrous villain! + +Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca. + +BIONDELLO. +O! we are spoiled; and yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we +are all undone. + +LUCENTIO. +[_Kneeling._] Pardon, sweet father. + +VINCENTIO. +Lives my sweetest son? + +[_Biondello, Tranio and Pedant run out._] + +BIANCA. +[_Kneeling._] Pardon, dear father. + +BAPTISTA. +How hast thou offended? +Where is Lucentio? + +LUCENTIO. +Here’s Lucentio, +Right son to the right Vincentio; +That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, +While counterfeit supposes blear’d thine eyne. + +GREMIO. +Here ’s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! + +VINCENTIO. +Where is that damned villain, Tranio, +That fac’d and brav’d me in this matter so? + +BAPTISTA. +Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? + +BIANCA. +Cambio is chang’d into Lucentio. + +LUCENTIO. +Love wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love +Made me exchange my state with Tranio, +While he did bear my countenance in the town; +And happily I have arriv’d at the last +Unto the wished haven of my bliss. +What Tranio did, myself enforc’d him to; +Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. + +VINCENTIO. +I’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have sent me to the gaol. + +BAPTISTA. +[_To Lucentio._] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter +without asking my good will? + +VINCENTIO. +Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be +revenged for this villainy. + +[_Exit._] + +BAPTISTA. +And I to sound the depth of this knavery. + +[_Exit._] + +LUCENTIO. +Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. + +[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._] + +GREMIO. +My cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest; +Out of hope of all but my share of the feast. + +[_Exit._] + +Petruchio and Katherina advance. + +KATHERINA. +Husband, let’s follow to see the end of this ado. + +PETRUCHIO. +First kiss me, Kate, and we will. + +KATHERINA. +What! in the midst of the street? + +PETRUCHIO. +What! art thou ashamed of me? + +KATHERINA. +No, sir; God forbid; but ashamed to kiss. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, then, let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away. + +KATHERINA. +Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay. + +PETRUCHIO. +Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate: +Better once than never, for never too late. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +SCENE II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house. + +Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, +Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Widow. Tranio, Biondello and Grumio +and Others, attending. + +LUCENTIO. +At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: +And time it is when raging war is done, +To smile at ’scapes and perils overblown. +My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, +While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. +Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina, +And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, +Feast with the best, and welcome to my house: +My banquet is to close our stomachs up, +After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; +For now we sit to chat as well as eat. + +[_They sit at table._] + +PETRUCHIO. +Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! + +BAPTISTA. +Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. + +PETRUCHIO. +Padua affords nothing but what is kind. + +HORTENSIO. +For both our sakes I would that word were true. + +PETRUCHIO. +Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. + +WIDOW. +Then never trust me if I be afeard. + +PETRUCHIO. +You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense: +I mean Hortensio is afeard of you. + +WIDOW. +He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. + +PETRUCHIO. +Roundly replied. + +KATHERINA. +Mistress, how mean you that? + +WIDOW. +Thus I conceive by him. + +PETRUCHIO. +Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that? + +HORTENSIO. +My widow says thus she conceives her tale. + +PETRUCHIO. +Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. + +KATHERINA. +’He that is giddy thinks the world turns round’: +I pray you tell me what you meant by that. + +WIDOW. +Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, +Measures my husband’s sorrow by his woe; +And now you know my meaning. + +KATHERINA. +A very mean meaning. + +WIDOW. +Right, I mean you. + +KATHERINA. +And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. + +PETRUCHIO. +To her, Kate! + +HORTENSIO. +To her, widow! + +PETRUCHIO. +A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. + +HORTENSIO. +That’s my office. + +PETRUCHIO. +Spoke like an officer: ha’ to thee, lad. + +[_Drinks to Hortensio._] + +BAPTISTA. +How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? + +GREMIO. +Believe me, sir, they butt together well. + +BIANCA. +Head and butt! An hasty-witted body +Would say your head and butt were head and horn. + +VINCENTIO. +Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken’d you? + +BIANCA. +Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again. + +PETRUCHIO. +Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, +Have at you for a bitter jest or two. + +BIANCA. +Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, +And then pursue me as you draw your bow. +You are welcome all. + +[_Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow._] + +PETRUCHIO. +She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio; +This bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not: +Therefore a health to all that shot and miss’d. + +TRANIO. +O, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound, +Which runs himself, and catches for his master. + +PETRUCHIO. +A good swift simile, but something currish. + +TRANIO. +’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: +’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. + +BAPTISTA. +O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. + +LUCENTIO. +I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. + +HORTENSIO. +Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here? + +PETRUCHIO. +A has a little gall’d me, I confess; +And as the jest did glance away from me, +’Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright. + +BAPTISTA. +Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, +I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. + +PETRUCHIO. +Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance, +Let’s each one send unto his wife, +And he whose wife is most obedient, +To come at first when he doth send for her, +Shall win the wager which we will propose. + +HORTENSIO. +Content. What’s the wager? + +LUCENTIO. +Twenty crowns. + +PETRUCHIO. +Twenty crowns! +I’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound, +But twenty times so much upon my wife. + +LUCENTIO. +A hundred then. + +HORTENSIO. +Content. + +PETRUCHIO. +A match! ’tis done. + +HORTENSIO. +Who shall begin? + +LUCENTIO. +That will I. +Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. + +BIONDELLO. +I go. + +[_Exit._] + +BAPTISTA. +Son, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes. + +LUCENTIO. +I’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself. + + +Re-enter Biondello. + +How now! what news? + +BIONDELLO. +Sir, my mistress sends you word +That she is busy and she cannot come. + +PETRUCHIO. +How! She’s busy, and she cannot come! +Is that an answer? + +GREMIO. +Ay, and a kind one too: +Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. + +PETRUCHIO. +I hope better. + +HORTENSIO. +Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife +To come to me forthwith. + +[_Exit Biondello._] + +PETRUCHIO. +O, ho! entreat her! +Nay, then she must needs come. + +HORTENSIO. +I am afraid, sir, +Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. + + +Re-enter Biondello. + +Now, where’s my wife? + +BIONDELLO. +She says you have some goodly jest in hand: +She will not come; she bids you come to her. + +PETRUCHIO. +Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile, +Intolerable, not to be endur’d! +Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress, +Say I command her come to me. + +[_Exit Grumio._] + +HORTENSIO. +I know her answer. + +PETRUCHIO. +What? + +HORTENSIO. +She will not. + +PETRUCHIO. +The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. + + +Re-enter Katherina. + +BAPTISTA. +Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina! + +KATHERINA. +What is your will sir, that you send for me? + +PETRUCHIO. +Where is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife? + +KATHERINA. +They sit conferring by the parlour fire. + +PETRUCHIO. +Go fetch them hither; if they deny to come, +Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands. +Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. + +[_Exit Katherina._] + +LUCENTIO. +Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. + +HORTENSIO. +And so it is. I wonder what it bodes. + +PETRUCHIO. +Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, +An awful rule, and right supremacy; +And, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy. + +BAPTISTA. +Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio! +The wager thou hast won; and I will add +Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; +Another dowry to another daughter, +For she is chang’d, as she had never been. + +PETRUCHIO. +Nay, I will win my wager better yet, +And show more sign of her obedience, +Her new-built virtue and obedience. +See where she comes, and brings your froward wives +As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. + + +Re-enter Katherina with Bianca and Widow. + +Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not: +Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot. + +[_Katherina pulls off her cap and throws it down._] + +WIDOW. +Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh +Till I be brought to such a silly pass! + +BIANCA. +Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? + +LUCENTIO. +I would your duty were as foolish too; +The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, +Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time! + +BIANCA. +The more fool you for laying on my duty. + +PETRUCHIO. +Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women +What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. + +WIDOW. +Come, come, you’re mocking; we will have no telling. + +PETRUCHIO. +Come on, I say; and first begin with her. + +WIDOW. +She shall not. + +PETRUCHIO. +I say she shall: and first begin with her. + +KATHERINA. +Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, +And dart not scornful glances from those eyes +To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: +It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, +Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, +And in no sense is meet or amiable. +A woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled, +Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; +And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty +Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. +Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, +Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, +And for thy maintenance commits his body +To painful labour both by sea and land, +To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, +Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; +And craves no other tribute at thy hands +But love, fair looks, and true obedience; +Too little payment for so great a debt. +Such duty as the subject owes the prince, +Even such a woman oweth to her husband; +And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, +And not obedient to his honest will, +What is she but a foul contending rebel +And graceless traitor to her loving lord?— +I am asham’d that women are so simple +To offer war where they should kneel for peace, +Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, +When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. +Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, +Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, +But that our soft conditions and our hearts +Should well agree with our external parts? +Come, come, you froward and unable worms! +My mind hath been as big as one of yours, +My heart as great, my reason haply more, +To bandy word for word and frown for frown; +But now I see our lances are but straws, +Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, +That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. +Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, +And place your hands below your husband’s foot: +In token of which duty, if he please, +My hand is ready; may it do him ease. + +PETRUCHIO. +Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate. + +LUCENTIO. +Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha’t. + +VINCENTIO. +’Tis a good hearing when children are toward. + +LUCENTIO. +But a harsh hearing when women are froward. + +PETRUCHIO. +Come, Kate, we’ll to bed. +We three are married, but you two are sped. +’Twas I won the wager, +[_To Lucentio._] though you hit the white; +And being a winner, God give you good night! + +[_Exeunt Petrucio and Katherina._] + +HORTENSIO. +Now go thy ways; thou hast tam’d a curst shrew. + +LUCENTIO. +’Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam’d so. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + + +THE TEMPEST + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning +heard. +Scene II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero. + +ACT II +Scene I. Another part of the island. +Scene II. Another part of the island. + +ACT III +Scene I. Before Prospero’s cell. +Scene II. Another part of the island. +Scene III. Another part of the island. + +ACT IV +Scene I. Before Prospero’s cell. + +ACT V +Scene I. Before the cell of Prospero. +Epilogue. + + +Dramatis Personæ + +ALONSO, King of Naples +SEBASTIAN, his brother +PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan +ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan +FERDINAND, Son to the King of Naples +GONZALO, an honest old counsellor +ADRIAN, Lord +FRANCISCO, Lord +CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave +TRINCULO, a jester +STEPHANO, a drunken butler +MASTER OF A SHIP +BOATSWAIN +MARINERS + +MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero + +ARIEL, an airy Spirit + +IRIS, presented by Spirits +CERES, presented by Spirits +JUNO, presented by Spirits +NYMPHS, presented by Spirits +REAPERS, presented by Spirits + +Other Spirits attending on Prospero + +SCENE: The sea, with a Ship; afterwards an Island. + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning +heard. + + Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain severally. + +MASTER. +Boatswain! + +BOATSWAIN. +Here, master: what cheer? + +MASTER. +Good! Speak to the mariners: fall to ’t yarely, or we run ourselves +aground: bestir, bestir. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Mariners. + +BOATSWAIN. +Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the +topsail. Tend to th’ master’s whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, +if room enough. + + Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo and others. + +ALONSO. +Good boatswain, have care. Where’s the master? +Play the men. + +BOATSWAIN. +I pray now, keep below. + +ANTONIO. +Where is the master, boson? + +BOATSWAIN. +Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do +assist the storm. + +GONZALO. +Nay, good, be patient. + +BOATSWAIN. +When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? +To cabin! silence! Trouble us not. + +GONZALO. +Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. + +BOATSWAIN. +None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor: if you can +command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, +we will not hand a rope more. Use your authority: if you cannot, give +thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin +for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap.—Cheerly, good hearts!—Out +of our way, I say. + + [_Exit._] + +GONZALO. +I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning +mark upon him. His complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good +Fate, to his hanging! Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our +own doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hang’d, our case is +miserable. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Re-enter Boatswain. + +BOATSWAIN. +Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try wi’ th’ +maincourse. + + [_A cry within._] + + A plague upon this howling! They are louder than the weather or our + office. + + Enter Sebastian, Antonio and Gonzalo. + +Yet again! What do you here? Shall we give o’er, and drown? Have you a +mind to sink? + +SEBASTIAN. +A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! + +BOATSWAIN. +Work you, then. + +ANTONIO. +Hang, cur, hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid +to be drowned than thou art. + +GONZALO. +I’ll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a +nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench. + +BOATSWAIN. +Lay her a-hold, a-hold! Set her two courses: off to sea again: lay her +off. + + Enter Mariners, wet. + +MARINERS. +All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! + + [_Exeunt._] + +BOATSWAIN. +What, must our mouths be cold? + +GONZALO. +The King and Prince at prayers! Let’s assist them, +For our case is as theirs. + +SEBASTIAN. +I am out of patience. + +ANTONIO. +We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. +This wide-chapp’d rascal—would thou might’st lie drowning +The washing of ten tides! + +GONZALO. +He’ll be hang’d yet, +Though every drop of water swear against it, +And gape at wid’st to glut him. + +_A confused noise within: _“Mercy on us!”— +“We split, we split!”—“Farewell, my wife and children!”— +“Farewell, brother!”—“We split, we split, we split!” + +ANTONIO. +Let’s all sink wi’ th’ King. + + [_Exit._] + +SEBASTIAN. +Let’s take leave of him. + + [_Exit._] + +GONZALO. +Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren +ground. Long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done! but +I would fain die a dry death. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The Island. Before the cell of Prospero. + + Enter Prospero and Miranda. + +MIRANDA. +If by your art, my dearest father, you have +Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. +The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, +But that the sea, mounting to th’ welkin’s cheek, +Dashes the fire out. O! I have suffered +With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, +Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, +Dash’d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock +Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish’d. +Had I been any god of power, I would +Have sunk the sea within the earth, or ere +It should the good ship so have swallow’d and +The fraughting souls within her. + +PROSPERO. +Be collected: +No more amazement: tell your piteous heart +There’s no harm done. + +MIRANDA. +O, woe the day! + +PROSPERO. +No harm. +I have done nothing but in care of thee, +Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who +Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing +Of whence I am, nor that I am more better +Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, +And thy no greater father. + +MIRANDA. +More to know +Did never meddle with my thoughts. + +PROSPERO. +’Tis time +I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, +And pluck my magic garment from me.—So: + + [_Lays down his mantle._] + +Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. +The direful spectacle of the wrack, which touch’d +The very virtue of compassion in thee, +I have with such provision in mine art +So safely ordered that there is no soul— +No, not so much perdition as an hair +Betid to any creature in the vessel +Which thou heard’st cry, which thou saw’st sink. Sit down; +For thou must now know farther. + +MIRANDA. +You have often +Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp’d, +And left me to a bootless inquisition, +Concluding “Stay; not yet.” + +PROSPERO. +The hour’s now come, +The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; +Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember +A time before we came unto this cell? +I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not +Out three years old. + +MIRANDA. +Certainly, sir, I can. + +PROSPERO. +By what? By any other house, or person? +Of anything the image, tell me, that +Hath kept with thy remembrance. + +MIRANDA. +’Tis far off, +And rather like a dream than an assurance +That my remembrance warrants. Had I not +Four or five women once that tended me? + +PROSPERO. +Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it +That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else +In the dark backward and abysm of time? +If thou rememb’rest aught ere thou cam’st here, +How thou cam’st here, thou mayst. + +MIRANDA. +But that I do not. + +PROSPERO. +Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, +Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and +A prince of power. + +MIRANDA. +Sir, are not you my father? + +PROSPERO. +Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and +She said thou wast my daughter. And thy father +Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir +And princess, no worse issued. + +MIRANDA. +O, the heavens! +What foul play had we that we came from thence? +Or blessed was’t we did? + +PROSPERO. +Both, both, my girl. +By foul play, as thou say’st, were we heav’d thence; +But blessedly holp hither. + +MIRANDA. +O, my heart bleeds +To think o’ th’ teen that I have turn’d you to, +Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther. + +PROSPERO. +My brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio— +I pray thee, mark me, that a brother should +Be so perfidious!—he whom next thyself +Of all the world I lov’d, and to him put +The manage of my state; as at that time +Through all the signories it was the first, +And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed +In dignity, and for the liberal arts, +Without a parallel: those being all my study, +The government I cast upon my brother, +And to my state grew stranger, being transported +And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle— +Dost thou attend me? + +MIRANDA. +Sir, most heedfully. + +PROSPERO. +Being once perfected how to grant suits, +How to deny them, who t’ advance, and who +To trash for over-topping, new created +The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang’d ’em, +Or else new form’d ’em: having both the key +Of officer and office, set all hearts i’ th’ state +To what tune pleas’d his ear: that now he was +The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, +And suck’d my verdure out on ’t. Thou attend’st not. + +MIRANDA. +O, good sir! I do. + +PROSPERO. +I pray thee, mark me. +I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated +To closeness and the bettering of my mind +With that which, but by being so retir’d, +O’er-priz’d all popular rate, in my false brother +Awak’d an evil nature; and my trust, +Like a good parent, did beget of him +A falsehood in its contrary as great +As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, +A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, +Not only with what my revenue yielded, +But what my power might else exact, like one +Who having into truth, by telling of it, +Made such a sinner of his memory, +To credit his own lie, he did believe +He was indeed the Duke; out o’ the substitution, +And executing th’ outward face of royalty, +With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growing— +Dost thou hear? + +MIRANDA. +Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. + +PROSPERO. +To have no screen between this part he play’d +And him he play’d it for, he needs will be +Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library +Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties +He thinks me now incapable; confederates, +So dry he was for sway, wi’ th’ King of Naples +To give him annual tribute, do him homage, +Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend +The dukedom, yet unbow’d—alas, poor Milan!— +To most ignoble stooping. + +MIRANDA. +O the heavens! + +PROSPERO. +Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me +If this might be a brother. + +MIRANDA. +I should sin +To think but nobly of my grandmother: +Good wombs have borne bad sons. + +PROSPERO. +Now the condition. +This King of Naples, being an enemy +To me inveterate, hearkens my brother’s suit; +Which was, that he, in lieu o’ th’ premises +Of homage and I know not how much tribute, +Should presently extirpate me and mine +Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan, +With all the honours on my brother: whereon, +A treacherous army levied, one midnight +Fated to th’ purpose, did Antonio open +The gates of Milan; and, i’ th’ dead of darkness, +The ministers for th’ purpose hurried thence +Me and thy crying self. + +MIRANDA. +Alack, for pity! +I, not rememb’ring how I cried out then, +Will cry it o’er again: it is a hint +That wrings mine eyes to ’t. + +PROSPERO. +Hear a little further, +And then I’ll bring thee to the present business +Which now’s upon us; without the which this story +Were most impertinent. + +MIRANDA. +Wherefore did they not +That hour destroy us? + +PROSPERO. +Well demanded, wench: +My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, +So dear the love my people bore me, nor set +A mark so bloody on the business; but +With colours fairer painted their foul ends. +In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, +Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared +A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg’d, +Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats +Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us, +To cry to th’ sea, that roar’d to us; to sigh +To th’ winds, whose pity, sighing back again, +Did us but loving wrong. + +MIRANDA. +Alack, what trouble +Was I then to you! + +PROSPERO. +O, a cherubin +Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile, +Infused with a fortitude from heaven, +When I have deck’d the sea with drops full salt, +Under my burden groan’d: which rais’d in me +An undergoing stomach, to bear up +Against what should ensue. + +MIRANDA. +How came we ashore? + +PROSPERO. +By Providence divine. +Some food we had and some fresh water that +A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, +Out of his charity, who being then appointed +Master of this design, did give us, with +Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, +Which since have steaded much: so, of his gentleness, +Knowing I lov’d my books, he furnish’d me +From mine own library with volumes that +I prize above my dukedom. + +MIRANDA. +Would I might +But ever see that man! + +PROSPERO. +Now I arise. +Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. +Here in this island we arriv’d; and here +Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit +Than other princes can, that have more time +For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. + +MIRANDA. +Heavens thank you for ’t! And now, I pray you, sir, +For still ’tis beating in my mind, your reason +For raising this sea-storm? + +PROSPERO. +Know thus far forth. +By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, +Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies +Brought to this shore; and by my prescience +I find my zenith doth depend upon +A most auspicious star, whose influence +If now I court not but omit, my fortunes +Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions; +Thou art inclin’d to sleep; ’tis a good dulness, +And give it way. I know thou canst not choose. + + [_Miranda sleeps._] + +Come away, servant, come! I am ready now. +Approach, my Ariel. Come! + + Enter Ariel. + +ARIEL. +All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come +To answer thy best pleasure; be’t to fly, +To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride +On the curl’d clouds, to thy strong bidding task +Ariel and all his quality. + +PROSPERO. +Hast thou, spirit, +Perform’d to point the tempest that I bade thee? + +ARIEL. +To every article. +I boarded the King’s ship; now on the beak, +Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, +I flam’d amazement; sometime I’d divide, +And burn in many places; on the topmast, +The yards, and boresprit, would I flame distinctly, +Then meet and join. Jove’s lightning, the precursors +O’ th’ dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary +And sight-outrunning were not: the fire and cracks +Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune +Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble, +Yea, his dread trident shake. + +PROSPERO. +My brave spirit! +Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil +Would not infect his reason? + +ARIEL. +Not a soul +But felt a fever of the mad, and play’d +Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners +Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, +Then all afire with me: the King’s son, Ferdinand, +With hair up-staring—then like reeds, not hair— +Was the first man that leapt; cried “Hell is empty, +And all the devils are here.” + +PROSPERO. +Why, that’s my spirit! +But was not this nigh shore? + +ARIEL. +Close by, my master. + +PROSPERO. +But are they, Ariel, safe? + +ARIEL. +Not a hair perish’d; +On their sustaining garments not a blemish, +But fresher than before: and, as thou bad’st me, +In troops I have dispers’d them ’bout the isle. +The King’s son have I landed by himself, +Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs +In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, +His arms in this sad knot. + +PROSPERO. +Of the King’s ship +The mariners, say how thou hast dispos’d, +And all the rest o’ th’ fleet? + +ARIEL. +Safely in harbour +Is the King’s ship; in the deep nook, where once +Thou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew +From the still-vex’d Bermoothes; there she’s hid: +The mariners all under hatches stowed; +Who, with a charm join’d to their suff’red labour, +I have left asleep: and for the rest o’ th’ fleet, +Which I dispers’d, they all have met again, +And are upon the Mediterranean flote +Bound sadly home for Naples, +Supposing that they saw the King’s ship wrack’d, +And his great person perish. + +PROSPERO. +Ariel, thy charge +Exactly is perform’d; but there’s more work. +What is the time o’ th’ day? + +ARIEL. +Past the mid season. + +PROSPERO. +At least two glasses. The time ’twixt six and now +Must by us both be spent most preciously. + +ARIEL. +Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, +Let me remember thee what thou hast promis’d, +Which is not yet perform’d me. + +PROSPERO. +How now! moody? +What is’t thou canst demand? + +ARIEL. +My liberty. + +PROSPERO. +Before the time be out? No more! + +ARIEL. +I prithee, +Remember I have done thee worthy service; +Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv’d +Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise +To bate me a full year. + +PROSPERO. +Dost thou forget +From what a torment I did free thee? + +ARIEL. +No. + +PROSPERO. +Thou dost, and think’st it much to tread the ooze +Of the salt deep, +To run upon the sharp wind of the north, +To do me business in the veins o’ th’ earth +When it is bak’d with frost. + +ARIEL. +I do not, sir. + +PROSPERO. +Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot +The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy +Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? + +ARIEL. +No, sir. + +PROSPERO. +Thou hast. Where was she born? Speak; tell me. + +ARIEL. +Sir, in Argier. + +PROSPERO. +O, was she so? I must +Once in a month recount what thou hast been, +Which thou forget’st. This damn’d witch Sycorax, +For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible +To enter human hearing, from Argier, +Thou know’st, was banish’d: for one thing she did +They would not take her life. Is not this true? + +ARIEL. +Ay, sir. + +PROSPERO. +This blue-ey’d hag was hither brought with child, +And here was left by th’ sailors. Thou, my slave, +As thou report’st thyself, wast then her servant; +And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate +To act her earthy and abhorr’d commands, +Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, +By help of her more potent ministers, +And in her most unmitigable rage, +Into a cloven pine; within which rift +Imprison’d, thou didst painfully remain +A dozen years; within which space she died, +And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans +As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island— +Save for the son that she did litter here, +A freckl’d whelp, hag-born—not honour’d with +A human shape. + +ARIEL. +Yes, Caliban her son. + +PROSPERO. +Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, +Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st +What torment I did find thee in; thy groans +Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts +Of ever-angry bears: it was a torment +To lay upon the damn’d, which Sycorax +Could not again undo; it was mine art, +When I arriv’d and heard thee, that made gape +The pine, and let thee out. + +ARIEL. +I thank thee, master. + +PROSPERO. +If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak +And peg thee in his knotty entrails till +Thou hast howl’d away twelve winters. + +ARIEL. +Pardon, master: +I will be correspondent to command, +And do my spriting gently. + +PROSPERO. +Do so; and after two days +I will discharge thee. + +ARIEL. +That’s my noble master! +What shall I do? Say what? What shall I do? + +PROSPERO. +Go make thyself like a nymph o’ th’ sea. Be subject +To no sight but thine and mine; invisible +To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape, +And hither come in ’t. Go, hence with diligence! + + [_Exit Ariel._] + +Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; +Awake! + +MIRANDA. +[_Waking._] The strangeness of your story put +Heaviness in me. + +PROSPERO. +Shake it off. Come on; +We’ll visit Caliban my slave, who never +Yields us kind answer. + +MIRANDA. +’Tis a villain, sir, +I do not love to look on. + +PROSPERO. +But as ’tis, +We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, +Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices +That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban! +Thou earth, thou! Speak. + +CALIBAN. +[_Within._] There’s wood enough within. + +PROSPERO. +Come forth, I say; there’s other business for thee. +Come, thou tortoise! when? + + Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph. + +Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, +Hark in thine ear. + +ARIEL. +My lord, it shall be done. + + [_Exit._] + +PROSPERO. +Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself +Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! + + Enter Caliban. + +CALIBAN. +As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d +With raven’s feather from unwholesome fen +Drop on you both! A south-west blow on ye, +And blister you all o’er! + +PROSPERO. +For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, +Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins +Shall forth at vast of night that they may work +All exercise on thee. Thou shalt be pinch’d +As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging +Than bees that made them. + +CALIBAN. +I must eat my dinner. +This island’s mine, by Sycorax my mother, +Which thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first, +Thou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me +Water with berries in ’t; and teach me how +To name the bigger light, and how the less, +That burn by day and night: and then I lov’d thee, +And show’d thee all the qualities o’ th’ isle, +The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fertile. +Curs’d be I that did so! All the charms +Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! +For I am all the subjects that you have, +Which first was mine own King; and here you sty me +In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me +The rest o’ th’ island. + +PROSPERO. +Thou most lying slave, +Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us’d thee, +Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg’d thee +In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate +The honour of my child. + +CALIBAN. +Oh ho! Oh ho! Would ’t had been done! +Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else +This isle with Calibans. + +PROSPERO. +Abhorred slave, +Which any print of goodness wilt not take, +Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, +Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour +One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, +Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like +A thing most brutish, I endow’d thy purposes +With words that made them known. But thy vile race, +Though thou didst learn, had that in ’t which good natures +Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou +Deservedly confin’d into this rock, +Who hadst deserv’d more than a prison. + +CALIBAN. +You taught me language, and my profit on ’t +Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you, +For learning me your language! + +PROSPERO. +Hag-seed, hence! +Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou ’rt best, +To answer other business. Shrug’st thou, malice? +If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly +What I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps, +Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar, +That beasts shall tremble at thy din. + +CALIBAN. +No, pray thee. +[_Aside._] I must obey. His art is of such power, +It would control my dam’s god, Setebos, +And make a vassal of him. + +PROSPERO. +So, slave, hence! + + [_Exit Caliban._] + + Re-enter Ariel, playing and singing; Ferdinand following. + +ARIEL’S SONG. + + +_Come unto these yellow sands, + And then take hands: +Curtsied when you have, and kiss’d + The wild waves whist. +Foot it featly here and there, + And sweet sprites bear +The burden. Hark, hark!_ + Burden dispersedly. _Bow-wow. +The watch dogs bark._ + [Burden dispersedly.] _Bow-wow. +Hark, hark! I hear +The strain of strutting chanticleer + Cry cock-a-diddle-dow._ + +FERDINAND. +Where should this music be? i’ th’ air or th’ earth? +It sounds no more; and sure it waits upon +Some god o’ th’ island. Sitting on a bank, +Weeping again the King my father’s wrack, +This music crept by me upon the waters, +Allaying both their fury and my passion +With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it, +Or it hath drawn me rather,—but ’tis gone. +No, it begins again. + +ARIEL. +[_Sings._] +_Full fathom five thy father lies. + Of his bones are coral made. +Those are pearls that were his eyes. + Nothing of him that doth fade +But doth suffer a sea-change +Into something rich and strange. +Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:_ + Burden: _Ding-dong. +Hark! now I hear them: ding-dong, bell._ + +FERDINAND. +The ditty does remember my drown’d father. +This is no mortal business, nor no sound +That the earth owes:—I hear it now above me. + +PROSPERO. +The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, +And say what thou seest yond. + +MIRANDA. +What is’t? a spirit? +Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, +It carries a brave form. But ’tis a spirit. + +PROSPERO. +No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses +As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest +Was in the wrack; and, but he’s something stain’d +With grief,—that’s beauty’s canker,—thou mightst call him +A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows +And strays about to find ’em. + +MIRANDA. +I might call him +A thing divine; for nothing natural +I ever saw so noble. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] It goes on, I see, +As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I’ll free thee +Within two days for this. + +FERDINAND. +Most sure, the goddess +On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe, my prayer +May know if you remain upon this island; +And that you will some good instruction give +How I may bear me here: my prime request, +Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder! +If you be maid or no? + +MIRANDA. +No wonder, sir; +But certainly a maid. + +FERDINAND. +My language! Heavens! +I am the best of them that speak this speech, +Were I but where ’tis spoken. + +PROSPERO. +How! the best? +What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee? + +FERDINAND. +A single thing, as I am now, that wonders +To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; +And that he does I weep: myself am Naples, +Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld +The King my father wrack’d. + +MIRANDA. +Alack, for mercy! + +FERDINAND. +Yes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan, +And his brave son being twain. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] The Duke of Milan +And his more braver daughter could control thee, +If now ’twere fit to do’t. At the first sight +They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel, +I’ll set thee free for this. [_To Ferdinand._] A word, good sir. +I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word. + +MIRANDA. +Why speaks my father so ungently? This +Is the third man that e’er I saw; the first +That e’er I sigh’d for. Pity move my father +To be inclin’d my way! + +FERDINAND. +O! if a virgin, +And your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you +The Queen of Naples. + +PROSPERO. +Soft, sir; one word more. +[_Aside._] They are both in either’s powers. But this swift business +I must uneasy make, lest too light winning +Make the prize light. [_To Ferdinand._] One word more. I charge thee +That thou attend me. Thou dost here usurp +The name thou ow’st not; and hast put thyself +Upon this island as a spy, to win it +From me, the lord on ’t. + +FERDINAND. +No, as I am a man. + +MIRANDA. +There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: +If the ill spirit have so fair a house, +Good things will strive to dwell with ’t. + +PROSPERO. +[_To Ferdinand._] Follow me.— +[_To Miranda._] Speak not you for him; he’s a traitor. +[_To Ferdinand._] Come; +I’ll manacle thy neck and feet together: +Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be +The fresh-brook mussels, wither’d roots, and husks +Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. + +FERDINAND. +No; +I will resist such entertainment till +Mine enemy has more power. + + [_He draws, and is charmed from moving._] + +MIRANDA. +O dear father! +Make not too rash a trial of him, for +He’s gentle, and not fearful. + +PROSPERO. +What! I say, +My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; +Who mak’st a show, but dar’st not strike, thy conscience +Is so possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward, +For I can here disarm thee with this stick +And make thy weapon drop. + +MIRANDA. +Beseech you, father! + +PROSPERO. +Hence! Hang not on my garments. + +MIRANDA. +Sir, have pity; +I’ll be his surety. + +PROSPERO. +Silence! One word more +Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! +An advocate for an impostor? hush! +Thou think’st there is no more such shapes as he, +Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! +To th’ most of men this is a Caliban, +And they to him are angels. + +MIRANDA. +My affections +Are then most humble; I have no ambition +To see a goodlier man. + +PROSPERO. +[_To Ferdinand._] Come on; obey: +Thy nerves are in their infancy again, +And have no vigour in them. + +FERDINAND. +So they are: +My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. +My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel, +The wrack of all my friends, nor this man’s threats, +To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, +Might I but through my prison once a day +Behold this maid: all corners else o’ th’ earth +Let liberty make use of; space enough +Have I in such a prison. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] It works. [_To Ferdinand._] Come on. +Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [_To Ferdinand._] Follow me. +[_To Ariel._] Hark what thou else shalt do me. + +MIRANDA. +Be of comfort; +My father’s of a better nature, sir, +Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted +Which now came from him. + +PROSPERO. +Thou shalt be as free +As mountain winds; but then exactly do +All points of my command. + +ARIEL. +To th’ syllable. + +PROSPERO. +[_To Ferdinand._] Come, follow. Speak not for him. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Another part of the island. + + Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco and + others. + +GONZALO. +Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, +So have we all, of joy; for our escape +Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe +Is common; every day, some sailor’s wife, +The masters of some merchant and the merchant, +Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, +I mean our preservation, few in millions +Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh +Our sorrow with our comfort. + +ALONSO. +Prithee, peace. + +SEBASTIAN. +He receives comfort like cold porridge. + +ANTONIO. +The visitor will not give him o’er so. + +SEBASTIAN. +Look, he’s winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. + +GONZALO. +Sir,— + +SEBASTIAN. +One: tell. + +GONZALO. +When every grief is entertain’d that’s offer’d, +Comes to the entertainer— + +SEBASTIAN. +A dollar. + +GONZALO. +Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. + +SEBASTIAN. +You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. + +GONZALO. +Therefore, my lord,— + +ANTONIO. +Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! + +ALONSO. +I prithee, spare. + +GONZALO. +Well, I have done: but yet— + +SEBASTIAN. +He will be talking. + +ANTONIO. +Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? + +SEBASTIAN. +The old cock. + +ANTONIO. +The cockerel. + +SEBASTIAN. +Done. The wager? + +ANTONIO. +A laughter. + +SEBASTIAN. +A match! + +ADRIAN. +Though this island seem to be desert,— + +ANTONIO. +Ha, ha, ha! + +SEBASTIAN. +So. You’re paid. + +ADRIAN. +Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,— + +SEBASTIAN. +Yet— + +ADRIAN. +Yet— + +ANTONIO. +He could not miss ’t. + +ADRIAN. +It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. + +ANTONIO. +Temperance was a delicate wench. + +SEBASTIAN. +Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. + +ADRIAN. +The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. + +SEBASTIAN. +As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. + +ANTONIO. +Or, as ’twere perfum’d by a fen. + +GONZALO. +Here is everything advantageous to life. + +ANTONIO. +True; save means to live. + +SEBASTIAN. +Of that there’s none, or little. + +GONZALO. +How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! + +ANTONIO. +The ground indeed is tawny. + +SEBASTIAN. +With an eye of green in’t. + +ANTONIO. +He misses not much. + +SEBASTIAN. +No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. + +GONZALO. +But the rarity of it is,—which is indeed almost beyond credit,— + +SEBASTIAN. +As many vouch’d rarities are. + +GONZALO. +That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold +notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than +stained with salt water. + +ANTONIO. +If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies? + +SEBASTIAN. +Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. + +GONZALO. +Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in +Afric, at the marriage of the King’s fair daughter Claribel to the King +of Tunis. + +SEBASTIAN. +’Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. + +ADRIAN. +Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their Queen. + +GONZALO. +Not since widow Dido’s time. + +ANTONIO. +Widow! a pox o’ that! How came that widow in? Widow Dido! + +SEBASTIAN. +What if he had said, widower Aeneas too? +Good Lord, how you take it! + +ADRIAN. +Widow Dido said you? You make me study of that; she was of Carthage, +not of Tunis. + +GONZALO. +This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. + +ADRIAN. +Carthage? + +GONZALO. +I assure you, Carthage. + +ANTONIO. +His word is more than the miraculous harp. + +SEBASTIAN. +He hath rais’d the wall, and houses too. + +ANTONIO. +What impossible matter will he make easy next? + +SEBASTIAN. +I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his +son for an apple. + +ANTONIO. +And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. + +ALONSO. +Ay. + +ANTONIO. +Why, in good time. + +GONZALO. +[_To Alonso._] Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh +as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now +Queen. + +ANTONIO. +And the rarest that e’er came there. + +SEBASTIAN. +Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. + +ANTONIO. +O! widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. + +GONZALO. +Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in +a sort. + +ANTONIO. +That sort was well fish’d for. + +GONZALO. +When I wore it at your daughter’s marriage? + +ALONSO. +You cram these words into mine ears against +The stomach of my sense. Would I had never +Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, +My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, +Who is so far from Italy removed, +I ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir +Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish +Hath made his meal on thee? + +FRANCISCO. +Sir, he may live: +I saw him beat the surges under him, +And ride upon their backs. He trod the water, +Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted +The surge most swoln that met him. His bold head +’Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared +Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke +To th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed, +As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt +He came alive to land. + +ALONSO. +No, no, he’s gone. + +SEBASTIAN. +Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, +That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, +But rather lose her to an African; +Where she, at least, is banish’d from your eye, +Who hath cause to wet the grief on ’t. + +ALONSO. +Prithee, peace. + +SEBASTIAN. +You were kneel’d to, and importun’d otherwise +By all of us; and the fair soul herself +Weigh’d between loathness and obedience at +Which end o’ th’ beam should bow. We have lost your son, +I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have +More widows in them of this business’ making, +Than we bring men to comfort them. +The fault’s your own. + +ALONSO. +So is the dear’st o’ th’ loss. + +GONZALO. +My lord Sebastian, +The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness +And time to speak it in. You rub the sore, +When you should bring the plaster. + +SEBASTIAN. +Very well. + +ANTONIO. +And most chirurgeonly. + +GONZALO. +It is foul weather in us all, good sir, +When you are cloudy. + +SEBASTIAN. +Foul weather? + +ANTONIO. +Very foul. + +GONZALO. +Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,— + +ANTONIO. +He’d sow ’t with nettle-seed. + +SEBASTIAN. +Or docks, or mallows. + +GONZALO. +And were the King on’t, what would I do? + +SEBASTIAN. +’Scape being drunk for want of wine. + +GONZALO. +I’ th’ commonwealth I would by contraries +Execute all things; for no kind of traffic +Would I admit; no name of magistrate; +Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, +And use of service, none; contract, succession, +Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; +No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; +No occupation; all men idle, all; +And women too, but innocent and pure; +No sovereignty,— + +SEBASTIAN. +Yet he would be King on’t. + +ANTONIO. +The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. + +GONZALO. +All things in common nature should produce +Without sweat or endeavour; treason, felony, +Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, +Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, +Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance, +To feed my innocent people. + +SEBASTIAN. +No marrying ’mong his subjects? + +ANTONIO. +None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. + +GONZALO. +I would with such perfection govern, sir, +T’ excel the Golden Age. + +SEBASTIAN. +Save his Majesty! + +ANTONIO. +Long live Gonzalo! + +GONZALO. +And,—do you mark me, sir? + +ALONSO. +Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. + +GONZALO. +I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to +these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they +always use to laugh at nothing. + +ANTONIO. +’Twas you we laughed at. + +GONZALO. +Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you. So you may +continue, and laugh at nothing still. + +ANTONIO. +What a blow was there given! + +SEBASTIAN. +An it had not fallen flat-long. + +GONZALO. +You are gentlemen of brave mettle. You would lift the moon out of her +sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. + + Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music. + +SEBASTIAN. +We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling. + +ANTONIO. +Nay, good my lord, be not angry. + +GONZALO. +No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will +you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? + +ANTONIO. +Go sleep, and hear us. + + [_All sleep but Alonso, Sebastian and Antonio._] + +ALONSO. +What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes +Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find +They are inclin’d to do so. + +SEBASTIAN. +Please you, sir, +Do not omit the heavy offer of it: +It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, +It is a comforter. + +ANTONIO. +We two, my lord, +Will guard your person while you take your rest, +And watch your safety. + +ALONSO. +Thank you. Wondrous heavy! + + [_Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel._] + +SEBASTIAN. +What a strange drowsiness possesses them! + +ANTONIO. +It is the quality o’ th’ climate. + +SEBASTIAN. +Why +Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not +Myself dispos’d to sleep. + +ANTONIO. +Nor I. My spirits are nimble. +They fell together all, as by consent; +They dropp’d, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, +Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?—No more. +And yet methinks I see it in thy face, +What thou shouldst be. Th’ occasion speaks thee; and +My strong imagination sees a crown +Dropping upon thy head. + +SEBASTIAN. +What, art thou waking? + +ANTONIO. +Do you not hear me speak? + +SEBASTIAN. +I do; and surely +It is a sleepy language, and thou speak’st +Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? +This is a strange repose, to be asleep +With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, +And yet so fast asleep. + +ANTONIO. +Noble Sebastian, +Thou let’st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink’st +Whiles thou art waking. + +SEBASTIAN. +Thou dost snore distinctly: +There’s meaning in thy snores. + +ANTONIO. +I am more serious than my custom; you +Must be so too, if heed me; which to do +Trebles thee o’er. + +SEBASTIAN. +Well, I am standing water. + +ANTONIO. +I’ll teach you how to flow. + +SEBASTIAN. +Do so: to ebb, +Hereditary sloth instructs me. + +ANTONIO. +O, +If you but knew how you the purpose cherish +Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, +You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed, +Most often, do so near the bottom run +By their own fear or sloth. + +SEBASTIAN. +Prithee, say on: +The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim +A matter from thee, and a birth, indeed +Which throes thee much to yield. + +ANTONIO. +Thus, sir: +Although this lord of weak remembrance, this +Who shall be of as little memory +When he is earth’d, hath here almost persuaded,— +For he’s a spirit of persuasion, only +Professes to persuade,—the King his son’s alive, +’Tis as impossible that he’s undrown’d +As he that sleeps here swims. + +SEBASTIAN. +I have no hope +That he’s undrown’d. + +ANTONIO. +O, out of that “no hope” +What great hope have you! No hope that way is +Another way so high a hope, that even +Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, +But doubts discovery there. Will you grant with me +That Ferdinand is drown’d? + +SEBASTIAN. +He’s gone. + +ANTONIO. +Then tell me, +Who’s the next heir of Naples? + +SEBASTIAN. +Claribel. + +ANTONIO. +She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells +Ten leagues beyond man’s life; she that from Naples +Can have no note, unless the sun were post— +The Man i’ th’ Moon’s too slow—till newborn chins +Be rough and razorable; she that from whom +We all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again, +And by that destiny, to perform an act +Whereof what’s past is prologue, what to come +In yours and my discharge. + +SEBASTIAN. +What stuff is this! How say you? +’Tis true, my brother’s daughter’s Queen of Tunis; +So is she heir of Naples; ’twixt which regions +There is some space. + +ANTONIO. +A space whose ev’ry cubit +Seems to cry out “How shall that Claribel +Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, +And let Sebastian wake.” Say this were death +That now hath seiz’d them; why, they were no worse +Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples +As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate +As amply and unnecessarily +As this Gonzalo. I myself could make +A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore +The mind that I do! What a sleep were this +For your advancement! Do you understand me? + +SEBASTIAN. +Methinks I do. + +ANTONIO. +And how does your content +Tender your own good fortune? + +SEBASTIAN. +I remember +You did supplant your brother Prospero. + +ANTONIO. +True. +And look how well my garments sit upon me; +Much feater than before; my brother’s servants +Were then my fellows; now they are my men. + +SEBASTIAN. +But, for your conscience. + +ANTONIO. +Ay, sir; where lies that? If ’twere a kibe, +’Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not +This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences +That stand ’twixt me and Milan, candied be they +And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother, +No better than the earth he lies upon, +If he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead; +Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, +Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, +To the perpetual wink for aye might put +This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who +Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, +They’ll take suggestion as a cat laps milk. +They’ll tell the clock to any business that +We say befits the hour. + +SEBASTIAN. +Thy case, dear friend, +Shall be my precedent: as thou got’st Milan, +I’ll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke +Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest, +And I the King shall love thee. + +ANTONIO. +Draw together, +And when I rear my hand, do you the like, +To fall it on Gonzalo. + +SEBASTIAN. +O, but one word. + + [_They converse apart._] + + Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. + +ARIEL. +My master through his art foresees the danger +That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth— +For else his project dies—to keep them living. + +[_Sings in Gonzalo’s ear._] +_While you here do snoring lie, +Open-ey’d conspiracy + His time doth take. +If of life you keep a care, +Shake off slumber, and beware. + Awake! awake!_ + +ANTONIO. +Then let us both be sudden. + +GONZALO. +Now, good angels +Preserve the King! + + [_They wake._] + +ALONSO. +Why, how now! Ho, awake! Why are you drawn? +Wherefore this ghastly looking? + +GONZALO. +What’s the matter? + +SEBASTIAN. +Whiles we stood here securing your repose, +Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing +Like bulls, or rather lions; did ’t not wake you? +It struck mine ear most terribly. + +ALONSO. +I heard nothing. + +ANTONIO. +O! ’twas a din to fright a monster’s ear, +To make an earthquake. Sure, it was the roar +Of a whole herd of lions. + +ALONSO. +Heard you this, Gonzalo? + +GONZALO. +Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, +And that a strange one too, which did awake me. +I shak’d you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open’d, +I saw their weapons drawn:—there was a noise, +That’s verily. ’Tis best we stand upon our guard, +Or that we quit this place: let’s draw our weapons. + +ALONSO. +Lead off this ground, and let’s make further search +For my poor son. + +GONZALO. +Heavens keep him from these beasts! +For he is, sure, i’ th’ island. + +ALONSO. +Lead away. + + [_Exit with the others._] + +ARIEL. +Prospero my lord shall know what I have done: +So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Another part of the island. + + Enter Caliban with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard. + +CALIBAN. +All the infections that the sun sucks up +From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him +By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, +And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch, +Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i’ the mire, +Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark +Out of my way, unless he bid ’em; but +For every trifle are they set upon me, +Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me, +And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which +Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount +Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I +All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues +Do hiss me into madness. + + Enter Trinculo. + +Lo, now, lo! +Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me +For bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat; +Perchance he will not mind me. + +TRINCULO. +Here’s neither bush nor shrub to bear off any weather at all, and +another storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ th’ wind. Yond same black +cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his +liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide +my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have +we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; +a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest +Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and +had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a +piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast +there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame +beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg’d like a man, +and his fins like arms! Warm, o’ my troth! I do now let loose my +opinion, hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath +lately suffered by thunderbolt. [_Thunder._] Alas, the storm is come +again! My best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other +shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I +will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. + + Enter Stephano singing; a bottle in his hand. + +STEPHANO. +_I shall no more to sea, to sea, +Here shall I die ashore—_ + +This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral. +Well, here’s my comfort. + + [_Drinks._] + +_The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, + The gunner, and his mate, +Lov’d Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, + But none of us car’d for Kate: + For she had a tongue with a tang, + Would cry to a sailor “Go hang!” +She lov’d not the savour of tar nor of pitch, +Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch. + Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang._ + +This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort. + + [_Drinks._] + +CALIBAN. +Do not torment me: O! + +STEPHANO. +What’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put tricks upon ’s with +savages and men of Ind? Ha? I have not scap’d drowning, to be afeard +now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever +went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so +again, while Stephano breathes at’ nostrils. + +CALIBAN. +The spirit torments me: O! + +STEPHANO. +This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I +take it, an ague. Where the devil should he learn our language? I will +give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him and +keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any +emperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather. + +CALIBAN. +Do not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster. + +STEPHANO. +He’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste +of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to +remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not +take too much for him. He shall pay for him that hath him, and that +soundly. + +CALIBAN. +Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, +I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee. + +STEPHANO. +Come on your ways. Open your mouth; here is that which will give +language to you, cat. Open your mouth. This will shake your shaking, I +can tell you, and that soundly. [_gives Caliban a drink_] You cannot +tell who’s your friend: open your chaps again. + +TRINCULO. +I should know that voice: it should be—but he is drowned; and these are +devils. O, defend me! + +STEPHANO. +Four legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice +now is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul +speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, +I will help his ague. Come. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth. + +TRINCULO. +Stephano! + +STEPHANO. +Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy! +This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I +have no long spoon. + +TRINCULO. +Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am +Trinculo—be not afeared—thy good friend Trinculo. + +STEPHANO. +If thou beest Trinculo, come forth. I’ll pull thee by the lesser legs: +if any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo +indeed! How cam’st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent +Trinculos? + +TRINCULO. +I took him to be kill’d with a thunderstroke. But art thou not drown’d, +Stephano? I hope now thou are not drown’d. Is the storm overblown? I +hid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And +art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scap’d! + +STEPHANO. +Prithee, do not turn me about. My stomach is not constant. + +CALIBAN. +[_Aside._] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. +That’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor. +I will kneel to him. + +STEPHANO. +How didst thou scape? How cam’st thou hither? Swear by this bottle how +thou cam’st hither—I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors +heaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree +with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. + +CALIBAN. +I’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject, for the liquor is +not earthly. + +STEPHANO. +Here. Swear then how thou escapedst. + +TRINCULO. +Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn. + +STEPHANO. +Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck, thou art made +like a goose. + +TRINCULO. +O Stephano, hast any more of this? + +STEPHANO. +The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by th’ seaside, where my +wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! How does thine ague? + +CALIBAN. +Hast thou not dropped from heaven? + +STEPHANO. +Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the Man in the Moon, when time +was. + +CALIBAN. +I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress showed me +thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. + +STEPHANO. +Come, swear to that. Kiss the book. I will furnish it anon with new +contents. Swear. + +TRINCULO. +By this good light, this is a very shallow monster. I afeard of him? A +very weak monster. The Man i’ the Moon! A most poor credulous monster! +Well drawn, monster, in good sooth! + +CALIBAN. +I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ the island; and I will kiss thy +foot. I prithee, be my god. + +TRINCULO. +By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster. When ’s god’s +asleep, he’ll rob his bottle. + +CALIBAN. +I’ll kiss thy foot. I’ll swear myself thy subject. + +STEPHANO. +Come on, then; down, and swear. + +TRINCULO. +I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most +scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,— + +STEPHANO. +Come, kiss. + +TRINCULO. +But that the poor monster’s in drink. An abominable monster! + +CALIBAN. +I’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries; +I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. +A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! +I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, +Thou wondrous man. + +TRINCULO. +A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a poor drunkard! + +CALIBAN. +I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; +And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; +Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how +To snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee +To clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee +Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? + +STEPHANO. +I prithee now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the +King and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here. +Here, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by again. + +CALIBAN. +[_Sings drunkenly._] _Farewell, master; farewell, farewell!_ + +TRINCULO. +A howling monster, a drunken monster. + +CALIBAN. +_No more dams I’ll make for fish; +Nor fetch in firing +At requiring, +Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; +’Ban ’Ban, Cacaliban, +Has a new master—Get a new man._ +Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, +high-day, freedom! + +STEPHANO. +O brave monster! lead the way. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell. + + Enter Ferdinand bearing a log. + +FERDINAND. +There be some sports are painful, and their labour +Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness +Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters +Point to rich ends. This my mean task +Would be as heavy to me as odious, but +The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead, +And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is +Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed, +And he’s compos’d of harshness. I must remove +Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, +Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress +Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness +Had never like executor. I forget: +But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, +Most busy, least when I do it. + + Enter Miranda and Prospero behind. + +MIRANDA. +Alas now, pray you, +Work not so hard: I would the lightning had +Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile! +Pray, set it down and rest you. When this burns, +’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father +Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself: +He’s safe for these three hours. + +FERDINAND. +O most dear mistress, +The sun will set, before I shall discharge +What I must strive to do. + +MIRANDA. +If you’ll sit down, +I’ll bear your logs the while. Pray give me that; +I’ll carry it to the pile. + +FERDINAND. +No, precious creature; +I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, +Than you should such dishonour undergo, +While I sit lazy by. + +MIRANDA. +It would become me +As well as it does you: and I should do it +With much more ease; for my good will is to it, +And yours it is against. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] Poor worm! thou art infected. +This visitation shows it. + +MIRANDA. +You look wearily. + +FERDINAND. +No, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me +When you are by at night. I do beseech you— +Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers— +What is your name? + +MIRANDA. +Miranda—O my father! +I have broke your hest to say so. + +FERDINAND. +Admir’d Miranda! +Indeed, the top of admiration; worth +What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady +I have ey’d with best regard, and many a time +Th’ harmony of their tongues hath into bondage +Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues +Have I lik’d several women; never any +With so full soul but some defect in her +Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow’d, +And put it to the foil: but you, O you, +So perfect and so peerless, are created +Of every creature’s best. + +MIRANDA. +I do not know +One of my sex; no woman’s face remember, +Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen +More that I may call men than you, good friend, +And my dear father: how features are abroad, +I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, +The jewel in my dower, I would not wish +Any companion in the world but you; +Nor can imagination form a shape, +Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle +Something too wildly, and my father’s precepts +I therein do forget. + +FERDINAND. +I am, in my condition, +A prince, Miranda; I do think, a King; +I would not so!—and would no more endure +This wooden slavery than to suffer +The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: +The very instant that I saw you, did +My heart fly to your service; there resides, +To make me slave to it; and for your sake +Am I this patient log-man. + +MIRANDA. +Do you love me? + +FERDINAND. +O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, +And crown what I profess with kind event, +If I speak true; if hollowly, invert +What best is boded me to mischief! I, +Beyond all limit of what else i’ the world, +Do love, prize, honour you. + +MIRANDA. +I am a fool +To weep at what I am glad of. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] Fair encounter +Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace +On that which breeds between ’em! + +FERDINAND. +Wherefore weep you? + +MIRANDA. +At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer +What I desire to give; and much less take +What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; +And all the more it seeks to hide itself, +The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! +And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! +I am your wife if you will marry me; +If not, I’ll die your maid: to be your fellow +You may deny me; but I’ll be your servant, +Whether you will or no. + +FERDINAND. +My mistress, dearest; +And I thus humble ever. + +MIRANDA. +My husband, then? + +FERDINAND. +Ay, with a heart as willing +As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand. + +MIRANDA. +And mine, with my heart in ’t: and now farewell +Till half an hour hence. + +FERDINAND. +A thousand thousand! + + [_Exeunt Ferdinand and Miranda severally._] + +PROSPERO. +So glad of this as they, I cannot be, +Who are surpris’d withal; but my rejoicing +At nothing can be more. I’ll to my book; +For yet, ere supper time, must I perform +Much business appertaining. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Another part of the island. + + Enter Caliban with a bottle, Stephano and Trinculo. + +STEPHANO. +Tell not me:—when the butt is out we will drink water; not a drop +before: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me. + +TRINCULO. +Servant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there’s but five +upon this isle; we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like +us, the state totters. + +STEPHANO. +Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes are almost set in thy +head. + +TRINCULO. +Where should they be set else? He were a brave monster indeed, if they +were set in his tail. + +STEPHANO. +My man-monster hath drown’d his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea +cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty +leagues, off and on, by this light. Thou shalt be my lieutenant, +monster, or my standard. + +TRINCULO. +Your lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard. + +STEPHANO. +We’ll not run, Monsieur monster. + +TRINCULO. +Nor go neither. But you’ll lie like dogs, and yet say nothing neither. + +STEPHANO. +Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. + +CALIBAN. +How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. I’ll not serve him, he is +not valiant. + +TRINCULO. +Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. +Why, thou deboshed fish thou, was there ever man a coward that hath +drunk so much sack as I today? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being +but half a fish and half a monster? + +CALIBAN. +Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord? + +TRINCULO. +“Lord” quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural! + +CALIBAN. +Lo, lo again! bite him to death, I prithee. + +STEPHANO. +Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you prove a mutineer, the +next tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer +indignity. + +CALIBAN. +I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas’d to hearken once again to +the suit I made to thee? + +STEPHANO. +Marry. will I. Kneel and repeat it. I will stand, and so shall +Trinculo. + + Enter Ariel, invisible. + +CALIBAN. +As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by +his cunning hath cheated me of the island. + +ARIEL. +Thou liest. + +CALIBAN. +Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou; +I would my valiant master would destroy thee; +I do not lie. + +STEPHANO. +Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, I will +supplant some of your teeth. + +TRINCULO. +Why, I said nothing. + +STEPHANO. +Mum, then, and no more. Proceed. + +CALIBAN. +I say, by sorcery he got this isle; +From me he got it. If thy greatness will, +Revenge it on him,—for I know thou dar’st; +But this thing dare not,— + +STEPHANO. +That’s most certain. + +CALIBAN. +Thou shalt be lord of it and I’ll serve thee. + +STEPHANO. +How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party? + +CALIBAN. +Yea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep, +Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. + +ARIEL. +Thou liest. Thou canst not. + +CALIBAN. +What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch! +I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, +And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone +He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him +Where the quick freshes are. + +STEPHANO. +Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word +further, and by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a +stock-fish of thee. + +TRINCULO. +Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off. + +STEPHANO. +Didst thou not say he lied? + +ARIEL. +Thou liest. + +STEPHANO. +Do I so? Take thou that. + + [_Strikes Trinculo._] + +As you like this, give me the lie another time. + +TRINCULO. +I did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits and hearing too? A pox o’ your +bottle! this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and +the devil take your fingers! + +CALIBAN. +Ha, ha, ha! + +STEPHANO. +Now, forward with your tale.—Prithee stand further off. + +CALIBAN. +Beat him enough: after a little time, +I’ll beat him too. + +STEPHANO. +Stand farther.—Come, proceed. + +CALIBAN. +Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him +I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, +Having first seiz’d his books; or with a log +Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, +Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember +First to possess his books; for without them +He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not +One spirit to command: they all do hate him +As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. +He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,— +Which, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal. +And that most deeply to consider is +The beauty of his daughter; he himself +Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman +But only Sycorax my dam and she; +But she as far surpasseth Sycorax +As great’st does least. + +STEPHANO. +Is it so brave a lass? + +CALIBAN. +Ay, lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant, +And bring thee forth brave brood. + +STEPHANO. +Monster, I will kill this man. His daughter and I will be king and +queen,—save our graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. +Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo? + +TRINCULO. +Excellent. + +STEPHANO. +Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but while thou liv’st, keep a +good tongue in thy head. + +CALIBAN. +Within this half hour will he be asleep. +Wilt thou destroy him then? + +STEPHANO. +Ay, on mine honour. + +ARIEL. +This will I tell my master. + +CALIBAN. +Thou mak’st me merry. I am full of pleasure. +Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch +You taught me but while-ere? + +STEPHANO. +At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Come on, +Trinculo, let us sing. + +[_Sings._] + +_Flout ’em and cout ’em, +and scout ’em and flout ’em: + Thought is free._ + +CALIBAN. +That’s not the tune. + + [_Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe._] + +STEPHANO. +What is this same? + +TRINCULO. +This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody. + +STEPHANO. +If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: if thou beest a +devil, take ’t as thou list. + +TRINCULO. +O, forgive me my sins! + +STEPHANO. +He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us! + +CALIBAN. +Art thou afeard? + +STEPHANO. +No, monster, not I. + +CALIBAN. +Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, +Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. +Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments +Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, +That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep, +Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, +The clouds methought would open and show riches +Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d, +I cried to dream again. + +STEPHANO. +This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for +nothing. + +CALIBAN. +When Prospero is destroyed. + +STEPHANO. +That shall be by and by: I remember the story. + +TRINCULO. +The sound is going away. Let’s follow it, and after do our work. + +STEPHANO. +Lead, monster: we’ll follow. I would I could see this taborer! he lays +it on. Wilt come? + +TRINCULO. +I’ll follow, Stephano. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the island. + + Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo Adrian, Francisco, &c. + +GONZALO. +By ’r lakin, I can go no further, sir; +My old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed, +Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience, +I needs must rest me. + +ALONSO. +Old lord, I cannot blame thee, +Who am myself attach’d with weariness +To th’ dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest. +Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it +No longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d +Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks +Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. + +ANTONIO. +[_Aside to Sebastian._] I am right glad that he’s +so out of hope. +Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose +That you resolv’d to effect. + +SEBASTIAN. +[_Aside to Antonio._] The next advantage +Will we take throughly. + +ANTONIO. +[_Aside to Sebastian._] Let it be tonight; +For, now they are oppress’d with travel, they +Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance +As when they are fresh. + +SEBASTIAN. +[_Aside to Antonio._] I say, tonight: no more. + + Solemn and strange music: and Prospero above, invisible. Enter several + strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance about it with gentle + actions of salutation; and inviting the King &c., to eat, they depart. + +ALONSO. +What harmony is this? My good friends, hark! + +GONZALO. +Marvellous sweet music! + +ALONSO. +Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these? + +SEBASTIAN. +A living drollery. Now I will believe +That there are unicorns; that in Arabia +There is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix +At this hour reigning there. + +ANTONIO. +I’ll believe both; +And what does else want credit, come to me, +And I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie, +Though fools at home condemn them. + +GONZALO. +If in Naples +I should report this now, would they believe me? +If I should say, I saw such islanders,— +For, certes, these are people of the island,— +Who, though, they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, +Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of +Our human generation you shall find +Many, nay, almost any. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] Honest lord, +Thou hast said well; for some of you there present +Are worse than devils. + +ALONSO. +I cannot too much muse +Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing— +Although they want the use of tongue—a kind +Of excellent dumb discourse. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] Praise in departing. + +FRANCISCO. +They vanish’d strangely. + +SEBASTIAN. +No matter, since +They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.— +Will’t please you taste of what is here? + +ALONSO. +Not I. + +GONZALO. +Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, +Who would believe that there were mountaineers +Dewlapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em +Wallets of flesh? Or that there were such men +Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find +Each putter-out of five for one will bring us +Good warrant of. + +ALONSO. +I will stand to, and feed, +Although my last, no matter, since I feel +The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, +Stand to, and do as we. + + Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a Harpy; claps his wings upon + the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. + +ARIEL. +You are three men of sin, whom Destiny, +That hath to instrument this lower world +And what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea +Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island +Where man doth not inhabit; you ’mongst men +Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; +And even with such-like valour men hang and drown +Their proper selves. + + [_Seeing Alonso, Sebastian &c., draw their swords._] + +You fools! I and my fellows +Are ministers of Fate: the elements +Of whom your swords are temper’d may as well +Wound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs +Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish +One dowle that’s in my plume. My fellow-ministers +Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, +Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, +And will not be uplifted. But, remember— +For that’s my business to you,—that you three +From Milan did supplant good Prospero; +Expos’d unto the sea, which hath requit it, +Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed +The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have +Incens’d the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, +Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, +They have bereft; and do pronounce, by me +Ling’ring perdition,—worse than any death +Can be at once,—shall step by step attend +You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from— +Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls +Upon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow, +And a clear life ensuing. + + [_He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, + and dance, with mocks and mows, and carry out the table._] + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] Bravely the figure of this Harpy hast thou +Perform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring. +Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated +In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life +And observation strange, my meaner ministers +Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, +And these mine enemies are all knit up +In their distractions; they now are in my power; +And in these fits I leave them, while I visit +Young Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,— +And his and mine lov’d darling. + + [_Exit above._] + +GONZALO. +I’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you +In this strange stare? + +ALONSO. +O, it is monstrous! monstrous! +Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; +The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, +That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d +The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass. +Therefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and +I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded, +And with him there lie mudded. + + [_Exit._] + +SEBASTIAN. +But one fiend at a time, +I’ll fight their legions o’er. + +ANTONIO. +I’ll be thy second. + + [_Exeunt Sebastian and Antonio._] + +GONZALO. +All three of them are desperate: their great guilt, +Like poison given to work a great time after, +Now ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you +That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly +And hinder them from what this ecstasy +May now provoke them to. + +ADRIAN. +Follow, I pray you. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Before Prospero’s cell. + + Enter Prospero, Ferdinand and Miranda. + +PROSPERO. +If I have too austerely punish’d you, +Your compensation makes amends: for I +Have given you here a third of mine own life, +Or that for which I live; who once again +I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations +Were but my trials of thy love, and thou +Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, +I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, +Do not smile at me that I boast her off, +For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, +And make it halt behind her. + +FERDINAND. +I do believe it +Against an oracle. + +PROSPERO. +Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition +Worthily purchas’d, take my daughter: but +If thou dost break her virgin knot before +All sanctimonious ceremonies may +With full and holy rite be minister’d, +No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall +To make this contract grow; but barren hate, +Sour-ey’d disdain, and discord shall bestrew +The union of your bed with weeds so loathly +That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed, +As Hymen’s lamps shall light you. + +FERDINAND. +As I hope +For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, +With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den, +The most opportune place, the strong’st suggestion +Our worser genius can, shall never melt +Mine honour into lust, to take away +The edge of that day’s celebration, +When I shall think, or Phoebus’ steeds are founder’d, +Or Night kept chain’d below. + +PROSPERO. +Fairly spoke: +Sit, then, and talk with her, she is thine own. +What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! + + Enter Ariel. + +ARIEL. +What would my potent master? here I am. + +PROSPERO. +Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service +Did worthily perform; and I must use you +In such another trick. Go bring the rabble, +O’er whom I give thee power, here to this place. +Incite them to quick motion; for I must +Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple +Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, +And they expect it from me. + +ARIEL. +Presently? + +PROSPERO. +Ay, with a twink. + +ARIEL. +Before you can say “Come” and “Go,” +And breathe twice, and cry “so, so,” +Each one, tripping on his toe, +Will be here with mop and mow. +Do you love me, master? no? + +PROSPERO. +Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach +Till thou dost hear me call. + +ARIEL. +Well, I conceive. + + [_Exit._] + +PROSPERO. +Look, thou be true; do not give dalliance +Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw +To th’ fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious, +Or else good night your vow! + +FERDINAND. +I warrant you, sir; +The white cold virgin snow upon my heart +Abates the ardour of my liver. + +PROSPERO. +Well. +Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary, +Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly. +No tongue! all eyes! be silent. + + [_Soft music._] + + A Masque. Enter Iris. + +IRIS. +Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas +Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; +Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, +And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep; +Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, +Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, +To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, +Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, +Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; +And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, +Where thou thyself dost air: the Queen o’ th’ sky, +Whose wat’ry arch and messenger am I, +Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, +Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, +To come and sport; her peacocks fly amain: +Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. + + Enter Ceres. + +CERES. +Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er +Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; +Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers +Diffusest honey drops, refreshing showers; +And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown +My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down, +Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen +Summon’d me hither to this short-grass’d green? + +IRIS. +A contract of true love to celebrate, +And some donation freely to estate +On the blest lovers. + +CERES. +Tell me, heavenly bow, +If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, +Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot +The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, +Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d company +I have forsworn. + +IRIS. +Of her society +Be not afraid. I met her deity +Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son +Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done +Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, +Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid +Till Hymen’s torch be lighted; but in vain. +Mars’s hot minion is return’d again; +Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, +Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, +And be a boy right out. + +CERES. +Highest queen of State, +Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait. + + Enter Juno. + +JUNO. +How does my bounteous sister? Go with me +To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, +And honour’d in their issue. + + [_They sing._] + +JUNO. +_Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, +Long continuance, and increasing, +Hourly joys be still upon you! +Juno sings her blessings on you._ + +CERES. +_Earth’s increase, foison plenty, +Barns and gamers never empty; +Vines with clust’ring bunches growing; +Plants with goodly burden bowing; +Spring come to you at the farthest +In the very end of harvest! +Scarcity and want shall shun you; +Ceres’ blessing so is on you._ + +FERDINAND. +This is a most majestic vision, and +Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold +To think these spirits? + +PROSPERO. +Spirits, which by mine art +I have from their confines call’d to enact +My present fancies. + +FERDINAND. +Let me live here ever. +So rare a wonder’d father and a wise, +Makes this place Paradise. + + [_Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment._] + +PROSPERO. +Sweet now, silence! +Juno and Ceres whisper seriously, +There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute, +Or else our spell is marr’d. + +IRIS. +You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks, +With your sedg’d crowns and ever-harmless looks, +Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land +Answer your summons; Juno does command. +Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate +A contract of true love. Be not too late. + + Enter certain Nymphs. + +You sun-burn’d sicklemen, of August weary, +Come hither from the furrow, and be merry: +Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, +And these fresh nymphs encounter every one +In country footing. + + Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in + a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, + and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, + they heavily vanish. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside._] I had forgot that foul conspiracy +Of the beast Caliban and his confederates +Against my life: the minute of their plot +Is almost come. [_To the Spirits._] Well done! avoid; no +more! + +FERDINAND. +This is strange: your father’s in some passion +That works him strongly. + +MIRANDA. +Never till this day +Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d. + +PROSPERO. +You do look, my son, in a mov’d sort, +As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir: +Our revels now are ended. These our actors, +As I foretold you, were all spirits and +Are melted into air, into thin air: +And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, +The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, +The solemn temples, the great globe itself, +Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, +And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, +Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff +As dreams are made on, and our little life +Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d: +Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled. +Be not disturb’d with my infirmity. +If you be pleas’d, retire into my cell +And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk, +To still my beating mind. + +FERDINAND, MIRANDA. +We wish your peace. + + [_Exeunt._] + +PROSPERO. +Come, with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come! + + Enter Ariel. + +ARIEL. +Thy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure? + +PROSPERO. +Spirit, +We must prepare to meet with Caliban. + +ARIEL. +Ay, my commander. When I presented Ceres, +I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d +Lest I might anger thee. + +PROSPERO. +Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? + +ARIEL. +I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; +So full of valour that they smote the air +For breathing in their faces; beat the ground +For kissing of their feet; yet always bending +Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor; +At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears, +Advanc’d their eyelids, lifted up their noses +As they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears, +That calf-like they my lowing follow’d through +Tooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, +Which enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them +I’ th’ filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, +There dancing up to th’ chins, that the foul lake +O’erstunk their feet. + +PROSPERO. +This was well done, my bird. +Thy shape invisible retain thou still: +The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither +For stale to catch these thieves. + +ARIEL. +I go, I go. + + [_Exit._] + +PROSPERO. +A devil, a born devil, on whose nature +Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, +Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; +And as with age his body uglier grows, +So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, +Even to roaring. + + Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c. + +Come, hang them on this line. + + Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano and + Trinculo all wet. + +CALIBAN. +Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not +Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. + +STEPHANO. +Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little +better than played the Jack with us. + +TRINCULO. +Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great +indignation. + +STEPHANO. +So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure +against you, look you,— + +TRINCULO. +Thou wert but a lost monster. + +CALIBAN. +Good my lord, give me thy favour still. +Be patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to +Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly. +All’s hush’d as midnight yet. + +TRINCULO. +Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool! + +STEPHANO. +There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an +infinite loss. + +TRINCULO. +That’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, +monster. + +STEPHANO. +I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour. + +CALIBAN. +Prithee, my King, be quiet. Seest thou here, +This is the mouth o’ th’ cell: no noise, and enter. +Do that good mischief which may make this island +Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, +For aye thy foot-licker. + +STEPHANO. +Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. + +TRINCULO. +O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! +Look what a wardrobe here is for thee! + +CALIBAN. +Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. + +TRINCULO. +O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery. O King Stephano! + +STEPHANO. +Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown. + +TRINCULO. +Thy Grace shall have it. + +CALIBAN. +The dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean +To dote thus on such luggage? Let’t alone, +And do the murder first. If he awake, +From toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches, +Make us strange stuff. + +STEPHANO. +Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the +jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and +prove a bald jerkin. + +TRINCULO. +Do, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace. + +STEPHANO. +I thank thee for that jest. Here’s a garment for ’t: wit shall not go +unrewarded while I am King of this country. “Steal by line and level,” +is an excellent pass of pate. There’s another garment for ’t. + +TRINCULO. +Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. + +CALIBAN. +I will have none on’t. We shall lose our time, +And all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes +With foreheads villainous low. + +STEPHANO. +Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this away where my hogshead +of wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this. + +TRINCULO. +And this. + +STEPHANO. +Ay, and this. + + A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and + hounds, and hunt them about; Prospero and Ariel setting them on. + +PROSPERO. +Hey, Mountain, hey! + +ARIEL. +Silver! there it goes, Silver! + +PROSPERO. +Fury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! hark, hark! + + [_Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo are driven out._] + +Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints +With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews +With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them +Than pard, or cat o’ mountain. + +ARIEL. +Hark, they roar. + +PROSPERO. +Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour +Lies at my mercy all mine enemies. +Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou +Shalt have the air at freedom. For a little +Follow, and do me service. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Before the cell of Prospero. + + Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. + +PROSPERO. +Now does my project gather to a head: +My charms crack not; my spirits obey, and time +Goes upright with his carriage. How’s the day? + +ARIEL. +On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, +You said our work should cease. + +PROSPERO. +I did say so, +When first I rais’d the tempest. Say, my spirit, +How fares the King and ’s followers? + +ARIEL. +Confin’d together +In the same fashion as you gave in charge, +Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, +In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; +They cannot budge till your release. The King, +His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, +And the remainder mourning over them, +Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly +Him you term’d, sir, “the good old lord, Gonzalo”. +His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops +From eaves of reeds; your charm so strongly works ’em, +That if you now beheld them, your affections +Would become tender. + +PROSPERO. +Dost thou think so, spirit? + +ARIEL. +Mine would, sir, were I human. + +PROSPERO. +And mine shall. +Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling +Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, +One of their kind, that relish all as sharply +Passion as they, be kindlier mov’d than thou art? +Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th’ quick, +Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury +Do I take part: the rarer action is +In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, +The sole drift of my purpose doth extend +Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel. +My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore, +And they shall be themselves. + +ARIEL. +I’ll fetch them, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +PROSPERO. +Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and +groves; +And ye that on the sands with printless foot +Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him +When he comes back; you demi-puppets that +By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, +Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime +Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice +To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, +Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d +The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds, +And ’twixt the green sea and the azur’d vault +Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder +Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak +With his own bolt; the strong-bas’d promontory +Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up +The pine and cedar: graves at my command +Have wak’d their sleepers, op’d, and let ’em forth +By my so potent art. But this rough magic +I here abjure; and, when I have requir’d +Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,— +To work mine end upon their senses that +This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff, +Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, +And deeper than did ever plummet sound +I’ll drown my book. + + [_Solem music._] + + Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso with a frantic gesture, attended by + Gonzalo, Sebastian and Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and + Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and + there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks. + +A solemn air, and the best comforter +To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, +Now useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand, +For you are spell-stopp’d. +Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, +Mine eyes, e’en sociable to the show of thine, +Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace; +And as the morning steals upon the night, +Melting the darkness, so their rising senses +Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle +Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo! +My true preserver, and a loyal sir +To him thou follow’st, I will pay thy graces +Home, both in word and deed. Most cruelly +Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: +Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. +Thou art pinch’d for ’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, +You, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition, +Expell’d remorse and nature, who, with Sebastian,— +Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong, +Would here have kill’d your King; I do forgive thee, +Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding +Begins to swell, and the approaching tide +Will shortly fill the reasonable shores +That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them +That yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel, +Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell. + + [_Exit Ariel._] + +I will discase me, and myself present +As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit; +Thou shalt ere long be free. + + Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. + +ARIEL +_Where the bee sucks, there suck I: +In a cowslip’s bell I lie; +There I couch when owls do cry. +On the bat’s back I do fly +After summer merrily. +Merrily, merrily shall I live now +Under the blossom that hangs on the bough._ + +PROSPERO. +Why, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; +But yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so. +To the King’s ship, invisible as thou art: +There shalt thou find the mariners asleep +Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain +Being awake, enforce them to this place, +And presently, I prithee. + +ARIEL. +I drink the air before me, and return +Or ere your pulse twice beat. + + [_Exit._] + +GONZALO. +All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement +Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us +Out of this fearful country! + +PROSPERO. +Behold, sir King, +The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero. +For more assurance that a living prince +Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; +And to thee and thy company I bid +A hearty welcome. + +ALONSO. +Whe’er thou be’st he or no, +Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, +As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse +Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, +Th’ affliction of my mind amends, with which, +I fear, a madness held me: this must crave, +An if this be at all, a most strange story. +Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat +Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero +Be living and be here? + +PROSPERO. +First, noble friend, +Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot +Be measur’d or confin’d. + +GONZALO. +Whether this be +Or be not, I’ll not swear. + +PROSPERO. +You do yet taste +Some subtleties o’ the isle, that will not let you +Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all. +[_Aside to Sebastian and Antonio._] But you, my brace of lords, were I +so minded, +I here could pluck his highness’ frown upon you, +And justify you traitors: at this time +I will tell no tales. + +SEBASTIAN. +[_Aside._] The devil speaks in him. + +PROSPERO. +No. +For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother +Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive +Thy rankest fault, all of them; and require +My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know +Thou must restore. + +ALONSO. +If thou beest Prospero, +Give us particulars of thy preservation; +How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since +Were wrack’d upon this shore; where I have lost,— +How sharp the point of this remembrance is!— +My dear son Ferdinand. + +PROSPERO. +I am woe for ’t, sir. + +ALONSO. +Irreparable is the loss, and patience +Says it is past her cure. + +PROSPERO. +I rather think +You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace, +For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, +And rest myself content. + +ALONSO. +You the like loss! + +PROSPERO. +As great to me, as late; and, supportable +To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker +Than you may call to comfort you, for I +Have lost my daughter. + +ALONSO. +A daughter? +O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, +The King and Queen there! That they were, I wish +Myself were mudded in that oozy bed +Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter? + +PROSPERO. +In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords +At this encounter do so much admire +That they devour their reason, and scarce think +Their eyes do offices of truth, their words +Are natural breath; but, howsoe’er you have +Been justled from your senses, know for certain +That I am Prospero, and that very duke +Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely +Upon this shore, where you were wrack’d, was landed +To be the lord on’t. No more yet of this; +For ’tis a chronicle of day by day, +Not a relation for a breakfast nor +Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir. +This cell’s my court: here have I few attendants, +And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. +My dukedom since you have given me again, +I will requite you with as good a thing; +At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye +As much as me my dukedom. + +Here Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess. + +MIRANDA. +Sweet lord, you play me false. + +FERDINAND. +No, my dearest love, +I would not for the world. + +MIRANDA. +Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, +And I would call it fair play. + +ALONSO. +If this prove +A vision of the island, one dear son +Shall I twice lose. + +SEBASTIAN. +A most high miracle! + +FERDINAND. +Though the seas threaten, they are merciful. +I have curs’d them without cause. + + [_Kneels to Alonso._] + +ALONSO. +Now all the blessings +Of a glad father compass thee about! +Arise, and say how thou cam’st here. + +MIRANDA. +O, wonder! +How many goodly creatures are there here! +How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world +That has such people in ’t! + +PROSPERO. +’Tis new to thee. + +ALONSO. +What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play? +Your eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours: +Is she the goddess that hath sever’d us, +And brought us thus together? + +FERDINAND. +Sir, she is mortal; +But by immortal Providence she’s mine. +I chose her when I could not ask my father +For his advice, nor thought I had one. She +Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, +Of whom so often I have heard renown, +But never saw before; of whom I have +Receiv’d a second life; and second father +This lady makes him to me. + +ALONSO. +I am hers: +But, O, how oddly will it sound that I +Must ask my child forgiveness! + +PROSPERO. +There, sir, stop: +Let us not burden our remembrances with +A heaviness that’s gone. + +GONZALO. +I have inly wept, +Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, +And on this couple drop a blessed crown; +For it is you that have chalk’d forth the way +Which brought us hither. + +ALONSO. +I say, Amen, Gonzalo! + +GONZALO. +Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue +Should become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice +Beyond a common joy, and set it down +With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage +Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis, +And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife +Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom +In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves, +When no man was his own. + +ALONSO. +[_To Ferdinand and Miranda._] Give me your hands: +Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart +That doth not wish you joy! + +GONZALO. +Be it so. Amen! + + Re-enter Ariel with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following. + +O look, sir, look, sir! Here are more of us. +I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, +This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, +That swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore? +Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? + +BOATSWAIN. +The best news is that we have safely found +Our King and company. The next, our ship,— +Which but three glasses since, we gave out split, +Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg’d as when +We first put out to sea. + +ARIEL. +[_Aside to Prospero._] Sir, all this service +Have I done since I went. + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside to Ariel._] My tricksy spirit! + +ALONSO. +These are not natural events; they strengthen +From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither? + +BOATSWAIN. +If I did think, sir, I were well awake, +I’d strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, +And,—how, we know not,—all clapp’d under hatches, +Where, but even now, with strange and several noises +Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, +And mo diversity of sounds, all horrible, +We were awak’d; straightway, at liberty: +Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld +Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master +Cap’ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, +Even in a dream, were we divided from them, +And were brought moping hither. + +ARIEL. +[_Aside to Prospero._] Was’t well done? + +PROSPERO. +[_Aside to Ariel._] Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free. + +ALONSO. +This is as strange a maze as e’er men trod; +And there is in this business more than nature +Was ever conduct of: some oracle +Must rectify our knowledge. + +PROSPERO. +Sir, my liege, +Do not infest your mind with beating on +The strangeness of this business. At pick’d leisure, +Which shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you, +Which to you shall seem probable, of every +These happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful +And think of each thing well. [_Aside to Ariel._] Come hither, spirit; +Set Caliban and his companions free; +Untie the spell. + + [_Exit Ariel._] + + How fares my gracious sir? +There are yet missing of your company +Some few odd lads that you remember not. + + Re-enter Ariel driving in Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo in their + stolen apparel. + +STEPHANO. +Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself, +for all is but fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, coragio! + +TRINCULO. +If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here’s a goodly sight. + +CALIBAN. +O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed. +How fine my master is! I am afraid +He will chastise me. + +SEBASTIAN. +Ha, ha! +What things are these, my lord Antonio? +Will money buy them? + +ANTONIO. +Very like; one of them +Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. + +PROSPERO. +Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, +Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, +His mother was a witch; and one so strong +That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, +And deal in her command without her power. +These three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil, +For he’s a bastard one, had plotted with them +To take my life. Two of these fellows you +Must know and own; this thing of darkness I +Acknowledge mine. + +CALIBAN. +I shall be pinch’d to death. + +ALONSO. +Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? + +SEBASTIAN. +He is drunk now: where had he wine? + +ALONSO. +And Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they +Find this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em? +How cam’st thou in this pickle? + +TRINCULO. +I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will +never out of my bones. I shall not fear fly-blowing. + +SEBASTIAN. +Why, how now, Stephano! + +STEPHANO. +O! touch me not. I am not Stephano, but a cramp. + +PROSPERO. +You’d be King o’ the isle, sirrah? + +STEPHANO. +I should have been a sore one, then. + +ALONSO. +This is as strange a thing as e’er I look’d on. + + [_Pointing to Caliban._] + +PROSPERO. +He is as disproportioned in his manners +As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; +Take with you your companions. As you look +To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. + +CALIBAN. +Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter, +And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass +Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, +And worship this dull fool! + +PROSPERO. +Go to; away! + +ALONSO. +Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. + +SEBASTIAN. +Or stole it, rather. + + [_Exeunt Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo._] + +PROSPERO. +Sir, I invite your Highness and your train +To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest +For this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste +With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it +Go quick away: the story of my life +And the particular accidents gone by +Since I came to this isle: and in the morn +I’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, +Where I have hope to see the nuptial +Of these our dear-belov’d solemnized; +And thence retire me to my Milan, where +Every third thought shall be my grave. + +ALONSO. +I long +To hear the story of your life, which must +Take the ear strangely. + +PROSPERO. +I’ll deliver all; +And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, +And sail so expeditious that shall catch +Your royal fleet far off. [_Aside to Ariel._] My Ariel, +chick, +That is thy charge: then to the elements +Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near. + + [_Exeunt._] + +EPILOGUE + +PROSPERO. +Now my charms are all o’erthrown, +And what strength I have’s mine own, +Which is most faint. Now ’tis true, +I must be here confin’d by you, +Or sent to Naples. Let me not, +Since I have my dukedom got, +And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell +In this bare island by your spell, +But release me from my bands +With the help of your good hands. +Gentle breath of yours my sails +Must fill, or else my project fails, +Which was to please. Now I want +Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; +And my ending is despair, +Unless I be reliev’d by prayer, +Which pierces so that it assaults +Mercy itself, and frees all faults. + As you from crimes would pardon’d be, + Let your indulgence set me free. + + [_Exit._] + + + + + +THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + TIMON of Athens + + LUCIUS + LUCULLUS + SEMPRONIUS + flattering lords + + VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends + ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain + APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher + FLAVIUS, steward to Timon + + FLAMINIUS + LUCILIUS + SERVILIUS + Timon's servants + + CAPHIS + PHILOTUS + TITUS + HORTENSIUS + servants to Timon's creditors + + POET PAINTER JEWELLER MERCHANT MERCER AN OLD ATHENIAN THREE + STRANGERS A PAGE A FOOL + + PHRYNIA + TIMANDRA + mistresses to Alcibiades + + CUPID + AMAZONS + in the Masque + + Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and + Attendants + +SCENE: Athens and the neighbouring woods + +ACT I. SCENE I. Athens. TIMON'S house + +Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors + + POET. Good day, sir. + PAINTER. I am glad y'are well. + POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world? + PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows. + POET. Ay, that's well known. + But what particular rarity? What strange, + Which manifold record not matches? See, + Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power + Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant. + PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller. + MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord! + JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd. + MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were, + To an untirable and continuate goodness. + He passes. + JEWELLER. I have a jewel here- + MERCHANT. O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir? + JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that- + POET. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, + It stains the glory in that happy verse + Which aptly sings the good. + MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form. + JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye. + PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication + To the great lord. + POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me. + Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes + From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint + Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame + Provokes itself, and like the current flies + Each bound it chafes. What have you there? + PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth? + POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. + Let's see your piece. + PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece. + POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent. + PAINTER. Indifferent. + POET. Admirable. How this grace + Speaks his own standing! What a mental power + This eye shoots forth! How big imagination + Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture + One might interpret. + PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life. + Here is a touch; is't good? + POET. I will say of it + It tutors nature. Artificial strife + Lives in these touches, livelier than life. + + Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over + + PAINTER. How this lord is followed! + POET. The senators of Athens- happy man! + PAINTER. Look, moe! + POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. + I have in this rough work shap'd out a man + Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug + With amplest entertainment. My free drift + Halts not particularly, but moves itself + In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice + Infects one comma in the course I hold, + But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, + Leaving no tract behind. + PAINTER. How shall I understand you? + POET. I will unbolt to you. + You see how all conditions, how all minds- + As well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as + Of grave and austere quality, tender down + Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune, + Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, + Subdues and properties to his love and tendance + All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer + To Apemantus, that few things loves better + Than to abhor himself; even he drops down + The knee before him, and returns in peace + Most rich in Timon's nod. + PAINTER. I saw them speak together. + POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill + Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount + Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures + That labour on the bosom of this sphere + To propagate their states. Amongst them all + Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd + One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, + Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; + Whose present grace to present slaves and servants + Translates his rivals. + PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. + This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, + With one man beckon'd from the rest below, + Bowing his head against the steepy mount + To climb his happiness, would be well express'd + In our condition. + POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on. + All those which were his fellows but of late- + Some better than his value- on the moment + Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, + Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, + Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him + Drink the free air. + PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these? + POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood + Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants, + Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top + Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, + Not one accompanying his declining foot. + PAINTER. 'Tis common. + A thousand moral paintings I can show + That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's + More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well + To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen + The foot above the head. + + Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself + courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from + VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other + servants following + + TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you? + MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt; + His means most short, his creditors most strait. + Your honourable letter he desires + To those have shut him up; which failing, + Periods his comfort. + TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well. + I am not of that feather to shake of + My friend when he must need me. I do know him + A gentleman that well deserves a help, + Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him. + MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him. + TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom; + And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me. + 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, + But to support him after. Fare you well. + MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit + + Enter an OLD ATHENIAN + + OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak. + TIMON. Freely, good father. + OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. + TIMON. I have so; what of him? + OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. + TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Lucilius! + LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service. + OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, + By night frequents my house. I am a man + That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift, + And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd + Than one which holds a trencher. + TIMON. Well; what further? + OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else, + On whom I may confer what I have got. + The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride, + And I have bred her at my dearest cost + In qualities of the best. This man of thine + Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord, + Join with me to forbid him her resort; + Myself have spoke in vain. + TIMON. The man is honest. + OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon. + His honesty rewards him in itself; + It must not bear my daughter. + TIMON. Does she love him? + OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt: + Our own precedent passions do instruct us + What levity's in youth. + TIMON. Love you the maid? + LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. + OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing, + I call the gods to witness I will choose + Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, + And dispossess her all. + TIMON. How shall she be endow'd, + If she be mated with an equal husband? + OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all. + TIMON. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;. + To build his fortune I will strain a little, + For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: + What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, + And make him weigh with her. + OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord, + Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. + TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise. + LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may + That state or fortune fall into my keeping + Which is not owed to you! + Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN + POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your + lordship! + TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon; + Go not away. What have you there, my friend? + PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech + Your lordship to accept. + TIMON. Painting is welcome. + The painting is almost the natural man; + For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, + He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are + Even such as they give out. I like your work, + And you shall find I like it; wait attendance + Till you hear further from me. + PAINTER. The gods preserve ye! + TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand; + We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel + Hath suffered under praise. + JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise? + TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations; + If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, + It would unclew me quite. + JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated + As those which sell would give; but you well know + Things of like value, differing in the owners, + Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord, + You mend the jewel by the wearing it. + TIMON. Well mock'd. + + Enter APEMANTUS + + MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, + Which all men speak with him. + TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid? + JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship. + MERCHANT. He'll spare none. + TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! + APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; + When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. + TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know'st them not. + APEMANTUS. Are they not Athenians? + TIMON. Yes. + APEMANTUS. Then I repent not. + JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name. + TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus. + APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. + TIMON. Whither art going? + APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. + TIMON. That's a deed thou't die for. + APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law. + TIMON. How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence. + TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it? + APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's + but a filthy piece of work. + PAINTER. Y'are a dog. + APEMANTUS. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog? + TIMON. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords. + TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies. + APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. + TIMON. That's a lascivious apprehension. + APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st it take it for thy labour. + TIMON. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man + a doit. + TIMON. What dost thou think 'tis worth? + APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! + POET. How now, philosopher! + APEMANTUS. Thou liest. + POET. Art not one? + APEMANTUS. Yes. + POET. Then I lie not. + APEMANTUS. Art not a poet? + POET. Yes. + APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast + feign'd him a worthy fellow. + POET. That's not feign'd- he is so. + APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy + labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer. + Heavens, that I were a lord! + TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart. + TIMON. What, thyself? + APEMANTUS. Ay. + TIMON. Wherefore? + APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a + merchant? + MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus. + APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! + MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it. + APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee! + + Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER + + TIMON. What trumpet's that? + MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, + All of companionship. + TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us. + Exeunt some attendants + You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence + Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done + Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. + + Enter ALCIBIADES, with the rest + + Most welcome, sir! [They salute] + APEMANTUS. So, so, there! + Aches contract and starve your supple joints! + That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, + And all this courtesy! The strain of man's bred out + Into baboon and monkey. + ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed + Most hungerly on your sight. + TIMON. Right welcome, sir! + Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time + In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. + Exeunt all but APEMANTUS + + Enter two LORDS + + FIRST LORD. What time o' day is't, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Time to be honest. + FIRST LORD. That time serves still. + APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit'st it. + SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast. + APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. + SECOND LORD. Fare thee well, fare thee well. + APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. + SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give + thee none. + FIRST LORD. Hang thyself. + APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests + to thy friend. + SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence. + APEMANTUS. I will fly, like a dog, the heels o' th' ass. Exit + FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in + And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes + The very heart of kindness. + SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold, + Is but his steward; no meed but he repays + Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him + But breeds the giver a return exceeding + All use of quittance. + FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries + That ever govern'd man. + SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in? + FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company. Exeunt + +SCENE II. A room of state in TIMON'S house + +Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv'd in; +FLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states, +the ATHENIAN LORDS, VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem'd from prison. +Then comes, dropping after all, APEMANTUS, discontentedly, like himself + + VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon, + It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's age, + And call him to long peace. + He is gone happy, and has left me rich. + Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound + To your free heart, I do return those talents, + Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help + I deriv'd liberty. + TIMON. O, by no means, + Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love; + I gave it freely ever; and there's none + Can truly say he gives, if he receives. + If our betters play at that game, we must not dare + To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair. + VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit! + TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first + To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, + Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; + But where there is true friendship there needs none. + Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes + Than my fortunes to me. [They sit] + FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it. + APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not? + TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome. + APEMANTUS. No; + You shall not make me welcome. + I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. + TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there + Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame. + They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is ever + angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does neither + affect company nor is he fit for't indeed. + APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon. + I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. + TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th'art an Athenian, therefore + welcome. I myself would have no power; prithee let my meat make + thee silent. + APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; 't'would choke me, for I should ne'er + flatter thee. O you gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he + sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in one + man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. + I wonder men dare trust themselves with men. + Methinks they should invite them without knives: + Good for their meat and safer for their lives. + There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, + parts bread with him, pledges the breath of him in a divided + draught, is the readiest man to kill him. 'T has been proved. If + I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals. + Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: + Great men should drink with harness on their throats. + TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round. + SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord. + APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well. + Those healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. + Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which + ne'er left man i' th' mire. + This and my food are equals; there's no odds.' + Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. + + APEMANTUS' Grace + + Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; + I pray for no man but myself. + Grant I may never prove so fond + To trust man on his oath or bond, + Or a harlot for her weeping, + Or a dog that seems a-sleeping, + Or a keeper with my freedom, + Or my friends, if I should need 'em. + Amen. So fall to't. + Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks] + + Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! + TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. + ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. + TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of + friends. + ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's no meat + like 'em; I could wish my best friend at such a feast. + APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that + then thou mightst kill 'em, and bid me to 'em. + FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you + would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of + our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect. + TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have + provided that I shall have much help from you. How had you been + my friends else? Why have you that charitable title from + thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told + more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own + behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods, think I, what + need we have any friends if we should ne'er have need of 'em? + They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er + have use for 'em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung + up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have + often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We + are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call + our own than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious + comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one + another's fortunes! O, joy's e'en made away ere't can be born! + Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks. To forget their + faults, I drink to you. + APEMANTUS. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon. + SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, + And at that instant like a babe sprung up. + APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. + THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. + APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket] + TIMON. What means that trump? + + Enter a SERVANT + + How now? + SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most + desirous of admittance. + TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills? + SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears + that office to signify their pleasures. + TIMON. I pray let them be admitted. + + Enter CUPID + CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all + That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses + Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely + To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' Ear, + Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy table rise; + They only now come but to feast thine eyes. + TIMON. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance. + Music, make their welcome. Exit CUPID + FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y'are belov'd. + + Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons, + with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing + + APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! + They dance? They are mad women. + Like madness is the glory of this life, + As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. + We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves, + And spend our flatteries to drink those men + Upon whose age we void it up again + With poisonous spite and envy. + Who lives that's not depraved or depraves? + Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves + Of their friends' gift? + I should fear those that dance before me now + Would one day stamp upon me. 'T has been done: + Men shut their doors against a setting sun. + + The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of + TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an + Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty + strain or two to the hautboys, and cease + + TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, + Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, + Which was not half so beautiful and kind; + You have added worth unto't and lustre, + And entertain'd me with mine own device; + I am to thank you for't. + FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best. + APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold + taking, I doubt me. + TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you; + Please you to dispose yourselves. + ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord. + Exeunt CUPID and LADIES + TIMON. Flavius! + FLAVIUS. My lord? + TIMON. The little casket bring me hither. + FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet! + There is no crossing him in's humour, + Else I should tell him- well i' faith, I should- + When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could. + 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind, + That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit + FIRST LORD. Where be our men? + SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness. + SECOND LORD. Our horses! + + Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket + + TIMON. O my friends, + I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord, + I must entreat you honour me so much + As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it, + Kind my lord. + FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your gifts- + ALL. So are we all. + + Enter a SERVANT + + SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly + alighted and come to visit you. + TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT + FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe me a word; it does + concern you near. + TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I'll hear thee. I prithee let's + be provided to show them entertainment. + FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how. + + Enter another SERVANT + + SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his + free love, hath presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp'd + in silver. + TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents + Be worthily entertain'd. Exit SERVANT + + Enter a third SERVANT + + How now! What news? + THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord + Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him and + has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. + TIMON. I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd, + Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT + FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to? + He commands us to provide and give great gifts, + And all out of an empty coffer; + Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, + To show him what a beggar his heart is, + Being of no power to make his wishes good. + His promises fly so beyond his state + That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes + For ev'ry word. He is so kind that he now + Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books. + Well, would I were gently put out of office + Before I were forc'd out! + Happier is he that has no friend to feed + Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. + I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit + TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong; + You bate too much of your own merits. + Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. + SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it. + THIRD LORD. O, he's the very soul of bounty! + TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other + day of a bay courser I rode on. 'Tis yours because you lik'd it. + THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my lord, in that. + TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man + Can justly praise but what he does affect. + I weigh my friend's affection with mine own. + I'll tell you true; I'll call to you. + ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome! + TIMON. I take all and your several visitations + So kind to heart 'tis not enough to give; + Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends + And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, + Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich. + It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living + Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast + Lie in a pitch'd field. + ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. + FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously bound- + TIMON. And so am I to you. + SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear'd- + TIMON. All to you. Lights, more lights! + FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with + you, Lord Timon! + TIMON. Ready for his friends. + Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON + APEMANTUS. What a coil's here! + Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! + I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums + That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: + Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs. + Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies. + TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen + I would be good to thee. + APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be brib'd too, there + would be none left to rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin + the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me thou wilt give + away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps, + and vain-glories? + TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to + give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. + Exit + APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I'll + lock thy heaven from thee. + O that men's ears should be + To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit + +ACT II. SCENE I. A SENATOR'S house + +Enter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand + + SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore + He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, + Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion + Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. + If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog + And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold. + If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe + Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, + Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight, + And able horses. No porter at his gate, + But rather one that smiles and still invites + All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason + Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho! + Caphis, I say! + + Enter CAPHIS + + CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure? + SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon; + Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd + With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when + 'Commend me to your master' and the cap + Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him + My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn + Out of mine own; his days and times are past, + And my reliances on his fracted dates + Have smit my credit. I love and honour him, + But must not break my back to heal his finger. + Immediate are my needs, and my relief + Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, + But find supply immediate. Get you gone; + Put on a most importunate aspect, + A visage of demand; for I do fear, + When every feather sticks in his own wing, + Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, + Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. + CAPHIS. I go, sir. + SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you, + And have the dates in compt. + CAPHIS. I will, sir. + SENATOR. Go. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Before TIMON'S house + +Enter FLAVIUS, TIMON'S Steward, with many bills in his hand + + FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense + That he will neither know how to maintain it + Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account + How things go from him, nor resumes no care + Of what is to continue. Never mind + Was to be so unwise to be so kind. + What shall be done? He will not hear till feel. + I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting. + Fie, fie, fie, fie! + + Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO + + CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money? + VARRO'S SERVANT. Is't not your business too? + CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore? + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. It is so. + CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg'd! + VARRO'S SERVANT. I fear it. + CAPHIS. Here comes the lord. + + Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADES + + TIMON. So soon as dinner's done we'll forth again, + My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will? + CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. + TIMON. Dues! Whence are you? + CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord. + TIMON. Go to my steward. + CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off + To the succession of new days this month. + My master is awak'd by great occasion + To call upon his own, and humbly prays you + That with your other noble parts you'll suit + In giving him his right. + TIMON. Mine honest friend, + I prithee but repair to me next morning. + CAPHIS. Nay, good my lord- + TIMON. Contain thyself, good friend. + VARRO'S SERVANT. One Varro's servant, my good lord- + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy + payment- + CAPHIS. If you did know, my lord, my master's wants- + VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and + past. + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and + I am sent expressly to your lordship. + TIMON. Give me breath. + I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; + I'll wait upon you instantly. + Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS + [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you, + How goes the world that I am thus encount'red + With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds + And the detention of long-since-due debts, + Against my honour? + FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen, + The time is unagreeable to this business. + Your importunacy cease till after dinner, + That I may make his lordship understand + Wherefore you are not paid. + TIMON. Do so, my friends. + See them well entertain'd. Exit + FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit + + Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL + + CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus. + Let's ha' some sport with 'em. + VARRO'S SERVANT. Hang him, he'll abuse us! + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog! + VARRO'S SERVANT. How dost, fool? + APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? + VARRO'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee. + APEMANTUS. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away. + ISIDORE'S SERVANT. [To VARRO'S SERVANT] There's the fool hangs on + your back already. + APEMANTUS. No, thou stand'st single; th'art not on him yet. + CAPHIS. Where's the fool now? + APEMANTUS. He last ask'd the question. Poor rogues and usurers' + men! Bawds between gold and want! + ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Asses. + ALL SERVANTS. Why? + APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know + yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. + FOOL. How do you, gentlemen? + ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress? + FOOL. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you + are. Would we could see you at Corinth! + APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy. + + Enter PAGE + + FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. + PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise + company? How dost thou, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee + profitably! + PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these + letters; I know not which is which. + APEMANTUS. Canst not read? + PAGE. No. + APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art + hang'd. This is to Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast + born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd. + PAGE. Thou wast whelp'd a dog, and thou shalt famish dog's death. + Answer not: I am gone. Exit PAGE + APEMANTUS. E'en so thou outrun'st grace. + Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. + FOOL. Will you leave me there? + APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? + ALL SERVANTS. Ay; would they serv'd us! + APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv'd + thief. + FOOL. Are you three usurers' men? + ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool. + FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress + is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your + masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but they enter my + mistress' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this? + VARRO'S SERVANT. I could render one. + APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a + knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. + VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a whoremaster, fool? + FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a + spirit. Sometime 't appears like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; + sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe than's + artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally, + in all shapes that man goes up and down in from fourscore to + thirteen, this spirit walks in. + VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool. + FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man. + As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st. + APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus. + VARRO'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon. + + Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS + + APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come. + FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; + sometime the philosopher. + Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL + FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon. + Exeunt SERVANTS + TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time + Had you not fully laid my state before me, + That I might so have rated my expense + As I had leave of means. + FLAVIUS. You would not hear me + At many leisures I propos'd. + TIMON. Go to; + Perchance some single vantages you took + When my indisposition put you back, + And that unaptness made your minister + Thus to excuse yourself. + FLAVIUS. O my good lord, + At many times I brought in my accounts, + Laid them before you; you would throw them off + And say you found them in mine honesty. + When, for some trifling present, you have bid me + Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; + Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you + To hold your hand more close. I did endure + Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have + Prompted you in the ebb of your estate + And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord, + Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time: + The greatest of your having lacks a half + To pay your present debts. + TIMON. Let all my land be sold. + FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; + And what remains will hardly stop the mouth + Of present dues. The future comes apace; + What shall defend the interim? And at length + How goes our reck'ning? + TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. + FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word; + Were it all yours to give it in a breath, + How quickly were it gone! + TIMON. You tell me true. + FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, + Call me before th' exactest auditors + And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, + When all our offices have been oppress'd + With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept + With drunken spilth of wine, when every room + Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, + I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock + And set mine eyes at flow. + TIMON. Prithee no more. + FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord! + How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants + This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon's? + What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? + Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!' + Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise, + The breath is gone whereof this praise is made. + Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show'rs, + These flies are couch'd. + TIMON. Come, sermon me no further. + No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; + Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. + Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack + To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart: + If I would broach the vessels of my love, + And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, + Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use + As I can bid thee speak. + FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts! + TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd + That I account them blessings; for by these + Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you + Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. + Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! + + Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT + + SERVANTS. My lord! my lord! + TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord + Lucullus you; I hunted with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius. + Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions + have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money. Let the + request be fifty talents. + FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS + FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh! + TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators, + Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have + Deserv'd this hearing. Bid 'em send o' th' instant + A thousand talents to me. + FLAVIUS. I have been bold, + For that I knew it the most general way, + To them to use your signet and your name; + But they do shake their heads, and I am here + No richer in return. + TIMON. Is't true? Can't be? + FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, + That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot + Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourable- + But yet they could have wish'd- they know not- + Something hath been amiss- a noble nature + May catch a wrench- would all were well!- 'tis pity- + And so, intending other serious matters, + After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, + With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods, + They froze me into silence. + TIMON. You gods, reward them! + Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows + Have their ingratitude in them hereditary. + Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; + 'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; + And nature, as it grows again toward earth, + Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy. + Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad, + Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak, + No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately + Buried his father, by whose death he's stepp'd + Into a great estate. When he was poor, + Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, + I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me, + Bid him suppose some good necessity + Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red + With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows + To whom 'tis instant due. Nev'r speak or think + That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. + FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it. + That thought is bounty's foe; + Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. LUCULLUS' house + +FLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him + + SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. + FLAMINIUS. I thank you, sir. + + Enter LUCULLUS + + SERVANT. Here's my lord. + LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant. Why, + this hits right; I dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-night- + Flaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome, + sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that + honourable, complete, freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very + bountiful good lord and master? + FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir. + LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what + hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? + FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord's + behalf I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having + great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to + your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present + assistance therein. + LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas, good + lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would not keep so good a + house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him and told him + on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him + spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning + by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha' + told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't. + + Re-enter SERVANT, with wine + + SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine. + LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. + FLAMINIUS. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. + LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit, + give thee thy due, and one that knows what belongs to reason, and + canst use the time well, if the time use thee well. Good parts in + thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw + nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman; but + thou art wise, and thou know'st well enough, although thou com'st + to me, that this is no time to lend money, especially upon bare + friendship without security. Here's three solidares for thee. + Good boy, wink at me, and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. + FLAMINIUS. Is't possible the world should so much differ, + And we alive that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness, + To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back] + LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. + Exit + FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee! + Let molten coin be thy damnation, + Thou disease of a friend and not himself! + Has friendship such a faint and milky heart + It turns in less than two nights? O you gods, + I feel my master's passion! This slave + Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him; + Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment + When he is turn'd to poison? + O, may diseases only work upon't! + And when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature + Which my lord paid for be of any power + To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit + +SCENE II. A public place + +Enter Lucius, with three STRANGERS + + LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an + honourable gentleman. + FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but + strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, my lord, and + which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy hours + are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him. + LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money. + SECOND STRANGER. But believe you this, my lord, that not long ago + one of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow so many + talents; nay, urg'd extremely for't, and showed what necessity + belong'd to't, and yet was denied. + LUCIUS. How? + SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord. + LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am + asham'd on't. Denied that honourable man! There was very little + honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must needs confess I have + received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, + and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he + mistook him and sent to me, I should ne'er have denied his + occasion so many talents. + + Enter SERVILIUS + + SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see + his honour.- My honour'd lord! + LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend + me to thy honourable virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. + SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent- + LUCIUS. Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord: + he's ever sending. How shall I thank him, think'st thou? And what + has he sent now? + SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord, + requesting your lordship to supply his instant use with so many + talents. + LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me; + He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. + SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. + If his occasion were not virtuous + I should not urge it half so faithfully. + LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? + SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. + LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such + a good time, when I might ha' shown myself honourable! How + unluckily it happ'ned that I should purchase the day before for a + little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now + before the gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I + was sending to use Lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can + witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done't + now. Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his + honour will conceive the fairest of me, because I have no power + to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it one of my + greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an + honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far + as to use mine own words to him? + SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall. + LUCIUS. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. + Exit SERVILIUS + True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; + And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit + FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, Hostilius? + SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well. + FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same + piece + Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him his friend + That dips in the same dish? For, in my knowing, + Timon has been this lord's father, + And kept his credit with his purse; + Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money + Has paid his men their wages. He ne'er drinks + But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; + And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man + When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!- + He does deny him, in respect of his, + What charitable men afford to beggars. + THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it. + FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part, + I never tasted Timon in my life, + Nor came any of his bounties over me + To mark me for his friend; yet I protest, + For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, + And honourable carriage, + Had his necessity made use of me, + I would have put my wealth into donation, + And the best half should have return'd to him, + So much I love his heart. But I perceive + Men must learn now with pity to dispense; + For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt + +SCENE III. SEMPRONIUS' house + +Enter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'S + + SEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me in't? Hum! 'Bove all others? + He might have tried Lord Lucius or Lucullus; + And now Ventidius is wealthy too, + Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these + Owe their estates unto him. + SERVANT. My lord, + They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for + They have all denied him. + SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him? + Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? + And does he send to me? Three? Humh! + It shows but little love or judgment in him. + Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians, + Thrice give him over. Must I take th' cure upon me? + Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him, + That might have known my place. I see no sense for't, + But his occasions might have woo'd me first; + For, in my conscience, I was the first man + That e'er received gift from him. + And does he think so backwardly of me now + That I'll requite it last? No; + So it may prove an argument of laughter + To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool. + I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum + Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; + I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return, + And with their faint reply this answer join: + Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit + SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. The devil + knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd himself + by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man + will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! + Takes virtuous copies to be wicked, like those that under hot + ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire. + Of such a nature is his politic love. + This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, + Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead, + Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards + Many a bounteous year must be employ'd + Now to guard sure their master. + And this is all a liberal course allows: + Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit + +SCENE IV. A hall in TIMON'S house + +Enter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others, all +being servants of TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then +enter TITUS and HORTENSIUS + + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. + TITUS. The like to you, kind Varro. + HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all; + for mine is money. + TITUS. So is theirs and ours. + + Enter PHILOTUS + + LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too! + PHILOTUS. Good day at once. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour? + PHILOTUS. Labouring for nine. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much? + PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet. + PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him; + You must consider that a prodigal course + Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable. + I fear + 'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse; + That is, one may reach deep enough and yet + Find little. + PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that. + TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event. + Your lord sends now for money. + HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does. + TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, + For which I wait for money. + HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it shows + Timon in this should pay more than he owes; + And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels + And send for money for 'em. + HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness; + I know my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, + And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's + yours? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine. + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th' + sum + Your master's confidence was above mine, + Else surely his had equall'd. + + Enter FLAMINIUS + + TITUS. One of Lord Timon's men. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to + come forth? + FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not. + TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much. + FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent. + Exit + + Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled + + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so? + He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him. + TITUS. Do you hear, sir? + SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir. + FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend? + TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir. + FLAVIUS. Ay, + If money were as certain as your waiting, + 'Twere sure enough. + Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills + When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? + Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts, + And take down th' int'rest into their glutt'nous maws. + You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; + Let me pass quietly. + Believe't, my lord and I have made an end: + I have no more to reckon, he to spend. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve. + FLAVIUS. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you, + For you serve knaves. Exit + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier'd worship mutter? + SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. No matter what; he's poor, and that's + revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house + to put his head in? Such may rail against great buildings. + + Enter SERVILIUS + + TITUS. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. + SERVILIUS. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other + hour, I should derive much from't; for take't of my soul, my lord + leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has + forsook him; he's much out of health and keeps his chamber. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Many do keep their chambers are not sick; + And if it be so far beyond his health, + Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, + And make a clear way to the gods. + SERVILIUS. Good gods! + TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir. + FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! + + Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following + + TIMON. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage? + Have I been ever free, and must my house + Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? + The place which I have feasted, does it now, + Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus. + TITUS. My lord, here is my bill. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Here's mine. + HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord. + BOTH VARRO'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord. + PHILOTUS. All our bills. + TIMON. Knock me down with 'em; cleave me to the girdle. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Alas, my lord- + TIMON. Cut my heart in sums. + TITUS. Mine, fifty talents. + TIMON. Tell out my blood. + LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord. + TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours? + FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord- + SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. My lord- + TIMON. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit + HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at + their money. These debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a + madman owes 'em. Exeunt + + Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS + + TIMON. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. + Creditors? Devils! + FLAVIUS. My dear lord- + TIMON. What if it should be so? + FLAMINIUS. My lord- + TIMON. I'll have it so. My steward! + FLAVIUS. Here, my lord. + TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again: + Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all. + I'll once more feast the rascals. + FLAVIUS. O my lord, + You only speak from your distracted soul; + There is not so much left to furnish out + A moderate table. + TIMON. Be it not in thy care. + Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide + Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt + +SCENE V. The Senate House + +Enter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with +attendants + + FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's bloody. + 'Tis necessary he should die: + Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. + SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him. + ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate! + FIRST SENATOR. Now, Captain? + ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; + For pity is the virtue of the law, + And none but tyrants use it cruelly. + It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy + Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood + Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth + To those that without heed do plunge into't. + He is a man, setting his fate aside, + Of comely virtues; + Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice- + An honour in him which buys out his fault- + But with a noble fury and fair spirit, + Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, + He did oppose his foe; + And with such sober and unnoted passion + He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent, + As if he had but prov'd an argument. + FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox, + Striving to make an ugly deed look fair; + Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd + To bring manslaughter into form and set + Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed, + Is valour misbegot, and came into the world + When sects and factions were newly born. + He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer + The worst that man can breathe, + And make his wrongs his outsides, + To wear them like his raiment, carelessly, + And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, + To bring it into danger. + If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, + What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill! + ALCIBIADES. My lord- + FIRST SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear: + To revenge is no valour, but to bear. + ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me + If I speak like a captain: + Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, + And not endure all threats? Sleep upon't, + And let the foes quietly cut their throats, + Without repugnancy? If there be + Such valour in the bearing, what make we + Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant, + That stay at home, if bearing carry it; + And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow + Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, + If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, + As you are great, be pitifully good. + Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? + To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; + But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. + To be in anger is impiety; + But who is man that is not angry? + Weigh but the crime with this. + SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain. + ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done + At Lacedaemon and Byzantium + Were a sufficient briber for his life. + FIRST SENATOR. What's that? + ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service, + And slain in fight many of your enemies; + How full of valour did he bear himself + In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! + SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with 'em. + He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often + Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner. + If there were no foes, that were enough + To overcome him. In that beastly fury + He has been known to commit outrages + And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us + His days are foul and his drink dangerous. + FIRST SENATOR. He dies. + ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war. + My lords, if not for any parts in him- + Though his right arm might purchase his own time, + And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you, + Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both; + And, for I know your reverend ages love + Security, I'll pawn my victories, all + My honours to you, upon his good returns. + If by this crime he owes the law his life, + Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; + For law is strict, and war is nothing more. + FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more + On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother, + He forfeits his own blood that spills another. + ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords, + I do beseech you, know me. + SECOND SENATOR. How! + ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances. + THIRD SENATOR. What! + ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; + It could not else be I should prove so base + To sue, and be denied such common grace. + My wounds ache at you. + FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger? + 'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect: + We banish thee for ever. + ALCIBIADES. Banish me! + Banish your dotage! Banish usury + That makes the Senate ugly. + FIRST SENATOR. If after two days' shine Athens contain thee, + Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, + He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS + ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live + Only in bone, that none may look on you! + I'm worse than mad; I have kept back their foes, + While they have told their money and let out + Their coin upon large interest, I myself + Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? + Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate + Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! + It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; + It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, + That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up + My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. + 'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; + Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. Exit + +SCENE VI. A banqueting hall in TIMON'S house + +Music. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends +of TIMON, at several doors + + FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir. + SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord + did but try us this other day. + FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount'red. + I hope it is not so low with him as he made it seem in the trial + of his several friends. + SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new + feasting. + FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting, + which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath + conjur'd me beyond them, and I must needs appear. + SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate + business, but he would not hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he + sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. + FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all + things go. + SECOND LORD. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of + you? + FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces. + SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces! + FIRST LORD. What of you? + SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes. + + Enter TIMON and attendants + + TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you? + FIRST LORD. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. + SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing than we + your lordship. + TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds + are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long + stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so + harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently. + FIRST LORD. I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that + I return'd you an empty messenger. + TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you. + SECOND LORD. My noble lord- + TIMON. Ah, my good friend, what cheer? + SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame that, + when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so + unfortunate a beggar. + TIMON. Think not on't, sir. + SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours before- + TIMON. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet + brought in] Come, bring in all together. + SECOND LORD. All cover'd dishes! + FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you. + THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. + FIRST LORD. How do you? What's the news? + THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish'd. Hear you of it? + FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish'd! + THIRD LORD. 'Tis so, be sure of it. + FIRST LORD. How? how? + SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what? + TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near? + THIRD LORD. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. + SECOND LORD. This is the old man still. + THIRD LORD. Will't hold? Will't hold? + SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and so- + THIRD LORD. I do conceive. + TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip + of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not + a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon + the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks: + + You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For + your own gifts make yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to give, + lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one + need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of men, + men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the + man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of + villains. If there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of + them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the senators + of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in + them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present + friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and + to nothing are they welcome. + + Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and + seen to he full of warm water] + SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean? + SOME OTHER. I know not. + TIMON. May you a better feast never behold, + You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water + Is your perfection. This is Timon's last; + Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries, + Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces + [Throwing the water in their faces] + Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long, + Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, + Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, + You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies, + Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks! + Of man and beast the infinite malady + Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? + Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou. + Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the + dishes at them, and drives them out] + What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast + Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. + Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be + Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit + + Re-enter the LORDS + + FIRST LORD. How now, my lords! + SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? + THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap? + FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown. + FIRST LORD. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him. + He gave me a jewel th' other day, and now he has beat it out of + my hat. Did you see my jewel? + THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap? + SECOND LORD. Here 'tis. + FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown. + FIRST LORD. Let's make no stay. + SECOND LORD. Lord Timon's mad. + THIRD LORD. I feel't upon my bones. + FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. + Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE I. Without the walls of Athens + +Enter TIMON + + TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall + That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth + And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent. + Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools, + Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench + And minister in their steads. To general filths + Convert, o' th' instant, green virginity. + Do't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast; + Rather than render back, out with your knives + And cut your trusters' throats. Bound servants, steal: + Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, + And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed: + Thy mistress is o' th' brothel. Son of sixteen, + Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, + With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear, + Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, + Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, + Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, + Degrees, observances, customs and laws, + Decline to your confounding contraries + And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men, + Your potent and infectious fevers heap + On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica, + Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt + As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty, + Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, + That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive + And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains, + Sow all th' Athenian bosoms, and their crop + Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, + That their society, as their friendship, may + Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee + But nakedness, thou detestable town! + Take thou that too, with multiplying bans. + Timon will to the woods, where he shall find + Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. + The gods confound- hear me, you good gods all- + The Athenians both within and out that wall! + And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow + To the whole race of mankind, high and low! + Amen. Exit + +SCENE II. Athens. TIMON's house + +Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS + + FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master? + Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining? + FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? + Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, + I am as poor as you. + FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke! + So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not + One friend to take his fortune by the arm + And go along with him? + SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs + From our companion, thrown into his grave, + So his familiars to his buried fortunes + Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, + Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self, + A dedicated beggar to the air, + With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, + Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. + + Enter other SERVANTS + + FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. + THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery; + That see I by our faces. We are fellows still, + Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark; + And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, + Hearing the surges threat. We must all part + Into this sea of air. + FLAVIUS. Good fellows all, + The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. + Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, + Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say, + As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune, + 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some. + [Giving them money] + Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more! + Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. + [Embrace, and part several ways] + O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! + Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, + Since riches point to misery and contempt? + Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live + But in a dream of friendship, + To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, + But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? + Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, + Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, + When man's worst sin is he does too much good! + Who then dares to be half so kind again? + For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. + My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst, + Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes + Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! + He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat + Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to + Supply his life, or that which can command it. + I'll follow and enquire him out. + I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; + Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit + +SCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave + +Enter TIMON in the woods + + TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth + Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb + Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb- + Whose procreation, residence, and birth, + Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes: + The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature, + To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune + But by contempt of nature. + Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord: + The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, + The beggar native honour. + It is the pasture lards the rother's sides, + The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, + In purity of manhood stand upright, + And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be, + So are they all; for every grise of fortune + Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate + Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique; + There's nothing level in our cursed natures + But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd + All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! + His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains. + Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots. + [Digging] + Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate + With thy most operant poison. What is here? + Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, + I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! + Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair, + Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant. + Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this + Will lug your priests and servants from your sides, + Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads- + This yellow slave + Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd, + Make the hoar leprosy ador'd, place thieves + And give them title, knee, and approbation, + With senators on the bench. This is it + That makes the wappen'd widow wed again- + She whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores + Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices + To th 'April day again. Come, damn'd earth, + Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds + Among the rout of nations, I will make thee + Do thy right nature. [March afar off] + Ha! a drum? Th'art quick, + But yet I'll bury thee. Thou't go, strong thief, + When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand. + Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold] + + Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike + manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA + + ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak. + TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart + For showing me again the eyes of man! + ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee + That art thyself a man? + TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. + For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, + That I might love thee something. + ALCIBIADES. I know thee well; + But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. + TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee + I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; + With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules. + Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; + Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine + Hath in her more destruction than thy sword + For all her cherubin look. + PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off! + TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns + To thine own lips again. + ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change? + TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give. + But then renew I could not, like the moon; + There were no suns to borrow of. + ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon, + What friendship may I do thee? + TIMON. None, but to + Maintain my opinion. + ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon? + TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not + promise, the gods plague thee, for thou art man! If thou dost + perform, confound thee, for thou art a man! + ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. + TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity. + ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time. + TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. + TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world + Voic'd so regardfully? + TIMON. Art thou Timandra? + TIMANDRA. Yes. + TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee. + Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. + Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves + For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth + To the tub-fast and the diet. + TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster! + ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits + Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. + I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, + The want whereof doth daily make revolt + In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev'd, + How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, + Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, + But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them- + TIMON. I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone. + ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. + TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble? + I had rather be alone. + ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well; + Here is some gold for thee. + TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it. + ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap- + TIMON. War'st thou 'gainst Athens? + ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause. + TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; + And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! + ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon? + TIMON. That by killing of villains + Thou wast born to conquer my country. + Put up thy gold. Go on. Here's gold. Go on. + Be as a planetary plague, when Jove + Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison + In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one. + Pity not honour'd age for his white beard: + He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron: + It is her habit only that is honest, + Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek + Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps + That through the window bars bore at men's eyes + Are not within the leaf of pity writ, + But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe + Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; + Think it a bastard whom the oracle + Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, + And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects; + Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes, + Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, + Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, + Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers. + Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, + Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. + ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, + Not all thy counsel. + TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! + PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Give us some gold, good Timon. + Hast thou more? + TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, + And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, + Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable, + Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear, + Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, + Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths; + I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still; + And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you- + Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; + Let your close fire predominate his smoke, + And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months + Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs + With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd, + No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still; + Paint till a horse may mire upon your face. + A pox of wrinkles! + PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then? + Believe't that we'll do anything for gold. + TIMON. Consumptions sow + In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, + And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, + That he may never more false title plead, + Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen, + That scolds against the quality of flesh + And not believes himself. Down with the nose, + Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away + Of him that, his particular to foresee, + Smells from the general weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians bald, + And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war + Derive some pain from you. Plague all, + That your activity may defeat and quell + The source of all erection. There's more gold. + Do you damn others, and let this damn you, + And ditches grave you all! + PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous + Timon. + TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. + ALCIBIADES. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon; + If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. + TIMON. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. + ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm. + TIMON. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. + ALCIBIADES. Call'st thou that harm? + TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take + Thy beagles with thee. + ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike. + Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON + TIMON. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, + Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging] + Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast + Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, + Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, + Engenders the black toad and adder blue, + The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, + With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven + Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shine- + Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, + From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! + Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, + Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! + Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; + Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face + Hath to the marbled mansion all above + Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!- + Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, + Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts + And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, + That from it all consideration slips- + + Enter APEMANTUS + + More man? Plague, plague! + APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report + Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them. + TIMON. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, + Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee! + APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected, + A poor unmanly melancholy sprung + From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place? + This slave-like habit and these looks of care? + Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, + Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot + That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods + By putting on the cunning of a carper. + Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive + By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, + And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe + Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, + And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus; + Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome, + To knaves and all approachers. 'Tis most just + That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again + Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. + TIMON. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. + APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; + A madman so long, now a fool. What, think'st + That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, + Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees, + That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels + And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook, + Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste + To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures + Whose naked natures live in all the spite + Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks, + To the conflicting elements expos'd, + Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee. + O, thou shalt find- + TIMON. A fool of thee. Depart. + APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did. + TIMON. I hate thee worse. + APEMANTUS. Why? + TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery. + APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff. + TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out? + APEMANTUS. To vex thee. + TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's. + Dost please thyself in't? + APEMANTUS. Ay. + TIMON. What, a knave too? + APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on + To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou + Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again + Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery + Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before. + The one is filling still, never complete; + The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless, + Hath a distracted and most wretched being, + Worse than the worst, content. + Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. + TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable. + Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm + With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog. + Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded + The sweet degrees that this brief world affords + To such as may the passive drugs of it + Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself + In general riot, melted down thy youth + In different beds of lust, and never learn'd + The icy precepts of respect, but followed + The sug'red game before thee. But myself, + Who had the world as my confectionary; + The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men + At duty, more than I could frame employment; + That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves + Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush + Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare + For every storm that blows- I to bear this, + That never knew but better, is some burden. + Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time + Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men? + They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given? + If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag, + Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff + To some she-beggar and compounded thee + Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone. + If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, + Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. + APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet? + TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee. + APEMANTUS. I, that I was + No prodigal. + TIMON. I, that I am one now. + Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, + I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. + That the whole life of Athens were in this! + Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root] + APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast. + [Offering him food] + TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself. + APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine. + TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; it is but botch'd. + If not, I would it were. + APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens? + TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, + Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. + APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold. + TIMON. The best and truest; + For here it sleeps and does no hired harm. + APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon? + TIMON. Under that's above me. + Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus? + APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it. + TIMON. Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! + APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it? + TIMON. To sauce thy dishes. + APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the + extremity of both ends. When thou wast in thy gilt and thy + perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags + thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a + medlar for thee; eat it. + TIMON. On what I hate I feed not. + APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar? + TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee. + APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have + loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift + that was beloved after his means? + TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever + know belov'd? + APEMANTUS. Myself. + TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog. + APEMANTUS. What things in the world canst thou nearest compare to + thy flatterers? + TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What + wouldst thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy + power? + APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. + TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and + remain a beast with the beasts? + APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon. + TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! + If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert + the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion + would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus'd by the + ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and + still thou liv'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert + the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou + shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn, + pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the + conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, thou wouldst be kill'd by + the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz'd by the + leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and + the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life. All thy safety + were remotion, and thy defence absence. What beast couldst thou + be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou + already, that seest not thy loss in transformation! + APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou + mightst have hit upon it here. The commonwealth of Athens is + become a forest of beasts. + TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the + city? + APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company + light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way. When I + know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. + TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be + welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog than Apemantus. + APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. + TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! + APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. + TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. + APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. + TIMON. If I name thee. + I'll beat thee- but I should infect my hands. + APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off! + TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! + Choler does kill me that thou art alive; + I swoon to see thee. + APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst! + TIMON. Away, + Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose + A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him] + APEMANTUS. Beast! + TIMON. Slave! + APEMANTUS. Toad! + TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue! + I am sick of this false world, and will love nought + But even the mere necessities upon't. + Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; + Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat + Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph, + That death in me at others' lives may laugh. + [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce + 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler + Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! + Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, + Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow + That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, + That sold'rest close impossibilities, + And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue + To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! + Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue + Set them into confounding odds, that beasts + May have the world in empire! + APEMANTUS. Would 'twere so! + But not till I am dead. I'll say th' hast gold. + Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. + TIMON. Throng'd to? + APEMANTUS. Ay. + TIMON. Thy back, I prithee. + APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery! + TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More + things like men? Eat, Timon, and abhor them. + + Enter the BANDITTI + + FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor + fragment, some slender ort of his remainder. The mere want of + gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him into this + melancholy. + SECOND BANDIT. It is nois'd he hath a mass of treasure. + THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't, + he will supply us easily; if he covetously reserve it, how + shall's get it? + SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. 'Tis hid. + FIRST BANDIT. Is not this he? + BANDITTI. Where? + SECOND BANDIT. 'Tis his description. + THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him. + BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon! + TIMON. Now, thieves? + BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves. + TIMON. Both too, and women's sons. + BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. + TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. + Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; + Within this mile break forth a hundred springs; + The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; + The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush + Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want? + FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, + As beasts and birds and fishes. + TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; + You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con + That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not + In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft + In limited professions. Rascal thieves, + Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' th' grape + Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, + And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician; + His antidotes are poison, and he slays + Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together; + Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't, + Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: + The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction + Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, + And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; + The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves + The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, + That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n + From gen'ral excrement- each thing's a thief. + The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power + Has uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away, + Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats; + All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go, + Break open shops; nothing can you steal + But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for this + I give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! + Amen. + THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm'd me from my profession by + persuading me to it. + FIRST BANDIT. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises + us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. + SECOND BANDIT. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my + trade. + FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so + miserable but a man may be true. Exeunt THIEVES + + Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON + + FLAVIUS. O you gods! + Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord? + Full of decay and failing? O monument + And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! + What an alteration of honour + Has desp'rate want made! + What viler thing upon the earth than friends, + Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! + How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, + When man was wish'd to love his enemies! + Grant I may ever love, and rather woo + Those that would mischief me than those that do! + Has caught me in his eye; I will present + My honest grief unto him, and as my lord + Still serve him with my life. My dearest master! + TIMON. Away! What art thou? + FLAVIUS. Have you forgot me, sir? + TIMON. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; + Then, if thou grant'st th'art a man, I have forgot thee. + FLAVIUS. An honest poor servant of yours. + TIMON. Then I know thee not. + I never had honest man about me, I. + All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. + FLAVIUS. The gods are witness, + Nev'r did poor steward wear a truer grief + For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. + TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee + Because thou art a woman and disclaim'st + Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give + But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping. + Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! + FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, + T' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts + To entertain me as your steward still. + TIMON. Had I a steward + So true, so just, and now so comfortable? + It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. + Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man + Was born of woman. + Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, + You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim + One honest man- mistake me not, but one; + No more, I pray- and he's a steward. + How fain would I have hated all mankind! + And thou redeem'st thyself. But all, save thee, + I fell with curses. + Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; + For by oppressing and betraying me + Thou mightst have sooner got another service; + For many so arrive at second masters + Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, + For I must ever doubt though ne'er so sure, + Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, + If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts, + Expecting in return twenty for one? + FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast + Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late! + You should have fear'd false times when you did feast: + Suspect still comes where an estate is least. + That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, + Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind, + Care of your food and living; and believe it, + My most honour'd lord, + For any benefit that points to me, + Either in hope or present, I'd exchange + For this one wish, that you had power and wealth + To requite me by making rich yourself. + TIMON. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man, + Here, take. The gods, out of my misery, + Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy, + But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men; + Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, + But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone + Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs + What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow 'em, + Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods, + And may diseases lick up their false bloods! + And so, farewell and thrive. + FLAVIUS. O, let me stay + And comfort you, my master. + TIMON. If thou hat'st curses, + Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free. + Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. + Exeunt severally + +ACT V. SCENE I. The woods. Before TIMON's cave + +Enter POET and PAINTER + + PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he + abides. + POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's + so full of gold? + PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had + gold of him. He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with + great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. + POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends? + PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again, + and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender + our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will show + honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what + they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his + having. + POET. What have you now to present unto him? + PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will + promise him an excellent piece. + POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming + toward him. + PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th' time; + it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller + for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of people + the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most + courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or + testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that + makes it. + + Enter TIMON from his cave + + TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad + as is thyself. + POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It + must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness + of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that + follow youth and opulency. + TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own + work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have + gold for thee. + POET. Nay, let's seek him; + Then do we sin against our own estate + When we may profit meet and come too late. + PAINTER. True; + When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, + Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. + Come. + TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, + That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple + Than where swine feed! + 'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam, + Settlest admired reverence in a slave. + To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye + Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! + Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave] + POET. Hail, worthy Timon! + PAINTER. Our late noble master! + TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? + POET. Sir, + Having often of your open bounty tasted, + Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, + Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!- + Not all the whips of heaven are large enough- + What! to you, + Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence + To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover + The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude + With any size of words. + TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better. + You that are honest, by being what you are, + Make them best seen and known. + PAINTER. He and myself + Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts, + And sweetly felt it. + TIMON. Ay, you are honest men. + PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service. + TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? + Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No? + BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. + TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold; + I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men. + PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore + Came not my friend nor I. + TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit + Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best; + Thou counterfeit'st most lively. + PAINTER. So, so, my lord. + TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction, + Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth + That thou art even natural in thine art. + But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, + I must needs say you have a little fault. + Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I + You take much pains to mend. + BOTH. Beseech your honour + To make it known to us. + TIMON. You'll take it ill. + BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord. + TIMON. Will you indeed? + BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord. + TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave + That mightily deceives you. + BOTH. Do we, my lord? + TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, + Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, + Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd + That he's a made-up villain. + PAINTER. I know not such, my lord. + POET. Nor I. + TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, + Rid me these villains from your companies. + Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught, + Confound them by some course, and come to me, + I'll give you gold enough. + BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them. + TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company; + Each man apart, all single and alone, + Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. + [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be, + Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside + But where one villain is, then him abandon.- + Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves. + [To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment; hence! + [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.- + Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out] + + Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS + + FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon; + For he is set so only to himself + That nothing but himself which looks like man + Is friendly with him. + FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave. + It is our part and promise to th' Athenians + To speak with Timon. + SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike + Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs + That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand, + Offering the fortunes of his former days, + The former man may make him. Bring us to him, + And chance it as it may. + FLAVIUS. Here is his cave. + Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! + Look out, and speak to friends. Th' Athenians + By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee. + Speak to them, noble Timon. + + Enter TIMON out of his cave + + TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang'd! + For each true word a blister, and each false + Be as a cauterizing to the root o' th' tongue, + Consuming it with speaking! + FIRST SENATOR. Worthy Timon- + TIMON. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. + FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. + TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague, + Could I but catch it for them. + FIRST SENATOR. O, forget + What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. + The senators with one consent of love + Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought + On special dignities, which vacant lie + For thy best use and wearing. + SECOND SENATOR. They confess + Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross; + Which now the public body, which doth seldom + Play the recanter, feeling in itself + A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal + Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon, + And send forth us to make their sorrowed render, + Together with a recompense more fruitful + Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; + Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth + As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs + And write in thee the figures of their love, + Ever to read them thine. + TIMON. You witch me in it; + Surprise me to the very brink of tears. + Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes, + And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. + FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us, + And of our Athens, thine and ours, to take + The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, + Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name + Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back + Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild, + Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up + His country's peace. + SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat'ning sword + Against the walls of Athens. + FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, Timon- + TIMON. Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus: + If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, + Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, + That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, + And take our goodly aged men by th' beards, + Giving our holy virgins to the stain + Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, + Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it + In pity of our aged and our youth- + I cannot choose but tell him that I care not, + And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, + While you have throats to answer. For myself, + There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp + But I do prize it at my love before + The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you + To the protection of the prosperous gods, + As thieves to keepers. + FLAVIUS. Stay not, all's in vain. + TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph; + It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness + Of health and living now begins to mend, + And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; + Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, + And last so long enough! + FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain. + TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not + One that rejoices in the common wreck, + As common bruit doth put it. + FIRST SENATOR. That's well spoke. + TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymen- + FIRST SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through + them. + SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers + In their applauding gates. + TIMON. Commend me to them, + And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, + Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, + Their pangs of love, with other incident throes + That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain + In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them- + I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. + FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again. + TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, + That mine own use invites me to cut down, + And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends, + Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree + From high to low throughout, that whoso please + To stop affliction, let him take his haste, + Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, + And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting. + FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. + TIMON. Come not to me again; but say to Athens + Timon hath made his everlasting mansion + Upon the beached verge of the salt flood, + Who once a day with his embossed froth + The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come, + And let my gravestone be your oracle. + Lips, let sour words go by and language end: + What is amiss, plague and infection mend! + Graves only be men's works and death their gain! + Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign. + Exit TIMON into his cave + FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably + Coupled to nature. + SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return + And strain what other means is left unto us + In our dear peril. + FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Before the walls of Athens + +Enter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER + + FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files + As full as thy report? + MESSENGER. I have spoke the least. + Besides, his expedition promises + Present approach. + SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon. + MESSENGER. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend, + Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, + Yet our old love had a particular force, + And made us speak like friends. This man was riding + From Alcibiades to Timon's cave + With letters of entreaty, which imported + His fellowship i' th' cause against your city, + In part for his sake mov'd. + + Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON + + FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers. + THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. + The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring + Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare. + Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt + +SCENE III. The TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen + +Enter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON + + SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place. + Who's here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this? + Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span. + Some beast rear'd this; here does not live a man. + Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb + I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax. + Our captain hath in every figure skill, + An ag'd interpreter, though young in days; + Before proud Athens he's set down by this, + Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit + +SCENE IV. Before the walls of Athens + +Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens + + ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town + Our terrible approach. + + Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls + + Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time + With all licentious measure, making your wills + The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such + As slept within the shadow of your power, + Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd + Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush, + When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, + Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong + Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease, + And pursy insolence shall break his wind + With fear and horrid flight. + FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young, + When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, + Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear, + We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm, + To wipe out our ingratitude with loves + Above their quantity. + SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo + Transformed Timon to our city's love + By humble message and by promis'd means. + We were not all unkind, nor all deserve + The common stroke of war. + FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours + Were not erected by their hands from whom + You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such + That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall + For private faults in them. + SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living + Who were the motives that you first went out; + Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess + Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, + Into our city with thy banners spread. + By decimation and a tithed death- + If thy revenges hunger for that food + Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth, + And by the hazard of the spotted die + Let die the spotted. + FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended; + For those that were, it is not square to take, + On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands, + Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, + Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage; + Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin + Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall + With those that have offended. Like a shepherd + Approach the fold and cull th' infected forth, + But kill not all together. + SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt, + Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile + Than hew to't with thy sword. + FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot + Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope, + So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before + To say thou't enter friendly. + SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove, + Or any token of thine honour else, + That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress + And not as our confusion, all thy powers + Shall make their harbour in our town till we + Have seal'd thy full desire. + ALCIBIADES. Then there's my glove; + Descend, and open your uncharged ports. + Those enemies of Timon's and mine own, + Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, + Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears + With my more noble meaning, not a man + Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream + Of regular justice in your city's bounds, + But shall be render'd to your public laws + At heaviest answer. + BOTH. 'Tis most nobly spoken. + ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words. + [The SENATORS descend and open the gates] + + Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger + + SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead; + Entomb'd upon the very hem o' th' sea; + And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which + With wax I brought away, whose soft impression + Interprets for my poor ignorance. + + ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph + + 'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft; + Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! + Here lie I, Timon, who alive all living men did hate. + Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy + gait.' + These well express in thee thy latter spirits. + Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, + Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which + From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit + Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye + On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead + Is noble Timon, of whose memory + Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, + And I will use the olive, with my sword; + Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each + Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. + Let our drums strike. Exeunt + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS + +Dramatis Personae + + SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor + BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus + TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman + MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus + + Sons to Titus Andronicus: + LUCIUS + QUINTUS + MARTIUS + MUTIUS + + YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius + PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus + + Kinsmen to Titus: + SEMPRONIUS + CAIUS + VALENTINE + + AEMILIUS, a noble Roman + + Sons to Tamora: + ALARBUS + DEMETRIUS + CHIRON + + AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora + A CAPTAIN + A MESSENGER + A CLOWN + + TAMORA, Queen of the Goths + LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus + A NURSE, and a black CHILD + + Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and + Attendants + + SCENE: Rome and the neighbourhood + +ACT 1. SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol + +Flourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below +SATURNINUS and his followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his +followers at the other, with drums and trumpets + + SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, + Defend the justice of my cause with arms; + And, countrymen, my loving followers, + Plead my successive title with your swords. + I am his first born son that was the last + That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; + Then let my father's honours live in me, + Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. + BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right, + If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, + Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, + Keep then this passage to the Capitol; + And suffer not dishonour to approach + The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, + To justice, continence, and nobility; + But let desert in pure election shine; + And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. + + Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown + + MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends + Ambitiously for rule and empery, + Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand + A special party, have by common voice + In election for the Roman empery + Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius + For many good and great deserts to Rome. + A nobler man, a braver warrior, + Lives not this day within the city walls. + He by the Senate is accited home, + From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, + That with his sons, a terror to our foes, + Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. + Ten years are spent since first he undertook + This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms + Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd + Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons + In coffins from the field; and at this day + To the monument of that Andronici + Done sacrifice of expiation, + And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths. + And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, + Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, + Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. + Let us entreat, by honour of his name + Whom worthily you would have now succeed, + And in the Capitol and Senate's right, + Whom you pretend to honour and adore, + That you withdraw you and abate your strength, + Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, + Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. + SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts. + BASSIANUS. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy + In thy uprightness and integrity, + And so I love and honour thee and thine, + Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, + And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, + Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, + That I will here dismiss my loving friends, + And to my fortunes and the people's favour + Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. + Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS + SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right, + I thank you all and here dismiss you all, + And to the love and favour of my country + Commit myself, my person, and the cause. + Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS + Rome, be as just and gracious unto me + As I am confident and kind to thee. + Open the gates and let me in. + BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. + [Flourish. They go up into the Senate House] + + Enter a CAPTAIN + + CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus, + Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, + Successful in the battles that he fights, + With honour and with fortune is return'd + From where he circumscribed with his sword + And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. + + Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS and MUTIUS, + two of TITUS' sons; and then two men bearing a coffin covered + with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS + ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of Goths, with her three + sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and + others, as many as can be. Then set down the coffin and TITUS + speaks + + TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! + Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught + Returns with precious lading to the bay + From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, + Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, + To re-salute his country with his tears, + Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. + Thou great defender of this Capitol, + Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! + Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, + Half of the number that King Priam had, + Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! + These that survive let Rome reward with love; + These that I bring unto their latest home, + With burial amongst their ancestors. + Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword. + Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, + Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, + To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? + Make way to lay them by their brethren. + [They open the tomb] + There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, + And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars. + O sacred receptacle of my joys, + Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, + How many sons hast thou of mine in store + That thou wilt never render to me more! + LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, + That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile + Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh + Before this earthy prison of their bones, + That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, + Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. + TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives, + The eldest son of this distressed queen. + TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror, + Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, + A mother's tears in passion for her son; + And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, + O, think my son to be as dear to me! + Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome + To beautify thy triumphs, and return + Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; + But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets + For valiant doings in their country's cause? + O, if to fight for king and commonweal + Were piety in thine, it is in these. + Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. + Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? + Draw near them then in being merciful. + Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge. + Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. + TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. + These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld + Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain + Religiously they ask a sacrifice. + To this your son is mark'd, and die he must + T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone. + LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight; + And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, + Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd. + Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS + TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety! + CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous! + DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. + Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive + To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look. + Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal + The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy + With opportunity of sharp revenge + Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent + May favour Tamora, the Queen of Goths- + When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen- + To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. + + Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and + MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody + + LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd + Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, + And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, + Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky. + Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren, + And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. + TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus + Make this his latest farewell to their souls. + [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb] + In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; + Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest, + Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! + Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, + Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms, + No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. + In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! + + Enter LAVINIA + + LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; + My noble lord and father, live in fame! + Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears + I render for my brethren's obsequies; + And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy + Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. + O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, + Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! + TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd + The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! + Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, + And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! + + Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES; + re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants + + MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, + Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! + TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus. + MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, + You that survive and you that sleep in fame. + Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all + That in your country's service drew your swords; + But safer triumph is this funeral pomp + That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness + And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. + Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, + Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, + Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust, + This par]iament of white and spotless hue; + And name thee in election for the empire + With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons: + Be candidatus then, and put it on, + And help to set a head on headless Rome. + TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits + Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. + What should I don this robe and trouble you? + Be chosen with proclamations to-day, + To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, + And set abroad new business for you all? + Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, + And led my country's strength successfully, + And buried one and twenty valiant sons, + Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, + In right and service of their noble country. + Give me a staff of honour for mine age, + But not a sceptre to control the world. + Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. + MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. + SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell? + TITUS. Patience, Prince Saturninus. + SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right. + Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not + Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor. + Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell + Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! + LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good + That noble-minded Titus means to thee! + TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee + The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. + BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, + But honour thee, and will do till I die. + My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, + I will most thankful be; and thanks to men + Of noble minds is honourable meed. + TITUS. People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here, + I ask your voices and your suffrages: + Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus? + TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus, + And gratulate his safe return to Rome, + The people will accept whom he admits. + TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make, + That you create our Emperor's eldest son, + Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, + Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, + And ripen justice in this commonweal. + Then, if you will elect by my advice, + Crown him, and say 'Long live our Emperor!' + MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort, + Patricians and plebeians, we create + Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor; + And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!' + [A long flourish till they come down] + SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done + To us in our election this day + I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, + And will with deeds requite thy gentleness; + And for an onset, Titus, to advance + Thy name and honourable family, + Lavinia will I make my emperess, + Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, + And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse. + Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? + TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match + I hold me highly honoured of your Grace, + And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, + King and commander of our commonweal, + The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate + My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners, + Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord; + Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, + Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. + SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life. + How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts + Rome shall record; and when I do forget + The least of these unspeakable deserts, + Romans, forget your fealty to me. + TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; + To him that for your honour and your state + Will use you nobly and your followers. + SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue + That I would choose, were I to choose anew.- + Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance; + Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, + Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome- + Princely shall be thy usage every way. + Rest on my word, and let not discontent + Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you + Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. + Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this? + LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility + Warrants these words in princely courtesy. + SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go. + Ransomless here we set our prisoners free. + Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. + [Flourish] + BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. + [Seizing LAVINIA] + TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord? + BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal + To do myself this reason and this right. + MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: + This prince in justice seizeth but his own. + LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live. + TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor's guard? + Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris'd! + SATURNINUS. Surpris'd! By whom? + BASSIANUS. By him that justly may + Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. + Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA + MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, + And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. + Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS + TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. + MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here. + TITUS. What, villain boy! + Bar'st me my way in Rome? + MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help! + TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS, + TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON + + Re-enter Lucius + + LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so: + In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. + TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine; + My sons would never so dishonour me. + + Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR + with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor + + Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor. + LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, + That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit + SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs her not, + Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock. + I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once; + Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, + Confederates all thus to dishonour me. + Was there none else in Rome to make a stale + But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, + Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine + That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands. + TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these? + SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece + To him that flourish'd for her with his sword. + A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; + One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, + To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. + TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart. + SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, + That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, + Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, + If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, + Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride + And will create thee Emperess of Rome. + Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? + And here I swear by all the Roman gods- + Sith priest and holy water are so near, + And tapers burn so bright, and everything + In readiness for Hymenaeus stand- + I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, + Or climb my palace, till from forth this place + I lead espous'd my bride along with me. + TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear, + If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, + She will a handmaid be to his desires, + A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. + SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany + Your noble Emperor and his lovely bride, + Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, + Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered; + There shall we consummate our spousal rites. + Exeunt all but TITUS + TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. + TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone, + Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs? + + Re-enter MARCUS, + and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS + + MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! + In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. + TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mine- + Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed + That hath dishonoured all our family; + Unworthy brother and unworthy sons! + LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes; + Give Mutius burial with our bretheren. + TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb. + This monument five hundred years hath stood, + Which I have sumptuously re-edified; + Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors + Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls. + Bury him where you can, he comes not here. + MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you. + My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; + He must be buried with his bretheren. + QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany. + TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word? + QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here. + TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite? + MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee + To pardon Mutius and to bury him. + TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, + And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded. + My foes I do repute you every one; + So trouble me no more, but get you gone. + MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. + QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. + [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel] + MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead- + QUINTUS. Father, and in that name doth nature speak- + TITUS. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. + MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul- + LUCIUS. Dear father, soul and substance of us all- + MARCUS. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter + His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, + That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. + Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous. + The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax, + That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son + Did graciously plead for his funerals. + Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, + Be barr'd his entrance here. + TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise; + The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw, + To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome! + Well, bury him, and bury me the next. + [They put MUTIUS in the tomb] + LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, + Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. + ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius; + He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. + MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumps- + How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths + Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome? + TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it is- + Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell. + Is she not, then, beholding to the man + That brought her for this high good turn so far? + MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. + + Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA + and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door; + at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others + + SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize: + God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride! + BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more, + Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave. + SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power, + Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. + BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, + My true betrothed love, and now my wife? + But let the laws of Rome determine all; + Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine. + SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us; + But if we live we'll be as sharp with you. + BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, + Answer I must, and shall do with my life. + Only thus much I give your Grace to know: + By all the duties that I owe to Rome, + This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, + Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd, + That, in the rescue of Lavinia, + With his own hand did slay his youngest son, + In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath + To be controll'd in that he frankly gave. + Receive him then to favour, Saturnine, + That hath express'd himself in all his deeds + A father and a friend to thee and Rome. + TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds. + 'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me. + Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge + How I have lov'd and honoured Saturnine! + TAMORA. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora + Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, + Then hear me speak indifferently for all; + And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. + SATURNINUS. What, madam! be dishonoured openly, + And basely put it up without revenge? + TAMORA. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend + I should be author to dishonour you! + But on mine honour dare I undertake + For good Lord Titus' innocence in all, + Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs. + Then at my suit look graciously on him; + Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, + Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. + [Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul'd by me, + be won at last; + Dissemble all your griefs and discontents. + You are but newly planted in your throne; + Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, + Upon a just survey take Titus' part, + And so supplant you for ingratitude, + Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, + Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: + I'll find a day to massacre them all, + And raze their faction and their family, + The cruel father and his traitorous sons, + To whom I sued for my dear son's life; + And make them know what 'tis to let a queen + Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.- + Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus. + Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart + That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. + SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd. + TITUS. I thank your Majesty and her, my lord; + These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. + TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, + A Roman now adopted happily, + And must advise the Emperor for his good. + This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; + And let it be mine honour, good my lord, + That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. + For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd + My word and promise to the Emperor + That you will be more mild and tractable. + And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia. + By my advice, all humbled on your knees, + You shall ask pardon of his Majesty. + LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness + That what we did was mildly as we might, + Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own. + MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest. + SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. + TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends. + The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace. + I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. + SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, + And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, + I do remit these young men's heinous faults. + Stand up. + Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, + I found a friend; and sure as death I swore + I would not part a bachelor from the priest. + Come, if the Emperor's court can feast two brides, + You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. + This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. + TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty + To hunt the panther and the hart with me, + With horn and hound we'll give your Grace bonjour. + SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. + Exeunt. Sound trumpets + +ACT II. SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace + +Enter AARON + + AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, + Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft, + Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash, + Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach. + As when the golden sun salutes the morn, + And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, + Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach + And overlooks the highest-peering hills, + So Tamora. + Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, + And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. + Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts + To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, + And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long. + Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains, + And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes + Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. + Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! + I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold, + To wait upon this new-made emperess. + To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen, + This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, + This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine, + And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. + Hullo! what storm is this? + + Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving + + DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge + And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd, + And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be. + CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all; + And so in this, to bear me down with braves. + 'Tis not the difference of a year or two + Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate: + I am as able and as fit as thou + To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace; + And that my sword upon thee shall approve, + And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. + AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the + peace. + DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, + Gave you a dancing rapier by your side, + Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends? + Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath + Till you know better how to handle it. + CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have, + Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. + DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw] + AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how now, lords! + So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw + And maintain such a quarrel openly? + Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge: + I would not for a million of gold + The cause were known to them it most concerns; + Nor would your noble mother for much more + Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome. + For shame, put up. + DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd + My rapier in his bosom, and withal + Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat + That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. + CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, + Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue, + And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. + AARON. Away, I say! + Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, + This pretty brabble will undo us all. + Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous + It is to jet upon a prince's right? + What, is Lavinia then become so loose, + Or Bassianus so degenerate, + That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd + Without controlment, justice, or revenge? + Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know + This discord's ground, the music would not please. + CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world: + I love Lavinia more than all the world. + DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: + Lavina is thine elder brother's hope. + AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome + How furious and impatient they be, + And cannot brook competitors in love? + I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths + By this device. + CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths + Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. + AARON. To achieve her- how? + DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange? + She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; + She is a woman, therefore may be won; + She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. + What, man! more water glideth by the mill + Than wots the miller of; and easy it is + Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know. + Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother, + Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. + AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. + DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it + With words, fair looks, and liberality? + What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, + And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? + AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so + Would serve your turns. + CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served. + DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it. + AARON. Would you had hit it too! + Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. + Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools + To square for this? Would it offend you, then, + That both should speed? + CHIRON. Faith, not me. + DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one. + AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar. + 'Tis policy and stratagem must do + That you affect; and so must you resolve + That what you cannot as you would achieve, + You must perforce accomplish as you may. + Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste + Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. + A speedier course than ling'ring languishment + Must we pursue, and I have found the path. + My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; + There will the lovely Roman ladies troop; + The forest walks are wide and spacious, + And many unfrequented plots there are + Fitted by kind for rape and villainy. + Single you thither then this dainty doe, + And strike her home by force if not by words. + This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. + Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit + To villainy and vengeance consecrate, + Will we acquaint with all what we intend; + And she shall file our engines with advice + That will not suffer you to square yourselves, + But to your wishes' height advance you both. + The Emperor's court is like the house of Fame, + The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears; + The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull. + There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; + There serve your lust, shadowed from heaven's eye, + And revel in Lavinia's treasury. + CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. + DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream + To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, + Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt + +SCENE II. A forest near Rome + +Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, +making a noise with hounds and horns; and MARCUS + + TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, + The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green. + Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, + And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride, + And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal, + That all the court may echo with the noise. + Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, + To attend the Emperor's person carefully. + I have been troubled in my sleep this night, + But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. + + Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal. + Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA, + CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants + Many good morrows to your Majesty! + Madam, to you as many and as good! + I promised your Grace a hunter's peal. + SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lords- + Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. + BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you? + LAVINIA. I say no; + I have been broad awake two hours and more. + SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, + And to our sport. [To TAMORA] Madam, now shall ye see + Our Roman hunting. + MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord, + Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, + And climb the highest promontory top. + TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game + Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. + DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, + But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. Exeunt + +SCENE III. A lonely part of the forest + +Enter AARON alone, with a bag of gold + + AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none, + To bury so much gold under a tree + And never after to inherit it. + Let him that thinks of me so abjectly + Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, + Which, cunningly effected, will beget + A very excellent piece of villainy. + And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest + [Hides the gold] + That have their alms out of the Empress' chest. + + Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor + + TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad + When everything does make a gleeful boast? + The birds chant melody on every bush; + The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun; + The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind + And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground; + Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, + And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds, + Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, + As if a double hunt were heard at once, + Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise; + And- after conflict such as was suppos'd + The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed, + When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, + And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave- + We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, + Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber, + Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds + Be unto us as is a nurse's song + Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. + AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, + Saturn is dominator over mine. + What signifies my deadly-standing eye, + My silence and my cloudy melancholy, + My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls + Even as an adder when she doth unroll + To do some fatal execution? + No, madam, these are no venereal signs. + Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, + Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. + Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, + Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee- + This is the day of doom for Bassianus; + His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, + Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, + And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. + Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee, + And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll. + Now question me no more; we are espied. + Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, + Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. + + Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA + + TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! + AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes. + Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons + To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit + BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome's royal Emperess, + Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? + Or is it Dian, habited like her, + Who hath abandoned her holy groves + To see the general hunting in this forest? + TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps! + Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had, + Thy temples should be planted presently + With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds + Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, + Unmannerly intruder as thou art! + LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess, + 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning, + And to be doubted that your Moor and you + Are singled forth to try thy experiments. + Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! + 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. + BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian + Doth make your honour of his body's hue, + Spotted, detested, and abominable. + Why are you sequest'red from all your train, + Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, + And wand'red hither to an obscure plot, + Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, + If foul desire had not conducted you? + LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport, + Great reason that my noble lord be rated + For sauciness. I pray you let us hence, + And let her joy her raven-coloured love; + This valley fits the purpose passing well. + BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this. + LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long. + Good king, to be so mightily abused! + TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this. + + Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS + + DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! + Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan? + TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? + These two have 'ticed me hither to this place. + A barren detested vale you see it is: + The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, + Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe; + Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, + Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven. + And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, + They told me, here, at dead time of the night, + A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, + Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, + Would make such fearful and confused cries + As any mortal body hearing it + Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly. + No sooner had they told this hellish tale + But straight they told me they would bind me here + Unto the body of a dismal yew, + And leave me to this miserable death. + And then they call'd me foul adulteress, + Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms + That ever ear did hear to such effect; + And had you not by wondrous fortune come, + This vengeance on me had they executed. + Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, + Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. + DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son. + [Stabs BASSIANUS] + CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength. + [Also stabs] + LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora, + For no name fits thy nature but thy own! + TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys, + Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. + DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her; + First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw. + This minion stood upon her chastity, + Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, + And with that painted hope braves your mightiness; + And shall she carry this unto her grave? + CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. + Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, + And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. + TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire, + Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. + CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure. + Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy + That nice-preserved honesty of yours. + LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman's face- + TAMORA. I will not hear her speak; away with her! + LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. + DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory + To see her tears; but be your heart to them + As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. + LAVINIA. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? + O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee; + The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble, + Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. + Yet every mother breeds not sons alike: + [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity. + CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? + LAVINIA. 'Tis true, the raven doth not hatch a lark. + Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!- + The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure + To have his princely paws par'd all away. + Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, + The whilst their own birds famish in their nests; + O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, + Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! + TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her! + LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father's sake, + That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee, + Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. + TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, + Even for his sake am I pitiless. + Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain + To save your brother from the sacrifice; + But fierce Andronicus would not relent. + Therefore away with her, and use her as you will; + The worse to her the better lov'd of me. + LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, + And with thine own hands kill me in this place! + For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; + Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. + TAMORA. What beg'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go. + LAVINIA. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more, + That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: + O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, + And tumble me into some loathsome pit, + Where never man's eye may behold my body; + Do this, and be a charitable murderer. + TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee; + No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. + DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. + LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature, + The blot and enemy to our general name! + Confusion fall- + CHIRON. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband. + This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. + + DEMETRIUS throws the body + of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt + DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA + + TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure. + Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed + Till all the Andronici be made away. + Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, + And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit + + Re-enter AARON, with two + of TITUS' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS + + AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before; + Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit + Where I espied the panther fast asleep. + QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. + MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame, + Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. + [Falls into the pit] + QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this, + Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers, + Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood + As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? + A very fatal place it seems to me. + Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? + MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal'st object hurt + That ever eye with sight made heart lament! + AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here, + That he thereby may have a likely guess + How these were they that made away his brother. Exit + MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out + From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole? + QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; + A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; + My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. + MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart, + Aaron and thou look down into this den, + And see a fearful sight of blood and death. + QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart + Will not permit mine eyes once to behold + The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; + O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now + Was I a child to fear I know not what. + MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray'd in blood, + All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb, + In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. + QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? + MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear + A precious ring that lightens all this hole, + Which, like a taper in some monument, + Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, + And shows the ragged entrails of this pit; + So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus + When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. + O brother, help me with thy fainting hand- + If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath- + Out of this fell devouring receptacle, + As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. + QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out, + Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, + I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb + Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. + I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. + MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. + QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, + Till thou art here aloft, or I below. + Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in] + + Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor + + SATURNINUS. Along with me! I'll see what hole is here, + And what he is that now is leapt into it. + Say, who art thou that lately didst descend + Into this gaping hollow of the earth? + MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus, + Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, + To find thy brother Bassianus dead. + SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: + He and his lady both are at the lodge + Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; + 'Tis not an hour since I left them there. + MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive; + But, out alas! here have we found him dead. + + Re-enter TAMORA, with + attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius + + TAMORA. Where is my lord the King? + SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief. + TAMORA. Where is thy brother Bassianus? + SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; + Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. + TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, + The complot of this timeless tragedy; + And wonder greatly that man's face can fold + In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. + [She giveth SATURNINE a letter] + SATURNINUS. [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him handsomely, + Sweet huntsman- Bassianus 'tis we mean- + Do thou so much as dig the grave for him. + Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward + Among the nettles at the elder-tree + Which overshades the mouth of that same pit + Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. + Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' + O Tamora! was ever heard the like? + This is the pit and this the elder-tree. + Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out + That should have murdered Bassianus here. + AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. + SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody + kind, + Have here bereft my brother of his life. + Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; + There let them bide until we have devis'd + Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. + TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! + How easily murder is discovered! + TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee + I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, + That this fell fault of my accursed sons- + Accursed if the fault be prov'd in them- + SATURNINUS. If it be prov'd! You see it is apparent. + Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? + TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up. + TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail; + For, by my fathers' reverend tomb, I vow + They shall be ready at your Highness' will + To answer their suspicion with their lives. + SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me. + Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers; + Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain; + For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, + That end upon them should be executed. + TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King. + Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. + TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Another part of the forest + +Enter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands +cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravish'd + + DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, + Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. + CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, + An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. + DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. + CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. + DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; + And so let's leave her to her silent walks. + CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself. + DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. + Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON + + Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting + + MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast? + Cousin, a word: where is your husband? + If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! + If I do wake, some planet strike me down, + That I may slumber an eternal sleep! + Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands + Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare + Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments + Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, + And might not gain so great a happiness + As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? + Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, + Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, + Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, + Coming and going with thy honey breath. + But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, + And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. + Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! + And notwithstanding all this loss of blood- + As from a conduit with three issuing spouts- + Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face + Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud. + Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say 'tis so? + O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, + That I might rail at him to ease my mind! + Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, + Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. + Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue, + And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind; + But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee. + A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, + And he hath cut those pretty fingers off + That could have better sew'd than Philomel. + O, had the monster seen those lily hands + Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute + And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, + He would not then have touch'd them for his life! + Or had he heard the heavenly harmony + Which that sweet tongue hath made, + He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, + As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. + Come, let us go, and make thy father blind, + For such a sight will blind a father's eye; + One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads, + What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? + Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee; + O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. Rome. A street + +Enter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS' two sons MARTIUS +and QUINTUS bound, passing on the stage to the place of execution, and +TITUS going before, pleading + + TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay! + For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent + In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept; + For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed, + For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd, + And for these bitter tears, which now you see + Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks, + Be pitiful to my condemned sons, + Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought. + For two and twenty sons I never wept, + Because they died in honour's lofty bed. + [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges + pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt] + For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write + My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears. + Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; + My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. + O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain + That shall distil from these two ancient urns, + Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs. + In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; + In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow + And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, + So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. + + Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn + + O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men! + Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death, + And let me say, that never wept before, + My tears are now prevailing orators. + LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain; + The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by, + And you recount your sorrows to a stone. + TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead! + Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you. + LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. + TITUS. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear, + They would not mark me; if they did mark, + They would not pity me; yet plead I must, + And bootless unto them. + Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; + Who though they cannot answer my distress, + Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes, + For that they will not intercept my tale. + When I do weep, they humbly at my feet + Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; + And were they but attired in grave weeds, + Rome could afford no tribunes like to these. + A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones. + A stone is silent and offendeth not, + And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. + [Rises] + But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? + LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death; + For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd + My everlasting doom of banishment. + TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee. + Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive + That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? + Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey + But me and mine; how happy art thou then + From these devourers to be banished! + But who comes with our brother Marcus here? + + Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA + + MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep, + Or if not so, thy noble heart to break. + I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. + TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then. + MARCUS. This was thy daughter. + TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is. + LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me. + TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. + Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand + Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? + What fool hath added water to the sea, + Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy? + My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, + And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds. + Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too, + For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; + And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life; + In bootless prayer have they been held up, + And they have serv'd me to effectless use. + Now all the service I require of them + Is that the one will help to cut the other. + 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; + For hands to do Rome service is but vain. + LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? + MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts + That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence + Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, + Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung + Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! + LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? + MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park, + Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer + That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. + TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her + Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead; + For now I stand as one upon a rock, + Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, + Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, + Expecting ever when some envious surge + Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. + This way to death my wretched sons are gone; + Here stands my other son, a banish'd man, + And here my brother, weeping at my woes. + But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn + Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. + Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, + It would have madded me; what shall I do + Now I behold thy lively body so? + Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, + Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; + Thy husband he is dead, and for his death + Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. + Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her! + When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears + Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew + Upon a gath'red lily almost withered. + MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; + Perchance because she knows them innocent. + TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, + Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. + No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; + Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. + Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, + Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. + Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius + And thou and I sit round about some fountain, + Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks + How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry + With miry slime left on them by a flood? + And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, + Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, + And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? + Or shall we cut away our hands like thine? + Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows + Pass the remainder of our hateful days? + What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues + Plot some device of further misery + To make us wonder'd at in time to come. + LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief + See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. + MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. + TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! Brother, well I wot + Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine, + For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. + LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. + TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs. + Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say + That to her brother which I said to thee: + His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, + Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. + O, what a sympathy of woe is this + As far from help as Limbo is from bliss! + + Enter AARON the Moor + + AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor + Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, + Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, + Or any one of you, chop off your hand + And send it to the King: he for the same + Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, + And that shall be the ransom for their fault. + TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron! + Did ever raven sing so like a lark + That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? + With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand. + Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? + LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine, + That hath thrown down so many enemies, + Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn, + My youth can better spare my blood than you, + And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. + MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome + And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, + Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? + O, none of both but are of high desert! + My hand hath been but idle; let it serve + To ransom my two nephews from their death; + Then have I kept it to a worthy end. + AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along, + For fear they die before their pardon come. + MARCUS. My hand shall go. + LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go! + TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these + Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. + LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, + Let me redeem my brothers both from death. + MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care, + Now let me show a brother's love to thee. + TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand. + LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe. + MARCUS. But I will use the axe. + Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS + TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both; + Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. + AARON. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, + And never whilst I live deceive men so; + But I'll deceive you in another sort, + And that you'll say ere half an hour pass. + [He cuts off TITUS' hand] + + Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS + + TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd. + Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand; + Tell him it was a hand that warded him + From thousand dangers; bid him bury it. + More hath it merited- that let it have. + As for my sons, say I account of them + As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; + And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. + AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand + Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. + [Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy + Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! + Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace: + Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit + TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, + And bow this feeble ruin to the earth; + If any power pities wretched tears, + To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would'st thou kneel with me? + Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers, + Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim + And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds + When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. + MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility, + And do not break into these deep extremes. + TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? + Then be my passions bottomless with them. + MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament. + TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries, + Then into limits could I bind my woes. + When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? + If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, + Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face? + And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? + I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow. + She is the weeping welkin, I the earth; + Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; + Then must my earth with her continual tears + Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; + For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, + But like a drunkard must I vomit them. + Then give me leave; for losers will have leave + To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. + + Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand + + MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid + For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor. + Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; + And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back- + Thy grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd, + That woe is me to think upon thy woes, + More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit + MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Sicily, + And be my heart an ever-burning hell! + These miseries are more than may be borne. + To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, + But sorrow flouted at is double death. + LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, + And yet detested life not shrink thereat! + That ever death should let life bear his name, + Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! + [LAVINIA kisses TITUS] + MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless + As frozen water to a starved snake. + TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end? + MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus. + Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads, + Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; + Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight + Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, + Even like a stony image, cold and numb. + Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs. + Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand + Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight + The closing up of our most wretched eyes. + Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? + TITUS. Ha, ha, ha! + MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. + TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed; + Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, + And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes + And make them blind with tributary tears. + Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? + For these two heads do seem to speak to me, + And threat me I shall never come to bliss + Till all these mischiefs be return'd again + Even in their throats that have committed them. + Come, let me see what task I have to do. + You heavy people, circle me about, + That I may turn me to each one of you + And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. + The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head, + And in this hand the other will I bear. + And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this; + Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. + As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight; + Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. + Hie to the Goths and raise an army there; + And if ye love me, as I think you do, + Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. + Exeunt all but Lucius + LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, + The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome. + Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again, + He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. + Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; + O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! + But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives + But in oblivion and hateful griefs. + If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs + And make proud Saturnine and his emperess + Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. + Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r + To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit + +SCENE II. Rome. TITUS' house + +A banquet. + +Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS + + TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more + Than will preserve just so much strength in us + As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. + Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; + Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, + And cannot passionate our tenfold grief + With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine + Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; + Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, + Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, + Then thus I thump it down. + [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! + When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, + Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. + Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; + Or get some little knife between thy teeth + And just against thy heart make thou a hole, + That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall + May run into that sink and, soaking in, + Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. + MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay + Such violent hands upon her tender life. + TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already? + Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. + What violent hands can she lay on her life? + Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands? + To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er + How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? + O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, + Lest we remember still that we have none. + Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, + As if we should forget we had no hands, + If Marcus did not name the word of hands! + Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this: + Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she says- + I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; + She says she drinks no other drink but tears, + Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks. + Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; + In thy dumb action will I be as perfect + As begging hermits in their holy prayers. + Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, + Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, + But I of these will wrest an alphabet, + And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. + BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments; + Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. + MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, + Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. + TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, + And tears will quickly melt thy life away. + [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife] + What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? + MARCUS. At that that I have kill'd, my lord- a fly. + TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill'st my heart! + Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny; + A deed of death done on the innocent + Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone; + I see thou art not for my company. + MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. + TITUS. 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother? + How would he hang his slender gilded wings + And buzz lamenting doings in the air! + Poor harmless fly, + That with his pretty buzzing melody + Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill'd him. + MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly, + Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. + TITUS. O, O, O! + Then pardon me for reprehending thee, + For thou hast done a charitable deed. + Give me thy knife, I will insult on him, + Flattering myself as if it were the Moor + Come hither purposely to poison me. + There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. + Ah, sirrah! + Yet, I think, we are not brought so low + But that between us we can kill a fly + That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. + MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, + He takes false shadows for true substances. + TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me; + I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee + Sad stories chanced in the times of old. + Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, + And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE I. Rome. TITUS' garden + +Enter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, and the boy flies +from her with his books under his arm. + +Enter TITUS and MARCUS + + BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia + Follows me everywhere, I know not why. + Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! + Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. + MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. + TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. + BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. + MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? + TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean. + See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee. + Somewhither would she have thee go with her. + Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care + Read to her sons than she hath read to thee + Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. + MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? + BOY. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, + Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her; + For I have heard my grandsire say full oft + Extremity of griefs would make men mad; + And I have read that Hecuba of Troy + Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear; + Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt + Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, + And would not, but in fury, fright my youth; + Which made me down to throw my books, and fly- + Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt; + And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, + I will most willingly attend your ladyship. + MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her + stumps the books which Lucius has let fall] + TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this? + Some book there is that she desires to see. + Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.- + But thou art deeper read and better skill'd; + Come and take choice of all my library, + And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens + Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. + Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? + MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one + Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was, + Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. + TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? + BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; + My mother gave it me. + MARCUS. For love of her that's gone, + Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. + TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her. + What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read? + This is the tragic tale of Philomel + And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape; + And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy. + MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves. + TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, + Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was, + Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? + See, see! + Ay, such a place there is where we did hunt- + O, had we never, never hunted there!- + Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, + By nature made for murders and for rapes. + MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den, + Unless the gods delight in tragedies? + TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, + What Roman lord it was durst do the deed. + Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, + That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? + MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me. + Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, + Inspire me, that I may this treason find! + My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia! + [He writes his name with his + staff, and guides it with feet and mouth] + This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, + This after me. I have writ my name + Without the help of any hand at all. + Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift! + Write thou, good niece, and here display at last + What God will have discovered for revenge. + Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, + That we may know the traitors and the truth! + [She takes the staff in her mouth + and guides it with stumps, and writes] + O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? + TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.' + MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora + Performers of this heinous bloody deed? + TITUS. Magni Dominator poli, + Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides? + MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know + There is enough written upon this earth + To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, + And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. + My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; + And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope; + And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere + And father of that chaste dishonoured dame, + Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape- + That we will prosecute, by good advice, + Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, + And see their blood or die with this reproach. + TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; + But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: + The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once, + She's with the lion deeply still in league, + And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, + And when he sleeps will she do what she list. + You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone; + And come, I will go get a leaf of brass, + And with a gad of steel will write these words, + And lay it by. The angry northern wind + Will blow these sands like Sibyl's leaves abroad, + And where's our lesson, then? Boy, what say you? + BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man + Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe + For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome. + MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft + For his ungrateful country done the like. + BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. + TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury. + Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy + Shall carry from me to the Empress' sons + Presents that I intend to send them both. + Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not? + BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. + TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. + Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house. + Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; + Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we'll be waited on. + Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS + MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan + And not relent, or not compassion him? + Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, + That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart + Than foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield, + But yet so just that he will not revenge. + Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit + +SCENE II. Rome. The palace + +Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door, +YOUNG LUCIUS and another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon +them + + CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; + He hath some message to deliver us. + AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. + BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, + I greet your honours from Andronicus- + [Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both! + DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news? + BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, + For villains mark'd with rape.- May it please you, + My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me + The goodliest weapons of his armoury + To gratify your honourable youth, + The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say; + And so I do, and with his gifts present + Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, + You may be armed and appointed well. + And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains. + Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant + DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round about. + Let's see: + [Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, + Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.' + CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well; + I read it in the grammar long ago. + AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it. + [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! + Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt, + And sends them weapons wrapp'd about with lines + That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. + But were our witty Empress well afoot, + She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. + But let her rest in her unrest awhile- + And now, young lords, was't not a happy star + Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, + Captives, to be advanced to this height? + It did me good before the palace gate + To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing. + DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord + Basely insinuate and send us gifts. + AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius? + Did you not use his daughter very friendly? + DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames + At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. + CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love. + AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. + CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more. + DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods + For our beloved mother in her pains. + AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over. + [Trumpets sound] + DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor's trumpets flourish thus? + CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son. + DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here? + + Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILD + + NURSE. Good morrow, lords. + O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? + AARON. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all, + Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now? + NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone! + Now help, or woe betide thee evermore! + AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! + What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms? + NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye: + Our Empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace! + She is delivered, lord; she is delivered. + AARON. To whom? + NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed. + AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her? + NURSE. A devil. + AARON. Why, then she is the devil's dam; + A joyful issue. + NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue! + Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad + Amongst the fair-fac'd breeders of our clime; + The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, + And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. + AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue? + Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure. + DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done? + AARON. That which thou canst not undo. + CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother. + AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother. + DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her. + Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice! + Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend! + CHIRON. It shall not live. + AARON. It shall not die. + NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so. + AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I + Do execution on my flesh and blood. + DEMETRIUS. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point. + Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it. + AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. + [Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws] + Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother! + Now, by the burning tapers of the sky + That shone so brightly when this boy was got, + He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point + That touches this my first-born son and heir. + I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, + With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, + Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, + Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. + What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! + Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs! + Coal-black is better than another hue + In that it scorns to bear another hue; + For all the water in the ocean + Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, + Although she lave them hourly in the flood. + Tell the Empress from me I am of age + To keep mine own- excuse it how she can. + DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? + AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self, + The vigour and the picture of my youth. + This before all the world do I prefer; + This maugre all the world will I keep safe, + Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. + DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. + CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. + NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death. + CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy. + AARON. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears: + Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing + The close enacts and counsels of thy heart! + Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer. + Look how the black slave smiles upon the father, + As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.' + He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed + Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; + And from your womb where you imprisoned were + He is enfranchised and come to light. + Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, + Although my seal be stamped in his face. + NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress? + DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, + And we will all subscribe to thy advice. + Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. + AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult. + My son and I will have the wind of you: + Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety. + [They sit] + DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his? + AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league + I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor, + The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, + The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. + But say, again, how many saw the child? + NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself; + And no one else but the delivered Empress. + AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself. + Two may keep counsel when the third's away: + Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her] + Weeke weeke! + So cries a pig prepared to the spit. + DEMETRIUS. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this? + AARON. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy. + Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours- + A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? No, lords, no. + And now be it known to you my full intent: + Not far, one Muliteus, my countryman- + His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; + His child is like to her, fair as you are. + Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, + And tell them both the circumstance of all, + And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, + And be received for the Emperor's heir + And substituted in the place of mine, + To calm this tempest whirling in the court; + And let the Emperor dandle him for his own. + Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic, + [Pointing to the NURSE] + And you must needs bestow her funeral; + The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms. + This done, see that you take no longer days, + But send the midwife presently to me. + The midwife and the nurse well made away, + Then let the ladies tattle what they please. + CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air + With secrets. + DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora, + Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. + + Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE + + AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies, + There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, + And secretly to greet the Empress' friends. + Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence; + For it is you that puts us to our shifts. + I'll make you feed on berries and on roots, + And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, + And cabin in a cave, and bring you up + To be a warrior and command a camp. + Exit with the CHILD + +SCENE III. Rome. A public place + +Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him +MARCUS, YOUNG LUCIUS, and other gentlemen, PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and +CAIUS, with bows + + TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way. + Sir boy, let me see your archery; + Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight. + Terras Astrea reliquit, + Be you rememb'red, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled. + Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall + Go sound the ocean and cast your nets; + Happily you may catch her in the sea; + Yet there's as little justice as at land. + No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; + 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade, + And pierce the inmost centre of the earth; + Then, when you come to Pluto's region, + I pray you deliver him this petition. + Tell him it is for justice and for aid, + And that it comes from old Andronicus, + Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. + Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable + What time I threw the people's suffrages + On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. + Go get you gone; and pray be careful all, + And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd. + This wicked Emperor may have shipp'd her hence; + And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. + MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, + To see thy noble uncle thus distract? + PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns + By day and night t' attend him carefully, + And feed his humour kindly as we may + Till time beget some careful remedy. + MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. + Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war + Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, + And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. + TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters? + What, have you met with her? + PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, + If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall. + Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, + He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, + So that perforce you must needs stay a time. + TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. + I'll dive into the burning lake below + And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. + Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, + No big-bon'd men fram'd of the Cyclops' size; + But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, + Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear; + And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, + We will solicit heaven, and move the gods + To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs. + Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. + [He gives them the arrows] + 'Ad Jovem' that's for you; here 'Ad Apollinem.' + 'Ad Martem' that's for myself. + Here, boy, 'To Pallas'; here 'To Mercury.' + 'To Saturn,' Caius- not to Saturnine: + You were as good to shoot against the wind. + To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid. + Of my word, I have written to effect; + There's not a god left unsolicited. + MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court; + We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. + TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius! + Good boy, in Virgo's lap! Give it Pallas. + MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; + Your letter is with Jupiter by this. + TITUS. Ha! ha! + Publius, Publius, hast thou done? + See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. + MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, + The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock + That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court; + And who should find them but the Empress' villain? + She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose + But give them to his master for a present. + TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy! + + Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it + + News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. + Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters? + Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter? + CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down + again, for the man must not be hang'd till the next week. + TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? + CLOWN. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all + my life. + TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? + CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. + TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? + CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I + should be so bold to press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am + going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter + of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal's men. + MARCUS. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your + oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the Emperor from you. + TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a + grace? + CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. + TITUS. Sirrah, come hither. Make no more ado, + But give your pigeons to the Emperor; + By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. + Hold, hold! Meanwhile here's money for thy charges. + Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a + supplication? + CLOWN. Ay, sir. + TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to + him, at the first approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; + then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. I'll + be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. + CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. + TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it. + Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; + For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant. + And when thou hast given it to the Emperor, + Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. + CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will. + TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Rome. Before the palace + +Enter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and +CHIRON; LORDS and others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand +that TITUS shot at him + + SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen + An emperor in Rome thus overborne, + Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent + Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt? + My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods, + However these disturbers of our peace + Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd + But even with law against the wilful sons + Of old Andronicus. And what an if + His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, + Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, + His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? + And now he writes to heaven for his redress. + See, here's 'To Jove' and this 'To Mercury'; + This 'To Apollo'; this 'To the God of War'- + Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! + What's this but libelling against the Senate, + And blazoning our unjustice every where? + A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? + As who would say in Rome no justice were. + But if I live, his feigned ecstasies + Shall be no shelter to these outrages; + But he and his shall know that justice lives + In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep, + He'll so awake as he in fury shall + Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. + TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, + Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, + Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, + Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons + Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep and scarr'd his heart; + And rather comfort his distressed plight + Than prosecute the meanest or the best + For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become + High-witted Tamora to gloze with all. + But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, + Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise, + Then is all safe, the anchor in the port. + + Enter CLOWN + + How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us? + CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial. + TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder sits the Emperor. + CLOWN. 'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have + brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here. + [SATURNINUS reads the letter] + SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently. + CLOWN. How much money must I have? + TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. + CLOWN. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair + end. [Exit guarded] + SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs! + Shall I endure this monstrous villainy? + I know from whence this same device proceeds. + May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons + That died by law for murder of our brother + Have by my means been butchered wrongfully? + Go drag the villain hither by the hair; + Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege. + For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman, + Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, + In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. + + Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS + + What news with thee, Aemilius? + AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause. + The Goths have gathered head; and with a power + Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil, + They hither march amain, under conduct + Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; + Who threats in course of this revenge to do + As much as ever Coriolanus did. + SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? + These tidings nip me, and I hang the head + As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. + Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach. + 'Tis he the common people love so much; + Myself hath often heard them say- + When I have walked like a private man- + That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, + And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. + TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong? + SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, + And will revolt from me to succour him. + TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name! + Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? + The eagle suffers little birds to sing, + And is not careful what they mean thereby, + Knowing that with the shadow of his wings + He can at pleasure stint their melody; + Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome. + Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor, + I will enchant the old Andronicus + With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, + Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep, + When as the one is wounded with the bait, + The other rotted with delicious feed. + SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us. + TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will; + For I can smooth and fill his aged ears + With golden promises, that, were his heart + Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, + Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. + [To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador; + Say that the Emperor requests a parley + Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting + Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. + SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably; + And if he stand on hostage for his safety, + Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. + AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit + TAMORA. Now will I to that old Andronicus, + And temper him with all the art I have, + To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. + And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again, + And bury all thy fear in my devices. + SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him. + Exeunt + +ACT V. SCENE I. Plains near Rome + +Enter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours + + LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends, + I have received letters from great Rome + Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor + And how desirous of our sight they are. + Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, + Imperious and impatient of your wrongs; + And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, + Let him make treble satisfaction. + FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus, + Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort, + Whose high exploits and honourable deeds + Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, + Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st, + Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, + Led by their master to the flow'red fields, + And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. + ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him. + LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. + But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? + + Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms + + SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd + To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; + And as I earnestly did fix mine eye + Upon the wasted building, suddenly + I heard a child cry underneath a wall. + I made unto the noise, when soon I heard + The crying babe controll'd with this discourse: + 'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam! + Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, + Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, + Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor; + But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, + They never do beget a coal-black calf. + Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe- + 'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth, + Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe, + Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' + With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, + Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither + To use as you think needful of the man. + LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil + That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand; + This is the pearl that pleas'd your Empress' eye; + And here's the base fruit of her burning lust. + Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey + This growing image of thy fiend-like face? + Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word? + A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree, + And by his side his fruit of bastardy. + AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. + LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good. + First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl- + A sight to vex the father's soul withal. + Get me a ladder. + [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb] + AARON. Lucius, save the child, + And bear it from me to the Emperess. + If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things + That highly may advantage thee to hear; + If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, + I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!' + LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak'st, + Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. + AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee, Lucius, + 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak; + For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, + Acts of black night, abominable deeds, + Complots of mischief, treason, villainies, + Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd; + And this shall all be buried in my death, + Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. + LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live. + AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. + LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god; + That granted, how canst thou believe an oath? + AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not; + Yet, for I know thou art religious + And hast a thing within thee called conscience, + With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies + Which I have seen thee careful to observe, + Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know + An idiot holds his bauble for a god, + And keeps the oath which by that god he swears, + To that I'll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow + By that same god- what god soe'er it be + That thou adorest and hast in reverence- + To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up; + Or else I will discover nought to thee. + LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will. + AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress. + LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman! + AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity + To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. + 'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus; + They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, + And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou sawest. + LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call'st thou that trimming? + AARON. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd, and 'twas + Trim sport for them which had the doing of it. + LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself! + AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them. + That codding spirit had they from their mother, + As sure a card as ever won the set; + That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, + As true a dog as ever fought at head. + Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. + I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole + Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay; + I wrote the letter that thy father found, + And hid the gold within that letter mention'd, + Confederate with the Queen and her two sons; + And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, + Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? + I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand, + And, when I had it, drew myself apart + And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. + I pried me through the crevice of a wall, + When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; + Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily + That both mine eyes were rainy like to his; + And when I told the Empress of this sport, + She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, + And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. + GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush? + AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. + LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? + AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. + Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think, + Few come within the compass of my curse- + Wherein I did not some notorious ill; + As kill a man, or else devise his death; + Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; + Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; + Set deadly enmity between two friends; + Make poor men's cattle break their necks; + Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, + And bid the owners quench them with their tears. + Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, + And set them upright at their dear friends' door + Even when their sorrows almost was forgot, + And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, + Have with my knife carved in Roman letters + 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' + Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things + As willingly as one would kill a fly; + And nothing grieves me heartily indeed + But that I cannot do ten thousand more. + LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die + So sweet a death as hanging presently. + AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil, + To live and burn in everlasting fire, + So I might have your company in hell + But to torment you with my bitter tongue! + LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more. + + Enter AEMILIUS + + GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome + Desires to be admitted to your presence. + LUCIUS. Let him come near. + Welcome, Aemilius. What's the news from Rome? + AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths, + The Roman Emperor greets you all by me; + And, for he understands you are in arms, + He craves a parley at your father's house, + Willing you to demand your hostages, + And they shall be immediately deliver'd. + FIRST GOTH. What says our general? + LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges + Unto my father and my uncle Marcus. + And we will come. March away. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Rome. Before TITUS' house + +Enter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised + + TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, + I will encounter with Andronicus, + And say I am Revenge, sent from below + To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. + Knock at his study, where they say he keeps + To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; + Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, + And work confusion on his enemies. + + They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above + + TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation? + Is it your trick to make me ope the door, + That so my sad decrees may fly away + And all my study be to no effect? + You are deceiv'd; for what I mean to do + See here in bloody lines I have set down; + And what is written shall be executed. + TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. + TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk, + Wanting a hand to give it that accord? + Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more. + TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me. + TITUS. I am not mad, I know thee well enough: + Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines; + Witness these trenches made by grief and care; + Witness the tiring day and heavy night; + Witness all sorrow that I know thee well + For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora. + Is not thy coming for my other hand? + TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora: + She is thy enemy and I thy friend. + I am Revenge, sent from th' infernal kingdom + To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind + By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. + Come down and welcome me to this world's light; + Confer with me of murder and of death; + There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, + No vast obscurity or misty vale, + Where bloody murder or detested rape + Can couch for fear but I will find them out; + And in their ears tell them my dreadful name- + Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. + TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me + To be a torment to mine enemies? + TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me. + TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee. + Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands; + Now give some surance that thou art Revenge- + Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels; + And then I'll come and be thy waggoner + And whirl along with thee about the globes. + Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, + To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, + And find out murderers in their guilty caves; + And when thy car is loaden with their heads, + I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel + Trot, like a servile footman, all day long, + Even from Hyperion's rising in the east + Until his very downfall in the sea. + And day by day I'll do this heavy task, + So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. + TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me. + TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call'd? + TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so + 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. + TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress' sons they are! + And you the Empress! But we worldly men + Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. + O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee; + And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, + I will embrace thee in it by and by. + TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy. + Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours, + Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, + For now he firmly takes me for Revenge; + And, being credulous in this mad thought, + I'll make him send for Lucius his son, + And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, + I'll find some cunning practice out of hand + To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, + Or, at the least, make them his enemies. + See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. + + Enter TITUS, below + + TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. + Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house. + Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. + How like the Empress and her sons you are! + Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor. + Could not all hell afford you such a devil? + For well I wot the Empress never wags + But in her company there is a Moor; + And, would you represent our queen aright, + It were convenient you had such a devil. + But welcome as you are. What shall we do? + TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus? + DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. + CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, + And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. + TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong, + And I will be revenged on them all. + TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, + And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, + Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. + Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap + To find another that is like to thee, + Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. + Go thou with them; and in the Emperor's court + There is a queen, attended by a Moor; + Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion, + For up and down she doth resemble thee. + I pray thee, do on them some violent death; + They have been violent to me and mine. + TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. + But would it please thee, good Andronicus, + To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, + Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, + And bid him come and banquet at thy house; + When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, + I will bring in the Empress and her sons, + The Emperor himself, and all thy foes; + And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, + And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. + What says Andronicus to this device? + TITUS. Marcus, my brother! 'Tis sad Titus calls. + + Enter MARCUS + + Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; + Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths. + Bid him repair to me, and bring with him + Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; + Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. + Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too + Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. + This do thou for my love; and so let him, + As he regards his aged father's life. + MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit + TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy business, + And take my ministers along with me. + TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, + Or else I'll call my brother back again, + And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. + TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide + with him, + Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor + How I have govern'd our determin'd jest? + Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, + And tarry with him till I turn again. + TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos'd me mad, + And will o'er reach them in their own devices, + A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam. + DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here. + TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes + To lay a complot to betray thy foes. + TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. + Exit TAMORA + CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? + TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. + Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine. + + Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE + + PUBLIUS. What is your will? + TITUS. Know you these two? + PUBLIUS. The Empress' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius. + TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceiv'd. + The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name; + And therefore bind them, gentle Publius- + Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. + Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, + And now I find it; therefore bind them sure, + And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit + [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS] + CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress' sons. + PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded. + Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word. + Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast. + + Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS + with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin + + TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound. + Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me; + But let them hear what fearful words I utter. + O villains, Chiron and Demetrius! + Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud; + This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. + You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault + Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death, + My hand cut off and made a merry jest; + Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear + Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, + Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. + What would you say, if I should let you speak? + Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. + Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you. + This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, + Whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold + The basin that receives your guilty blood. + You know your mother means to feast with me, + And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. + Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust, + And with your blood and it I'll make a paste; + And of the paste a coffin I will rear, + And make two pasties of your shameful heads; + And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam, + Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. + This is the feast that I have bid her to, + And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; + For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, + And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd. + And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, + Receive the blood; and when that they are dead, + Let me go grind their bones to powder small, + And with this hateful liquor temper it; + And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. + Come, come, be every one officious + To make this banquet, which I wish may prove + More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. + [He cuts their throats] + So. + Now bring them in, for I will play the cook, + And see them ready against their mother comes. + Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies + +SCENE III. The court of TITUS' house + +Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, and his CHILD +in the arms of an attendant + + LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind + That I repair to Rome, I am content. + FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will. + LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor, + This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; + Let him receive no sust'nance, fetter him, + Till he be brought unto the Empress' face + For testimony of her foul proceedings. + And see the ambush of our friends be strong; + I fear the Emperor means no good to us. + AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear, + And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth + The venomous malice of my swelling heart! + LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave! + Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. + Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within + The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand. + + Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and + TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others + + SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? + LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun? + MARCUS. Rome's Emperor, and nephew, break the parle; + These quarrels must be quietly debated. + The feast is ready which the careful Titus + Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, + For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome. + Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places. + SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will. + [A table brought in. The company sit down] + + Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS + like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA + with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others + + TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen; + Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; + And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor, + 'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. + SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? + TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well + To entertain your Highness and your Empress. + TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus. + TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were. + My lord the Emperor, resolve me this: + Was it well done of rash Virginius + To slay his daughter with his own right hand, + Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflower'd? + SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus. + TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord. + SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame, + And by her presence still renew his sorrows. + TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; + A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant + For me, most wretched, to perform the like. + Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her] + And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die! + SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? + TITUS. Kill'd her for whom my tears have made me blind. + I am as woeful as Virginius was, + And have a thousand times more cause than he + To do this outrage; and it now is done. + SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish'd? Tell who did the deed. + TITUS. Will't please you eat? Will't please your Highness feed? + TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? + TITUS. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius. + They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue; + And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. + SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. + TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie, + Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, + Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. + 'Tis true, 'tis true: witness my knife's sharp point. + [He stabs the EMPRESS] + SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed! + [He stabs TITUS] + LUCIUS. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? + There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. + [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS, + MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony] + MARCUS. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome, + By uproars sever'd, as a flight of fowl + Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts? + O, let me teach you how to knit again + This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf, + These broken limbs again into one body; + Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, + And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to, + Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, + Do shameful execution on herself. + But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, + Grave witnesses of true experience, + Cannot induce you to attend my words, + [To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor, + When with his solemn tongue he did discourse + To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear + The story of that baleful burning night, + When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy. + Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, + Or who hath brought the fatal engine in + That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. + My heart is not compact of flint nor steel; + Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, + But floods of tears will drown my oratory + And break my utt'rance, even in the time + When it should move ye to attend me most, + And force you to commiseration. + Here's Rome's young Captain, let him tell the tale; + While I stand by and weep to hear him speak. + LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you + That Chiron and the damn'd Demetrius + Were they that murd'red our Emperor's brother; + And they it were that ravished our sister. + For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded, + Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd + Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out + And sent her enemies unto the grave. + Lastly, myself unkindly banished, + The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, + To beg relief among Rome's enemies; + Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, + And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend. + I am the turned forth, be it known to you, + That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood + And from her bosom took the enemy's point, + Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. + Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I; + My scars can witness, dumb although they are, + That my report is just and full of truth. + But, soft! methinks I do digress too much, + Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me! + For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. + MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child. + [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant's arms] + Of this was Tamora delivered, + The issue of an irreligious Moor, + Chief architect and plotter of these woes. + The villain is alive in Titus' house, + Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. + Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge + These wrongs unspeakable, past patience, + Or more than any living man could bear. + Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans? + Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein, + And, from the place where you behold us pleading, + The poor remainder of Andronici + Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves, + And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls, + And make a mutual closure of our house. + Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall, + Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. + AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, + And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand, + Lucius our Emperor; for well I know + The common voice do cry it shall be so. + ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal Emperor! + MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, + And hither hale that misbelieving Moor + To be adjudg'd some direful slaught'ring death, + As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some + attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend + ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor! + LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so + To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe! + But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, + For nature puts me to a heavy task. + Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near + To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. + O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS] + These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, + The last true duties of thy noble son! + MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss + Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. + O, were the sum of these that I should pay + Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! + LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us + To melt in showers. Thy grandsire lov'd thee well; + Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, + Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; + Many a story hath he told to thee, + And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind + And talk of them when he was dead and gone. + MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips, + When they were living, warm'd themselves on thine! + O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss! + Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; + Do them that kindness, and take leave of them. + BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev'n with all my heart + Would I were dead, so you did live again! + O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; + My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. + + Re-enter attendants with AARON + + A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes; + Give sentence on the execrable wretch + That hath been breeder of these dire events. + LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; + There let him stand and rave and cry for food. + If any one relieves or pities him, + For the offence he dies. This is our doom. + Some stay to see him fast'ned in the earth. + AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb? + I am no baby, I, that with base prayers + I should repent the evils I have done; + Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did + Would I perform, if I might have my will. + If one good deed in all my life I did, + I do repent it from my very soul. + LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence, + And give him burial in his father's grave. + My father and Lavinia shall forthwith + Be closed in our household's monument. + As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora, + No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed, + No mournful bell shall ring her burial; + But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey. + Her life was beastly and devoid of pity, + And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt + + + + +THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Prologue. +Scene I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace. +Scene II. Troy. A street. +Scene III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent. + +ACT II +Scene I. The Grecian camp. +Scene II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace. +Scene III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES. + +ACT III +Scene I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace. +Scene II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard. +Scene III. The Greek camp. + +ACT IV +Scene I. Troy. A street. +Scene II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house. +Scene III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house. +Scene IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house. +Scene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out. + +ACT V +Scene I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES. +Scene II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent. +Scene III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace. +Scene IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp. +Scene V. Another part of the plain. +Scene VI. Another part of the plain. +Scene VII. Another part of the plain. +Scene VIII. Another part of the plain. +Scene IX. Another part of the plain. +Scene X. Another part of the plain. + + + + + Dramatis Personæ + +PRIAM, King of Troy + +His sons: +HECTOR +TROILUS +PARIS +DEIPHOBUS +HELENUS +MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam + +Trojan commanders: +AENEAS +ANTENOR + +CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks +PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida +AGAMEMNON, the Greek general +MENELAUS, his brother + +Greek commanders: +ACHILLES +AJAX +ULYSSES +NESTOR +DIOMEDES +PATROCLUS + +THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek +ALEXANDER, servant to Cressida +SERVANT to Troilus +SERVANT to Paris +SERVANT to Diomedes +HELEN, wife to Menelaus +ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector +CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess +CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas + +Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants + +SCENE: Troy and the Greek camp before it + +PROLOGUE + +In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece +The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf’d, +Have to the port of Athens sent their ships +Fraught with the ministers and instruments +Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore +Their crownets regal from the Athenian bay +Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made +To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures +The ravish’d Helen, Menelaus’ queen, +With wanton Paris sleeps—and that’s the quarrel. +To Tenedos they come, +And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge +Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains +The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch +Their brave pavilions: Priam’s six-gated city, +Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Troien, +And Antenorides, with massy staples +And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, +Stir up the sons of Troy. +Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits +On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, +Sets all on hazard. And hither am I come +A prologue arm’d, but not in confidence +Of author’s pen or actor’s voice, but suited +In like conditions as our argument, +To tell you, fair beholders, that our play +Leaps o’er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, +Beginning in the middle; starting thence away, +To what may be digested in a play. +Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are; +Now good or bad, ’tis but the chance of war. + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace. + + Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. + +TROILUS. +Call here my varlet; I’ll unarm again. +Why should I war without the walls of Troy +That find such cruel battle here within? +Each Trojan that is master of his heart, +Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none. + +PANDARUS. +Will this gear ne’er be mended? + +TROILUS. +The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, +Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; +But I am weaker than a woman’s tear, +Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, +Less valiant than the virgin in the night, +And skilless as unpractis’d infancy. + +PANDARUS. +Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I’ll not meddle nor +make no farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry +the grinding. + +TROILUS. +Have I not tarried? + +PANDARUS. +Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. + +TROILUS. +Have I not tarried? + +PANDARUS. +Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. + +TROILUS. +Still have I tarried. + +PANDARUS. +Ay, to the leavening; but here’s yet in the word ‘hereafter’ the +kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the +baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance burn your +lips. + +TROILUS. +Patience herself, what goddess e’er she be, +Doth lesser blench at suff’rance than I do. +At Priam’s royal table do I sit; +And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, +So, traitor! ‘when she comes’! when she is thence? + +PANDARUS. +Well, she look’d yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any +woman else. + +TROILUS. +I was about to tell thee: when my heart, +As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, +Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, +I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, +Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile. +But sorrow that is couch’d in seeming gladness +Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. + +PANDARUS. +An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen’s, well, go to, there +were no more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my +kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, but I would +somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise +your sister Cassandra’s wit; but— + +TROILUS. +O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, +When I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown’d, +Reply not in how many fathoms deep +They lie indrench’d. I tell thee I am mad +In Cressid’s love. Thou answer’st ‘She is fair’; +Pour’st in the open ulcer of my heart +Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, +Handlest in thy discourse. O! that her hand, +In whose comparison all whites are ink +Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure +The cygnet’s down is harsh, and spirit of sense +Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell’st me, +As true thou tell’st me, when I say I love her; +But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, +Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me +The knife that made it. + +PANDARUS. +I speak no more than truth. + +TROILUS. +Thou dost not speak so much. + +PANDARUS. +Faith, I’ll not meddle in’t. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, ’tis +the better for her; and she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. + +TROILUS. +Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus! + +PANDARUS. +I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill +thought on of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my +labour. + +TROILUS. +What! art thou angry, Pandarus? What! with me? + +PANDARUS. +Because she’s kin to me, therefore she’s not so fair as Helen. And she +were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on +Sunday. But what care I? I care not and she were a blackamoor; ’tis all +one to me. + +TROILUS. +Say I she is not fair? + +PANDARUS. +I do not care whether you do or no. She’s a fool to stay behind her +father. Let her to the Greeks; and so I’ll tell her the next time I see +her. For my part, I’ll meddle nor make no more i’ the matter. + +TROILUS. +Pandarus— + +PANDARUS. +Not I. + +TROILUS. +Sweet Pandarus— + +PANDARUS. +Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and +there an end. + + [_Exit Pandarus. An alarum._] + +TROILUS. +Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds! +Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, +When with your blood you daily paint her thus. +I cannot fight upon this argument; +It is too starv’d a subject for my sword. +But Pandarus, O gods! how do you plague me! +I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; +And he’s as tetchy to be woo’d to woo +As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. +Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love, +What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? +Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl; +Between our Ilium and where she resides +Let it be call’d the wild and wandering flood; +Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar +Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. + + Alarum. Enter Aeneas. + +AENEAS. +How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield? + +TROILUS. +Because not there. This woman’s answer sorts, +For womanish it is to be from thence. +What news, Aeneas, from the field today? + +AENEAS. +That Paris is returned home, and hurt. + +TROILUS. +By whom, Aeneas? + +AENEAS. +Troilus, by Menelaus. + +TROILUS. +Let Paris bleed: ’tis but a scar to scorn; +Paris is gor’d with Menelaus’ horn. + + [_Alarum._] + +AENEAS. +Hark what good sport is out of town today! + +TROILUS. +Better at home, if ‘would I might’ were ‘may.’ +But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither? + +AENEAS. +In all swift haste. + +TROILUS. +Come, go we then together. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Troy. A street. + + Enter Cressida and her man Alexander. + +CRESSIDA. +Who were those went by? + +ALEXANDER. +Queen Hecuba and Helen. + +CRESSIDA. +And whither go they? + +ALEXANDER. +Up to the eastern tower, +Whose height commands as subject all the vale, +To see the battle. Hector, whose patience +Is as a virtue fix’d, today was mov’d. +He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; +And, like as there were husbandry in war, +Before the sun rose he was harness’d light, +And to the field goes he; where every flower +Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw +In Hector’s wrath. + +CRESSIDA. +What was his cause of anger? + +ALEXANDER. +The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks +A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; +They call him Ajax. + +CRESSIDA. +Good; and what of him? + +ALEXANDER. +They say he is a very man _per se_ +And stands alone. + +CRESSIDA. +So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs. + +ALEXANDER. +This man, lady, hath robb’d many beasts of their particular additions: +he is as valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the +elephant—a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his valour +is crush’d into folly, his folly sauced with discretion. There is no +man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint +but he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and +merry against the hair; he hath the joints of everything; but +everything so out of joint that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and +no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. + +CRESSIDA. +But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry? + +ALEXANDER. +They say he yesterday cop’d Hector in the battle and struck him down, +the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and +waking. + + Enter Pandarus. + +CRESSIDA. +Who comes here? + +ALEXANDER. +Madam, your uncle Pandarus. + +CRESSIDA. +Hector’s a gallant man. + +ALEXANDER. +As may be in the world, lady. + +PANDARUS. +What’s that? What’s that? + +CRESSIDA. +Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. + +PANDARUS. +Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?—Good morrow, +Alexander.—How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? + +CRESSIDA. +This morning, uncle. + +PANDARUS. +What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm’d and gone ere you +came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? + +CRESSIDA. +Hector was gone; but Helen was not up. + +PANDARUS. +E’en so. Hector was stirring early. + +CRESSIDA. +That were we talking of, and of his anger. + +PANDARUS. +Was he angry? + +CRESSIDA. +So he says here. + +PANDARUS. +True, he was so; I know the cause too; he’ll lay about him today, I can +tell them that. And there’s Troilus will not come far behind him; let +them take heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too. + +CRESSIDA. +What, is he angry too? + +PANDARUS. +Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. + +CRESSIDA. +O Jupiter! there’s no comparison. + +PANDARUS. +What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him? + +CRESSIDA. +Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him. + +PANDARUS. +Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. + +CRESSIDA. +Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector. + +PANDARUS. +No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees. + +CRESSIDA. +’Tis just to each of them: he is himself. + +PANDARUS. +Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were! + +CRESSIDA. +So he is. + +PANDARUS. +Condition I had gone barefoot to India. + +CRESSIDA. +He is not Hector. + +PANDARUS. +Himself! no, he’s not himself. Would a’ were himself! Well, the gods +are above; time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my +heart were in her body! No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. + +CRESSIDA. +Excuse me. + +PANDARUS. +He is elder. + +CRESSIDA. +Pardon me, pardon me. + +PANDARUS. +Th’other’s not come to’t; you shall tell me another tale when +th’other’s come to’t. Hector shall not have his wit this year. + +CRESSIDA. +He shall not need it if he have his own. + +ANDARUS. +Nor his qualities. + +CRESSIDA. +No matter. + +PANDARUS. +Nor his beauty. + +CRESSIDA. +’Twould not become him: his own’s better. + +PANDARUS. +You have no judgement, niece. Helen herself swore th’other day that +Troilus, for a brown favour, for so ’tis, I must confess—not brown +neither— + +CRESSIDA. +No, but brown. + +PANDARUS. +Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. + +CRESSIDA. +To say the truth, true and not true. + +PANDARUS. +She prais’d his complexion above Paris. + +CRESSIDA. +Why, Paris hath colour enough. + +PANDARUS. +So he has. + +CRESSIDA. +Then Troilus should have too much. If she prais’d him above, his +complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other +higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as lief +Helen’s golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper nose. + +PANDARUS. +I swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris. + +CRESSIDA. +Then she’s a merry Greek indeed. + +PANDARUS. +Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th’other day into the +compass’d window—and you know he has not past three or four hairs on +his chin— + +CRESSIDA. +Indeed a tapster’s arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to +a total. + +PANDARUS. +Why, he is very young, and yet will he within three pound lift as much +as his brother Hector. + +CRESSIDA. +Is he so young a man and so old a lifter? + +PANDARUS. +But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came and puts me her +white hand to his cloven chin— + +CRESSIDA. +Juno have mercy! How came it cloven? + +PANDARUS. +Why, you know, ’tis dimpled. I think his smiling becomes him better +than any man in all Phrygia. + +CRESSIDA. +O, he smiles valiantly! + +PANDARUS. +Does he not? + +CRESSIDA. +O yes, an ’twere a cloud in autumn! + +PANDARUS. +Why, go to, then! But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus— + +CRESSIDA. +Troilus will stand to the proof, if you’ll prove it so. + +PANDARUS. +Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg. + +CRESSIDA. +If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would +eat chickens i’ th’ shell. + +PANDARUS. +I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed, +she has a marvell’s white hand, I must needs confess. + +CRESSIDA. +Without the rack. + +PANDARUS. +And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. + +CRESSIDA. +Alas, poor chin! Many a wart is richer. + +PANDARUS. +But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh’d that her eyes ran +o’er. + +CRESSIDA. +With millstones. + +PANDARUS. +And Cassandra laugh’d. + +CRESSIDA. +But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her +eyes run o’er too? + +PANDARUS. +And Hector laugh’d. + +CRESSIDA. +At what was all this laughing? + +PANDARUS. +Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus’ chin. + +CRESSIDA. +And’t had been a green hair I should have laugh’d too. + +PANDARUS. +They laugh’d not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer. + +CRESSIDA. +What was his answer? + +PANDARUS. +Quoth she ‘Here’s but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them +is white.’ + +CRESSIDA. +This is her question. + +PANDARUS. +That’s true; make no question of that. ‘Two and fifty hairs,’ quoth he +‘and one white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his +sons.’ ‘Jupiter!’ quoth she ‘which of these hairs is Paris my husband?’ +‘The forked one,’ quoth he, ’pluck’t out and give it him.’ But there +was such laughing! and Helen so blush’d, and Paris so chaf’d; and all +the rest so laugh’d that it pass’d. + +CRESSIDA. +So let it now; for it has been a great while going by. + +PANDARUS. +Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; think on’t. + +CRESSIDA. +So I do. + +PANDARUS. +I’ll be sworn ’tis true; he will weep you, and ’twere a man born in +April. + +CRESSIDA. +And I’ll spring up in his tears, an ’twere a nettle against May. + + [_Sound a retreat._] + +PANDARUS. +Hark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see +them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida. + +CRESSIDA. +At your pleasure. + +PANDARUS. +Here, here, here’s an excellent place; here we may see most bravely. +I’ll tell you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus +above the rest. + + [Aeneas _passes_.] + +CRESSIDA. +Speak not so loud. + +PANDARUS. +That’s Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He’s one of the flowers of +Troy, I can tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon. + + [Antenor _passes_.] + +CRESSIDA. +Who’s that? + +PANDARUS. +That’s Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he’s a man +good enough; he’s one o’ th’ soundest judgements in Troy, whosoever, +and a proper man of person. When comes Troilus? I’ll show you Troilus +anon. If he see me, you shall see him nod at me. + +CRESSIDA. +Will he give you the nod? + +PANDARUS. +You shall see. + +CRESSIDA. +If he do, the rich shall have more. + + [Hector _passes_.] + +PANDARUS. +That’s Hector, that, that, look you, that; there’s a fellow! Go thy +way, Hector! There’s a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he +looks. There’s a countenance! Is’t not a brave man? + +CRESSIDA. +O, a brave man! + +PANDARUS. +Is a’ not? It does a man’s heart good. Look you what hacks are on his +helmet! Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There’s no +jesting; there’s laying on; take’t off who will, as they say. There be +hacks. + +CRESSIDA. +Be those with swords? + +PANDARUS. +Swords! anything, he cares not; and the devil come to him, it’s all +one. By God’s lid, it does one’s heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder +comes Paris. + + [Paris _passes_.] + +Look ye yonder, niece; is’t not a gallant man too, is’t not? Why, this +is brave now. Who said he came hurt home today? He’s not hurt. Why, +this will do Helen’s heart good now, ha! Would I could see Troilus now! +You shall see Troilus anon. + + [Helenus _passes_.] + +CRESSIDA. +Who’s that? + +PANDARUS. +That’s Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That’s +Helenus. I think he went not forth today. That’s Helenus. + +CRESSIDA. +Can Helenus fight, uncle? + +PANDARUS. +Helenus! no. Yes, he’ll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus +is. Hark! do you not hear the people cry ‘Troilus’?—Helenus is a +priest. + +CRESSIDA. +What sneaking fellow comes yonder? + + [Troilus _passes_.] + +PANDARUS. +Where? yonder? That’s Deiphobus. ’Tis Troilus. There’s a man, niece. +Hem! Brave Troilus, the prince of chivalry! + +CRESSIDA. +Peace, for shame, peace! + +PANDARUS. +Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look +you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack’d than Hector’s; +and how he looks, and how he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw +three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way. Had I a sister were +a grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable +man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, +would give an eye to boot. + +CRESSIDA. +Here comes more. + + [_Common soldiers pass_.] + +PANDARUS. +Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after +meat! I could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne’er look, ne’er +look; the eagles are gone. Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather +be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and all Greece. + +CRESSIDA. +There is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus. + +PANDARUS. +Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel! + +CRESSIDA. +Well, well. + +PANDARUS. +Well, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you +know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, +manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such +like, the spice and salt that season a man? + +CRESSIDA. +Ay, a minc’d man; and then to be bak’d with no date in the pie, for +then the man’s date is out. + +PANDARUS. +You are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie. + +CRESSIDA. +Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon +my secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and +you, to defend all these; and at all these wards I lie, at a thousand +watches. + +PANDARUS. +Say one of your watches. + +CRESSIDA. +Nay, I’ll watch you for that; and that’s one of the chiefest of them +too. If I cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for +telling how I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it’s +past watching. + +PANDARUS. +You are such another! + + Enter Troilus' Boy. + +BOY. +Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. + +PANDARUS. +Where? + +BOY. +At your own house; there he unarms him. + +PANDARUS. +Good boy, tell him I come. [_Exit_ Boy.] I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye +well, good niece. + +CRESSIDA. +Adieu, uncle. + +PANDARUS. +I will be with you, niece, by and by. + +CRESSIDA. +To bring, uncle. + +PANDARUS. +Ay, a token from Troilus. + + [_Exit_ Pandarus.] + +CRESSIDA. +By the same token, you are a bawd. +Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love’s full sacrifice, +He offers in another’s enterprise; +But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see +Than in the glass of Pandar’s praise may be, +Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: +Things won are done; joy’s soul lies in the doing. +That she belov’d knows naught that knows not this: +Men prize the thing ungain’d more than it is. +That she was never yet that ever knew +Love got so sweet as when desire did sue; +Therefore this maxim out of love I teach: +‘Achievement is command; ungain’d, beseech.’ +Then though my heart’s content firm love doth bear, +Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. + + [_Exit_.] + +SCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON’S tent. + + Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Diomedes, Menelaus and + others. + +AGAMEMNON. +Princes, +What grief hath set these jaundies o’er your cheeks? +The ample proposition that hope makes +In all designs begun on earth below +Fails in the promis’d largeness; checks and disasters +Grow in the veins of actions highest rear’d, +As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, +Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain +Tortive and errant from his course of growth. +Nor, princes, is it matter new to us +That we come short of our suppose so far +That after seven years’ siege yet Troy walls stand; +Sith every action that hath gone before, +Whereof we have record, trial did draw +Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, +And that unbodied figure of the thought +That gave’t surmised shape. Why then, you princes, +Do you with cheeks abash’d behold our works +And call them shames, which are, indeed, naught else +But the protractive trials of great Jove +To find persistive constancy in men; +The fineness of which metal is not found +In fortune’s love? For then the bold and coward, +The wise and fool, the artist and unread, +The hard and soft, seem all affin’d and kin. +But in the wind and tempest of her frown +Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, +Puffing at all, winnows the light away; +And what hath mass or matter by itself +Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. + +NESTOR. +With due observance of thy godlike seat, +Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply +Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance +Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth, +How many shallow bauble boats dare sail +Upon her patient breast, making their way +With those of nobler bulk! +But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage +The gentle Thetis, and anon behold +The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut, +Bounding between the two moist elements +Like Perseus’ horse. Where’s then the saucy boat, +Whose weak untimber’d sides but even now +Co-rivall’d greatness? Either to harbour fled +Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so +Doth valour’s show and valour’s worth divide +In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness +The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze +Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind +Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, +And flies fled under shade—why, then the thing of courage, +As rous’d with rage, with rage doth sympathise, +And with an accent tun’d in self-same key +Retorts to chiding fortune. + +ULYSSES. +Agamemnon, +Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, +Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit +In whom the tempers and the minds of all +Should be shut up—hear what Ulysses speaks. +Besides th’applause and approbation +The which, [_To Agamemnon_] most mighty, for thy place and sway, +[_To Nestor_] And, thou most reverend, for thy stretch’d-out life, +I give to both your speeches—which were such +As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece +Should hold up high in brass; and such again +As venerable Nestor, hatch’d in silver, +Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree +On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears +To his experienc’d tongue—yet let it please both, +Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. + +AGAMEMNON. +Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be’t of less expect +That matter needless, of importless burden, +Divide thy lips than we are confident, +When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, +We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. + +ULYSSES. +Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, +And the great Hector’s sword had lack’d a master, +But for these instances: +The specialty of rule hath been neglected; +And look how many Grecian tents do stand +Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. +When that the general is not like the hive, +To whom the foragers shall all repair, +What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, +Th’unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. +The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, +Observe degree, priority, and place, +Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, +Office, and custom, in all line of order; +And therefore is the glorious planet Sol +In noble eminence enthron’d and spher’d +Amidst the other, whose med’cinable eye +Corrects the influence of evil planets, +And posts, like the commandment of a king, +Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets +In evil mixture to disorder wander, +What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, +What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, +Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, +Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, +The unity and married calm of states +Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak’d, +Which is the ladder of all high designs, +The enterprise is sick! How could communities, +Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, +Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, +The primogenity and due of birth, +Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, +But by degree stand in authentic place? +Take but degree away, untune that string, +And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts +In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters +Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, +And make a sop of all this solid globe; +Strength should be lord of imbecility, +And the rude son should strike his father dead; +Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong— +Between whose endless jar justice resides— +Should lose their names, and so should justice too. +Then everything includes itself in power, +Power into will, will into appetite; +And appetite, an universal wolf, +So doubly seconded with will and power, +Must make perforce an universal prey, +And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, +This chaos, when degree is suffocate, +Follows the choking. +And this neglection of degree it is +That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose +It hath to climb. The general’s disdain’d +By him one step below, he by the next, +That next by him beneath; so every step, +Exampl’d by the first pace that is sick +Of his superior, grows to an envious fever +Of pale and bloodless emulation. +And ’tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, +Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, +Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. + +NESTOR. +Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover’d +The fever whereof all our power is sick. + +AGAMEMNON. +The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, +What is the remedy? + +ULYSSES. +The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns +The sinew and the forehand of our host, +Having his ear full of his airy fame, +Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent +Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus +Upon a lazy bed the livelong day +Breaks scurril jests; +And with ridiculous and awkward action— +Which, slanderer, he imitation calls— +He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, +Thy topless deputation he puts on; +And like a strutting player whose conceit +Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich +To hear the wooden dialogue and sound +’Twixt his stretch’d footing and the scaffoldage— +Such to-be-pitied and o’er-wrested seeming +He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks +’Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar’d, +Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp’d, +Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff +The large Achilles, on his press’d bed lolling, +From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; +Cries ‘Excellent! ’Tis Agamemnon right! +Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard, +As he being drest to some oration.’ +That’s done—as near as the extremest ends +Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife; +Yet god Achilles still cries ‘Excellent! +’Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus, +Arming to answer in a night alarm.’ +And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age +Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit +And, with a palsy fumbling on his gorget, +Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport +Sir Valour dies; cries ‘O, enough, Patroclus; +Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all +In pleasure of my spleen.’ And in this fashion +All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, +Severals and generals of grace exact, +Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, +Excitements to the field or speech for truce, +Success or loss, what is or is not, serves +As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. + +NESTOR. +And in the imitation of these twain— +Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns +With an imperial voice—many are infect. +Ajax is grown self-will’d and bears his head +In such a rein, in full as proud a place +As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him; +Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war +Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, +A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint, +To match us in comparisons with dirt, +To weaken and discredit our exposure, +How rank soever rounded in with danger. + +ULYSSES. +They tax our policy and call it cowardice, +Count wisdom as no member of the war, +Forestall prescience, and esteem no act +But that of hand. The still and mental parts +That do contrive how many hands shall strike +When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure +Of their observant toil, the enemies’ weight— +Why, this hath not a finger’s dignity: +They call this bed-work, mapp’ry, closet-war; +So that the ram that batters down the wall, +For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise, +They place before his hand that made the engine, +Or those that with the fineness of their souls +By reason guide his execution. + +NESTOR. +Let this be granted, and Achilles’ horse +Makes many Thetis’ sons. + + [_Tucket_.] + +AGAMEMNON. +What trumpet? Look, Menelaus. + +MENELAUS. +From Troy. + + Enter Aeneas. + +AGAMEMNON. +What would you fore our tent? + +AENEAS. +Is this great Agamemnon’s tent, I pray you? + +AGAMEMNON. +Even this. + +AENEAS. +May one that is a herald and a prince +Do a fair message to his kingly eyes? + +AGAMEMNON. +With surety stronger than Achilles’ arm +Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice +Call Agamemnon head and general. + +AENEAS. +Fair leave and large security. How may +A stranger to those most imperial looks +Know them from eyes of other mortals? + +AGAMEMNON. +How? + +AENEAS. +Ay; +I ask, that I might waken reverence, +And bid the cheek be ready with a blush +Modest as morning when she coldly eyes +The youthful Phoebus. +Which is that god in office, guiding men? +Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? + +AGAMEMNON. +This Trojan scorns us, or the men of Troy +Are ceremonious courtiers. + +AENEAS. +Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm’d, +As bending angels; that’s their fame in peace. +But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, +Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove’s accord, +Nothing so full of heart. But peace, Aeneas, +Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips. +The worthiness of praise distains his worth, +If that the prais’d himself bring the praise forth; +But what the repining enemy commends, +That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends. + +AGAMEMNON. +Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself Aeneas? + +AENEAS. +Ay, Greek, that is my name. + +AGAMEMNON. +What’s your affairs, I pray you? + +AENEAS. +Sir, pardon; ’tis for Agamemnon’s ears. + +AGAMEMNON +He hears naught privately that comes from Troy. + +AENEAS. +Nor I from Troy come not to whisper with him; +I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, +To set his sense on the attentive bent, +And then to speak. + +AGAMEMNON. +Speak frankly as the wind; +It is not Agamemnon’s sleeping hour. +That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, +He tells thee so himself. + +AENEAS. +Trumpet, blow loud, +Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; +And every Greek of mettle, let him know +What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. + + [_Sound trumpet_.] + +We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy +A prince called Hector—Priam is his father— +Who in this dull and long-continued truce +Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet +And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords! +If there be one among the fair’st of Greece +That holds his honour higher than his ease, +That feeds his praise more than he fears his peril, +That knows his valour and knows not his fear, +That loves his mistress more than in confession +With truant vows to her own lips he loves, +And dare avow her beauty and her worth +In other arms than hers—to him this challenge. +Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, +Shall make it good or do his best to do it: +He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer, +Than ever Greek did couple in his arms; +And will tomorrow with his trumpet call +Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy +To rouse a Grecian that is true in love. +If any come, Hector shall honour him; +If none, he’ll say in Troy, when he retires, +The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth +The splinter of a lance. Even so much. + +AGAMEMNON. +This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas. +If none of them have soul in such a kind, +We left them all at home. But we are soldiers; +And may that soldier a mere recreant prove +That means not, hath not, or is not in love. +If then one is, or hath, or means to be, +That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. + +NESTOR. +Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man +When Hector’s grandsire suck’d. He is old now; +But if there be not in our Grecian host +A noble man that hath one spark of fire +To answer for his love, tell him from me +I’ll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, +And in my vambrace put this wither’d brawns, +And meeting him, will tell him that my lady +Was fairer than his grandam, and as chaste +As may be in the world. His youth in flood, +I’ll prove this troth with my three drops of blood. + +AENEAS. +Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth! + +ULYSSES. +Amen. + +AGAMEMNON. +Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand; +To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. +Achilles shall have word of this intent; +So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent. +Yourself shall feast with us before you go, +And find the welcome of a noble foe. + + [_Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor_.] + +ULYSSES. +Nestor! + +NESTOR. +What says Ulysses? + +ULYSSES. +I have a young conception in my brain; +Be you my time to bring it to some shape. + +NESTOR. +What is’t? + +ULYSSES. +This ’tis: +Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride +That hath to this maturity blown up +In rank Achilles must or now be cropp’d +Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil +To overbulk us all. + +NESTOR. +Well, and how? + +ULYSSES. +This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, +However it is spread in general name, +Relates in purpose only to Achilles. + +NESTOR. +True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance +Whose grossness little characters sum up; +And, in the publication, make no strain +But that Achilles, were his brain as barren +As banks of Libya—though, Apollo knows, +’Tis dry enough—will with great speed of judgement, +Ay, with celerity, find Hector’s purpose +Pointing on him. + +ULYSSES. +And wake him to the answer, think you? + +NESTOR. +Why, ’tis most meet. Who may you else oppose +That can from Hector bring those honours off, +If not Achilles? Though ’t be a sportful combat, +Yet in this trial much opinion dwells +For here the Trojans taste our dear’st repute +With their fin’st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses, +Our imputation shall be oddly pois’d +In this vile action; for the success, +Although particular, shall give a scantling +Of good or bad unto the general; +And in such indexes, although small pricks +To their subsequent volumes, there is seen +The baby figure of the giant mass +Of things to come at large. It is suppos’d +He that meets Hector issues from our choice; +And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, +Makes merit her election, and doth boil, +As ’twere from forth us all, a man distill’d +Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, +What heart receives from hence a conquering part, +To steel a strong opinion to themselves? +Which entertain’d, limbs are his instruments, +In no less working than are swords and bows +Directive by the limbs. + +ULYSSES. +Give pardon to my speech. Therefore ’tis meet +Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, +First show foul wares, and think perchance they’ll sell; +If not, the lustre of the better shall exceed +By showing the worse first. Do not consent +That ever Hector and Achilles meet; +For both our honour and our shame in this +Are dogg’d with two strange followers. + +NESTOR. +I see them not with my old eyes. What are they? + +ULYSSES. +What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, +Were he not proud, we all should share with him; +But he already is too insolent; +And it were better parch in Afric sun +Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, +Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil’d, +Why, then we do our main opinion crush +In taint of our best man. No, make a lott’ry; +And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw +The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves +Give him allowance for the better man; +For that will physic the great Myrmidon, +Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall +His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. +If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, +We’ll dress him up in voices; if he fail, +Yet go we under our opinion still +That we have better men. But, hit or miss, +Our project’s life this shape of sense assumes— +Ajax employ’d plucks down Achilles’ plumes. + +NESTOR. +Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice; +And I will give a taste thereof forthwith +To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight. +Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone +Must tarre the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. The Grecian camp. + + Enter Ajax and Thersites. + +AJAX. +Thersites! + +THERSITES. +Agamemnon—how if he had boils, full, all over, generally? + +AJAX. +Thersites! + +THERSITES. +And those boils did run—say so. Did not the general run then? Were not +that a botchy core? + +AJAX. +Dog! + +THERSITES. +Then there would come some matter from him; +I see none now. + +AJAX. +Thou bitch-wolf’s son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then. + + [_Strikes him_.] + +THERSITES. +The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord! + +AJAX. +Speak, then, thou unsalted leaven, speak. I will beat thee into +handsomeness. + +THERSITES. +I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse +will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou +canst strike, canst thou? A red murrain o’ thy jade’s tricks! + +AJAX. +Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. + +THERSITES. +Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? + +AJAX. +The proclamation! + +THERSITES. +Thou art proclaim’d fool, I think. + +AJAX. +Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch. + +THERSITES. +I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of +thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art +forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. + +AJAX. +I say, the proclamation. + +THERSITES. +Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full +of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina’s beauty—ay, that +thou bark’st at him. + +AJAX. +Mistress Thersites! + +THERSITES. +Thou shouldst strike him. + +AJAX. +Cobloaf! + +THERSITES. +He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a +biscuit. + +AJAX. +You whoreson cur! + + [_Strikes him_.] + +THERSITES. +Do, do. + +AJAX. +Thou stool for a witch! + +THERSITES. +Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I +have in mine elbows; an asinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass! +Thou art here but to thrash Trojans, and thou art bought and sold among +those of any wit like a barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will +begin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no +bowels, thou! + +AJAX. +You dog! + +THERSITES. +You scurvy lord! + +AJAX. +You cur! + + [_Strikes him_.] + +THERSITES. +Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do. + + Enter Achilles and Patroclus. + +ACHILLES. +Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do ye thus? +How now, Thersites! What’s the matter, man? + +THERSITES. +You see him there, do you? + +ACHILLES. +Ay; what’s the matter? + +THERSITES. +Nay, look upon him. + +ACHILLES. +So I do. What’s the matter? + +THERSITES. +Nay, but regard him well. + +ACHILLES. +Well! why, so I do. + +THERSITES. +But yet you look not well upon him; for whosomever you take him to be, +he is Ajax. + +ACHILLES. +I know that, fool. + +THERSITES. +Ay, but that fool knows not himself. + +AJAX. +Therefore I beat thee. + +THERSITES. +Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears +thus long. I have bobb’d his brain more than he has beat my bones. I +will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the +ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles—Ajax, who wears his wit in +his belly and his guts in his head—I’ll tell you what I say of him. + +ACHILLES. +What? + +THERSITES. +I say this Ajax— + + [_Ajax offers to strike him_.] + +ACHILLES. +Nay, good Ajax. + +THERSITES. +Has not so much wit— + +ACHILLES. +Nay, I must hold you. + +THERSITES. +As will stop the eye of Helen’s needle, for whom he comes to fight. + +ACHILLES. +Peace, fool. + +THERSITES. +I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will not— he there; that +he; look you there. + +AJAX. +O thou damned cur! I shall— + +ACHILLES. +Will you set your wit to a fool’s? + +THERSITES. +No, I warrant you, the fool’s will shame it. + +PATROCLUS. +Good words, Thersites. + +ACHILLES. +What’s the quarrel? + +AJAX. +I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the proclamation, and he +rails upon me. + +THERSITES. +I serve thee not. + +AJAX. +Well, go to, go to. + +THERSITES. +I serve here voluntary. + +ACHILLES. +Your last service was suff’rance; ’twas not voluntary. No man is beaten +voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. + +THERSITES. +E’en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else +there be liars. Hector shall have a great catch and knock out either of +your brains: a’ were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. + +ACHILLES. +What, with me too, Thersites? + +THERSITES. +There’s Ulysses and old Nestor—whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires +had nails on their toes—yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough +up the wars. + +ACHILLES. +What, what? + +THERSITES. +Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, to— + +AJAX. +I shall cut out your tongue. + +THERSITES. +’Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards. + +PATROCLUS. +No more words, Thersites; peace! + +THERSITES. +I will hold my peace when Achilles’ brach bids me, shall I? + +ACHILLES. +There’s for you, Patroclus. + +THERSITES. +I will see you hang’d like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents. +I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of +fools. + + [_Exit_.] + +PATROCLUS. +A good riddance. + +ACHILLES. +Marry, this, sir, is proclaim’d through all our host, +That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, +Will with a trumpet ’twixt our tents and Troy, +Tomorrow morning, call some knight to arms +That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare +Maintain I know not what; ’tis trash. Farewell. + +AJAX. +Farewell. Who shall answer him? + +ACHILLES. +I know not; ’tis put to lott’ry, otherwise, +He knew his man. + +AJAX. +O, meaning you? I will go learn more of it. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE II. Troy. PRIAM’S palace. + + Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris and Helenus. + +PRIAM. +After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, +Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: +‘Deliver Helen, and all damage else— +As honour, loss of time, travail, expense, +Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum’d +In hot digestion of this cormorant war— +Shall be struck off.’ Hector, what say you to’t? + +HECTOR. +Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, +As far as toucheth my particular, +Yet, dread Priam, +There is no lady of more softer bowels, +More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, +More ready to cry out ‘Who knows what follows?’ +Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety, +Surety secure; but modest doubt is call’d +The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches +To th’ bottom of the worst. Let Helen go. +Since the first sword was drawn about this question, +Every tithe soul ’mongst many thousand dismes +Hath been as dear as Helen—I mean, of ours. +If we have lost so many tenths of ours +To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us, +Had it our name, the value of one ten, +What merit’s in that reason which denies +The yielding of her up? + +TROILUS. +Fie, fie, my brother! +Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, +So great as our dread father’s, in a scale +Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum +The past-proportion of his infinite, +And buckle in a waist most fathomless +With spans and inches so diminutive +As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame! + +HELENUS. +No marvel though you bite so sharp of reasons, +You are so empty of them. Should not our father +Bear the great sway of his affairs with reason, +Because your speech hath none that tells him so? + +TROILUS. +You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest; +You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons: +You know an enemy intends you harm; +You know a sword employ’d is perilous, +And reason flies the object of all harm. +Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds +A Grecian and his sword, if he do set +The very wings of reason to his heels +And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, +Or like a star disorb’d? Nay, if we talk of reason, +Let’s shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour +Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts +With this cramm’d reason. Reason and respect +Make livers pale and lustihood deject. + +HECTOR. +Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost the keeping. + +TROILUS. +What’s aught but as ’tis valued? + +HECTOR. +But value dwells not in particular will: +It holds his estimate and dignity +As well wherein ’tis precious of itself +As in the prizer. ’Tis mad idolatry +To make the service greater than the god, +And the will dotes that is attributive +To what infectiously itself affects, +Without some image of th’affected merit. + +TROILUS. +I take today a wife, and my election +Is led on in the conduct of my will; +My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, +Two traded pilots ’twixt the dangerous shores +Of will and judgement: how may I avoid, +Although my will distaste what it elected, +The wife I chose? There can be no evasion +To blench from this and to stand firm by honour. +We turn not back the silks upon the merchant +When we have soil’d them; nor the remainder viands +We do not throw in unrespective sieve, +Because we now are full. It was thought meet +Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks; +Your breath with full consent bellied his sails; +The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce, +And did him service. He touch’d the ports desir’d; +And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive +He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness +Wrinkles Apollo’s, and makes stale the morning. +Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt. +Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl +Whose price hath launch’d above a thousand ships, +And turn’d crown’d kings to merchants. +If you’ll avouch ’twas wisdom Paris went— +As you must needs, for you all cried ‘Go, go’— +If you’ll confess he brought home worthy prize— +As you must needs, for you all clapp’d your hands, +And cried ‘Inestimable!’—why do you now +The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, +And do a deed that never Fortune did— +Beggar the estimation which you priz’d +Richer than sea and land? O theft most base, +That we have stol’n what we do fear to keep! +But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol’n +That in their country did them that disgrace +We fear to warrant in our native place! + +CASSANDRA. +[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans, cry. + +PRIAM. +What noise, what shriek is this? + +TROILUS. +’Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice. + +CASSANDRA. +[_Within_.] Cry, Trojans. + +HECTOR. +It is Cassandra. + + Enter Cassandra, raving. + +CASSANDRA. +Cry, Trojans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes, +And I will fill them with prophetic tears. + +HECTOR. +Peace, sister, peace. + +CASSANDRA. +Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld, +Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, +Add to my clamours. Let us pay betimes +A moiety of that mass of moan to come. +Cry, Trojans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears. +Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; +Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. +Cry, Trojans, cry, A Helen and a woe! +Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go. + + [_Exit_.] + +HECTOR. +Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains +Of divination in our sister work +Some touches of remorse? Or is your blood +So madly hot, that no discourse of reason, +Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, +Can qualify the same? + +TROILUS. +Why, brother Hector, +We may not think the justness of each act +Such and no other than event doth form it; +Nor once deject the courage of our minds +Because Cassandra’s mad. Her brain-sick raptures +Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel +Which hath our several honours all engag’d +To make it gracious. For my private part, +I am no more touch’d than all Priam’s sons; +And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us +Such things as might offend the weakest spleen +To fight for and maintain. + +PARIS. +Else might the world convince of levity +As well my undertakings as your counsels; +But I attest the gods, your full consent +Gave wings to my propension, and cut off +All fears attending on so dire a project. +For what, alas, can these my single arms? +What propugnation is in one man’s valour +To stand the push and enmity of those +This quarrel would excite? Yet I protest, +Were I alone to pass the difficulties, +And had as ample power as I have will, +Paris should ne’er retract what he hath done, +Nor faint in the pursuit. + +PRIAM. +Paris, you speak +Like one besotted on your sweet delights. +You have the honey still, but these the gall; +So to be valiant is no praise at all. + +PARIS. +Sir, I propose not merely to myself +The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; +But I would have the soil of her fair rape +Wip’d off in honourable keeping her. +What treason were it to the ransack’d queen, +Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, +Now to deliver her possession up +On terms of base compulsion! Can it be, +That so degenerate a strain as this +Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? +There’s not the meanest spirit on our party +Without a heart to dare or sword to draw +When Helen is defended; nor none so noble +Whose life were ill bestow’d or death unfam’d, +Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say, +Well may we fight for her whom we know well +The world’s large spaces cannot parallel. + +HECTOR. +Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; +And on the cause and question now in hand +Have gloz’d, but superficially; not much +Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought +Unfit to hear moral philosophy. +The reasons you allege do more conduce +To the hot passion of distemp’red blood +Than to make up a free determination +’Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge +Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice +Of any true decision. Nature craves +All dues be rend’red to their owners. Now, +What nearer debt in all humanity +Than wife is to the husband? If this law +Of nature be corrupted through affection; +And that great minds, of partial indulgence +To their benumbed wills, resist the same; +There is a law in each well-order’d nation +To curb those raging appetites that are +Most disobedient and refractory. +If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta’s king— +As it is known she is—these moral laws +Of nature and of nations speak aloud +To have her back return’d. Thus to persist +In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, +But makes it much more heavy. Hector’s opinion +Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne’ertheless, +My spritely brethren, I propend to you +In resolution to keep Helen still; +For ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependence +Upon our joint and several dignities. + +TROILUS. +Why, there you touch’d the life of our design. +Were it not glory that we more affected +Than the performance of our heaving spleens, +I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood +Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, +She is a theme of honour and renown, +A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, +Whose present courage may beat down our foes, +And fame in time to come canonize us; +For I presume brave Hector would not lose +So rich advantage of a promis’d glory +As smiles upon the forehead of this action +For the wide world’s revenue. + +HECTOR. +I am yours, +You valiant offspring of great Priamus. +I have a roisting challenge sent amongst +The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks +Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits. +I was advertis’d their great general slept, +Whilst emulation in the army crept. +This, I presume, will wake him. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE III. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES. + + Enter Thersites, solus. + +THERSITES. +How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the +elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy +satisfaction! Would it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he +rail’d at me! ‘Sfoot, I’ll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I’ll +see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there’s Achilles, a +rare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the +walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great +thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, +and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus, if ye take +not that little little less than little wit from them that they have! +which short-arm’d ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will +not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their +massy irons and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole +camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the +curse depending on those that war for a placket. I have said my +prayers; and devil Envy say ‘Amen.’ What ho! my Lord Achilles! + + Enter Patroclus. + +PATROCLUS. +Who’s there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail. + +THERSITES. +If I could a’ rememb’red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have +slipp’d out of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon +thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in +great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor, and discipline come not +near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if she +that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I’ll be sworn and sworn +upon’t she never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where’s Achilles? + +PATROCLUS. +What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer? + +THERSITES. +Ay, the heavens hear me! + +PATROCLUS. +Amen. + + Enter Achilles. + +ACHILLES. +Who’s there? + +PATROCLUS. +Thersites, my lord. + +ACHILLES. +Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion, +why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, +what’s Agamemnon? + +THERSITES. +Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what’s Achilles? + +PATROCLUS. +Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what’s Thersites? + +THERSITES. +Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou? + +PATROCLUS. +Thou must tell that knowest. + +ACHILLES. +O, tell, tell, + +THERSITES. +I’ll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles +is my lord; I am Patroclus’ knower; and Patroclus is a fool. + +PATROCLUS. +You rascal! + +THERSITES. +Peace, fool! I have not done. + +ACHILLES. +He is a privileg’d man. Proceed, Thersites. + +THERSITES. +Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as +aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. + +ACHILLES. +Derive this; come. + +THERSITES. +Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to +be commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; +and this Patroclus is a fool positive. + +PATROCLUS. +Why am I a fool? + +THERSITES. +Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who +comes here? + + Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, Ajax and Calchas. + +ACHILLES. +Come, Patroclus, I’ll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites. + + [_Exit_.] + +THERSITES. +Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the +argument is a whore and a cuckold—a good quarrel to draw emulous +factions and bleed to death upon. Now the dry serpigo on the subject, +and war and lechery confound all! + + [_Exit_.] + +AGAMEMNON. +Where is Achilles? + +PATROCLUS. +Within his tent; but ill-dispos’d, my lord. + +AGAMEMNON. +Let it be known to him that we are here. +He sate our messengers; and we lay by +Our appertainings, visiting of him. +Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think +We dare not move the question of our place +Or know not what we are. + +PATROCLUS. +I shall say so to him. + + [_Exit_.] + +ULYSSES. +We saw him at the opening of his tent. +He is not sick. + +AJAX. +Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you +will favour the man; but, by my head, ’tis pride. But why, why? Let him +show us a cause. A word, my lord. + + [_Takes Agamemnon aside_.] + +NESTOR. +What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? + +ULYSSES. +Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. + +NESTOR. +Who, Thersites? + +ULYSSES. +He. + +NESTOR. +Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument. + +ULYSSES. +No; you see he is his argument that has his argument, Achilles. + +NESTOR. +All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But +it was a strong composure a fool could disunite! + +ULYSSES. +The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. + + Re-enter Patroclus. + +Here comes Patroclus. + +NESTOR. +No Achilles with him. + +ULYSSES. +The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for +necessity, not for flexure. + +PATROCLUS. +Achilles bids me say he is much sorry +If any thing more than your sport and pleasure +Did move your greatness and this noble state +To call upon him; he hopes it is no other +But for your health and your digestion sake, +An after-dinner’s breath. + +AGAMEMNON. +Hear you, Patroclus. +We are too well acquainted with these answers; +But his evasion, wing’d thus swift with scorn, +Cannot outfly our apprehensions. +Much attribute he hath, and much the reason +Why we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues, +Not virtuously on his own part beheld, +Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss; +Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, +Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him +We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin +If you do say we think him over-proud +And under-honest, in self-assumption greater +Than in the note of judgement; and worthier than himself +Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, +Disguise the holy strength of their command, +And underwrite in an observing kind +His humorous predominance; yea, watch +His course and time, his ebbs and flows, as if +The passage and whole stream of this commencement +Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add +That if he overhold his price so much +We’ll none of him, but let him, like an engine +Not portable, lie under this report: +Bring action hither; this cannot go to war. +A stirring dwarf we do allowance give +Before a sleeping giant. Tell him so. + +PATROCLUS. +I shall, and bring his answer presently. + + [_Exit_.] + +AGAMEMNON. +In second voice we’ll not be satisfied; +We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. + + [_Exit_ Ulysses.] + +AJAX. +What is he more than another? + +AGAMEMNON. +No more than what he thinks he is. + +AJAX. +Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I +am? + +AGAMEMNON. +No question. + +AJAX. +Will you subscribe his thought and say he is? + +AGAMEMNON. +No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, +much more gentle, and altogether more tractable. + +AJAX. +Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride +is. + +AGAMEMNON. +Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is +proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own +chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed devours the deed +in the praise. + + Re-enter Ulysses. + +AJAX. +I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend’ring of toads. + +NESTOR. +[_Aside._] And yet he loves himself: is’t not strange? + +ULYSSES. +Achilles will not to the field tomorrow. + +AGAMEMNON. +What’s his excuse? + +ULYSSES. +He doth rely on none; +But carries on the stream of his dispose, +Without observance or respect of any, +In will peculiar and in self-admission. + +AGAMEMNON. +Why will he not, upon our fair request, +Untent his person and share th’air with us? + +ULYSSES. +Things small as nothing, for request’s sake only, +He makes important; possess’d he is with greatness, +And speaks not to himself but with a pride +That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin’d worth +Holds in his blood such swol’n and hot discourse +That ’twixt his mental and his active parts +Kingdom’d Achilles in commotion rages, +And batters down himself. What should I say? +He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it +Cry ‘No recovery.’ + +AGAMEMNON. +Let Ajax go to him. +Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent. +’Tis said he holds you well; and will be led +At your request a little from himself. + +ULYSSES. +O Agamemnon, let it not be so! +We’ll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes +When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord +That bastes his arrogance with his own seam +And never suffers matter of the world +Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve +And ruminate himself—shall he be worshipp’d +Of that we hold an idol more than he? +No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord +Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir’d, +Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, +As amply titled as Achilles is, +By going to Achilles. +That were to enlard his fat-already pride, +And add more coals to Cancer when he burns +With entertaining great Hyperion. +This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid, +And say in thunder ‘Achilles go to him.’ + +NESTOR. +[_Aside_.] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him. + +DIOMEDES. +[_Aside_.] And how his silence drinks up this applause! + +AJAX. +If I go to him, with my armed fist I’ll pash him o’er the face. + +AGAMEMNON. +O, no, you shall not go. + +AJAX. +An a’ be proud with me I’ll pheeze his pride. +Let me go to him. + +ULYSSES. +Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. + +AJAX. +A paltry, insolent fellow! + +NESTOR. +[_Aside_.] How he describes himself! + +AJAX. +Can he not be sociable? + +ULYSSES. +[_Aside_.] The raven chides blackness. + +AJAX. +I’ll let his humours blood. + +AGAMEMNON. +[_Aside_.] He will be the physician that should be the patient. + +AJAX. +And all men were o’ my mind— + +ULYSSES. +[_Aside_.] Wit would be out of fashion. + +AJAX. +A’ should not bear it so, a’ should eat’s words first. +Shall pride carry it? + +NESTOR. +[_Aside_.] And ’twould, you’d carry half. + +ULYSSES. +[_Aside_.] A’ would have ten shares. + +AJAX. +I will knead him, I’ll make him supple. + +NESTOR. +[_Aside_.] He’s not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in, +pour in; his ambition is dry. + +ULYSSES. +[_To Agamemnon_.] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. + +NESTOR. +Our noble general, do not do so. + +DIOMEDES. +You must prepare to fight without Achilles. + +ULYSSES. +Why ’tis this naming of him does him harm. +Here is a man—but ’tis before his face; +I will be silent. + +NESTOR. +Wherefore should you so? +He is not emulous, as Achilles is. + +ULYSSES. +Know the whole world, he is as valiant. + +AJAX. +A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus! +Would he were a Trojan! + +NESTOR. +What a vice were it in Ajax now— + +ULYSSES. +If he were proud. + +DIOMEDES. +Or covetous of praise. + +ULYSSES. +Ay, or surly borne. + +DIOMEDES. +Or strange, or self-affected. + +ULYSSES. +Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure +Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck; +Fam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature +Thrice fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition; +But he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight— +Let Mars divide eternity in twain +And give him half; and, for thy vigour, +Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield +To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, +Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines +Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor, +Instructed by the antiquary times— +He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; +But pardon, father Nestor, were your days +As green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d, +You should not have the eminence of him, +But be as Ajax. + +AJAX. +Shall I call you father? + +NESTOR. +Ay, my good son. + +DIOMEDES. +Be rul’d by him, Lord Ajax. + +ULYSSES. +There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles +Keeps thicket. Please it our great general +To call together all his state of war; +Fresh kings are come to Troy. Tomorrow +We must with all our main of power stand fast; +And here’s a lord—come knights from east to west +And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. + +AGAMEMNON. +Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep. +Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Troy. PRIAM’S palace. + + Music sounds within. Enter Pandarus and a Servant. + +PANDARUS. +Friend, you—pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris? + +SERVANT. +Ay, sir, when he goes before me. + +PANDARUS. +You depend upon him, I mean? + +SERVANT. +Sir, I do depend upon the Lord. + +PANDARUS. +You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him. + +SERVANT. +The Lord be praised! + +PANDARUS. +You know me, do you not? + +SERVANT. +Faith, sir, superficially. + +PANDARUS. +Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus. + +SERVANT. +I hope I shall know your honour better. + +PANDARUS. +I do desire it. + +SERVANT. +You are in the state of grace? + +PANDARUS. +Grace? Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is +this? + +SERVANT. +I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts. + +PANDARUS. +Know you the musicians? + +SERVANT. +Wholly, sir. + +PANDARUS. +Who play they to? + +SERVANT. +To the hearers, sir. + +PANDARUS. +At whose pleasure, friend? + +SERVANT. +At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. + +PANDARUS. +Command, I mean, friend. + +SERVANT. +Who shall I command, sir? + +PANDARUS. +Friend, we understand not one another: I am too courtly, and thou art +too cunning. At whose request do these men play? + +SERVANT. +That’s to’t, indeed, sir. Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, +who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of +beauty, love’s invisible soul— + +PANDARUS. +Who, my cousin, Cressida? + +SERVANT. +No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes? + +PANDARUS. +It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I +come to speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a +complimental assault upon him, for my business seethes. + +SERVANT. +Sodden business! There’s a stew’d phrase indeed! + + Enter Paris and Helen, attended. + +PANDARUS. +Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in +all fair measure, fairly guide them—especially to you, fair queen! Fair +thoughts be your fair pillow. + +HELEN. +Dear lord, you are full of fair words. + +PANDARUS. +You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good +broken music. + +PARIS. +You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole +again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance. + +HELEN. +He is full of harmony. + +PANDARUS. +Truly, lady, no. + +HELEN. +O, sir— + +PANDARUS. +Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. + +PARIS. +Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits. + +PANDARUS. +I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me +a word? + +HELEN. +Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We’ll hear you sing, certainly— + +PANDARUS. +Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry, thus, my lord: +my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus— + +HELEN. +My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lord— + +PANDARUS. +Go to, sweet queen, go to—commends himself most affectionately to you— + +HELEN. +You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our melancholy upon +your head! + +PANDARUS. +Sweet queen, sweet queen; that’s a sweet queen, i’ faith. + +HELEN. +And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence. + +PANDARUS. +Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. +Nay, I care not for such words; no, no.—And, my lord, he desires you +that, if the King call for him at supper, you will make his excuse. + +HELEN. +My Lord Pandarus! + +PANDARUS. +What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen? + +PARIS. +What exploit’s in hand? Where sups he tonight? + +HELEN. +Nay, but, my lord— + +PANDARUS. +What says my sweet queen?—My cousin will fall out with you. + +HELEN. +You must not know where he sups. + +PARIS. +I’ll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. + +PANDARUS. +No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick. + +PARIS. +Well, I’ll make’s excuse. + +PANDARUS. +Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? +No, your poor disposer’s sick. + +PARIS. +I spy. + +PANDARUS. +You spy! What do you spy?—Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet +queen. + +HELEN. +Why, this is kindly done. + +PANDARUS. +My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen. + +HELEN. +She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris. + +PANDARUS. +He? No, she’ll none of him; they two are twain. + +HELEN. +Falling in, after falling out, may make them three. + +PANDARUS. +Come, come. I’ll hear no more of this; I’ll sing you a song now. + +HELEN. +Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine +forehead. + +PANDARUS. +Ay, you may, you may. + +HELEN. +Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, +Cupid! + +PANDARUS. +Love! Ay, that it shall, i’ faith. + +PARIS. +Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. + +PANDARUS. +In good troth, it begins so. + + [_Sings_.] + + + _Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more! + For, oh, love’s bow + Shoots buck and doe; + The shaft confounds + Not that it wounds, + But tickles still the sore. + These lovers cry, O ho, they die! + Yet that which seems the wound to kill + Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he! + So dying love lives still. + O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha! + O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!—hey ho!_ + +HELEN. +In love, i’ faith, to the very tip of the nose. + +PARIS. +He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot +blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot +deeds is love. + +PANDARUS. +Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? +Why, they are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who’s +a-field today? + +PARIS. +Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I +would fain have arm’d today, but my Nell would not have it so. How +chance my brother Troilus went not? + +HELEN. +He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus. + +PANDARUS. +Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend today. You’ll +remember your brother’s excuse? + +PARIS. +To a hair. + +PANDARUS. +Farewell, sweet queen. + +HELEN. +Commend me to your niece. + +PANDARUS. +I will, sweet queen. + + [_Exit. Sound a retreat_.] + +PARIS. +They’re come from the field. Let us to Priam’s hall +To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you +To help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles, +With these your white enchanting fingers touch’d, +Shall more obey than to the edge of steel +Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more +Than all the island kings—disarm great Hector. + +HELEN. +’Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris; +Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty +Gives us more palm in beauty than we have, +Yea, overshines ourself. + +PARIS. +Sweet, above thought I love thee. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE II. Troy. PANDARUS’ orchard. + + Enter Pandarus and Troilus’ Boy, meeting. + +PANDARUS. +How now! Where’s thy master? At my cousin Cressida’s? + +BOY. +No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither. + + Enter Troilus. + +PANDARUS. +O, here he comes. How now, how now? + +TROILUS. +Sirrah, walk off. + + [_Exit_ Boy.] + +PANDARUS. +Have you seen my cousin? + +TROILUS. +No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door +Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks +Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, +And give me swift transportance to these fields +Where I may wallow in the lily beds +Propos’d for the deserver! O gentle Pandar, +from Cupid’s shoulder pluck his painted wings, +and fly with me to Cressid! + +PANDARUS. +Walk here i’ th’ orchard, I’ll bring her straight. + + [_Exit_.] + +TROILUS. +I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. +Th’imaginary relish is so sweet +That it enchants my sense; what will it be +When that the wat’ry palate tastes indeed +Love’s thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me; +Sounding destruction; or some joy too fine, +Too subtle-potent, tun’d too sharp in sweetness, +For the capacity of my ruder powers. +I fear it much; and I do fear besides +That I shall lose distinction in my joys; +As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps +The enemy flying. + + Re-enter Pandarus. + +PANDARUS. +She’s making her ready, she’ll come straight; you must be witty now. +She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray’d +with a sprite. I’ll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches +her breath as short as a new-ta’en sparrow. + + [_Exit_.] + +TROILUS. +Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom. +My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse, +And all my powers do their bestowing lose, +Like vassalage at unawares encount’ring +The eye of majesty. + + Re-enter Pandarus with Cressida. + +PANDARUS. +Come, come, what need you blush? Shame’s a baby. Here she is now; swear +the oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.—What, are you gone +again? You must be watch’d ere you be made tame, must you? Come your +ways, come your ways; and you draw backward, we’ll put you i’ th’ +fills. Why do you not speak to her? Come, draw this curtain and let’s +see your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight! +And ’twere dark, you’d close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the +mistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air +is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere I part you. The +falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i’ th’ river. Go to, go to. + +TROILUS. +You have bereft me of all words, lady. + +PANDARUS. +Words pay no debts, give her deeds; but she’ll bereave you o’ th’ deeds +too, if she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here’s +‘In witness whereof the parties interchangeably.’ Come in, come in; +I’ll go get a fire. + + [_Exit_.] + +CRESSIDA. +Will you walk in, my lord? + +TROILUS. +O Cressid, how often have I wish’d me thus! + +CRESSIDA. +Wish’d, my lord! The gods grant—O my lord! + +TROILUS. +What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too +curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love? + +CRESSIDA. +More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. + +TROILUS. +Fears make devils of cherubins; they never see truly. + +CRESSIDA. +Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind +reason stumbling without fear. To fear the worst oft cures the worse. + +TROILUS. +O, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid’s pageant there is +presented no monster. + +CRESSIDA. +Nor nothing monstrous neither? + +TROILUS. +Nothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire, +eat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise +imposition enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed. This +is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the +execution confin’d; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave +to limit. + +CRESSIDA. +They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet +reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the +perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. +They that have the voice of lions and the act of hares, are they not +monsters? + +TROILUS. +Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us +as we prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection +in reversion shall have a praise in present. We will not name desert +before his birth; and, being born, his addition shall be humble. Few +words to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy can +say worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak +truest not truer than Troilus. + +CRESSIDA. +Will you walk in, my lord? + + Re-enter Pandarus. + +PANDARUS. +What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet? + +CRESSIDA. +Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you. + +PANDARUS. +I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you’ll give him me. +Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it. + +TROILUS. +You know now your hostages: your uncle’s word and my firm faith. + +PANDARUS. +Nay, I’ll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long +ere they are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can +tell you; they’ll stick where they are thrown. + +CRESSIDA. +Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart. +Prince Troilus, I have lov’d you night and day +For many weary months. + +TROILUS. +Why was my Cressid then so hard to win? + +CRESSIDA. +Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord, +With the first glance that ever—pardon me. +If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. +I love you now; but till now not so much +But I might master it. In faith, I lie; +My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown +Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools! +Why have I blabb’d? Who shall be true to us, +When we are so unsecret to ourselves? +But, though I lov’d you well, I woo’d you not; +And yet, good faith, I wish’d myself a man, +Or that we women had men’s privilege +Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue, +For in this rapture I shall surely speak +The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, +Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws +My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth. + +TROILUS. +And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. + +PANDARUS. +Pretty, i’ faith. + +CRESSIDA. +My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; +’Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. +I am asham’d. O heavens! what have I done? +For this time will I take my leave, my lord. + +TROILUS. +Your leave, sweet Cressid! + +PANDARUS. +Leave! And you take leave till tomorrow morning— + +CRESSIDA. +Pray you, content you. + +TROILUS. +What offends you, lady? + +CRESSIDA. +Sir, mine own company. + +TROILUS. +You cannot shun yourself. + +CRESSIDA. +Let me go and try. +I have a kind of self resides with you; +But an unkind self, that itself will leave +To be another’s fool. I would be gone. +Where is my wit? I know not what I speak. + +TROILUS. +Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely. + +CRESSIDA. +Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love; +And fell so roundly to a large confession +To angle for your thoughts; but you are wise— +Or else you love not; for to be wise and love +Exceeds man’s might; that dwells with gods above. + +TROILUS. +O that I thought it could be in a woman— +As, if it can, I will presume in you— +To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love; +To keep her constancy in plight and youth, +Outliving beauty’s outward, with a mind +That doth renew swifter than blood decays! +Or that persuasion could but thus convince me +That my integrity and truth to you +Might be affronted with the match and weight +Of such a winnowed purity in love. +How were I then uplifted! But, alas, +I am as true as truth’s simplicity, +And simpler than the infancy of truth. + +CRESSIDA. +In that I’ll war with you. + +TROILUS. +O virtuous fight, +When right with right wars who shall be most right! +True swains in love shall in the world to come +Approve their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes, +Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, +Want similes, truth tir’d with iteration— +As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, +As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, +As iron to adamant, as earth to th’ centre— +Yet, after all comparisons of truth, +As truth’s authentic author to be cited, +‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse +And sanctify the numbers. + +CRESSIDA. +Prophet may you be! +If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, +When time is old and hath forgot itself, +When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, +And blind oblivion swallow’d cities up, +And mighty states characterless are grated +To dusty nothing—yet let memory +From false to false, among false maids in love, +Upbraid my falsehood when th’ have said ‘As false +As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, +As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer’s calf, +Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son’— +Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, +‘As false as Cressid.’ + +PANDARUS. +Go to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I’ll be the witness. Here I +hold your hand; here my cousin’s. If ever you prove false one to +another, since I have taken such pains to bring you together, let all +pitiful goers-between be call’d to the world’s end after my name—call +them all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women +Cressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say ‘Amen.’ + +TROILUS. +Amen. + +CRESSIDA. +Amen. + +PANDARUS. +Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed; which bed, because +it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death. Away! + + [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.] + +And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, +Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear! + + [_Exit_.] + +SCENE III. The Greek camp. + + Flourish. Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Menelaus + and Calchas. + +CALCHAS. +Now, Princes, for the service I have done, +Th’advantage of the time prompts me aloud +To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind +That, through the sight I bear in things to come, +I have abandon’d Troy, left my possession, +Incurr’d a traitor’s name, expos’d myself +From certain and possess’d conveniences +To doubtful fortunes, sequest’ring from me all +That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, +Made tame and most familiar to my nature; +And here, to do you service, am become +As new into the world, strange, unacquainted— +I do beseech you, as in way of taste, +To give me now a little benefit +Out of those many regist’red in promise, +Which you say live to come in my behalf. + +AGAMEMNON. +What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? Make demand. + +CALCHAS. +You have a Trojan prisoner call’d Antenor, +Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. +Oft have you—often have you thanks therefore— +Desir’d my Cressid in right great exchange, +Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor, +I know, is such a wrest in their affairs +That their negotiations all must slack +Wanting his manage; and they will almost +Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, +In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes, +And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence +Shall quite strike off all service I have done +In most accepted pain. + +AGAMEMNON. +Let Diomedes bear him, +And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have +What he requests of us. Good Diomed, +Furnish you fairly for this interchange; +Withal, bring word if Hector will tomorrow +Be answer’d in his challenge. Ajax is ready. + +DIOMEDES. +This shall I undertake; and ’tis a burden +Which I am proud to bear. + + [_Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas_.] + + [_Achilles and Patroclus stand in their tent_.] + +ULYSSES. +Achilles stands i’ th’entrance of his tent. +Please it our general pass strangely by him, +As if he were forgot; and, Princes all, +Lay negligent and loose regard upon him. +I will come last. ’Tis like he’ll question me +Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn’d on him. +If so, I have derision med’cinable +To use between your strangeness and his pride, +Which his own will shall have desire to drink. +It may do good. Pride hath no other glass +To show itself but pride; for supple knees +Feed arrogance and are the proud man’s fees. + +AGAMEMNON. +We’ll execute your purpose, and put on +A form of strangeness as we pass along. +So do each lord; and either greet him not, +Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more +Than if not look’d on. I will lead the way. + +ACHILLES. +What comes the general to speak with me? +You know my mind. I’ll fight no more ’gainst Troy. + +AGAMEMNON. +What says Achilles? Would he aught with us? + +NESTOR. +Would you, my lord, aught with the general? + +ACHILLES. +No. + +NESTOR. +Nothing, my lord. + +AGAMEMNON. +The better. + + [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor_.] + +ACHILLES. +Good day, good day. + +MENELAUS. +How do you? How do you? + + [_Exit_.] + +ACHILLES. +What, does the cuckold scorn me? + +AJAX. +How now, Patroclus? + +ACHILLES. +Good morrow, Ajax. + +AJAX. +Ha? + +ACHILLES. +Good morrow. + +AJAX. +Ay, and good next day too. + + [_Exit_.] + +ACHILLES. +What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles? + +PATROCLUS. +They pass by strangely. They were us’d to bend, +To send their smiles before them to Achilles, +To come as humbly as they us’d to creep +To holy altars. + +ACHILLES. +What, am I poor of late? +’Tis certain, greatness, once fall’n out with fortune, +Must fall out with men too. What the declin’d is, +He shall as soon read in the eyes of others +As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, +Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; +And not a man for being simply man +Hath any honour, but honour for those honours +That are without him, as place, riches, and favour, +Prizes of accident, as oft as merit; +Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, +The love that lean’d on them as slippery too, +Doth one pluck down another, and together +Die in the fall. But ’tis not so with me: +Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy +At ample point all that I did possess +Save these men’s looks; who do, methinks, find out +Something not worth in me such rich beholding +As they have often given. Here is Ulysses. +I’ll interrupt his reading. +How now, Ulysses! + +ULYSSES. +Now, great Thetis’ son! + +ACHILLES. +What are you reading? + +ULYSSES. +A strange fellow here +Writes me that man—how dearly ever parted, +How much in having, or without or in— +Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, +Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; +As when his virtues shining upon others +Heat them, and they retort that heat again +To the first giver. + +ACHILLES. +This is not strange, Ulysses. +The beauty that is borne here in the face +The bearer knows not, but commends itself +To others’ eyes; nor doth the eye itself— +That most pure spirit of sense—behold itself, +Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed +Salutes each other with each other’s form; +For speculation turns not to itself +Till it hath travell’d, and is mirror’d there +Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. + +ULYSSES. +I do not strain at the position— +It is familiar—but at the author’s drift; +Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves +That no man is the lord of anything, +Though in and of him there be much consisting, +Till he communicate his parts to others; +Nor doth he of himself know them for aught +Till he behold them formed in the applause +Where th’are extended; who, like an arch, reverb’rate +The voice again; or, like a gate of steel +Fronting the sun, receives and renders back +His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; +And apprehended here immediately +Th’unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! +A very horse that has he knows not what! +Nature, what things there are +Most abject in regard and dear in use! +What things again most dear in the esteem +And poor in worth! Now shall we see tomorrow— +An act that very chance doth throw upon him— +Ajax renown’d. O heavens, what some men do, +While some men leave to do! +How some men creep in skittish Fortune’s hall, +Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes! +How one man eats into another’s pride, +While pride is fasting in his wantonness! +To see these Grecian lords!—why, even already +They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder, +As if his foot were on brave Hector’s breast, +And great Troy shrieking. + +ACHILLES. +I do believe it; for they pass’d by me +As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me +Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot? + +ULYSSES. +Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, +Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, +A great-siz’d monster of ingratitudes. +Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour’d +As fast as they are made, forgot as soon +As done. Perseverance, dear my lord, +Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang +Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail +In monumental mock’ry. Take the instant way; +For honour travels in a strait so narrow— +Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path, +For emulation hath a thousand sons +That one by one pursue; if you give way, +Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, +Like to an ent’red tide they all rush by +And leave you hindmost; +Or, like a gallant horse fall’n in first rank, +Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, +O’er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present, +Though less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours; +For Time is like a fashionable host, +That slightly shakes his parting guest by th’hand; +And with his arms out-stretch’d, as he would fly, +Grasps in the comer. The welcome ever smiles, +And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek +Remuneration for the thing it was; +For beauty, wit, +High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, +Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all +To envious and calumniating Time. +One touch of nature makes the whole world kin— +That all with one consent praise new-born gauds, +Though they are made and moulded of things past, +And give to dust that is a little gilt +More laud than gilt o’er-dusted. +The present eye praises the present object. +Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, +That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax, +Since things in motion sooner catch the eye +Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee, +And still it might, and yet it may again, +If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive +And case thy reputation in thy tent, +Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late +Made emulous missions ’mongst the gods themselves, +And drave great Mars to faction. + +ACHILLES. +Of this my privacy +I have strong reasons. + +ULYSSES. +But ’gainst your privacy +The reasons are more potent and heroical. +’Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love +With one of Priam’s daughters. + +ACHILLES. +Ha! known! + +ULYSSES. +Is that a wonder? +The providence that’s in a watchful state +Knows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold; +Finds bottom in th’uncomprehensive deeps; +Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods, +Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. +There is a mystery—with whom relation +Durst never meddle—in the soul of state, +Which hath an operation more divine +Than breath or pen can give expressure to. +All the commerce that you have had with Troy +As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord; +And better would it fit Achilles much +To throw down Hector than Polyxena. +But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, +When fame shall in our island sound her trump, +And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing +‘Great Hector’s sister did Achilles win; +But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.’ +Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak. +The fool slides o’er the ice that you should break. + + [_Exit_.] + +PATROCLUS. +To this effect, Achilles, have I mov’d you. +A woman impudent and mannish grown +Is not more loath’d than an effeminate man +In time of action. I stand condemn’d for this; +They think my little stomach to the war +And your great love to me restrains you thus. +Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid +Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, +And, like a dew-drop from the lion’s mane, +Be shook to air. + +ACHILLES. +Shall Ajax fight with Hector? + +PATROCLUS. +Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him. + +ACHILLES. +I see my reputation is at stake; +My fame is shrewdly gor’d. + +PATROCLUS. +O, then, beware: +Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves; +Omission to do what is necessary +Seals a commission to a blank of danger; +And danger, like an ague, subtly taints +Even then when they sit idly in the sun. + +ACHILLES. +Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus. +I’ll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him +T’invite the Trojan lords, after the combat, +To see us here unarm’d. I have a woman’s longing, +An appetite that I am sick withal, +To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; +To talk with him, and to behold his visage, +Even to my full of view. + + Enter Thersites. + +A labour sav’d! + +THERSITES. +A wonder! + +ACHILLES. +What? + +THERSITES. +Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself. + +ACHILLES. +How so? + +THERSITES. +He must fight singly tomorrow with Hector, and is so prophetically +proud of an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing. + +ACHILLES. +How can that be? + +THERSITES. +Why, a’ stalks up and down like a peacock—a stride and a stand; +ruminates like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set +down her reckoning, bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should +say ‘There were wit in this head, and ’twould out’; and so there is; +but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show +without knocking. The man’s undone for ever; for if Hector break not +his neck i’ th’ combat, he’ll break’t himself in vainglory. He knows +not me. I said ‘Good morrow, Ajax’; and he replies ‘Thanks, Agamemnon.’ +What think you of this man that takes me for the general? He’s grown a +very land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man may +wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin. + +ACHILLES. +Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. + +THERSITES. +Who, I? Why, he’ll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking +is for beggars: he wears his tongue in’s arms. I will put on his +presence. Let Patroclus make his demands to me, you shall see the +pageant of Ajax. + +ACHILLES. +To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite +the most valorous Hector to come unarm’d to my tent; and to procure +safe conduct for his person of the magnanimous and most illustrious +six-or-seven-times-honour’d Captain General of the Grecian army, +Agamemnon. Do this. + +PATROCLUS. +Jove bless great Ajax! + +THERSITES. +Hum! + +PATROCLUS. +I come from the worthy Achilles— + +THERSITES. +Ha! + +PATROCLUS. +Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent— + +THERSITES. +Hum! + +PATROCLUS. +And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon. + +THERSITES. +Agamemnon? + +PATROCLUS. +Ay, my lord. + +THERSITES. +Ha! + +PATROCLUS. +What you say to’t? + +THERSITES. +God buy you, with all my heart. + +PATROCLUS. +Your answer, sir. + +THERSITES. +If tomorrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or +other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. + +PATROCLUS. +Your answer, sir. + +THERSITES. +Fare ye well, with all my heart. + +ACHILLES. +Why, but he is not in this tune, is he? + +THERSITES. +No, but out of tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has +knock’d out his brains, I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the +fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings on. + +ACHILLES. +Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. + +THERSITES. +Let me bear another to his horse; for that’s the more capable creature. + +ACHILLES. +My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr’d; +And I myself see not the bottom of it. + + [_Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus_.] + +THERSITES. +Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an +ass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant +ignorance. + + [_Exit_.] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Troy. A street. + + Enter, at one side, Aeneas and servant with a torch; at another Paris, + Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes the Grecian, and others, with torches. + +PARIS. +See, ho! Who is that there? + +DEIPHOBUS. +It is the Lord Aeneas. + +AENEAS. +Is the Prince there in person? +Had I so good occasion to lie long +As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business +Should rob my bed-mate of my company. + +DIOMEDES. +That’s my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas. + +PARIS. +A valiant Greek, Aeneas—take his hand: +Witness the process of your speech, wherein +You told how Diomed, a whole week by days, +Did haunt you in the field. + +AENEAS. +Health to you, valiant sir, +During all question of the gentle truce; +But when I meet you arm’d, as black defiance +As heart can think or courage execute. + +DIOMEDES. +The one and other Diomed embraces. +Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health! +But when contention and occasion meet, +By Jove, I’ll play the hunter for thy life +With all my force, pursuit, and policy. + +AENEAS. +And thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly +With his face backward. In humane gentleness, +Welcome to Troy! Now, by Anchises’ life, +Welcome indeed! By Venus’ hand I swear +No man alive can love in such a sort +The thing he means to kill, more excellently. + +DIOMEDES. +We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live, +If to my sword his fate be not the glory, +A thousand complete courses of the sun! +But in mine emulous honour let him die +With every joint a wound, and that tomorrow! + +AENEAS. +We know each other well. + +DIOMEDES. +We do; and long to know each other worse. + +PARIS. +This is the most despiteful gentle greeting +The noblest hateful love, that e’er I heard of. +What business, lord, so early? + +AENEAS. +I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not. + +PARIS. +His purpose meets you: ’twas to bring this Greek +To Calchas’ house, and there to render him, +For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid. +Let’s have your company; or, if you please, +Haste there before us. I constantly believe— +Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge— +My brother Troilus lodges there tonight. +Rouse him and give him note of our approach, +With the whole quality wherefore; I fear +We shall be much unwelcome. + +AENEAS. +That I assure you: +Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece +Than Cressid borne from Troy. + +PARIS. +There is no help; +The bitter disposition of the time +Will have it so. On, lord; we’ll follow you. + +AENEAS. +Good morrow, all. + + [_Exit with servant_.] + +PARIS. +And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true, +Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, +Who in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best, +Myself, or Menelaus? + +DIOMEDES. +Both alike: +He merits well to have her that doth seek her, +Not making any scruple of her soilure, +With such a hell of pain and world of charge; +And you as well to keep her that defend her, +Not palating the taste of her dishonour, +With such a costly loss of wealth and friends. +He like a puling cuckold would drink up +The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; +You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins +Are pleas’d to breed out your inheritors. +Both merits pois’d, each weighs nor less nor more, +But he as he, the heavier for a whore. + +PARIS. +You are too bitter to your country-woman. + +DIOMEDES. +She’s bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris: +For every false drop in her bawdy veins +A Grecian’s life hath sunk; for every scruple +Of her contaminated carrion weight +A Trojan hath been slain. Since she could speak, +She hath not given so many good words breath +As for her Greeks and Trojans suff’red death. + +PARIS. +Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, +Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; +But we in silence hold this virtue well, +We’ll not commend what we intend to sell. +Here lies our way. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE II. Troy. The court of PANDARUS’ house. + + Enter Troilus and Cressida. + +TROILUS. +Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. + +CRESSIDA. +Then, sweet my lord, I’ll call mine uncle down; +He shall unbolt the gates. + +TROILUS. +Trouble him not; +To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes, +And give as soft attachment to thy senses +As infants empty of all thought! + +CRESSIDA. +Good morrow, then. + +TROILUS. +I prithee now, to bed. + +CRESSIDA. +Are you aweary of me? + +TROILUS. +O Cressida! but that the busy day, +Wak’d by the lark, hath rous’d the ribald crows, +And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, +I would not from thee. + +CRESSIDA. +Night hath been too brief. + +TROILUS. +Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays +As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love +With wings more momentary-swift than thought. +You will catch cold, and curse me. + +CRESSIDA. +Prithee tarry. +You men will never tarry. +O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off, +And then you would have tarried. Hark! there’s one up. + +PANDARUS. +[_Within._] What’s all the doors open here? + +TROILUS. +It is your uncle. + + Enter Pandarus. + +CRESSIDA. +A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking. +I shall have such a life! + +PANDARUS. +How now, how now! How go maidenheads? +Here, you maid! Where’s my cousin Cressid? + +CRESSIDA. +Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle. +You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. + +PANDARUS. +To do what? to do what? Let her say what. +What have I brought you to do? + +CRESSIDA. +Come, come, beshrew your heart! You’ll ne’er be good, nor suffer +others. + +PANDARUS. +Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! Ah, poor capocchia! Hast not slept tonight? +Would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him! + +CRESSIDA. +Did not I tell you? Would he were knock’d i’ th’ head! + + [_One knocks_.] + +Who’s that at door? Good uncle, go and see. +My lord, come you again into my chamber. +You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. + +TROILUS. +Ha! ha! + +CRESSIDA. +Come, you are deceiv’d, I think of no such thing. + + [_Knock_.] + +How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in: +I would not for half Troy have you seen here. + + [_Exeunt Troilus and Cressida_.] + +PANDARUS. +Who’s there? What’s the matter? Will you beat down the door? How now? +What’s the matter? + + Enter Aeneas. + +AENEAS. +Good morrow, lord, good morrow. + +PANDARUS. +Who’s there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth, +I knew you not. What news with you so early? + +AENEAS. +Is not Prince Troilus here? + +PANDARUS. +Here! What should he do here? + +AENEAS. +Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him. +It doth import him much to speak with me. + +PANDARUS. +Is he here, say you? It’s more than I know, I’ll be sworn. For my own +part, I came in late. What should he do here? + +AENEAS. +Who, nay then! Come, come, you’ll do him wrong ere you are ware; you’ll +be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of him, but yet +go fetch him hither; go. + + Re-enter Troilus. + +TROILUS. +How now! What’s the matter? + +AENEAS. +My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, +My matter is so rash. There is at hand +Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, +The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor +Deliver’d to us; and for him forthwith, +Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, +We must give up to Diomedes’ hand +The Lady Cressida. + +TROILUS. +Is it so concluded? + +AENEAS. +By Priam and the general state of Troy. +They are at hand, and ready to effect it. + +TROILUS. +How my achievements mock me! +I will go meet them; and, my Lord Aeneas, +We met by chance; you did not find me here. + +AENEAS. +Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar +Have not more gift in taciturnity. + + [_Exeunt Troilus and Aeneas_.] + +PANDARUS. +Is’t possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil take Antenor! The +young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had +broke’s neck. + + Re-enter Cressida. + +CRESSIDA. +How now! What’s the matter? Who was here? + +PANDARUS. +Ah, ah! + +CRESSIDA. +Why sigh you so profoundly? Where’s my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet +uncle, what’s the matter? + +PANDARUS. +Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above! + +CRESSIDA. +O the gods! What’s the matter? + +PANDARUS. +Pray thee get thee in. Would thou hadst ne’er been born! I knew thou +wouldst be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor! + +CRESSIDA. +Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what’s the +matter? + +PANDARUS. +Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang’d for +Antenor; thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. ’Twill be +his death; ’twill be his bane; he cannot bear it. + +CRESSIDA. +O you immortal gods! I will not go. + +PANDARUS. +Thou must. + +CRESSIDA. +I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; +I know no touch of consanguinity, +No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me +As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine, +Make Cressid’s name the very crown of falsehood, +If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, +Do to this body what extremes you can, +But the strong base and building of my love +Is as the very centre of the earth, +Drawing all things to it. I’ll go in and weep— + +PANDARUS. +Do, do. + +CRESSIDA. +Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, +Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart, +With sounding ‘Troilus.’ I will not go from Troy. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE III. Troy. A street before PANDARUS’ house. + + Enter Paris, Troilus, Aeneas, Deiphobus, Antenor and Diomedes. + +PARIS. +It is great morning; and the hour prefix’d +For her delivery to this valiant Greek +Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, +Tell you the lady what she is to do +And haste her to the purpose. + +TROILUS. +Walk into her house. +I’ll bring her to the Grecian presently; +And to his hand when I deliver her, +Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus +A priest, there off’ring to it his own heart. + + [_Exit_.] + +PARIS. +I know what ’tis to love, +And would, as I shall pity, I could help! +Please you walk in, my lords? + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE IV. Troy. PANDARUS’ house. + + Enter Pandarus and Cressida. + +PANDARUS. +Be moderate, be moderate. + +CRESSIDA. +Why tell you me of moderation? +The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, +And violenteth in a sense as strong +As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? +If I could temporize with my affections +Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, +The like allayment could I give my grief. +My love admits no qualifying dross; +No more my grief, in such a precious loss. + + Enter Troilus. + +PANDARUS. +Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks! + +CRESSIDA. +[_Embracing him_.] O Troilus! Troilus! + +PANDARUS. +What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. ‘O heart,’ as +the goodly saying is,— + + O heart, heavy heart, + Why sigh’st thou without breaking? + +where he answers again + + Because thou canst not ease thy smart + By friendship nor by speaking. + +There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may +live to have need of such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now, +lambs! + +TROILUS. +Cressid, I love thee in so strain’d a purity +That the bless’d gods, as angry with my fancy, +More bright in zeal than the devotion which +Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me. + +CRESSIDA. +Have the gods envy? + +PANDARUS. +Ay, ay, ay, ay; ’tis too plain a case. + +CRESSIDA. +And is it true that I must go from Troy? + +TROILUS. +A hateful truth. + +CRESSIDA. +What! and from Troilus too? + +TROILUS. +From Troy and Troilus. + +CRESSIDA. +Is’t possible? + +TROILUS. +And suddenly; where injury of chance +Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by +All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips +Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents +Our lock’d embrasures, strangles our dear vows +Even in the birth of our own labouring breath. +We two, that with so many thousand sighs +Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves +With the rude brevity and discharge of one. +Injurious time now with a robber’s haste +Crams his rich thiev’ry up, he knows not how. +As many farewells as be stars in heaven, +With distinct breath and consign’d kisses to them, +He fumbles up into a loose adieu, +And scants us with a single famish’d kiss, +Distasted with the salt of broken tears. + +AENEAS. +[_Within_.] My lord, is the lady ready? + +TROILUS. +Hark! you are call’d. Some say the Genius +Cries so to him that instantly must die. +Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. + +PANDARUS. +Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown +up by my throat! + + [_Exit_.] + +CRESSIDA. +I must then to the Grecians? + +TROILUS. +No remedy. + +CRESSIDA. +A woeful Cressid ’mongst the merry Greeks! +When shall we see again? + +TROILUS. +Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heart. + +CRESSIDA. +I true? How now! What wicked deem is this? + +TROILUS. +Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, +For it is parting from us. +I speak not ‘Be thou true’ as fearing thee, +For I will throw my glove to Death himself +That there’s no maculation in thy heart; +But ‘Be thou true’ say I to fashion in +My sequent protestation: be thou true, +And I will see thee. + +CRESSIDA. +O! you shall be expos’d, my lord, to dangers +As infinite as imminent! But I’ll be true. + +TROILUS. +And I’ll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve. + +CRESSIDA. +And you this glove. When shall I see you? + +TROILUS. +I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels +To give thee nightly visitation. +But yet be true. + +CRESSIDA. +O heavens! ‘Be true’ again! + +TROILUS. +Hear why I speak it, love. +The Grecian youths are full of quality; +They’re loving, well compos’d, with gifts of nature, +Flowing and swelling o’er with arts and exercise. +How novelty may move, and parts with person, +Alas, a kind of godly jealousy, +Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin, +Makes me afear’d. + +CRESSIDA. +O heavens! you love me not! + +TROILUS. +Die I a villain then! +In this I do not call your faith in question +So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing, +Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, +Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all, +To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant; +But I can tell that in each grace of these +There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil +That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted. + +CRESSIDA. +Do you think I will? + +TROILUS. +No. +But something may be done that we will not; +And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, +When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, +Presuming on their changeful potency. + +AENEAS. +[_Within_.] Nay, good my lord! + +TROILUS. +Come, kiss; and let us part. + +PARIS. +[_Within_.] Brother Troilus! + +TROILUS. +Good brother, come you hither; +And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you. + +CRESSIDA. +My lord, will you be true? + +TROILUS. +Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault! +Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, +I with great truth catch mere simplicity; +Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, +With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. +Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit +Is plain and true; there’s all the reach of it. + + Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus and Diomedes. + +Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady +Which for Antenor we deliver you; +At the port, lord, I’ll give her to thy hand, +And by the way possess thee what she is. +Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, +If e’er thou stand at mercy of my sword, +Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe +As Priam is in Ilion. + +DIOMEDES. +Fair Lady Cressid, +So please you, save the thanks this prince expects. +The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, +Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed +You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. + +TROILUS. +Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously +To shame the zeal of my petition to thee +In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, +She is as far high-soaring o’er thy praises +As thou unworthy to be call’d her servant. +I charge thee use her well, even for my charge; +For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, +Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, +I’ll cut thy throat. + +DIOMEDES. +O, be not mov’d, Prince Troilus. +Let me be privileg’d by my place and message +To be a speaker free: when I am hence +I’ll answer to my lust. And know you, lord, +I’ll nothing do on charge: to her own worth +She shall be priz’d. But that you say ‘Be’t so,’ +I speak it in my spirit and honour, ‘No.’ + +TROILUS. +Come, to the port. I’ll tell thee, Diomed, +This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. +Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk, +To our own selves bend we our needful talk. + + [_Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomedes_.] + + [_Sound trumpet_.] + +PARIS. +Hark! Hector’s trumpet. + +AENEAS. +How have we spent this morning! +The Prince must think me tardy and remiss, +That swore to ride before him to the field. + +PARIS. +’Tis Troilus’ fault. Come, come to field with him. + +DEIPHOBUS. +Let us make ready straight. + +AENEAS. +Yea, with a bridegroom’s fresh alacrity +Let us address to tend on Hector’s heels. +The glory of our Troy doth this day lie +On his fair worth and single chivalry. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out. + + Enter Ajax, armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, + Nestor and others. + +AGAMEMNON. +Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, +Anticipating time with starting courage. +Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, +Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air +May pierce the head of the great combatant, +And hale him hither. + +AJAX. +Thou, trumpet, there’s my purse. +Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe; +Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek +Out-swell the colic of puff’d Aquilon. +Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood: +Thou blowest for Hector. + + [_Trumpet sounds_.] + +ULYSSES. +No trumpet answers. + +ACHILLES. +’Tis but early days. + +AGAMEMNON. +Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas’ daughter? + +ULYSSES. +’Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait: +He rises on the toe. That spirit of his +In aspiration lifts him from the earth. + + Enter Diomedes and Cressida. + +AGAMEMNON. +Is this the Lady Cressid? + +DIOMEDES. +Even she. + +AGAMEMNON. +Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. + +NESTOR. +Our general doth salute you with a kiss. + +ULYSSES. +Yet is the kindness but particular; +’Twere better she were kiss’d in general. + +NESTOR. +And very courtly counsel: I’ll begin. +So much for Nestor. + +ACHILLES. +I’ll take that winter from your lips, fair lady. +Achilles bids you welcome. + +MENELAUS. +I had good argument for kissing once. + +PATROCLUS. +But that’s no argument for kissing now; +For thus popp’d Paris in his hardiment, +And parted thus you and your argument. + +ULYSSES. +O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns! +For which we lose our heads to gild his horns. + +PATROCLUS. +The first was Menelaus’ kiss; this, mine: +Patroclus kisses you. + +MENELAUS. +O, this is trim! + +PATROCLUS. +Paris and I kiss evermore for him. + +MENELAUS. +I’ll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave. + +CRESSIDA. +In kissing, do you render or receive? + +PATROCLUS. +Both take and give. + +CRESSIDA. +I’ll make my match to live, +The kiss you take is better than you give; +Therefore no kiss. + +MENELAUS. +I’ll give you boot; I’ll give you three for one. + +CRESSIDA. +You are an odd man; give even or give none. + +MENELAUS. +An odd man, lady! Every man is odd. + +CRESSIDA. +No, Paris is not; for you know ’tis true +That you are odd, and he is even with you. + +MENELAUS. +You fillip me o’ th’head. + +CRESSIDA. +No, I’ll be sworn. + +ULYSSES. +It were no match, your nail against his horn. +May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you? + +CRESSIDA. +You may. + +ULYSSES. +I do desire it. + +CRESSIDA. +Why, beg then. + +ULYSSES. +Why then, for Venus’ sake give me a kiss +When Helen is a maid again, and his. + +CRESSIDA. +I am your debtor; claim it when ’tis due. + +ULYSSES. +Never’s my day, and then a kiss of you. + +DIOMEDES. +Lady, a word. I’ll bring you to your father. + + [_Exit with_ Cressida.] + +NESTOR. +A woman of quick sense. + +ULYSSES. +Fie, fie upon her! +There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, +Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out +At every joint and motive of her body. +O! these encounterers so glib of tongue +That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, +And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts +To every tickling reader! Set them down +For sluttish spoils of opportunity, +And daughters of the game. + + [_Trumpet within_.] + +ALL. +The Trojans’ trumpet. + +AGAMEMNON. +Yonder comes the troop. + + Enter Hector, armed; Aeneas, Troilus, Paris, Deiphobus and other +Trojans, with attendants. + +AENEAS. +Hail, all you state of Greece! What shall be done +To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose +A victor shall be known? Will you the knights +Shall to the edge of all extremity +Pursue each other, or shall be divided +By any voice or order of the field? +Hector bade ask. + +AGAMEMNON. +Which way would Hector have it? + +AENEAS. +He cares not; he’ll obey conditions. + +AGAMEMNON. +’Tis done like Hector. + +ACHILLES. +But securely done, +A little proudly, and great deal misprising +The knight oppos’d. + +AENEAS. +If not Achilles, sir, +What is your name? + +ACHILLES. +If not Achilles, nothing. + +AENEAS. +Therefore Achilles. But whate’er, know this: +In the extremity of great and little +Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; +The one almost as infinite as all, +The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, +And that which looks like pride is courtesy. +This Ajax is half made of Hector’s blood; +In love whereof half Hector stays at home; +Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek +This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek. + +ACHILLES. +A maiden battle then? O! I perceive you. + + Re-enter Diomedes. + +AGAMEMNON. +Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight, +Stand by our Ajax. As you and Lord Aeneas +Consent upon the order of their fight, +So be it; either to the uttermost, +Or else a breath. The combatants being kin +Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. + +Ajax and Hector enter the lists. + +ULYSSES. +They are oppos’d already. + +AGAMEMNON. +What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy? + +ULYSSES. +The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; +Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; +Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue; +Not soon provok’d, nor being provok’d soon calm’d; +His heart and hand both open and both free; +For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows, +Yet gives he not till judgement guide his bounty, +Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath; +Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; +For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes +To tender objects, but he in heat of action +Is more vindicative than jealous love. +They call him Troilus, and on him erect +A second hope as fairly built as Hector. +Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth +Even to his inches, and, with private soul, +Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. + + [_Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight._] + +AGAMEMNON. +They are in action. + +NESTOR. +Now, Ajax, hold thine own! + +TROILUS. +Hector, thou sleep’st; awake thee! + +AGAMEMNON. +His blows are well dispos’d. There, Ajax! + + [_Trumpets cease_.] + +DIOMEDES. +You must no more. + +AENEAS. +Princes, enough, so please you. + +AJAX. +I am not warm yet; let us fight again. + +DIOMEDES. +As Hector pleases. + +HECTOR. +Why, then will I no more. +Thou art, great lord, my father’s sister’s son, +A cousin-german to great Priam’s seed; +The obligation of our blood forbids +A gory emulation ’twixt us twain: +Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so +That thou could’st say ‘This hand is Grecian all, +And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg +All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother’s blood +Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister +Bounds in my father’s; by Jove multipotent, +Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member +Wherein my sword had not impressure made +Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay +That any drop thou borrow’dst from thy mother, +My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword +Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax. +By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; +Hector would have them fall upon him thus. +Cousin, all honour to thee! + +AJAX. +I thank thee, Hector. +Thou art too gentle and too free a man. +I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence +A great addition earned in thy death. + +HECTOR. +Not Neoptolemus so mirable, +On whose bright crest Fame with her loud’st Oyes +Cries ‘This is he!’ could promise to himself +A thought of added honour torn from Hector. + +AENEAS. +There is expectance here from both the sides +What further you will do. + +HECTOR. +We’ll answer it: +The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell. + +AJAX. +If I might in entreaties find success, +As seld’ I have the chance, I would desire +My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. + +DIOMEDES. +’Tis Agamemnon’s wish; and great Achilles +Doth long to see unarm’d the valiant Hector. + +HECTOR. +Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me, +And signify this loving interview +To the expecters of our Trojan part; +Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin; +I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. + +Agamemnon and the rest of the Greeks come forward. + +AJAX. +Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. + +HECTOR. +The worthiest of them tell me name by name; +But for Achilles, my own searching eyes +Shall find him by his large and portly size. + +AGAMEMNON. +Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one +That would be rid of such an enemy. +But that’s no welcome. Understand more clear, +What’s past and what’s to come is strew’d with husks +And formless ruin of oblivion; +But in this extant moment, faith and troth, +Strain’d purely from all hollow bias-drawing, +Bids thee with most divine integrity, +From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. + +HECTOR. +I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. + +AGAMEMNON. +[_To Troilus._] My well-fam’d lord of Troy, no less to you. + +MENELAUS. +Let me confirm my princely brother’s greeting. +You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. + +HECTOR. +Who must we answer? + +AENEAS. +The noble Menelaus. + +HECTOR. +O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks! +Mock not that I affect the untraded oath; +Your quondam wife swears still by Venus’ glove. +She’s well, but bade me not commend her to you. + +MENELAUS. +Name her not now, sir; she’s a deadly theme. + +HECTOR. +O, pardon; I offend. + +NESTOR. +I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, +Labouring for destiny, make cruel way +Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, +As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, +Despising many forfeits and subduements, +When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ th’air, +Not letting it decline on the declined; +That I have said to some my standers-by +‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’ +And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath, +When that a ring of Greeks have shrap’d thee in, +Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen; +But this thy countenance, still lock’d in steel, +I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, +And once fought with him. He was a soldier good, +But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, +Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee; +And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. + +AENEAS. +’Tis the old Nestor. + +HECTOR. +Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, +That hast so long walk’d hand in hand with time. +Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. + +NESTOR. +I would my arms could match thee in contention +As they contend with thee in courtesy. + +HECTOR. +I would they could. + +NESTOR. +Ha! +By this white beard, I’d fight with thee tomorrow. +Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time. + +ULYSSES. +I wonder now how yonder city stands, +When we have here her base and pillar by us. + +HECTOR. +I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well. +Ah, sir, there’s many a Greek and Trojan dead, +Since first I saw yourself and Diomed +In Ilion on your Greekish embassy. + +ULYSSES. +Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue. +My prophecy is but half his journey yet; +For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, +Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, +Must kiss their own feet. + +HECTOR. +I must not believe you. +There they stand yet; and modestly I think +The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost +A drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all; +And that old common arbitrator, Time, +Will one day end it. + +ULYSSES. +So to him we leave it. +Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome. +After the General, I beseech you next +To feast with me and see me at my tent. + +ACHILLES. +I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou! +Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; +I have with exact view perus’d thee, Hector, +And quoted joint by joint. + +HECTOR. +Is this Achilles? + +ACHILLES. +I am Achilles. + +HECTOR. +Stand fair, I pray thee; let me look on thee. + +ACHILLES. +Behold thy fill. + +HECTOR. +Nay, I have done already. + +ACHILLES. +Thou art too brief. I will the second time, +As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. + +HECTOR. +O, like a book of sport thou’lt read me o’er; +But there’s more in me than thou understand’st. +Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? + +ACHILLES. +Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body +Shall I destroy him? Whether there, or there, or there? +That I may give the local wound a name, +And make distinct the very breach whereout +Hector’s great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens. + +HECTOR. +It would discredit the blest gods, proud man, +To answer such a question. Stand again. +Think’st thou to catch my life so pleasantly +As to prenominate in nice conjecture +Where thou wilt hit me dead? + +ACHILLES. +I tell thee yea. + +HECTOR. +Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, +I’d not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; +For I’ll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; +But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, +I’ll kill thee everywhere, yea, o’er and o’er. +You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. +His insolence draws folly from my lips; +But I’ll endeavour deeds to match these words, +Or may I never— + +AJAX. +Do not chafe thee, cousin; +And you, Achilles, let these threats alone +Till accident or purpose bring you to’t. +You may have every day enough of Hector, +If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, +Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. + +HECTOR. +I pray you let us see you in the field; +We have had pelting wars since you refus’d +The Grecians’ cause. + +ACHILLES. +Dost thou entreat me, Hector? +Tomorrow do I meet thee, fell as death; +Tonight all friends. + +HECTOR. +Thy hand upon that match. + +AGAMEMNON. +First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; +There in the full convive we; afterwards, +As Hector’s leisure and your bounties shall +Concur together, severally entreat him. +Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow, +That this great soldier may his welcome know. + + [_Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses_.] + +TROILUS. +My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, +In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? + +ULYSSES. +At Menelaus’ tent, most princely Troilus. +There Diomed doth feast with him tonight, +Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, +But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view +On the fair Cressid. + +TROILUS. +Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, +After we part from Agamemnon’s tent, +To bring me thither? + +ULYSSES. +You shall command me, sir. +As gentle tell me of what honour was +This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there +That wails her absence? + +TROILUS. +O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars +A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? +She was belov’d, she lov’d; she is, and doth; +But still sweet love is food for fortune’s tooth. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES. + + Enter Achilles and Patroclus. + +ACHILLES. +I’ll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight, +Which with my scimitar I’ll cool tomorrow. +Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. + +PATROCLUS. +Here comes Thersites. + + Enter Thersites. + +ACHILLES. +How now, thou core of envy! +Thou crusty batch of nature, what’s the news? + +THERSITES. +Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, +here’s a letter for thee. + +ACHILLES. +From whence, fragment? + +THERSITES. +Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. + +PATROCLUS. +Who keeps the tent now? + +THERSITES. +The surgeon’s box or the patient’s wound. + +PATROCLUS. +Well said, adversity! And what needs these tricks? + +THERSITES. +Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be +Achilles’ male varlet. + +PATROCLUS. +Male varlet, you rogue! What’s that? + +THERSITES. +Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the +guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel in the back, +lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, +bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i’ th’ palm, +incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take +and take again such preposterous discoveries! + +PATROCLUS. +Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus? + +THERSITES. +Do I curse thee? + +PATROCLUS. +Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no. + +THERSITES. +No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of +sleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a +prodigal’s purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such +water-flies, diminutives of nature! + +PATROCLUS. +Out, gall! + +THERSITES. +Finch egg! + +ACHILLES. +My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite +From my great purpose in tomorrow’s battle. +Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, +A token from her daughter, my fair love, +Both taxing me and gaging me to keep +An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it. +Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; +My major vow lies here, this I’ll obey. +Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; +This night in banqueting must all be spent. +Away, Patroclus! + + [_Exit with_ Patroclus.] + +THERSITES. +With too much blood and too little brain these two may run mad; but, if +with too much brain and too little blood they do, I’ll be a curer of +madmen. Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves +quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly +transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, the primitive +statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds, a thrifty shoeing-horn in a +chain at his brother’s leg, to what form but that he is, should wit +larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass, +were nothing: he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both +ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchook, a toad, a lizard, +an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care; but to +be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would +be, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, +so I were not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires! + + Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus and + Diomedes with lights. + +AGAMEMNON. +We go wrong, we go wrong. + +AJAX. +No, yonder ’tis; +There, where we see the lights. + +HECTOR. +I trouble you. + +AJAX. +No, not a whit. + +ULYSSES. +Here comes himself to guide you. + + Re-enter Achilles. + +ACHILLES. +Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. + +AGAMEMNON. +So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night; +Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. + +HECTOR. +Thanks, and good night to the Greeks’ general. + +MENELAUS. +Good night, my lord. + +HECTOR. +Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus. + +THERSITES. +Sweet draught! ‘Sweet’ quoth a’! +Sweet sink, sweet sewer! + +ACHILLES. +Good night and welcome, both at once, to those +That go or tarry. + +AGAMEMNON. +Good night. + + [_Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus_.] + +ACHILLES. +Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, +Keep Hector company an hour or two. + +DIOMEDES. +I cannot, lord; I have important business, +The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector. + +HECTOR. +Give me your hand. + +ULYSSES. +[_Aside to Troilus._] Follow his torch; he goes to +Calchas’ tent; I’ll keep you company. + +TROILUS. +Sweet sir, you honour me. + +HECTOR. +And so, good night. + + [_Exit Diomedes, Ulysses and Troilus following._] + +ACHILLES. +Come, come, enter my tent. + + [_Exeunt all but_ Thersites.] + +THERSITES. +That same Diomed’s a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave; I will +no more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he hisses. +He will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when +he performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come +some change; the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I +will rather leave to see Hector than not to dog him. They say he keeps +a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas’ tent. I’ll after. Nothing +but lechery! All incontinent varlets! + + [_Exit_.] + +SCENE II. The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS’ tent. + + Enter Diomedes. + +DIOMEDES. +What, are you up here, ho! Speak. + +CALCHAS. +[_Within_.] Who calls? + +DIOMEDES. +Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where’s your daughter? + +CALCHAS. +[_Within_.] She comes to you. + + Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites. + +ULYSSES. +Stand where the torch may not discover us. + + Enter Cressida. + +TROILUS. +Cressid comes forth to him. + +DIOMEDES. +How now, my charge! + +CRESSIDA. +Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you. + + [_Whispers_.] + +TROILUS. +Yea, so familiar? + +ULYSSES. +She will sing any man at first sight. + +THERSITES. +And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she’s noted. + +DIOMEDES. +Will you remember? + +CRESSIDA. +Remember! Yes. + +DIOMEDES. +Nay, but do, then; +And let your mind be coupled with your words. + +TROILUS. +What should she remember? + +ULYSSES. +List! + +CRESSIDA. +Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. + +THERSITES. +Roguery! + +DIOMEDES. +Nay, then— + +CRESSIDA. +I’ll tell you what— + +DIOMEDES. +Fo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forsworn. + +CRESSIDA. +In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do? + +THERSITES. +A juggling trick, to be secretly open. + +DIOMEDES. +What did you swear you would bestow on me? + +CRESSIDA. +I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath; +Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek. + +DIOMEDES. +Good night. + +TROILUS. +Hold, patience! + +ULYSSES. +How now, Trojan! + +CRESSIDA. +Diomed! + +DIOMEDES. +No, no, good night; I’ll be your fool no more. + +TROILUS. +Thy better must. + +CRESSIDA. +Hark! a word in your ear. + +TROILUS. +O plague and madness! + +ULYSSES. +You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray, +Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself +To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous; +The time right deadly; I beseech you, go. + +TROILUS. +Behold, I pray you. + +ULYSSES. +Nay, good my lord, go off; +You flow to great distraction; come, my lord. + +TROILUS. +I pray thee stay. + +ULYSSES. +You have not patience; come. + +TROILUS. +I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell’s torments, +I will not speak a word. + +DIOMEDES. +And so, good night. + +CRESSIDA. +Nay, but you part in anger. + +TROILUS. +Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth! + +ULYSSES. +How now, my lord? + +TROILUS. +By Jove, I will be patient. + +CRESSIDA. +Guardian! Why, Greek! + +DIOMEDES. +Fo, fo! adieu! you palter. + +CRESSIDA. +In faith, I do not. Come hither once again. + +ULYSSES. +You shake, my lord, at something; will you go? +You will break out. + +TROILUS. +She strokes his cheek. + +ULYSSES. +Come, come. + +TROILUS. +Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: +There is between my will and all offences +A guard of patience. Stay a little while. + +THERSITES. +How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles +these together! Fry, lechery, fry! + +DIOMEDES. +But will you, then? + +CRESSIDA. +In faith, I will, la; never trust me else. + +DIOMEDES. +Give me some token for the surety of it. + +CRESSIDA. +I’ll fetch you one. + + [_Exit_.] + +ULYSSES. +You have sworn patience. + +TROILUS. +Fear me not, my lord; +I will not be myself, nor have cognition +Of what I feel. I am all patience. + + Re-enter Cressida. + +THERSITES. +Now the pledge; now, now, now! + +CRESSIDA. +Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. + +TROILUS. +O beauty! where is thy faith? + +ULYSSES. +My lord! + +TROILUS. +I will be patient; outwardly I will. + +CRESSIDA. +You look upon that sleeve; behold it well. +He lov’d me—O false wench!—Give’t me again. + +DIOMEDES. +Whose was’t? + +CRESSIDA. +It is no matter, now I have’t again. +I will not meet with you tomorrow night. +I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more. + +THERSITES. +Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone. + +DIOMEDES. +I shall have it. + +CRESSIDA. +What, this? + +DIOMEDES. +Ay, that. + +CRESSIDA. +O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge! +Thy master now lies thinking on his bed +Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove, +And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, +As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me; +He that takes that doth take my heart withal. + +DIOMEDES. +I had your heart before; this follows it. + +TROILUS. +I did swear patience. + +CRESSIDA. +You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not; +I’ll give you something else. + +DIOMEDES. +I will have this. Whose was it? + +CRESSIDA. +It is no matter. + +DIOMEDES. +Come, tell me whose it was. + +CRESSIDA. +’Twas one’s that lov’d me better than you will. +But, now you have it, take it. + +DIOMEDES. +Whose was it? + +CRESSIDA. +By all Diana’s waiting women yond, +And by herself, I will not tell you whose. + +DIOMEDES. +Tomorrow will I wear it on my helm, +And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. + +TROILUS. +Wert thou the devil and wor’st it on thy horn, +It should be challeng’d. + +CRESSIDA. +Well, well, ’tis done, ’tis past; and yet it is not; +I will not keep my word. + +DIOMEDES. +Why, then farewell; +Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. + +CRESSIDA. +You shall not go. One cannot speak a word +But it straight starts you. + +DIOMEDES. +I do not like this fooling. + +THERSITES. +Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you +Pleases me best. + +DIOMEDES. +What, shall I come? The hour? + +CRESSIDA. +Ay, come; O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu’d. + +DIOMEDES. +Farewell till then. + +CRESSIDA. +Good night. I prithee come. + + [_Exit_ Diomedes.] + +Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks on thee; +But with my heart the other eye doth see. +Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find, +The error of our eye directs our mind. +What error leads must err; O, then conclude, +Minds sway’d by eyes are full of turpitude. + + [_Exit_.] + +THERSITES. +A proof of strength she could not publish more, +Unless she said ‘My mind is now turn’d whore.’ + +ULYSSES. +All’s done, my lord. + +TROILUS. +It is. + +ULYSSES. +Why stay we, then? + +TROILUS. +To make a recordation to my soul +Of every syllable that here was spoke. +But if I tell how these two did co-act, +Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? +Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, +An esperance so obstinately strong, +That doth invert th’attest of eyes and ears; +As if those organs had deceptious functions +Created only to calumniate. +Was Cressid here? + +ULYSSES. +I cannot conjure, Trojan. + +TROILUS. +She was not, sure. + +ULYSSES. +Most sure she was. + +TROILUS. +Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. + +ULYSSES. +Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now. + +TROILUS. +Let it not be believ’d for womanhood. +Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage +To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, +For depravation, to square the general sex +By Cressid’s rule. Rather think this not Cressid. + +ULYSSES. +What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers? + +TROILUS. +Nothing at all, unless that this were she. + +THERSITES. +Will he swagger himself out on’s own eyes? + +TROILUS. +This she? No; this is Diomed’s Cressida. +If beauty have a soul, this is not she; +If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, +If sanctimony be the god’s delight, +If there be rule in unity itself, +This was not she. O madness of discourse, +That cause sets up with and against itself! +Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt +Without perdition, and loss assume all reason +Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid. +Within my soul there doth conduce a fight +Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate +Divides more wider than the sky and earth; +And yet the spacious breadth of this division +Admits no orifice for a point as subtle +As Ariachne’s broken woof to enter. +Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto’s gates: +Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven. +Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself: +The bonds of heaven are slipp’d, dissolv’d, and loos’d; +And with another knot, five-finger-tied, +The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, +The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics +Of her o’er-eaten faith, are given to Diomed. + +ULYSSES. +May worthy Troilus be half attach’d +With that which here his passion doth express? + +TROILUS. +Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well +In characters as red as Mars his heart +Inflam’d with Venus. Never did young man fancy +With so eternal and so fix’d a soul. +Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love, +So much by weight hate I her Diomed. +That sleeve is mine that he’ll bear on his helm; +Were it a casque compos’d by Vulcan’s skill +My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout +Which shipmen do the hurricano call, +Constring’d in mass by the almighty sun, +Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune’s ear +In his descent than shall my prompted sword +Falling on Diomed. + +THERSITES. +He’ll tickle it for his concupy. + +TROILUS. +O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! +Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, +And they’ll seem glorious. + +ULYSSES. +O, contain yourself; +Your passion draws ears hither. + + Enter Aeneas. + +AENEAS. +I have been seeking you this hour, my lord. +Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; +Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. + +TROILUS. +Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu. +Fairwell, revolted fair! and, Diomed, +Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head. + +ULYSSES. +I’ll bring you to the gates. + +TROILUS. +Accept distracted thanks. + + [_Exeunt Troilus, Aeneas and Ulysses_.] + +THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a +raven; I would bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for +the intelligence of this whore; the parrot will not do more for an +almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery! Still wars and +lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them! + + [_Exit_.] + +SCENE III. Troy. Before PRIAM’S palace. + + Enter Hector and Andromache. + +ANDROMACHE. +When was my lord so much ungently temper’d +To stop his ears against admonishment? +Unarm, unarm, and do not fight today. + +HECTOR. +You train me to offend you; get you in. +By all the everlasting gods, I’ll go. + +ANDROMACHE. +My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day. + +HECTOR. +No more, I say. + + Enter Cassandra. + +CASSANDRA. +Where is my brother Hector? + +ANDROMACHE. +Here, sister, arm’d, and bloody in intent. +Consort with me in loud and dear petition, +Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt +Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night +Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. + +CASSANDRA. +O, ’tis true! + +HECTOR. +Ho! bid my trumpet sound. + +CASSANDRA. +No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother! + +HECTOR. +Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear. + +CASSANDRA. +The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows; +They are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d +Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. + +ANDROMACHE. +O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy +To hurt by being just. It is as lawful, +For we would give much, to use violent thefts +And rob in the behalf of charity. + +CASSANDRA. +It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; +But vows to every purpose must not hold. +Unarm, sweet Hector. + +HECTOR. +Hold you still, I say. +Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate. +Life every man holds dear; but the dear man +Holds honour far more precious dear than life. + + Enter Troilus. + +How now, young man! Mean’st thou to fight today? + +ANDROMACHE. +Cassandra, call my father to persuade. + + [_Exit_ Cassandra.] + +HECTOR. +No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth; +I am today i’ th’vein of chivalry. +Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, +And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. +Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, +I’ll stand today for thee and me and Troy. + +TROILUS. +Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, +Which better fits a lion than a man. + +HECTOR. +What vice is that? Good Troilus, chide me for it. + +TROILUS. +When many times the captive Grecian falls, +Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, +You bid them rise and live. + +HECTOR. +O, ’tis fair play! + +TROILUS. +Fool’s play, by heaven, Hector. + +HECTOR. +How now? how now? + +TROILUS. +For th’ love of all the gods, +Let’s leave the hermit Pity with our mother; +And when we have our armours buckled on, +The venom’d vengeance ride upon our swords, +Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth! + +HECTOR. +Fie, savage, fie! + +TROILUS. +Hector, then ’tis wars. + +HECTOR. +Troilus, I would not have you fight today. + +TROILUS. +Who should withhold me? +Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars +Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; +Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, +Their eyes o’er-galled with recourse of tears; +Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, +Oppos’d to hinder me, should stop my way, +But by my ruin. + + Re-enter Cassandra with Priam. + +CASSANDRA. +Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast; +He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay, +Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, +Fall all together. + +PRIAM. +Come, Hector, come, go back. +Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions; +Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself +Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt +To tell thee that this day is ominous. +Therefore, come back. + +HECTOR. +Aeneas is a-field; +And I do stand engag’d to many Greeks, +Even in the faith of valour, to appear +This morning to them. + +PRIAM. +Ay, but thou shalt not go. + +HECTOR. +I must not break my faith. +You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, +Let me not shame respect; but give me leave +To take that course by your consent and voice +Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. + +CASSANDRA. +O Priam, yield not to him! + +ANDROMACHE. +Do not, dear father. + +HECTOR. +Andromache, I am offended with you. +Upon the love you bear me, get you in. + + [_Exit_ Andromache.] + +TROILUS. +This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl +Makes all these bodements. + +CASSANDRA. +O, farewell, dear Hector! +Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale. +Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents. +Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out; +How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth; +Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, +Like witless antics, one another meet, +And all cry, ‘Hector! Hector’s dead! O Hector!’ + +TROILUS. +Away, away! + +CASSANDRA. +Farewell! yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave. +Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. + + [_Exit_.] + +HECTOR. +You are amaz’d, my liege, at her exclaim. +Go in, and cheer the town; we’ll forth, and fight, +Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night. + +PRIAM. +Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee! + + [_Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums._] + +TROILUS. +They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe, +I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve. + + Enter Pandarus. + +PANDARUS. +Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear? + +TROILUS. +What now? + +PANDARUS. +Here’s a letter come from yond poor girl. + +TROILUS. +Let me read. + +PANDARUS. +A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick, so troubles me, and the +foolish fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I +shall leave you one o’ these days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too, +and such an ache in my bones that unless a man were curs’d I cannot +tell what to think on’t. What says she there? + +TROILUS. +Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; +Th’effect doth operate another way. + + [_Tearing the letter_.] + +Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. +My love with words and errors still she feeds, +But edifies another with her deeds. + + [_Exeunt severally_.] + +SCENE IV. The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp. + + Alarums. Excursions. Enter Thersites. + +THERSITES. +Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I’ll go look on. That +dissembling abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting +foolish young knave’s sleeve of Troy there in his helm. I would fain +see them meet, that that same young Trojan ass that loves the whore +there might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve +back to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. O’ the +other side, the policy of those crafty swearing rascals that stale old +mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is not +prov’d worth a blackberry. They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, +Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is the cur, +Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm today; whereupon +the Grecians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill +opinion. + + Enter Diomedes, Troilus following. + +Soft! here comes sleeve, and t’other. + +TROILUS. +Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx, I would swim after. + +DIOMEDES. +Thou dost miscall retire. +I do not fly; but advantageous care +Withdrew me from the odds of multitude. +Have at thee! + +THERSITES. +Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore, +Trojan! now the sleeve, now the sleeve! + + [_Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes fighting_.] + + Enter Hector. + +HECTOR. +What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector’s match? +Art thou of blood and honour? + +THERSITES. +No, no I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue. + +HECTOR. +I do believe thee. Live. + + [_Exit_.] + +THERSITES. +God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a plague break thy neck for +frighting me! What’s become of the wenching rogues? I think they have +swallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, +lechery eats itself. I’ll seek them. + + [_Exit_.] + +SCENE V. Another part of the plain. + + Enter Diomedes and a Servant. + +DIOMEDES. +Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus’ horse; +Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid. +Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; +Tell her I have chastis’d the amorous Trojan, +And am her knight by proof. + +SERVANT. +I go, my lord. + + [_Exit_.] + + Enter Agamemnon. + +AGAMEMNON. +Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamas +Hath beat down Menon; bastard Margarelon +Hath Doreus prisoner, +And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, +Upon the pashed corses of the kings +Epistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain; +Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt; +Patroclus ta’en, or slain; and Palamedes +Sore hurt and bruis’d. The dreadful Sagittary +Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed, +To reinforcement, or we perish all. + + Enter Nestor. + +NESTOR. +Go, bear Patroclus’ body to Achilles, +And bid the snail-pac’d Ajax arm for shame. +There is a thousand Hectors in the field; +Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, +And there lacks work; anon he’s there afoot, +And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls +Before the belching whale; then is he yonder, +And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, +Fall down before him like the mower’s swath. +Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes; +Dexterity so obeying appetite +That what he will he does, and does so much +That proof is call’d impossibility. + + Enter Ulysses. + +ULYSSES. +O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great Achilles +Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance. +Patroclus’ wounds have rous’d his drowsy blood, +Together with his mangled Myrmidons, +That noseless, handless, hack’d and chipp’d, come to him, +Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend +And foams at mouth, and he is arm’d and at it, +Roaring for Troilus; who hath done today +Mad and fantastic execution, +Engaging and redeeming of himself +With such a careless force and forceless care +As if that lust, in very spite of cunning, +Bade him win all. + + Enter Ajax. + +AJAX. +Troilus! thou coward Troilus! + + [_Exit_.] + +DIOMEDES. +Ay, there, there. + +NESTOR. +So, so, we draw together. + + [_Exit_.] + + Enter Achilles. + +ACHILLES. +Where is this Hector? +Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; +Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. +Hector! where’s Hector? I will none but Hector. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE VI. Another part of the plain. + + Enter Ajax. + +AJAX. +Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head. + + Enter Diomedes. + +DIOMEDES. +Troilus, I say! Where’s Troilus? + +AJAX. +What wouldst thou? + +DIOMEDES. +I would correct him. + +AJAX. +Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office +Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus! + + Enter Troilus. + +TROILUS. +O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor, +And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse. + +DIOMEDES. +Ha! art thou there? + +AJAX. +I’ll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed. + +DIOMEDES. +He is my prize. I will not look upon. + +TROILUS. +Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both! + + [_Exeunt fighting_.] + + Enter Hector. + +HECTOR. +Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother! + + Enter Achilles. + +ACHILLES. +Now do I see thee. Ha! have at thee, Hector! + +HECTOR. +Pause, if thou wilt. + +ACHILLES. +I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. +Be happy that my arms are out of use; +My rest and negligence befriend thee now, +But thou anon shalt hear of me again; +Till when, go seek thy fortune. + + [_Exit_.] + +HECTOR. +Fare thee well. +I would have been much more a fresher man, +Had I expected thee. + + Re-enter Troilus. + +How now, my brother! + +TROILUS. +Ajax hath ta’en Aeneas. Shall it be? +No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, +He shall not carry him; I’ll be ta’en too, +Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say: +I reck not though thou end my life today. + + [_Exit_.] + + Enter one in armour. + +HECTOR. +Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark. +No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well; +I’ll frush it and unlock the rivets all +But I’ll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide? +Why then, fly on; I’ll hunt thee for thy hide. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE VII. Another part of the plain. + + Enter Achilles with Myrmidons. + +ACHILLES. +Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; +Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel; +Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath; +And when I have the bloody Hector found, +Empale him with your weapons round about; +In fellest manner execute your arms. +Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye. +It is decreed Hector the great must die. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting; then Thersites. + +THERSITES. +The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! Now, dog! ’Loo, +Paris, ’loo! now my double-hen’d Spartan! ’loo, Paris, ’loo! The bull +has the game. ’Ware horns, ho! + + [_Exeunt Paris and Menelaus_.] + + Enter Margarelon. + +MARGARELON. +Turn, slave, and fight. + +THERSITES. +What art thou? + +MARGARELON. +A bastard son of Priam’s. + +THERSITES. +I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard +instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything +illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one +bastard? Take heed, the quarrel’s most ominous to us: if the son of a +whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgement. Farewell, bastard. + + [_Exit_.] + +MARGARELON. +The devil take thee, coward! + + [_Exit_.] + +SCENE VIII. Another part of the plain. + + Enter Hector. + +HECTOR. +Most putrified core so fair without, +Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. +Now is my day’s work done; I’ll take my breath: +Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death! + + [_Disarms_.] + + Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. + +ACHILLES. +Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set, +How ugly night comes breathing at his heels; +Even with the vail and dark’ning of the sun, +To close the day up, Hector’s life is done. + +HECTOR. +I am unarm’d; forego this vantage, Greek. + +ACHILLES. +Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek. + + [_Hector falls_.] + +So, Ilion, fall thou next! Now, Troy, sink down; +Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. +On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain +‘Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.’ + + [_A retreat sounded_.] + +Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part. + +MYRMIDON. +The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. + +ACHILLES. +The dragon wing of night o’erspreads the earth +And, stickler-like, the armies separates. +My half-supp’d sword, that frankly would have fed, +Pleas’d with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed. + + [_Sheathes his sword_.] + +Come, tie his body to my horse’s tail; +Along the field I will the Trojan trail. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE IX. Another part of the plain. + + Sound retreat. Shout. Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, + Diomedes and the rest, marching. + +AGAMEMNON. +Hark! hark! what shout is this? + +NESTOR. +Peace, drums! + +SOLDIERS. +[_Within_.] Achilles! Achilles! Hector’s slain. Achilles! + +DIOMEDES. +The bruit is, Hector’s slain, and by Achilles. + +AJAX. +If it be so, yet bragless let it be; +Great Hector was as good a man as he. + +AGAMEMNON. +March patiently along. Let one be sent +To pray Achilles see us at our tent. +If in his death the gods have us befriended; +Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. + + [_Exeunt_.] + +SCENE X. Another part of the plain. + + Enter Aeneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus. + +AENEAS. +Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. +Never go home; here starve we out the night. + + Enter Troilus. + +TROILUS. +Hector is slain. + +ALL. +Hector! The gods forbid! + +TROILUS. +He’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail, +In beastly sort, dragg’d through the shameful field. +Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed. +Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy. +I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy, +And linger not our sure destructions on. + +AENEAS. +My lord, you do discomfort all the host. + +TROILUS. +You understand me not that tell me so. +I do not speak of flight, of fear of death, +But dare all imminence that gods and men +Address their dangers in. Hector is gone. +Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? +Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d +Go in to Troy, and say there ‘Hector’s dead.’ +There is a word will Priam turn to stone; +Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, +Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, +Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away; +Hector is dead; there is no more to say. +Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, +Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, +Let Titan rise as early as he dare, +I’ll through and through you. And, thou great-siz’d coward, +No space of earth shall sunder our two hates; +I’ll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, +That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy’s thoughts. +Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go; +Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. + + Enter Pandarus. + +PANDARUS. +But hear you, hear you! + +TROILUS. +Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame +Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name! + + [_Exeunt all but_ Pandarus.] + +PANDARUS. +A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world! world! Thus is the poor +agent despis’d! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a-work, +and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov’d, and the +performance so loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me +see— + + Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing + Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; + And being once subdu’d in armed trail, + Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. + +Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths. +As many as be here of Pandar’s hall, +Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar’s fall; +Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, +Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. +Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, +Some two months hence my will shall here be made. +It should be now, but that my fear is this, +Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss. +Till then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases, +And at that time bequeath you my diseases. + + [_Exit_.] + + + +TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace. +Scene II. The sea-coast. +Scene III. A Room in Olivia’s House. +Scene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace. +Scene V. A Room in Olivia’s House. + + +ACT II +Scene I. The sea-coast. +Scene II. A street. +Scene III. A Room in Olivia’s House. +Scene IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace. +Scene V. Olivia’s garden. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Olivia’s garden. +Scene II. A Room in Olivia’s House. +Scene III. A street. +Scene IV. Olivia’s garden. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. The Street before Olivia’s House. +Scene II. A Room in Olivia’s House. +Scene III. Olivia’s Garden. + + +ACT V +Scene I. The Street before Olivia’s House. + + + Dramatis Personæ + +ORSINO, Duke of Illyria. +VALENTINE, Gentleman attending on the Duke +CURIO, Gentleman attending on the Duke +VIOLA, in love with the Duke. +SEBASTIAN, a young Gentleman, twin brother to Viola. +A SEA CAPTAIN, friend to Viola +ANTONIO, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian. +OLIVIA, a rich Countess. +MARIA, Olivia’s Woman. +SIR TOBY BELCH, Uncle of Olivia. +SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK. +MALVOLIO, Steward to Olivia. +FABIAN, Servant to Olivia. +CLOWN, Servant to Olivia. +PRIEST +Lords, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants. + +SCENE: A City in Illyria; and the Sea-coast near it. + + + +ACT I. + +SCENE I. An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace. + + Enter Orsino, Duke of Illyria, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians + attending. + +DUKE. +If music be the food of love, play on, +Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, +The appetite may sicken and so die. +That strain again, it had a dying fall; +O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound +That breathes upon a bank of violets, +Stealing and giving odour. Enough; no more; +’Tis not so sweet now as it was before. +O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, +That notwithstanding thy capacity +Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, +Of what validity and pitch soever, +But falls into abatement and low price +Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, +That it alone is high fantastical. + +CURIO. +Will you go hunt, my lord? + +DUKE. +What, Curio? + +CURIO. +The hart. + +DUKE. +Why so I do, the noblest that I have. +O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, +Methought she purg’d the air of pestilence; +That instant was I turn’d into a hart, +And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, +E’er since pursue me. How now? what news from her? + + Enter Valentine. + +VALENTINE. +So please my lord, I might not be admitted, +But from her handmaid do return this answer: +The element itself, till seven years’ heat, +Shall not behold her face at ample view; +But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, +And water once a day her chamber round +With eye-offending brine: all this to season +A brother’s dead love, which she would keep fresh +And lasting in her sad remembrance. + +DUKE. +O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame +To pay this debt of love but to a brother, +How will she love, when the rich golden shaft +Hath kill’d the flock of all affections else +That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, +These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill’d +Her sweet perfections with one self king! +Away before me to sweet beds of flowers, +Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The sea-coast. + + Enter Viola, a Captain and Sailors. + +VIOLA. +What country, friends, is this? + +CAPTAIN. +This is Illyria, lady. + +VIOLA. +And what should I do in Illyria? +My brother he is in Elysium. +Perchance he is not drown’d. What think you, sailors? + +CAPTAIN. +It is perchance that you yourself were sav’d. + +VIOLA. +O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be. + +CAPTAIN. +True, madam; and to comfort you with chance, +Assure yourself, after our ship did split, +When you, and those poor number sav’d with you, +Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, +Most provident in peril, bind himself, +(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) +To a strong mast that liv’d upon the sea; +Where, like Arion on the dolphin’s back, +I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves +So long as I could see. + +VIOLA. +For saying so, there’s gold! +Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, +Whereto thy speech serves for authority, +The like of him. Know’st thou this country? + +CAPTAIN. +Ay, madam, well, for I was bred and born +Not three hours’ travel from this very place. + +VIOLA. +Who governs here? + +CAPTAIN. +A noble duke, in nature as in name. + +VIOLA. +What is his name? + +CAPTAIN. +Orsino. + +VIOLA. +Orsino! I have heard my father name him. +He was a bachelor then. + +CAPTAIN. +And so is now, or was so very late; +For but a month ago I went from hence, +And then ’twas fresh in murmur, (as, you know, +What great ones do, the less will prattle of) +That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. + +VIOLA. +What’s she? + +CAPTAIN. +A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count +That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her +In the protection of his son, her brother, +Who shortly also died; for whose dear love +They say, she hath abjur’d the company +And sight of men. + +VIOLA. +O that I served that lady, +And might not be delivered to the world, +Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, +What my estate is. + +CAPTAIN. +That were hard to compass, +Because she will admit no kind of suit, +No, not the Duke’s. + +VIOLA. +There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; +And though that nature with a beauteous wall +Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee +I will believe thou hast a mind that suits +With this thy fair and outward character. +I pray thee, and I’ll pay thee bounteously, +Conceal me what I am, and be my aid +For such disguise as haply shall become +The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke; +Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him. +It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, +And speak to him in many sorts of music, +That will allow me very worth his service. +What else may hap, to time I will commit; +Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. + +CAPTAIN. +Be you his eunuch and your mute I’ll be; +When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. + +VIOLA. +I thank thee. Lead me on. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House. + + Enter Sir Toby and Maria. + +SIR TOBY. +What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I +am sure care’s an enemy to life. + +MARIA. +By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o’ nights; your cousin, +my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. + +SIR TOBY. +Why, let her except, before excepted. + +MARIA. +Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. + +SIR TOBY. +Confine? I’ll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good +enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; and they be not, let +them hang themselves in their own straps. + +MARIA. +That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it +yesterday; and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here +to be her wooer. + +SIR TOBY. +Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek? + +MARIA. +Ay, he. + +SIR TOBY. +He’s as tall a man as any’s in Illyria. + +MARIA. +What’s that to th’ purpose? + +SIR TOBY. +Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. + +MARIA. +Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these ducats. He’s a very fool, +and a prodigal. + +SIR TOBY. +Fie, that you’ll say so! he plays o’ the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks +three or four languages word for word without book, and hath all the +good gifts of nature. + +MARIA. +He hath indeed, almost natural: for, besides that he’s a fool, he’s a +great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay +the gust he hath in quarrelling, ’tis thought among the prudent he +would quickly have the gift of a grave. + +SIR TOBY. +By this hand, they are scoundrels and substractors that say so of him. +Who are they? + +MARIA. +They that add, moreover, he’s drunk nightly in your company. + +SIR TOBY. +With drinking healths to my niece; I’ll drink to her as long as there +is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria. He’s a coward and a +coystril that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn o’ the +toe like a parish top. What, wench! _Castiliano vulgo:_ for here comes +Sir Andrew Agueface. + + Enter Sir Andrew. + +AGUECHEEK. +Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch? + +SIR TOBY. +Sweet Sir Andrew! + +SIR ANDREW. +Bless you, fair shrew. + +MARIA. +And you too, sir. + +SIR TOBY. +Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. + +SIR ANDREW. +What’s that? + +SIR TOBY. +My niece’s chamber-maid. + +SIR ANDREW. +Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. + +MARIA. +My name is Mary, sir. + +SIR ANDREW. +Good Mistress Mary Accost,— + +SIR TOBY. +You mistake, knight: accost is front her, board her, woo her, assail +her. + +SIR ANDREW. +By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the +meaning of accost? + +MARIA. +Fare you well, gentlemen. + +SIR TOBY. +And thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword +again. + +SIR ANDREW. +And you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair +lady, do you think you have fools in hand? + +MARIA. +Sir, I have not you by the hand. + +SIR ANDREW. +Marry, but you shall have, and here’s my hand. + +MARIA. +Now, sir, thought is free. I pray you, bring your hand to th’ buttery +bar and let it drink. + +SIR ANDREW. +Wherefore, sweetheart? What’s your metaphor? + +MARIA. +It’s dry, sir. + +SIR ANDREW. +Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But +what’s your jest? + +MARIA. +A dry jest, sir. + +SIR ANDREW. +Are you full of them? + +MARIA. +Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: marry, now I let go your +hand, I am barren. + + [_Exit Maria._] + +SIR TOBY. +O knight, thou lack’st a cup of canary: When did I see thee so put +down? + +SIR ANDREW. +Never in your life, I think, unless you see canary put me down. +Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary +man has; but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm +to my wit. + +SIR TOBY. +No question. + +SIR ANDREW. +And I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll ride home tomorrow, Sir Toby. + +SIR TOBY. +_Pourquoy_, my dear knight? + +SIR ANDREW. +What is _pourquoy?_ Do, or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in +the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. O, had I +but followed the arts! + +SIR TOBY. +Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. + +SIR ANDREW. +Why, would that have mended my hair? + +SIR TOBY. +Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. + +SIR ANDREW. +But it becomes me well enough, does’t not? + +SIR TOBY. +Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I hope to see a +houswife take thee between her legs, and spin it off. + +SIR ANDREW. +Faith, I’ll home tomorrow, Sir Toby; your niece will not be seen, or if +she be, it’s four to one she’ll none of me; the Count himself here hard +by woos her. + +SIR TOBY. +She’ll none o’ the Count; she’ll not match above her degree, neither in +estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear’t. Tut, there’s life +in’t, man. + +SIR ANDREW. +I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o’ the strangest mind i’ the +world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. + +SIR TOBY. +Art thou good at these kick-shawses, knight? + +SIR ANDREW. +As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my +betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. + +SIR TOBY. +What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? + +SIR ANDREW. +Faith, I can cut a caper. + +SIR TOBY. +And I can cut the mutton to’t. + +SIR ANDREW. +And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in +Illyria. + +SIR TOBY. +Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain +before ’em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s picture? +Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and come home in a +coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make +water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide +virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it +was formed under the star of a galliard. + +SIR ANDREW. +Ay, ’tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a dam’d-colour’d +stock. Shall we set about some revels? + +SIR TOBY. +What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus? + +SIR ANDREW. +Taurus? That’s sides and heart. + +SIR TOBY. +No, sir, it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper. Ha, higher: ha, +ha, excellent! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace. + + Enter Valentine and Viola in man’s attire. + +VALENTINE. +If the duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like +to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already you +are no stranger. + +VIOLA. +You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question +the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? + +VALENTINE. +No, believe me. + + Enter Duke, Curio and Attendants. + +VIOLA. +I thank you. Here comes the Count. + +DUKE. +Who saw Cesario, ho? + +VIOLA. +On your attendance, my lord, here. + +DUKE. +Stand you awhile aloof.—Cesario, +Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d +To thee the book even of my secret soul. +Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her, +Be not denied access, stand at her doors, +And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow +Till thou have audience. + +VIOLA. +Sure, my noble lord, +If she be so abandon’d to her sorrow +As it is spoke, she never will admit me. + +DUKE. +Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, +Rather than make unprofited return. + +VIOLA. +Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? + +DUKE. +O then unfold the passion of my love, +Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith; +It shall become thee well to act my woes; +She will attend it better in thy youth, +Than in a nuncio’s of more grave aspect. + +VIOLA. +I think not so, my lord. + +DUKE. +Dear lad, believe it; +For they shall yet belie thy happy years, +That say thou art a man: Diana’s lip +Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe +Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound, +And all is semblative a woman’s part. +I know thy constellation is right apt +For this affair. Some four or five attend him: +All, if you will; for I myself am best +When least in company. Prosper well in this, +And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, +To call his fortunes thine. + +VIOLA. +I’ll do my best +To woo your lady. [_Aside._] Yet, a barful strife! +Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. A Room in Olivia’s House. + + Enter Maria and Clown. + +MARIA. +Nay; either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so +wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang +thee for thy absence. + +CLOWN. +Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this world needs to fear no +colours. + +MARIA. +Make that good. + +CLOWN. +He shall see none to fear. + +MARIA. +A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of I +fear no colours. + +CLOWN. +Where, good Mistress Mary? + +MARIA. +In the wars, and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. + +CLOWN. +Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let +them use their talents. + +MARIA. +Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or to be turned away; +is not that as good as a hanging to you? + +CLOWN. +Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let +summer bear it out. + +MARIA. +You are resolute then? + +CLOWN. +Not so, neither, but I am resolved on two points. + +MARIA. +That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins +fall. + +CLOWN. +Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave +drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in Illyria. + +MARIA. +Peace, you rogue, no more o’ that. Here comes my lady: make your excuse +wisely, you were best. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Olivia with Malvolio. + +CLOWN. +Wit, and’t be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think +they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack +thee, may pass for a wise man. For what says Quinapalus? Better a witty +fool than a foolish wit. God bless thee, lady! + +OLIVIA. +Take the fool away. + +CLOWN. +Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady. + +OLIVIA. +Go to, y’are a dry fool; I’ll no more of you. Besides, you grow +dishonest. + +CLOWN. +Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give +the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man +mend himself, if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let +the botcher mend him. Anything that’s mended is but patched; virtue +that transgresses is but patched with sin, and sin that amends is but +patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if +it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so +beauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool, therefore, I say +again, take her away. + +OLIVIA. +Sir, I bade them take away you. + +CLOWN. +Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, _cucullus non facit monachum:_ +that’s as much to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, +give me leave to prove you a fool. + +OLIVIA. +Can you do it? + +CLOWN. +Dexteriously, good madonna. + +OLIVIA. +Make your proof. + +CLOWN. +I must catechize you for it, madonna. Good my mouse of virtue, answer +me. + +OLIVIA. +Well sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll ’bide your proof. + +CLOWN. +Good madonna, why mourn’st thou? + +OLIVIA. +Good fool, for my brother’s death. + +CLOWN. +I think his soul is in hell, madonna. + +OLIVIA. +I know his soul is in heaven, fool. + +CLOWN. +The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in +heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. + +OLIVIA. +What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? + +MALVOLIO. +Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him. Infirmity, that +decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. + +CLOWN. +God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the better increasing your +folly! Sir Toby will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass +his word for twopence that you are no fool. + +OLIVIA. +How say you to that, Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him +put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain +than a stone. Look you now, he’s out of his guard already; unless you +laugh and minister occasion to him, he is gagged. I protest I take +these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than +the fools’ zanies. + +OLIVIA. +O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered +appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to +take those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is +no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no +railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. + +CLOWN. +Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak’st well of fools! + + Enter Maria. + +MARIA. +Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak +with you. + +OLIVIA. +From the Count Orsino, is it? + +MARIA. +I know not, madam; ’tis a fair young man, and well attended. + +OLIVIA. +Who of my people hold him in delay? + +MARIA. +Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. + +OLIVIA. +Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him! + + [_Exit Maria._] + +Go you, Malvolio. If it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at +home. What you will, to dismiss it. + + [_Exit Malvolio._] + +Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. + +CLOWN. +Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool: +whose skull Jove cram with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin +has a most weak _pia mater_. + + Enter Sir Toby. + +OLIVIA. +By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin? + +SIR TOBY. +A gentleman. + +OLIVIA. +A gentleman? What gentleman? + +SIR TOBY. +’Tis a gentleman here. A plague o’ these pickle-herrings! How now, sot? + +CLOWN. +Good Sir Toby. + +OLIVIA. +Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? + +SIR TOBY. +Lechery! I defy lechery. There’s one at the gate. + +OLIVIA. +Ay, marry, what is he? + +SIR TOBY. +Let him be the devil an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. +Well, it’s all one. + + [_Exit._] + +OLIVIA. +What’s a drunken man like, fool? + +CLOWN. +Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes +him a fool, the second mads him, and a third drowns him. + +OLIVIA. +Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him sit o’ my coz; for he’s in +the third degree of drink; he’s drowned. Go, look after him. + +CLOWN. +He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look to the madman. + + [_Exit Clown._] + + Enter Malvolio. + +MALVOLIO. +Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you +were sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes +to speak with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a +foreknowledge of that too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What +is to be said to him, lady? He’s fortified against any denial. + +OLIVIA. +Tell him, he shall not speak with me. + +MALVOLIO. +Has been told so; and he says he’ll stand at your door like a sheriff’s +post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he’ll speak with you. + +OLIVIA. +What kind o’ man is he? + +MALVOLIO. +Why, of mankind. + +OLIVIA. +What manner of man? + +MALVOLIO. +Of very ill manner; he’ll speak with you, will you or no. + +OLIVIA. +Of what personage and years is he? + +MALVOLIO. +Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash +is before ’tis a peascod, or a codling, when ’tis almost an apple. ’Tis +with him in standing water, between boy and man. He is very +well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly. One would think his +mother’s milk were scarce out of him. + +OLIVIA. +Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman. + +MALVOLIO. +Gentlewoman, my lady calls. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Maria. + +OLIVIA. +Give me my veil; come, throw it o’er my face. +We’ll once more hear Orsino’s embassy. + + Enter Viola. + +VIOLA. +The honourable lady of the house, which is she? + +OLIVIA. +Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will? + +VIOLA. +Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,—I pray you, tell me if +this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to +cast away my speech; for besides that it is excellently well penned, I +have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no +scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. + +OLIVIA. +Whence came you, sir? + +VIOLA. +I can say little more than I have studied, and that question’s out of +my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady +of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. + +OLIVIA. +Are you a comedian? + +VIOLA. +No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I +am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? + +OLIVIA. +If I do not usurp myself, I am. + +VIOLA. +Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours +to bestow is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I +will on with my speech in your praise, and then show you the heart of +my message. + +OLIVIA. +Come to what is important in’t: I forgive you the praise. + +VIOLA. +Alas, I took great pains to study it, and ’tis poetical. + +OLIVIA. +It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you keep it in. I heard you +were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at +you than to hear you. If you be mad, be gone; if you have reason, be +brief: ’tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping a +dialogue. + +MARIA. +Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way. + +VIOLA. +No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification +for your giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind. I am a messenger. + +OLIVIA. +Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it +is so fearful. Speak your office. + +VIOLA. +It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of +homage; I hold the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace as +matter. + +OLIVIA. +Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? + +VIOLA. +The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I learned from my +entertainment. What I am and what I would are as secret as maidenhead: +to your ears, divinity; to any other’s, profanation. + +OLIVIA. +Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. + + [_Exit Maria._] + +Now, sir, what is your text? + +VIOLA. +Most sweet lady— + +OLIVIA. +A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your +text? + +VIOLA. +In Orsino’s bosom. + +OLIVIA. +In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? + +VIOLA. +To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. + +OLIVIA. +O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? + +VIOLA. +Good madam, let me see your face. + +OLIVIA. +Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You +are now out of your text: but we will draw the curtain and show you the +picture. [_Unveiling._] Look you, sir, such a one I was this present. +Is’t not well done? + +VIOLA. +Excellently done, if God did all. + +OLIVIA. +’Tis in grain, sir; ’twill endure wind and weather. + +VIOLA. +’Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white +Nature’s own sweet and cunning hand laid on. +Lady, you are the cruel’st she alive +If you will lead these graces to the grave, +And leave the world no copy. + +OLIVIA. +O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules +of my beauty. It shall be inventoried and every particle and utensil +labelled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey +eyes with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were +you sent hither to praise me? + +VIOLA. +I see you what you are, you are too proud; +But, if you were the devil, you are fair. +My lord and master loves you. O, such love +Could be but recompens’d though you were crown’d +The nonpareil of beauty! + +OLIVIA. +How does he love me? + +VIOLA. +With adorations, fertile tears, +With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. + +OLIVIA. +Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him: +Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, +Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; +In voices well divulg’d, free, learn’d, and valiant, +And in dimension and the shape of nature, +A gracious person. But yet I cannot love him. +He might have took his answer long ago. + +VIOLA. +If I did love you in my master’s flame, +With such a suff’ring, such a deadly life, +In your denial I would find no sense, +I would not understand it. + +OLIVIA. +Why, what would you? + +VIOLA. +Make me a willow cabin at your gate, +And call upon my soul within the house; +Write loyal cantons of contemned love, +And sing them loud even in the dead of night; +Hallow your name to the reverberate hills, +And make the babbling gossip of the air +Cry out Olivia! O, you should not rest +Between the elements of air and earth, +But you should pity me. + +OLIVIA. +You might do much. +What is your parentage? + +VIOLA. +Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: +I am a gentleman. + +OLIVIA. +Get you to your lord; +I cannot love him: let him send no more, +Unless, perchance, you come to me again, +To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: +I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. + +VIOLA. +I am no fee’d post, lady; keep your purse; +My master, not myself, lacks recompense. +Love make his heart of flint that you shall love, +And let your fervour like my master’s be +Plac’d in contempt. Farewell, fair cruelty. + + [_Exit._] + +OLIVIA. +What is your parentage? +‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: +I am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art; +Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, +Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast: soft, soft! +Unless the master were the man. How now? +Even so quickly may one catch the plague? +Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections +With an invisible and subtle stealth +To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. +What ho, Malvolio! + + Enter Malvolio. + +MALVOLIO. +Here, madam, at your service. + +OLIVIA. +Run after that same peevish messenger +The County’s man: he left this ring behind him, +Would I or not; tell him, I’ll none of it. +Desire him not to flatter with his lord, +Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him. +If that the youth will come this way tomorrow, +I’ll give him reasons for’t. Hie thee, Malvolio. + +MALVOLIO. +Madam, I will. + + [_Exit._] + +OLIVIA. +I do I know not what, and fear to find +Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. +Fate, show thy force, ourselves we do not owe. +What is decreed must be; and be this so! + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. The sea-coast. + + Enter Antonio and Sebastian. + +ANTONIO. +Will you stay no longer? Nor will you not that I go with you? + +SEBASTIAN. +By your patience, no; my stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of +my fate might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you +your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for +your love, to lay any of them on you. + +ANTONIO. +Let me know of you whither you are bound. + +SEBASTIAN. +No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere extravagancy. But I +perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will not +extort from me what I am willing to keep in. Therefore it charges me in +manners the rather to express myself. You must know of me then, +Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which I called Roderigo; my father was +that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard of. He left +behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens +had been pleased, would we had so ended! But you, sir, altered that, +for some hour before you took me from the breach of the sea was my +sister drowned. + +ANTONIO. +Alas the day! + +SEBASTIAN. +A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many +accounted beautiful. But though I could not with such estimable wonder +overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore +a mind that envy could not but call fair. She is drowned already, sir, +with salt water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with +more. + +ANTONIO. +Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. + +SEBASTIAN. +O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. + +ANTONIO. +If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. + +SEBASTIAN. +If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you +have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full +of kindness, and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon +the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to +the Count Orsino’s court: farewell. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTONIO. +The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! +I have many enemies in Orsino’s court, +Else would I very shortly see thee there: +But come what may, I do adore thee so, +That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. A street. + + Enter Viola; Malvolio at several doors. + +MALVOLIO. +Were you not even now with the Countess Olivia? + +VIOLA. +Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. + +MALVOLIO. +She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to +have taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put +your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him. And one +thing more, that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, +unless it be to report your lord’s taking of this. Receive it so. + +VIOLA. +She took the ring of me: I’ll none of it. + +MALVOLIO. +Come sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be +so returned. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if +not, be it his that finds it. + + [_Exit._] + +VIOLA. +I left no ring with her; what means this lady? +Fortune forbid my outside have not charm’d her! +She made good view of me, indeed, so much, +That methought her eyes had lost her tongue, +For she did speak in starts distractedly. +She loves me, sure, the cunning of her passion +Invites me in this churlish messenger. +None of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none. +I am the man; if it be so, as ’tis, +Poor lady, she were better love a dream. +Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness +Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. +How easy is it for the proper false +In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms! +Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we, +For such as we are made of, such we be. +How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly, +And I, poor monster, fond as much on him, +And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. +What will become of this? As I am man, +My state is desperate for my master’s love; +As I am woman (now alas the day!) +What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! +O time, thou must untangle this, not I, +It is too hard a knot for me t’untie! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A Room in Olivia’s House. + + Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. + +SIR TOBY. +Approach, Sir Andrew; not to be abed after midnight, is to be up +betimes; and _diluculo surgere_, thou know’st. + +SIR ANDREW. +Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late is to be up +late. + +SIR TOBY. +A false conclusion; I hate it as an unfilled can. To be up after +midnight, and to go to bed then is early: so that to go to bed after +midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not our lives consist of the +four elements? + +SIR ANDREW. +Faith, so they say, but I think it rather consists of eating and +drinking. + +SIR TOBY. +Th’art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. +Marian, I say! a stoup of wine. + + Enter Clown. + +SIR ANDREW. +Here comes the fool, i’ faith. + +CLOWN. +How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of “we three”? + +SIR TOBY. +Welcome, ass. Now let’s have a catch. + +SIR ANDREW. +By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty +shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool +has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou +spok’st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of +Queubus; ’twas very good, i’ faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman. +Hadst it? + +CLOWN. +I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio’s nose is no whipstock. My +lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. + +SIR ANDREW. +Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a +song. + +SIR TOBY. +Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s have a song. + +SIR ANDREW. +There’s a testril of me too: if one knight give a— + +CLOWN. +Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life? + +SIR TOBY. +A love-song, a love-song. + +SIR ANDREW. +Ay, ay. I care not for good life. + +CLOWN. [_sings._] + _O mistress mine, where are you roaming? + O stay and hear, your true love’s coming, + That can sing both high and low. + Trip no further, pretty sweeting. + Journeys end in lovers meeting, + Every wise man’s son doth know._ + +SIR ANDREW. +Excellent good, i’ faith. + +SIR TOBY. +Good, good. + +CLOWN. + _What is love? ’Tis not hereafter, + Present mirth hath present laughter. + What’s to come is still unsure. + In delay there lies no plenty, + Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. + Youth’s a stuff will not endure._ + +SIR ANDREW. +A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. + +SIR TOBY. +A contagious breath. + +SIR ANDREW. +Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith. + +SIR TOBY. +To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the +welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will +draw three souls out of one weaver? Shall we do that? + +SIR ANDREW. +And you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a catch. + +CLOWN. +By’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. + +SIR ANDREW. +Most certain. Let our catch be, “Thou knave.” + +CLOWN. +“Hold thy peace, thou knave” knight? I shall be constrain’d in’t to +call thee knave, knight. + +SIR ANDREW. +’Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, +fool; it begins “Hold thy peace.” + +CLOWN. +I shall never begin if I hold my peace. + +SIR ANDREW. +Good, i’ faith! Come, begin. + + [_Catch sung._] + + Enter Maria. + +MARIA. +What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her +steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. + +SIR TOBY. +My lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and +[_Sings._] _Three merry men be we._ Am not I consanguineous? Am I not +of her blood? Tilly-vally! “Lady”! _There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, +Lady._ + +CLOWN. +Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable fooling. + +SIR ANDREW. +Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I too; he does it +with a better grace, but I do it more natural. + +SIR TOBY. +[_Sings._] _O’ the twelfth day of December—_ + +MARIA. +For the love o’ God, peace! + + Enter Malvolio. + +MALVOLIO. +My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor +honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make +an ale-house of my lady’s house, that ye squeak out your coziers’ +catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect +of place, persons, nor time, in you? + +SIR TOBY. +We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! + +MALVOLIO. +Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you that, +though she harbours you as her kinsman she’s nothing allied to your +disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are +welcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take leave of +her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. + +SIR TOBY. +[_Sings._] _Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone._ + +MARIA. +Nay, good Sir Toby. + +CLOWN. +[_Sings._] _His eyes do show his days are almost done._ + +MALVOLIO. +Is’t even so? + +SIR TOBY. +[_Sings._] _But I will never die._ + +CLOWN. +[_Sings._] _Sir Toby, there you lie._ + +MALVOLIO. +This is much credit to you. + +SIR TOBY. +[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go?_ + +CLOWN. +[_Sings._] _What and if you do?_ + +SIR TOBY. +[_Sings._] _Shall I bid him go, and spare not?_ + +CLOWN. +[_Sings._] _O, no, no, no, no, you dare not._ + +SIR TOBY. +Out o’ tune? sir, ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think, +because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? + +CLOWN. +Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too. + +SIR TOBY. +Th’art i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. A stoup of +wine, Maria! + +MALVOLIO. +Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady’s favour at anything more than +contempt, you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall +know of it, by this hand. + + [_Exit._] + +MARIA. +Go shake your ears. + +SIR ANDREW. +’Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man’s a-hungry, to challenge +him the field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of +him. + +SIR TOBY. +Do’t, knight. I’ll write thee a challenge; or I’ll deliver thy +indignation to him by word of mouth. + +MARIA. +Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s +was today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur +Malvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword, +and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie +straight in my bed. I know I can do it. + +SIR TOBY. +Possess us, possess us, tell us something of him. + +MARIA. +Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. + +SIR ANDREW. +O, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a dog. + +SIR TOBY. +What, for being a Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight? + +SIR ANDREW. +I have no exquisite reason for’t, but I have reason good enough. + +MARIA. +The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a +time-pleaser, an affectioned ass that cons state without book and +utters it by great swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed +(as he thinks) with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith that +all that look on him love him. And on that vice in him will my revenge +find notable cause to work. + +SIR TOBY. +What wilt thou do? + +MARIA. +I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the +colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the +expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself +most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece; on +a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. + +SIR TOBY. +Excellent! I smell a device. + +SIR ANDREW. +I have’t in my nose too. + +SIR TOBY. +He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from +my niece, and that she is in love with him. + +MARIA. +My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour. + +SIR ANDREW. +And your horse now would make him an ass. + +MARIA. +Ass, I doubt not. + +SIR ANDREW. +O ’twill be admirable! + +MARIA. +Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will +plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the +letter. Observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, and +dream on the event. Farewell. + + [_Exit._] + +SIR TOBY. +Good night, Penthesilea. + +SIR ANDREW. +Before me, she’s a good wench. + +SIR TOBY. +She’s a beagle true bred, and one that adores me. What o’ that? + +SIR ANDREW. +I was adored once too. + +SIR TOBY. +Let’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money. + +SIR ANDREW. +If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. + +SIR TOBY. +Send for money, knight; if thou hast her not i’ th’ end, call me cut. + +SIR ANDREW. +If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. + +SIR TOBY. +Come, come, I’ll go burn some sack, ’tis too late to go to bed now. +Come, knight, come, knight. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Room in the Duke’s Palace. + + Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others. + +DUKE. +Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends. +Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, +That old and antique song we heard last night; +Methought it did relieve my passion much, +More than light airs and recollected terms +Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. +Come, but one verse. + +CURIO. +He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. + +DUKE. +Who was it? + +CURIO. +Feste, the jester, my lord, a fool that the Lady Olivia’s father took +much delight in. He is about the house. + +DUKE. +Seek him out, and play the tune the while. + + [_Exit Curio. Music plays._] + +Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, +In the sweet pangs of it remember me: +For such as I am, all true lovers are, +Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, +Save in the constant image of the creature +That is belov’d. How dost thou like this tune? + +VIOLA. +It gives a very echo to the seat +Where love is throned. + +DUKE. +Thou dost speak masterly. +My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine eye +Hath stayed upon some favour that it loves. +Hath it not, boy? + +VIOLA. +A little, by your favour. + +DUKE. +What kind of woman is’t? + +VIOLA. +Of your complexion. + +DUKE. +She is not worth thee, then. What years, i’ faith? + +VIOLA. +About your years, my lord. + +DUKE. +Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take +An elder than herself; so wears she to him, +So sways she level in her husband’s heart. +For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, +Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, +More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, +Than women’s are. + +VIOLA. +I think it well, my lord. + +DUKE. +Then let thy love be younger than thyself, +Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: +For women are as roses, whose fair flower +Being once display’d, doth fall that very hour. + +VIOLA. +And so they are: alas, that they are so; +To die, even when they to perfection grow! + + Enter Curio and Clown. + +DUKE. +O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. +Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain; +The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, +And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones +Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, +And dallies with the innocence of love +Like the old age. + +CLOWN. +Are you ready, sir? + +DUKE. +Ay; prithee, sing. + + [_Music._] + + The Clown’s song. + +_ Come away, come away, death. + And in sad cypress let me be laid. + Fly away, fly away, breath; + I am slain by a fair cruel maid. + My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, + O, prepare it! + My part of death no one so true + Did share it._ + +_ Not a flower, not a flower sweet, + On my black coffin let there be strown: + Not a friend, not a friend greet + My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown: + A thousand thousand sighs to save, + Lay me, O, where + Sad true lover never find my grave, + To weep there._ + +DUKE. +There’s for thy pains. + +CLOWN. +No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. + +DUKE. +I’ll pay thy pleasure, then. + +CLOWN. +Truly sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another. + +DUKE. +Give me now leave to leave thee. + +CLOWN. +Now the melancholy god protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of +changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of +such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and +their intent everywhere, for that’s it that always makes a good voyage +of nothing. Farewell. + + [_Exit Clown._] + +DUKE. +Let all the rest give place. + + [_Exeunt Curio and Attendants._] + +Once more, Cesario, +Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty. +Tell her my love, more noble than the world, +Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; +The parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon her, +Tell her I hold as giddily as fortune; +But ’tis that miracle and queen of gems +That nature pranks her in attracts my soul. + +VIOLA. +But if she cannot love you, sir? + +DUKE. +I cannot be so answer’d. + +VIOLA. +Sooth, but you must. +Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, +Hath for your love as great a pang of heart +As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; +You tell her so. Must she not then be answer’d? + +DUKE. +There is no woman’s sides +Can bide the beating of so strong a passion +As love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart +So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. +Alas, their love may be called appetite, +No motion of the liver, but the palate, +That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; +But mine is all as hungry as the sea, +And can digest as much. Make no compare +Between that love a woman can bear me +And that I owe Olivia. + +VIOLA. +Ay, but I know— + +DUKE. +What dost thou know? + +VIOLA. +Too well what love women to men may owe. +In faith, they are as true of heart as we. +My father had a daughter loved a man, +As it might be perhaps, were I a woman, +I should your lordship. + +DUKE. +And what’s her history? + +VIOLA. +A blank, my lord. She never told her love, +But let concealment, like a worm i’ th’ bud, +Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, +And with a green and yellow melancholy +She sat like patience on a monument, +Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? +We men may say more, swear more, but indeed, +Our shows are more than will; for still we prove +Much in our vows, but little in our love. + +DUKE. +But died thy sister of her love, my boy? + +VIOLA. +I am all the daughters of my father’s house, +And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. +Sir, shall I to this lady? + +DUKE. +Ay, that’s the theme. +To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say +My love can give no place, bide no denay. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Olivia’s garden. + + Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian. + +SIR TOBY. +Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. + +FABIAN. +Nay, I’ll come. If I lose a scruple of this sport, let me be boiled to +death with melancholy. + +SIR TOBY. +Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter +come by some notable shame? + +FABIAN. +I would exult, man. You know he brought me out o’ favour with my lady +about a bear-baiting here. + +SIR TOBY. +To anger him we’ll have the bear again, and we will fool him black and +blue, shall we not, Sir Andrew? + +SIR ANDREW. +And we do not, it is pity of our lives. + + Enter Maria. + +SIR TOBY. +Here comes the little villain. How now, my metal of India? + +MARIA. +Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio’s coming down this walk; +he has been yonder i’ the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow +this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I know this +letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of +jesting! [_The men hide themselves._] Lie thou there; [_Throws down a +letter_] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. + + [_Exit Maria._] + + Enter Malvolio. + +MALVOLIO. +’Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, +and I have heard herself come thus near, that should she fancy, it +should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more +exalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think +on’t? + +SIR TOBY. +Here’s an overweening rogue! + +FABIAN. +O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets +under his advanced plumes! + +SIR ANDREW. +’Slight, I could so beat the rogue! + +SIR TOBY. +Peace, I say. + +MALVOLIO. +To be Count Malvolio. + +SIR TOBY. +Ah, rogue! + +SIR ANDREW. +Pistol him, pistol him. + +SIR TOBY. +Peace, peace. + +MALVOLIO. +There is example for’t. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of +the wardrobe. + +SIR ANDREW. +Fie on him, Jezebel! + +FABIAN. +O, peace! now he’s deeply in; look how imagination blows him. + +MALVOLIO. +Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state— + +SIR TOBY. +O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye! + +MALVOLIO. +Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown; having come +from a day-bed, where I have left Olivia sleeping. + +SIR TOBY. +Fire and brimstone! + +FABIAN. +O, peace, peace. + +MALVOLIO. +And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of +regard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs, +to ask for my kinsman Toby. + +SIR TOBY. +Bolts and shackles! + +FABIAN. +O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now. + +MALVOLIO. +Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown +the while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with some rich +jewel. Toby approaches; curtsies there to me— + +SIR TOBY. +Shall this fellow live? + +FABIAN. +Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace! + +MALVOLIO. +I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an +austere regard of control— + +SIR TOBY. +And does not Toby take you a blow o’ the lips then? + +MALVOLIO. +Saying ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me +this prerogative of speech—’ + +SIR TOBY. +What, what? + +MALVOLIO. +‘You must amend your drunkenness.’ + +SIR TOBY. +Out, scab! + +FABIAN. +Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. + +MALVOLIO. +‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—’ + +SIR ANDREW. +That’s me, I warrant you. + +MALVOLIO. +‘One Sir Andrew.’ + +SIR ANDREW. +I knew ’twas I, for many do call me fool. + +MALVOLIO. +[_Taking up the letter._] What employment have we here? + +FABIAN. +Now is the woodcock near the gin. + +SIR TOBY. +O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him! + +MALVOLIO. +By my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and +her T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s. It is in contempt of +question, her hand. + +SIR ANDREW. +Her C’s, her U’s, and her T’s. Why that? + +MALVOLIO. +[_Reads._] _To the unknown beloved, this, and my good wishes._ Her very +phrases! By your leave, wax. Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with +which she uses to seal: ’tis my lady. To whom should this be? + +FABIAN. +This wins him, liver and all. + +MALVOLIO. +[_Reads._] +_ Jove knows I love, + But who? + Lips, do not move, + No man must know._ + +‘No man must know.’ What follows? The numbers alter’d! ‘No man must +know.’—If this should be thee, Malvolio? + +SIR TOBY. +Marry, hang thee, brock! + +MALVOLIO. +_ I may command where I adore, + But silence, like a Lucrece knife, + With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; + M.O.A.I. doth sway my life._ + +FABIAN. +A fustian riddle! + +SIR TOBY. +Excellent wench, say I. + +MALVOLIO. +‘M.O.A.I. doth sway my life.’—Nay, but first let me see, let me see, +let me see. + +FABIAN. +What dish o’ poison has she dressed him! + +SIR TOBY. +And with what wing the staniel checks at it! + +MALVOLIO. +‘I may command where I adore.’ Why, she may command me: I serve her, +she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There is +no obstruction in this. And the end—what should that alphabetical +position portend? If I could make that resemble something in me! +Softly! ‘M.O.A.I.’— + +SIR TOBY. +O, ay, make up that:—he is now at a cold scent. + +FABIAN. +Sowter will cry upon’t for all this, though it be as rank as a fox. + +MALVOLIO. +‘M’—Malvolio; ‘M!’ Why, that begins my name! + +FABIAN. +Did not I say he would work it out? The cur is excellent at faults. + +MALVOLIO. +‘M’—But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under +probation: ‘A’ should follow, but ‘O’ does. + +FABIAN. +And ‘O’ shall end, I hope. + +SIR TOBY. +Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him cry ‘O!’ + +MALVOLIO. +And then ‘I’ comes behind. + +FABIAN. +Ay, and you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at +your heels than fortunes before you. + +MALVOLIO. +‘M.O.A.I.’ This simulation is not as the former: and yet, to crush this +a little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my +name. Soft, here follows prose. +[_Reads._] _If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above +thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve +greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy fates open +their hands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them. And, to inure +thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear +fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. Let thy tongue +tang arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity. She +thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy +yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say, +remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let +me see thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to +touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services with +thee, + The Fortunate Unhappy._ + +Daylight and champian discovers not more! This is open. I will be +proud, I will read politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash +off gross acquaintance, I will be point-device, the very man. I do not +now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites +to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of +late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered, and in this she +manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction, drives me +to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be +strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the +swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!—Here is yet a +postscript. [_Reads._] _Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If +thou entertain’st my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles +become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, +I prithee._ Jove, I thank thee. I will smile, I will do everything that +thou wilt have me. + + [_Exit._] + +FABIAN. +I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be +paid from the Sophy. + +SIR TOBY. +I could marry this wench for this device. + +SIR ANDREW. +So could I too. + +SIR TOBY. +And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest. + + Enter Maria. + +SIR ANDREW. +Nor I neither. + +FABIAN. +Here comes my noble gull-catcher. + +SIR TOBY. +Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck? + +SIR ANDREW. +Or o’ mine either? + +SIR TOBY. +Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave? + +SIR ANDREW. +I’ faith, or I either? + +SIR TOBY. +Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it +leaves him he must run mad. + +MARIA. +Nay, but say true, does it work upon him? + +SIR TOBY. +Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. + +MARIA. +If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach +before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and ’tis a +colour she abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he +will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her +disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot +but turn him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me. + +SIR TOBY. +To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! + +SIR ANDREW. +I’ll make one too. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. Olivia’s garden. + + Enter Viola and Clown with a tabor. + +VIOLA. +Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor? + +CLOWN. +No, sir, I live by the church. + +VIOLA. +Art thou a churchman? + +CLOWN. +No such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my +house, and my house doth stand by the church. + +VIOLA. +So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near +him; or the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the +church. + +CLOWN. +You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev’ril glove +to a good wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turned outward! + +VIOLA. +Nay, that’s certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make +them wanton. + +CLOWN. +I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir. + +VIOLA. +Why, man? + +CLOWN. +Why, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my +sister wanton. But indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds +disgraced them. + +VIOLA. +Thy reason, man? + +CLOWN. +Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so +false, I am loath to prove reason with them. + +VIOLA. +I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car’st for nothing. + +CLOWN. +Not so, sir, I do care for something. But in my conscience, sir, I do +not care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would +make you invisible. + +VIOLA. +Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool? + +CLOWN. +No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly. She will keep no fool, +sir, till she be married, and fools are as like husbands as pilchards +are to herrings, the husband’s the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, +but her corrupter of words. + +VIOLA. +I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s. + +CLOWN. +Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines +everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with +your master as with my mistress. I think I saw your wisdom there. + +VIOLA. +Nay, and thou pass upon me, I’ll no more with thee. Hold, there’s +expenses for thee. + +CLOWN. +Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! + +VIOLA. +By my troth, I’ll tell thee, I am almost sick for one, though I would +not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within? + +CLOWN. +Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? + +VIOLA. +Yes, being kept together, and put to use. + +CLOWN. +I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this +Troilus. + +VIOLA. +I understand you, sir; ’tis well begged. + +CLOWN. +The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Cressida +was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will conster to them whence you +come; who you are and what you would are out of my welkin. I might say +“element”, but the word is overworn. + + [_Exit._] + +VIOLA. +This fellow is wise enough to play the fool, +And to do that well, craves a kind of wit: +He must observe their mood on whom he jests, +The quality of persons, and the time, +And like the haggard, check at every feather +That comes before his eye. This is a practice +As full of labour as a wise man’s art: +For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; +But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their wit. + + Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. + +SIR TOBY. +Save you, gentleman. + +VIOLA. +And you, sir. + +SIR ANDREW. +_Dieu vous garde, monsieur._ + +VIOLA. +_Et vous aussi; votre serviteur._ + +SIR ANDREW. +I hope, sir, you are, and I am yours. + +SIR TOBY. +Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if +your trade be to her. + +VIOLA. +I am bound to your niece, sir, I mean, she is the list of my voyage. + +SIR TOBY. +Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. + +VIOLA. +My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean +by bidding me taste my legs. + +SIR TOBY. +I mean, to go, sir, to enter. + +VIOLA. +I will answer you with gait and entrance: but we are prevented. + + Enter Olivia and Maria. + +Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain odours on you! + +SIR ANDREW. +That youth’s a rare courtier. ‘Rain odours,’ well. + +VIOLA. +My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your own most pregnant and +vouchsafed car. + +SIR ANDREW. +‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed.’—I’ll get ’em all three ready. + +OLIVIA. +Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. + + [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Maria._] + +Give me your hand, sir. + +VIOLA. +My duty, madam, and most humble service. + +OLIVIA. +What is your name? + +VIOLA. +Cesario is your servant’s name, fair princess. + +OLIVIA. +My servant, sir! ’Twas never merry world, +Since lowly feigning was call’d compliment: +Y’are servant to the Count Orsino, youth. + +VIOLA. +And he is yours, and his must needs be yours. +Your servant’s servant is your servant, madam. + +OLIVIA. +For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, +Would they were blanks rather than fill’d with me! + +VIOLA. +Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts +On his behalf. + +OLIVIA. +O, by your leave, I pray you. +I bade you never speak again of him. +But would you undertake another suit, +I had rather hear you to solicit that +Than music from the spheres. + +VIOLA. +Dear lady— + +OLIVIA. +Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, +After the last enchantment you did here, +A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse +Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you. +Under your hard construction must I sit; +To force that on you in a shameful cunning, +Which you knew none of yours. What might you think? +Have you not set mine honour at the stake, +And baited it with all th’ unmuzzled thoughts +That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving +Enough is shown. A cypress, not a bosom, +Hides my heart: so let me hear you speak. + +VIOLA. +I pity you. + +OLIVIA. +That’s a degree to love. + +VIOLA. +No, not a grize; for ’tis a vulgar proof +That very oft we pity enemies. + +OLIVIA. +Why then methinks ’tis time to smile again. +O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! +If one should be a prey, how much the better +To fall before the lion than the wolf! [_Clock strikes._] +The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. +Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you. +And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, +Your wife is like to reap a proper man. +There lies your way, due west. + +VIOLA. +Then westward ho! +Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship! +You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? + +OLIVIA. +Stay: +I prithee tell me what thou think’st of me. + +VIOLA. +That you do think you are not what you are. + +OLIVIA. +If I think so, I think the same of you. + +VIOLA. +Then think you right; I am not what I am. + +OLIVIA. +I would you were as I would have you be. + +VIOLA. +Would it be better, madam, than I am? +I wish it might, for now I am your fool. + +OLIVIA. +O what a deal of scorn looks beautiful +In the contempt and anger of his lip! +A murd’rous guilt shows not itself more soon +Than love that would seem hid. Love’s night is noon. +Cesario, by the roses of the spring, +By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything, +I love thee so, that maugre all thy pride, +Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. +Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, +For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; +But rather reason thus with reason fetter: +Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. + +VIOLA. +By innocence I swear, and by my youth, +I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, +And that no woman has; nor never none +Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. +And so adieu, good madam; never more +Will I my master’s tears to you deplore. + +OLIVIA. +Yet come again: for thou perhaps mayst move +That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House. + + Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian. + +SIR ANDREW. +No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer. + +SIR TOBY. +Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. + +FABIAN. +You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. + +SIR ANDREW. +Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count’s servingman than +ever she bestowed upon me; I saw’t i’ th’ orchard. + +SIR TOBY. +Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that. + +SIR ANDREW. +As plain as I see you now. + +FABIAN. +This was a great argument of love in her toward you. + +SIR ANDREW. +’Slight! will you make an ass o’ me? + +FABIAN. +I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. + +SIR TOBY. +And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor. + +FABIAN. +She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, +to awake your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone +in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some +excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the +youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and this was +balked: the double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and +you are now sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion; where you will +hang like an icicle on Dutchman’s beard, unless you do redeem it by +some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy. + +SIR ANDREW. +And’t be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as +lief be a Brownist as a politician. + +SIR TOBY. +Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me +the Count’s youth to fight with him. Hurt him in eleven places; my +niece shall take note of it, and assure thyself there is no love-broker +in the world can more prevail in man’s commendation with woman than +report of valour. + +FABIAN. +There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. + +SIR ANDREW. +Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? + +SIR TOBY. +Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; it is no matter how +witty, so it be eloquent and full of invention. Taunt him with the +licence of ink. If thou ‘thou’st’ him some thrice, it shall not be +amiss, and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the +sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set ’em down. Go +about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a +goose-pen, no matter. About it. + +SIR ANDREW. +Where shall I find you? + +SIR TOBY. +We’ll call thee at the cubiculo. Go. + + [_Exit Sir Andrew._] + +FABIAN. +This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby. + +SIR TOBY. +I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand strong, or so. + +FABIAN. +We shall have a rare letter from him; but you’ll not deliver it. + +SIR TOBY. +Never trust me then. And by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I +think oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he +were opened and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the +foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of th’ anatomy. + +FABIAN. +And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of +cruelty. + + Enter Maria. + +SIR TOBY. +Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. + +MARIA. +If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, +follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for +there is no Christian that means to be saved by believing rightly can +ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. He’s in yellow +stockings. + +SIR TOBY. +And cross-gartered? + +MARIA. +Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i’ th’ church. I +have dogged him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the +letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more +lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies. You +have not seen such a thing as ’tis. I can hardly forbear hurling +things at him. I know my lady will strike him. If she do, he’ll smile +and take’t for a great favour. + +SIR TOBY. +Come, bring us, bring us where he is. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A street. + + Enter Sebastian and Antonio. + +SEBASTIAN. +I would not by my will have troubled you, +But since you make your pleasure of your pains, +I will no further chide you. + +ANTONIO. +I could not stay behind you: my desire, +More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; +And not all love to see you, though so much, +As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, +But jealousy what might befall your travel, +Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, +Unguided and unfriended, often prove +Rough and unhospitable. My willing love, +The rather by these arguments of fear, +Set forth in your pursuit. + +SEBASTIAN. +My kind Antonio, +I can no other answer make but thanks, +And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns +Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay. +But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, +You should find better dealing. What’s to do? +Shall we go see the relics of this town? + +ANTONIO. +Tomorrow, sir; best first go see your lodging. + +SEBASTIAN. +I am not weary, and ’tis long to night; +I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes +With the memorials and the things of fame +That do renown this city. + +ANTONIO. +Would you’d pardon me. +I do not without danger walk these streets. +Once in a sea-fight, ’gainst the Count his galleys, +I did some service, of such note indeed, +That were I ta’en here, it would scarce be answer’d. + +SEBASTIAN. +Belike you slew great number of his people. + +ANTONIO. +Th’ offence is not of such a bloody nature, +Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel +Might well have given us bloody argument. +It might have since been answered in repaying +What we took from them, which for traffic’s sake, +Most of our city did. Only myself stood out, +For which, if I be lapsed in this place, +I shall pay dear. + +SEBASTIAN. +Do not then walk too open. + +ANTONIO. +It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my purse. +In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, +Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet +Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge +With viewing of the town. There shall you have me. + +SEBASTIAN. +Why I your purse? + +ANTONIO. +Haply your eye shall light upon some toy +You have desire to purchase; and your store, +I think, is not for idle markets, sir. + +SEBASTIAN. +I’ll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for an hour. + +ANTONIO. +To th’ Elephant. + +SEBASTIAN. +I do remember. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Olivia’s garden. + + Enter Olivia and Maria. + +OLIVIA. +I have sent after him. He says he’ll come; +How shall I feast him? What bestow of him? +For youth is bought more oft than begg’d or borrow’d. +I speak too loud.— +Where’s Malvolio?—He is sad and civil, +And suits well for a servant with my fortunes; +Where is Malvolio? + +MARIA. +He’s coming, madam: +But in very strange manner. He is sure possessed, madam. + +OLIVIA. +Why, what’s the matter? Does he rave? + +MARIA. +No, madam, he does nothing but smile: your ladyship were best to have +some guard about you if he come, for sure the man is tainted in ’s +wits. + +OLIVIA. +Go call him hither. I’m as mad as he, +If sad and merry madness equal be. + + Enter Malvolio. + +How now, Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +Sweet lady, ho, ho! + +OLIVIA. +Smil’st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. + +MALVOLIO. +Sad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the +blood, this cross-gartering. But what of that? If it please the eye of +one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: ‘Please one and please +all.’ + +OLIVIA. +Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee? + +MALVOLIO. +Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his +hands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet +Roman hand. + +OLIVIA. +Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I’ll come to thee. + +OLIVIA. +God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft? + +MARIA. +How do you, Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws! + +MARIA. +Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady? + +MALVOLIO. +‘Be not afraid of greatness.’ ’Twas well writ. + +OLIVIA. +What mean’st thou by that, Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +‘Some are born great’— + +OLIVIA. +Ha? + +MALVOLIO. +‘Some achieve greatness’— + +OLIVIA. +What say’st thou? + +MALVOLIO. +‘And some have greatness thrust upon them.’ + +OLIVIA. +Heaven restore thee! + +MALVOLIO. +‘Remember who commended thy yellow stockings’— + +OLIVIA. +Thy yellow stockings? + +MALVOLIO. +‘And wished to see thee cross-gartered.’ + +OLIVIA. +Cross-gartered? + +MALVOLIO. +‘Go to: thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so:’— + +OLIVIA. +Am I made? + +MALVOLIO. +‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’ + +OLIVIA. +Why, this is very midsummer madness. + + Enter Servant. + +SERVANT. +Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino’s is returned; I could +hardly entreat him back. He attends your ladyship’s pleasure. + +OLIVIA. +I’ll come to him. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? Let +some of my people have a special care of him; I would not have him +miscarry for the half of my dowry. + + [_Exeunt Olivia and Maria._] + +MALVOLIO. +O ho, do you come near me now? No worse man than Sir Toby to look to +me. This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, +that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the +letter. ‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she; ‘be opposite with a +kinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments of +state, put thyself into the trick of singularity,’ and consequently, +sets down the manner how: as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow +tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed +her, but it is Jove’s doing, and Jove make me thankful! And when she +went away now, ‘Let this fellow be looked to;’ ‘Fellow!’ not +‘Malvolio’, nor after my degree, but ‘fellow’. Why, everything adheres +together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no +obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance. What can be said? +Nothing that can be can come between me and the full prospect of my +hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. + + Enter Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria. + +SIR TOBY. +Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be +drawn in little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet I’ll speak to +him. + +FABIAN. +Here he is, here he is. How is’t with you, sir? How is’t with you, man? + +MALVOLIO. +Go off, I discard you. Let me enjoy my private. Go off. + +MARIA. +Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir +Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. + +MALVOLIO. +Ah, ha! does she so? + +SIR TOBY. +Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him. Let me alone. +How do you, Malvolio? How is’t with you? What, man! defy the devil! +Consider, he’s an enemy to mankind. + +MALVOLIO. +Do you know what you say? + +MARIA. +La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray +God he be not bewitched. + +FABIAN. +Carry his water to th’ wise woman. + +MARIA. +Marry, and it shall be done tomorrow morning, if I live. My lady would +not lose him for more than I’ll say. + +MALVOLIO. +How now, mistress! + +MARIA. +O Lord! + +SIR TOBY. +Prithee hold thy peace, this is not the way. Do you not see you move +him? Let me alone with him. + +FABIAN. +No way but gentleness, gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not +be roughly used. + +SIR TOBY. +Why, how now, my bawcock? How dost thou, chuck? + +MALVOLIO. +Sir! + +SIR TOBY. +Ay, biddy, come with me. What, man, ’tis not for gravity to play at +cherry-pit with Satan. Hang him, foul collier! + +MARIA. +Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray. + +MALVOLIO. +My prayers, minx? + +MARIA. +No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness. + +MALVOLIO. +Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle, shallow things. I am not of your +element. You shall know more hereafter. + + [_Exit._] + +SIR TOBY. +Is’t possible? + +FABIAN. +If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an +improbable fiction. + +SIR TOBY. +His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man. + +MARIA. +Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint. + +FABIAN. +Why, we shall make him mad indeed. + +MARIA. +The house will be the quieter. + +SIR TOBY. +Come, we’ll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in +the belief that he’s mad. We may carry it thus for our pleasure, and +his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to +have mercy on him, at which time we will bring the device to the bar, +and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see! + + Enter Sir Andrew. + +FABIAN. +More matter for a May morning. + +SIR ANDREW. +Here’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper +in’t. + +FABIAN. +Is’t so saucy? + +SIR ANDREW. +Ay, is’t, I warrant him. Do but read. + +SIR TOBY. +Give me. [_Reads._] _Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy +fellow._ + +FABIAN. +Good, and valiant. + +SIR TOBY. +_Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I +will show thee no reason for’t._ + +FABIAN. +A good note, that keeps you from the blow of the law. + +SIR TOBY. +_Thou comest to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly: +but thou liest in thy throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee +for._ + +FABIAN. +Very brief, and to exceeding good sense—less. + +SIR TOBY. +_I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me—_ + +FABIAN. +Good. + +SIR TOBY. +_Thou kill’st me like a rogue and a villain._ + +FABIAN. +Still you keep o’ th’ windy side of the law. Good. + +SIR TOBY. +_Fare thee well, and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have +mercy upon mine, but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy +friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, + Andrew Aguecheek._ +If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I’ll give’t him. + +MARIA. +You may have very fit occasion for’t. He is now in some commerce with +my lady, and will by and by depart. + +SIR TOBY. +Go, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a +bum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw, and as thou draw’st, +swear horrible, for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a +swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation +than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away. + +SIR ANDREW. +Nay, let me alone for swearing. + + [_Exit._] + +SIR TOBY. +Now will not I deliver his letter, for the behaviour of the young +gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and breeding; his +employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore +this letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the +youth. He will find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver +his challenge by word of mouth, set upon Aguecheek notable report of +valour, and drive the gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receive +it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and +impetuosity. This will so fright them both that they will kill one +another by the look, like cockatrices. + + Enter Olivia and Viola. + +FABIAN. +Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and +presently after him. + +SIR TOBY. +I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge. + + [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian and Maria._] + +OLIVIA. +I have said too much unto a heart of stone, +And laid mine honour too unchary on’t: +There’s something in me that reproves my fault: +But such a headstrong potent fault it is, +That it but mocks reproof. + +VIOLA. +With the same ’haviour that your passion bears +Goes on my master’s griefs. + +OLIVIA. +Here, wear this jewel for me, ’tis my picture. +Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you. +And I beseech you come again tomorrow. +What shall you ask of me that I’ll deny, +That honour sav’d, may upon asking give? + +VIOLA. +Nothing but this, your true love for my master. + +OLIVIA. +How with mine honour may I give him that +Which I have given to you? + +VIOLA. +I will acquit you. + +OLIVIA. +Well, come again tomorrow. Fare thee well; +A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Sir Toby and Fabian. + +SIR TOBY. +Gentleman, God save thee. + +VIOLA. +And you, sir. + +SIR TOBY. +That defence thou hast, betake thee to’t. Of what nature the wrongs are +thou hast done him, I know not, but thy intercepter, full of despite, +bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. Dismount thy +tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, +and deadly. + +VIOLA. +You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me. My +remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to +any man. + +SIR TOBY. +You’ll find it otherwise, I assure you. Therefore, if you hold your +life at any price, betake you to your guard, for your opposite hath in +him what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal. + +VIOLA. +I pray you, sir, what is he? + +SIR TOBY. +He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier, and on carpet +consideration, but he is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies +hath he divorced three, and his incensement at this moment is so +implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and +sepulchre. Hob, nob is his word; give’t or take’t. + +VIOLA. +I will return again into the house and desire some conduct of the lady. +I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of men that put quarrels +purposely on others to taste their valour: belike this is a man of that +quirk. + +SIR TOBY. +Sir, no. His indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury; +therefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to +the house, unless you undertake that with me which with as much safety +you might answer him. Therefore on, or strip your sword stark naked, +for meddle you must, that’s certain, or forswear to wear iron about +you. + +VIOLA. +This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous +office, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is. It is +something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. + +SIR TOBY. +I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my +return. + + [_Exit Sir Toby._] + +VIOLA. +Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? + +FABIAN. +I know the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal +arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstance more. + +VIOLA. +I beseech you, what manner of man is he? + +FABIAN. +Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are +like to find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the +most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could possibly have +found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk towards him? I will make +your peace with him if I can. + +VIOLA. +I shall be much bound to you for’t. I am one that had rather go with +sir priest than sir knight: I care not who knows so much of my mettle. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. + +SIR TOBY. +Why, man, he’s a very devil. I have not seen such a firago. I had a +pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in +with such a mortal motion that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he +pays you as surely as your feet hits the ground they step on. They say +he has been fencer to the Sophy. + +SIR ANDREW. +Pox on’t, I’ll not meddle with him. + +SIR TOBY. +Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. + +SIR ANDREW. +Plague on’t, an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, +I’d have seen him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let him let the +matter slip, and I’ll give him my horse, grey Capilet. + +SIR TOBY. +I’ll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on’t. This shall end +without the perdition of souls. [_Aside._] Marry, I’ll ride your horse +as well as I ride you. + + Enter Fabian and Viola. + +[_To Fabian._] I have his horse to take up the quarrel. I have +persuaded him the youth’s a devil. + +FABIAN. +He is as horribly conceited of him, and pants and looks pale, as if a +bear were at his heels. + +SIR TOBY. +There’s no remedy, sir, he will fight with you for’s oath sake. Marry, +he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now +scarce to be worth talking of. Therefore, draw for the supportance of +his vow; he protests he will not hurt you. + +VIOLA. +[_Aside._] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them +how much I lack of a man. + +FABIAN. +Give ground if you see him furious. + +SIR TOBY. +Come, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, the gentleman will for his +honour’s sake have one bout with you. He cannot by the duello avoid it; +but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not +hurt you. Come on: to’t. + +SIR ANDREW. +[_Draws._] Pray God he keep his oath! + + Enter Antonio. + +VIOLA. +[_Draws._] I do assure you ’tis against my will. + +ANTONIO. +Put up your sword. If this young gentleman +Have done offence, I take the fault on me. +If you offend him, I for him defy you. + +SIR TOBY. +You, sir? Why, what are you? + +ANTONIO. +[_Draws._] One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more +Than you have heard him brag to you he will. + +SIR TOBY. +[_Draws._] Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you. + + Enter Officers. + +FABIAN. +O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers. + +SIR TOBY. +[_To Antonio._] I’ll be with you anon. + +VIOLA. +[_To Sir Andrew._] Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please. + +SIR ANDREW. +Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promised you, I’ll be as good as my +word. He will bear you easily, and reins well. + +FIRST OFFICER. +This is the man; do thy office. + +SECOND OFFICER. +Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit +Of Count Orsino. + +ANTONIO. +You do mistake me, sir. + +FIRST OFFICER. +No, sir, no jot. I know your favour well, +Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.— +Take him away, he knows I know him well. + +ANTONIO. +I must obey. This comes with seeking you; +But there’s no remedy, I shall answer it. +What will you do? Now my necessity +Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves me +Much more for what I cannot do for you, +Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d, +But be of comfort. + +SECOND OFFICER. +Come, sir, away. + +ANTONIO. +I must entreat of you some of that money. + +VIOLA. +What money, sir? +For the fair kindness you have show’d me here, +And part being prompted by your present trouble, +Out of my lean and low ability +I’ll lend you something. My having is not much; +I’ll make division of my present with you. +Hold, there’s half my coffer. + +ANTONIO. +Will you deny me now? +Is’t possible that my deserts to you +Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, +Lest that it make me so unsound a man +As to upbraid you with those kindnesses +That I have done for you. + +VIOLA. +I know of none, +Nor know I you by voice or any feature. +I hate ingratitude more in a man +Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, +Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption +Inhabits our frail blood. + +ANTONIO. +O heavens themselves! + +SECOND OFFICER. +Come, sir, I pray you go. + +ANTONIO. +Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here +I snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death, +Reliev’d him with such sanctity of love; +And to his image, which methought did promise +Most venerable worth, did I devotion. + +FIRST OFFICER. +What’s that to us? The time goes by. Away! + +ANTONIO. +But O how vile an idol proves this god! +Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. +In nature there’s no blemish but the mind; +None can be call’d deform’d but the unkind. +Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil +Are empty trunks, o’erflourished by the devil. + +FIRST OFFICER. +The man grows mad, away with him. Come, come, sir. + +ANTONIO. +Lead me on. + + [_Exeunt Officers with Antonio._] + +VIOLA. +Methinks his words do from such passion fly +That he believes himself; so do not I. +Prove true, imagination, O prove true, +That I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you! + +SIR TOBY. +Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian. We’ll whisper o’er a couplet +or two of most sage saws. + +VIOLA. +He nam’d Sebastian. I my brother know +Yet living in my glass; even such and so +In favour was my brother, and he went +Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, +For him I imitate. O if it prove, +Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! + + [_Exit._] + +SIR TOBY. +A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare. His +dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying +him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. + +FABIAN. +A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it. + +SIR ANDREW. +’Slid, I’ll after him again and beat him. + +SIR TOBY. +Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. + +SIR ANDREW. +And I do not— + + [_Exit._] + +FABIAN. +Come, let’s see the event. + +SIR TOBY. +I dare lay any money ’twill be nothing yet. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House. + + Enter Sebastian and Clown. + +CLOWN. +Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you? + +SEBASTIAN. +Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow. +Let me be clear of thee. + +CLOWN. +Well held out, i’ faith! No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to +you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not +Master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so, is +so. + +SEBASTIAN. +I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else, +Thou know’st not me. + +CLOWN. +Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now +applies it to a fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the +world, will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and +tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art +coming? + +SEBASTIAN. +I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me. +There’s money for thee; if you tarry longer +I shall give worse payment. + +CLOWN. +By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools +money get themselves a good report—after fourteen years’ purchase. + + Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby and Fabian. + +SIR ANDREW. +Now sir, have I met you again? There’s for you. + + [_Striking Sebastian._] + +SEBASTIAN. +Why, there’s for thee, and there, and there. +Are all the people mad? + + [_Beating Sir Andrew._] + +SIR TOBY. +Hold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er the house. + +CLOWN. +This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of your coats +for twopence. + + [_Exit Clown._] + +SIR TOBY. +Come on, sir, hold! + +SIR ANDREW. +Nay, let him alone, I’ll go another way to work with him. I’ll have an +action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria. Though I +struck him first, yet it’s no matter for that. + +SEBASTIAN. +Let go thy hand! + +SIR TOBY. +Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your +iron: you are well fleshed. Come on. + +SEBASTIAN. +I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? +If thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy sword. + + [_Draws._] + +SIR TOBY. +What, what? Nay, then, I must have an ounce or two of this malapert +blood from you. + + [_Draws._] + + Enter Olivia. + +OLIVIA. +Hold, Toby! On thy life I charge thee hold! + +SIR TOBY. +Madam. + +OLIVIA. +Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, +Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, +Where manners ne’er were preach’d! Out of my sight! +Be not offended, dear Cesario. +Rudesby, be gone! + + [_Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew and Fabian._] + +I prithee, gentle friend, +Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway +In this uncivil and unjust extent +Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, +And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks +This ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou thereby +Mayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go. +Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me, +He started one poor heart of mine, in thee. + +SEBASTIAN. +What relish is in this? How runs the stream? +Or I am mad, or else this is a dream. +Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; +If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep! + +OLIVIA. +Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou’dst be ruled by me! + +SEBASTIAN. +Madam, I will. + +OLIVIA. +O, say so, and so be! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Room in Olivia’s House. + + Enter Maria and Clown. + +MARIA. +Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou +art Sir Topas the curate. Do it quickly. I’ll call Sir Toby the whilst. + + [_Exit Maria._] + +CLOWN. +Well, I’ll put it on, and I will dissemble myself in’t, and I would I +were the first that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall +enough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a +good student, but to be said, an honest man and a good housekeeper goes +as fairly as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors +enter. + + Enter Sir Toby and Maria. + +SIR TOBY. +Jove bless thee, Master Parson. + +CLOWN. +_Bonos dies_, Sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw +pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, ‘That that +is, is’: so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for what is +‘that’ but ‘that’? and ‘is’ but ‘is’? + +SIR TOBY. +To him, Sir Topas. + +CLOWN. +What ho, I say! Peace in this prison! + +SIR TOBY. +The knave counterfeits well. A good knave. + +Malvolio within. + +MALVOLIO. +Who calls there? + +CLOWN. +Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic. + +MALVOLIO. +Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady. + +CLOWN. +Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? Talkest thou nothing +but of ladies? + +SIR TOBY. +Well said, Master Parson. + +MALVOLIO. +Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I +am mad. They have laid me here in hideous darkness. + +CLOWN. +Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most modest terms, for I +am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil himself with +courtesy. Say’st thou that house is dark? + +MALVOLIO. +As hell, Sir Topas. + +CLOWN. +Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the +clerestories toward the south-north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet +complainest thou of obstruction? + +MALVOLIO. +I am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark. + +CLOWN. +Madman, thou errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance, in which +thou art more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. + +MALVOLIO. +I say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark +as hell; and I say there was never man thus abused. I am no more mad +than you are. Make the trial of it in any constant question. + +CLOWN. +What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl? + +MALVOLIO. +That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird. + +CLOWN. +What think’st thou of his opinion? + +MALVOLIO. +I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion. + +CLOWN. +Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness. Thou shalt hold the +opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a +woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well. + +MALVOLIO. +Sir Topas, Sir Topas! + +SIR TOBY. +My most exquisite Sir Topas! + +CLOWN. +Nay, I am for all waters. + +MARIA. +Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown. He sees thee +not. + +SIR TOBY. +To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find’st him. I +would we were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently +delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offence with my +niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. +Come by and by to my chamber. + + [_Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria._] + +CLOWN. +[_Singing._] + _Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, + Tell me how thy lady does._ + +MALVOLIO. +Fool! + +CLOWN. + _My lady is unkind, perdy._ + +MALVOLIO. +Fool! + +CLOWN. + _Alas, why is she so?_ + +MALVOLIO. +Fool, I say! + +CLOWN. + _She loves another_— +Who calls, ha? + +MALVOLIO. +Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a +candle, and pen, ink, and paper. As I am a gentleman, I will live to be +thankful to thee for’t. + +CLOWN. +Master Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +Ay, good fool. + +CLOWN. +Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? + +MALVOLIO. +Fool, there was never man so notoriously abused. I am as well in my +wits, fool, as thou art. + +CLOWN. +But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits +than a fool. + +MALVOLIO. +They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to +me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits. + +CLOWN. +Advise you what you say: the minister is here. [_As Sir Topas_] +Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore. Endeavour thyself to +sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble. + +MALVOLIO. +Sir Topas! + +CLOWN. +[_As Sir Topas_] Maintain no words with him, good fellow. [_As +himself_] Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God buy you, good Sir Topas. [_As +Sir Topas_] Marry, amen. [_As himself_] I will sir, I will. + +MALVOLIO. +Fool, fool, fool, I say! + +CLOWN. +Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to +you. + +MALVOLIO. +Good fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as +well in my wits as any man in Illyria. + +CLOWN. +Well-a-day that you were, sir! + +MALVOLIO. +By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey +what I will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever +the bearing of letter did. + +CLOWN. +I will help you to’t. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed? or do +you but counterfeit? + +MALVOLIO. +Believe me, I am not. I tell thee true. + +CLOWN. +Nay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch +you light, and paper, and ink. + +MALVOLIO. +Fool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: I prithee be gone. + +CLOWN. +[_Singing._] + _I am gone, sir, and anon, sir, + I’ll be with you again, + In a trice, like to the old Vice, + Your need to sustain; + Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath, + Cries ‘ah, ha!’ to the devil: + Like a mad lad, ‘Pare thy nails, dad. + Adieu, goodman devil.’_ + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. Olivia’s Garden. + + Enter Sebastian. + +SEBASTIAN. +This is the air; that is the glorious sun, +This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t, +And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus, +Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then? +I could not find him at the Elephant, +Yet there he was, and there I found this credit, +That he did range the town to seek me out. +His counsel now might do me golden service. +For though my soul disputes well with my sense +That this may be some error, but no madness, +Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune +So far exceed all instance, all discourse, +That I am ready to distrust mine eyes +And wrangle with my reason that persuades me +To any other trust but that I am mad, +Or else the lady’s mad; yet if ’twere so, +She could not sway her house, command her followers, +Take and give back affairs and their dispatch, +With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing +As I perceive she does. There’s something in’t +That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. + + Enter Olivia and a Priest. + +OLIVIA. +Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, +Now go with me and with this holy man +Into the chantry by: there, before him +And underneath that consecrated roof, +Plight me the full assurance of your faith, +That my most jealous and too doubtful soul +May live at peace. He shall conceal it +Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, +What time we will our celebration keep +According to my birth. What do you say? + +SEBASTIAN. +I’ll follow this good man, and go with you, +And having sworn truth, ever will be true. + +OLIVIA. +Then lead the way, good father, and heavens so shine, +That they may fairly note this act of mine! + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. The Street before Olivia’s House. + + Enter Clown and Fabian. + +FABIAN. +Now, as thou lov’st me, let me see his letter. + +CLOWN. +Good Master Fabian, grant me another request. + +FABIAN. +Anything. + +CLOWN. +Do not desire to see this letter. + +FABIAN. +This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again. + + Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and Lords. + +DUKE. +Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? + +CLOWN. +Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings. + +DUKE. +I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow? + +CLOWN. +Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the worse for my friends. + +DUKE. +Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. + +CLOWN. +No, sir, the worse. + +DUKE. +How can that be? + +CLOWN. +Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me +plainly I am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge +of myself, and by my friends I am abused. So that, conclusions to be as +kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why then, +the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. + +DUKE. +Why, this is excellent. + +CLOWN. +By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends. + +DUKE. +Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there’s gold. + +CLOWN. +But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it +another. + +DUKE. +O, you give me ill counsel. + +CLOWN. +Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh +and blood obey it. + +DUKE. +Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer: there’s +another. + +CLOWN. +_Primo, secundo, tertio_, is a good play, and the old saying is, the +third pays for all; the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or +the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind—one, two, three. + +DUKE. +You can fool no more money out of me at this throw. If you will let +your lady know I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with +you, it may awake my bounty further. + +CLOWN. +Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir, but I +would not have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of +covetousness: but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will +awake it anon. + + [_Exit Clown._] + + Enter Antonio and Officers. + +VIOLA. +Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. + +DUKE. +That face of his I do remember well. +Yet when I saw it last it was besmear’d +As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war. +A baubling vessel was he captain of, +For shallow draught and bulk unprizable, +With which such scathful grapple did he make +With the most noble bottom of our fleet, +That very envy and the tongue of loss +Cried fame and honour on him. What’s the matter? + +FIRST OFFICER. +Orsino, this is that Antonio +That took the _Phoenix_ and her fraught from Candy, +And this is he that did the _Tiger_ board +When your young nephew Titus lost his leg. +Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state, +In private brabble did we apprehend him. + +VIOLA. +He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side, +But in conclusion, put strange speech upon me. +I know not what ’twas, but distraction. + +DUKE. +Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief, +What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, +Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, +Hast made thine enemies? + +ANTONIO. +Orsino, noble sir, +Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me: +Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, +Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, +Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: +That most ingrateful boy there by your side +From the rude sea’s enraged and foamy mouth +Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. +His life I gave him, and did thereto add +My love, without retention or restraint, +All his in dedication. For his sake +Did I expose myself, pure for his love, +Into the danger of this adverse town; +Drew to defend him when he was beset; +Where being apprehended, his false cunning +(Not meaning to partake with me in danger) +Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, +And grew a twenty years’ removed thing +While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, +Which I had recommended to his use +Not half an hour before. + +VIOLA. +How can this be? + +DUKE. +When came he to this town? + +ANTONIO. +Today, my lord; and for three months before, +No int’rim, not a minute’s vacancy, +Both day and night did we keep company. + + Enter Olivia and Attendants. + +DUKE. +Here comes the Countess, now heaven walks on earth. +But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness. +Three months this youth hath tended upon me; +But more of that anon. Take him aside. + +OLIVIA. +What would my lord, but that he may not have, +Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? +Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. + +VIOLA. +Madam? + +DUKE. +Gracious Olivia— + +OLIVIA. +What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord— + +VIOLA. +My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. + +OLIVIA. +If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, +It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear +As howling after music. + +DUKE. +Still so cruel? + +OLIVIA. +Still so constant, lord. + +DUKE. +What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, +To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars +My soul the faithfull’st off’rings hath breathed out +That e’er devotion tender’d! What shall I do? + +OLIVIA. +Even what it please my lord that shall become him. + +DUKE. +Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, +Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, +Kill what I love?—a savage jealousy +That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: +Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, +And that I partly know the instrument +That screws me from my true place in your favour, +Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still. +But this your minion, whom I know you love, +And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, +Him will I tear out of that cruel eye +Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite.— +Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: +I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, +To spite a raven’s heart within a dove. + +VIOLA. +And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, +To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. + +OLIVIA. +Where goes Cesario? + +VIOLA. +After him I love +More than I love these eyes, more than my life, +More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love wife. +If I do feign, you witnesses above +Punish my life for tainting of my love. + +OLIVIA. +Ah me, detested! how am I beguil’d! + +VIOLA. +Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong? + +OLIVIA. +Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? +Call forth the holy father. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +DUKE. +[_To Viola._] Come, away! + +OLIVIA. +Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. + +DUKE. +Husband? + +OLIVIA. +Ay, husband. Can he that deny? + +DUKE. +Her husband, sirrah? + +VIOLA. +No, my lord, not I. + +OLIVIA. +Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear +That makes thee strangle thy propriety. +Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up. +Be that thou know’st thou art, and then thou art +As great as that thou fear’st. + + Enter Priest. + +O, welcome, father! +Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence +Here to unfold—though lately we intended +To keep in darkness what occasion now +Reveals before ’tis ripe—what thou dost know +Hath newly passed between this youth and me. + +PRIEST. +A contract of eternal bond of love, +Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, +Attested by the holy close of lips, +Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings, +And all the ceremony of this compact +Sealed in my function, by my testimony; +Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave, +I have travelled but two hours. + +DUKE. +O thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be +When time hath sowed a grizzle on thy case? +Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow +That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? +Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet +Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. + +VIOLA. +My lord, I do protest— + +OLIVIA. +O, do not swear. +Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear. + + Enter Sir Andrew. + +SIR ANDREW. +For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently to Sir Toby. + +OLIVIA. +What’s the matter? + +SIR ANDREW. +’Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. +For the love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at +home. + +OLIVIA. +Who has done this, Sir Andrew? + +SIR ANDREW. +The Count’s gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he’s +the very devil incardinate. + +DUKE. +My gentleman, Cesario? + +SIR ANDREW. +’Od’s lifelings, here he is!—You broke my head for nothing; and that +that I did, I was set on to do’t by Sir Toby. + +VIOLA. +Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you: +You drew your sword upon me without cause, +But I bespake you fair and hurt you not. + + Enter Sir Toby, drunk, led by the Clown. + +SIR ANDREW. +If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me. I think you set +nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall +hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would have tickled you +othergates than he did. + +DUKE. +How now, gentleman? How is’t with you? + +SIR TOBY. +That’s all one; ’has hurt me, and there’s th’ end on’t. Sot, didst see +Dick Surgeon, sot? + +CLOWN. +O, he’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i’ +th’ morning. + +SIR TOBY. +Then he’s a rogue, and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue. + +OLIVIA. +Away with him. Who hath made this havoc with them? + +SIR ANDREW. +I’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be dressed together. + +SIR TOBY. +Will you help? An ass-head, and a coxcomb, and a knave, a thin-faced +knave, a gull? + +OLIVIA. +Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked to. + + [_Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby and Sir Andrew._] + + Enter Sebastian. + +SEBASTIAN. +I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman; +But had it been the brother of my blood, +I must have done no less with wit and safety. +You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that +I do perceive it hath offended you. +Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows +We made each other but so late ago. + +DUKE. +One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons! +A natural perspective, that is, and is not! + +SEBASTIAN. +Antonio, O my dear Antonio! +How have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me +Since I have lost thee. + +ANTONIO. +Sebastian are you? + +SEBASTIAN. +Fear’st thou that, Antonio? + +ANTONIO. +How have you made division of yourself? +An apple cleft in two is not more twin +Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? + +OLIVIA. +Most wonderful! + +SEBASTIAN. +Do I stand there? I never had a brother: +Nor can there be that deity in my nature +Of here and everywhere. I had a sister, +Whom the blind waves and surges have devoured. +Of charity, what kin are you to me? +What countryman? What name? What parentage? + +VIOLA. +Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father; +Such a Sebastian was my brother too: +So went he suited to his watery tomb. +If spirits can assume both form and suit, +You come to fright us. + +SEBASTIAN. +A spirit I am indeed, +But am in that dimension grossly clad, +Which from the womb I did participate. +Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, +I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, +And say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola.’ + +VIOLA. +My father had a mole upon his brow. + +SEBASTIAN. +And so had mine. + +VIOLA. +And died that day when Viola from her birth +Had numbered thirteen years. + +SEBASTIAN. +O, that record is lively in my soul! +He finished indeed his mortal act +That day that made my sister thirteen years. + +VIOLA. +If nothing lets to make us happy both +But this my masculine usurp’d attire, +Do not embrace me till each circumstance +Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump +That I am Viola; which to confirm, +I’ll bring you to a captain in this town, +Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help +I was preserv’d to serve this noble count. +All the occurrence of my fortune since +Hath been between this lady and this lord. + +SEBASTIAN. +[_To Olivia._] So comes it, lady, you have been mistook. +But nature to her bias drew in that. +You would have been contracted to a maid; +Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived: +You are betroth’d both to a maid and man. + +DUKE. +Be not amazed; right noble is his blood. +If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, +I shall have share in this most happy wreck. +[_To Viola._] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times +Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. + +VIOLA. +And all those sayings will I over-swear, +And all those swearings keep as true in soul +As doth that orbed continent the fire +That severs day from night. + +DUKE. +Give me thy hand, +And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds. + +VIOLA. +The captain that did bring me first on shore +Hath my maid’s garments. He, upon some action, +Is now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit, +A gentleman and follower of my lady’s. + +OLIVIA. +He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither. +And yet, alas, now I remember me, +They say, poor gentleman, he’s much distract. + + Enter Clown, with a letter and Fabian. + +A most extracting frenzy of mine own +From my remembrance clearly banished his. +How does he, sirrah? + +CLOWN. +Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave’s end as well as a man in +his case may do. Has here writ a letter to you. I should have given it +you today morning, but as a madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it +skills not much when they are delivered. + +OLIVIA. +Open ’t, and read it. + +CLOWN. +Look then to be well edified, when the fool delivers the madman. _By +the Lord, madam,—_ + +OLIVIA. +How now, art thou mad? + +CLOWN. +No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship will have it as it +ought to be, you must allow _vox_. + +OLIVIA. +Prithee, read i’ thy right wits. + +CLOWN. +So I do, madonna. But to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore +perpend, my princess, and give ear. + +OLIVIA. +[_To Fabian._] Read it you, sirrah. + +FABIAN. +[_Reads._] _By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know +it. Though you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin +rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as your +ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to the semblance I put +on; with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you much +shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought +of, and speak out of my injury. + The madly-used Malvolio._ + +OLIVIA. +Did he write this? + +CLOWN. +Ay, madam. + +DUKE. +This savours not much of distraction. + +OLIVIA. +See him delivered, Fabian, bring him hither. + + [_Exit Fabian._] + +My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, +To think me as well a sister, as a wife, +One day shall crown th’ alliance on’t, so please you, +Here at my house, and at my proper cost. + +DUKE. +Madam, I am most apt t’ embrace your offer. +[_To Viola._] Your master quits you; and for your service done him, +So much against the mettle of your sex, +So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, +And since you call’d me master for so long, +Here is my hand; you shall from this time be +You master’s mistress. + +OLIVIA. +A sister? You are she. + + Enter Fabian and Malvolio. + +DUKE. +Is this the madman? + +OLIVIA. +Ay, my lord, this same. +How now, Malvolio? + +MALVOLIO. +Madam, you have done me wrong, +Notorious wrong. + +OLIVIA. +Have I, Malvolio? No. + +MALVOLIO. +Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter. +You must not now deny it is your hand, +Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase, +Or say ’tis not your seal, not your invention: +You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, +And tell me, in the modesty of honour, +Why you have given me such clear lights of favour, +Bade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to you, +To put on yellow stockings, and to frown +Upon Sir Toby, and the lighter people; +And acting this in an obedient hope, +Why have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d, +Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, +And made the most notorious geck and gull +That e’er invention played on? Tell me why? + +OLIVIA. +Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, +Though I confess, much like the character: +But out of question, ’tis Maria’s hand. +And now I do bethink me, it was she +First told me thou wast mad; then cam’st in smiling, +And in such forms which here were presuppos’d +Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content. +This practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon thee. +But when we know the grounds and authors of it, +Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge +Of thine own cause. + +FABIAN. +Good madam, hear me speak, +And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, +Taint the condition of this present hour, +Which I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall not, +Most freely I confess, myself and Toby +Set this device against Malvolio here, +Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts +We had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ +The letter, at Sir Toby’s great importance, +In recompense whereof he hath married her. +How with a sportful malice it was follow’d +May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, +If that the injuries be justly weigh’d +That have on both sides passed. + +OLIVIA. +Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee! + +CLOWN. +Why, ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have +greatness thrown upon them.’ I was one, sir, in this interlude, one Sir +Topas, sir, but that’s all one. ‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But +do you remember? ‘Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? And you +smile not, he’s gagged’? And thus the whirligig of time brings in his +revenges. + +MALVOLIO. +I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you. + + [_Exit._] + +OLIVIA. +He hath been most notoriously abus’d. + +DUKE. +Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: +He hath not told us of the captain yet. +When that is known, and golden time convents, +A solemn combination shall be made +Of our dear souls.—Meantime, sweet sister, +We will not part from hence.—Cesario, come: +For so you shall be while you are a man; +But when in other habits you are seen, +Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Clown sings. + +_ When that I was and a little tiny boy, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + A foolish thing was but a toy, + For the rain it raineth every day._ + +_ But when I came to man’s estate, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + ’Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, + For the rain it raineth every day._ + +_ But when I came, alas, to wive, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + By swaggering could I never thrive, + For the rain it raineth every day._ + +_ But when I came unto my beds, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + With toss-pots still had drunken heads, + For the rain it raineth every day._ + +_ A great while ago the world begun, + With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, + But that’s all one, our play is done, + And we’ll strive to please you every day._ + + [_Exit._] + + + + +THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE + + DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia + VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen + PROTEUS, " " " " " + ANTONIO, father to Proteus + THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine + EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape + SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine + LAUNCE, the like to Proteus + PANTHINO, servant to Antonio + HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan + OUTLAWS, with Valentine + + JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus + SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine + LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia + + SERVANTS MUSICIANS + +SCENE: Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua + +ACT I. SCENE I. Verona. An open place + +Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS + + VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus: + Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. + Were't not affection chains thy tender days + To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, + I rather would entreat thy company + To see the wonders of the world abroad, + Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, + Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. + But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, + Even as I would, when I to love begin. + PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! + Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest + Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel. + Wish me partaker in thy happiness + When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger, + If ever danger do environ thee, + Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, + For I will be thy headsman, Valentine. + VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success? + PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee. + VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love: + How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. + PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love; + For he was more than over shoes in love. + VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, + And yet you never swum the Hellespont. + PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots. + VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. + PROTEUS. What? + VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, + Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth + With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights; + If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; + If lost, why then a grievous labour won; + However, but a folly bought with wit, + Or else a wit by folly vanquished. + PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. + VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. + PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love. + VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you; + And he that is so yoked by a fool, + Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. + PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud + The eating canker dwells, so eating love + Inhabits in the finest wits of all. + VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud + Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, + Even so by love the young and tender wit + Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, + Losing his verdure even in the prime, + And all the fair effects of future hopes. + But wherefore waste I time to counsel the + That art a votary to fond desire? + Once more adieu. My father at the road + Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. + PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. + VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. + To Milan let me hear from thee by letters + Of thy success in love, and what news else + Betideth here in absence of thy friend; + And I likewise will visit thee with mine. + PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan! + VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell! + Exit VALENTINE + PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love; + He leaves his friends to dignify them more: + I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. + Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me, + Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, + War with good counsel, set the world at nought; + Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. + + Enter SPEED + + SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master? + PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. + SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, + And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. + PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, + An if the shepherd be awhile away. + SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and + I a sheep? + PROTEUS. I do. + SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. + PROTEUS. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. + SPEED. This proves me still a sheep. + PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd. + SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. + PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another. + SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the + shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks not me; + therefore, I am no sheep. + PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for + food follows not the sheep: thou for wages followest thy master; + thy master for wages follows not thee. Therefore, thou art a + sheep. + SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.' + PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia? + SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd + mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing + for my labour. + PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. + SPEED. If the ground be overcharg'd, you were best stick her. + PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best pound you. + SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your + letter. + PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold. + SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over, + 'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. + PROTEUS. But what said she? + SPEED. [Nodding] Ay. + PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.' + SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she + did nod; and I say 'Ay.' + PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.' + SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for + your pains. + PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. + SPEED. Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you. + PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? + SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the + word 'noddy' for my pains. + PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. + SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. + PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she? + SPEED. Open your purse, that the money and the matter may be both + at once delivered. + PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she? + SPEED. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. + PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her? + SPEED. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so + much as a ducat for delivering your letter; and being so hard to + me that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in + telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as + hard as steel. + PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing? + SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify + your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital + whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir, + I'll commend you to my master. + PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck, + Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, + Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED + I must go send some better messenger. + I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, + Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit + +SCENE II. Verona. The garden Of JULIA'S house + +Enter JULIA and LUCETTA + + JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, + Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love? + LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully. + JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen + That every day with parle encounter me, + In thy opinion which is worthiest love? + LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I'll show my mind + According to my shallow simple skill. + JULIA. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? + LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine; + But, were I you, he never should be mine. + JULIA. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? + LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so. + JULIA. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? + LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us! + JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name? + LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame + That I, unworthy body as I am, + Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. + JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? + LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best. + JULIA. Your reason? + LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman's reason: + I think him so, because I think him so. + JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him? + LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. + JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. + LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. + JULIA. His little speaking shows his love but small. + LUCETTA. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. + JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love. + LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love. + JULIA. I would I knew his mind. + LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam. + JULIA. 'To Julia'- Say, from whom? + LUCETTA. That the contents will show. + JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee? + LUCETTA. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus. + He would have given it you; but I, being in the way, + Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. + JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! + Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? + To whisper and conspire against my youth? + Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, + And you an officer fit for the place. + There, take the paper; see it be return'd; + Or else return no more into my sight. + LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. + JULIA. Will ye be gone? + LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit + JULIA. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. + It were a shame to call her back again, + And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. + What fool is she, that knows I am a maid + And would not force the letter to my view! + Since maids, in modesty, say 'No' to that + Which they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.' + Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love, + That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, + And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! + How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, + When willingly I would have had her here! + How angerly I taught my brow to frown, + When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! + My penance is to call Lucetta back + And ask remission for my folly past. + What ho! Lucetta! + + Re-enter LUCETTA + + LUCETTA. What would your ladyship? + JULIA. Is't near dinner time? + LUCETTA. I would it were, + That you might kill your stomach on your meat + And not upon your maid. + JULIA. What is't that you took up so gingerly? + LUCETTA. Nothing. + JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then? + LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall. + JULIA. And is that paper nothing? + LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me. + JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. + LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, + Unless it have a false interpreter. + JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. + LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. + Give me a note; your ladyship can set. + JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible. + Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' Love.' + LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune. + JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then. + LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. + JULIA. And why not you? + LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high. + JULIA. Let's see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter] + How now, minion! + LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out. + And yet methinks I do not like this tune. + JULIA. You do not! + LUCETTA. No, madam; 'tis too sharp. + JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy. + LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat + And mar the concord with too harsh a descant; + There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. + JULIA. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. + LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. + JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. + Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter] + Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie. + You would be fing'ring them, to anger me. + LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd + To be so ang'red with another letter. Exit + JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang'red with the same! + O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! + Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey + And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! + I'll kiss each several paper for amends. + Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia, + As in revenge of thy ingratitude, + I throw thy name against the bruising stones, + Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. + And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.' + Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed, + Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd; + And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. + But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down. + Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away + Till I have found each letter in the letter- + Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear + Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, + And throw it thence into the raging sea. + Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ: + 'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, + To the sweet Julia.' That I'll tear away; + And yet I will not, sith so prettily + He couples it to his complaining names. + Thus will I fold them one upon another; + Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. + + Re-enter LUCETTA + + LUCETTA. Madam, + Dinner is ready, and your father stays. + JULIA. Well, let us go. + LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? + JULIA. If you respect them, best to take them up. + LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down; + Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold. + JULIA. I see you have a month's mind to them. + LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; + I see things too, although you judge I wink. + JULIA. Come, come; will't please you go? Exeunt + +SCENE III. Verona. ANTONIO'S house + +Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO + + ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that + Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? + PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. + ANTONIO. Why, what of him? + PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship + Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, + While other men, of slender reputation, + Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: + Some to the wars, to try their fortune there; + Some to discover islands far away; + Some to the studious universities. + For any, or for all these exercises, + He said that Proteus, your son, was meet; + And did request me to importune you + To let him spend his time no more at home, + Which would be great impeachment to his age, + In having known no travel in his youth. + ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that + Whereon this month I have been hammering. + I have consider'd well his loss of time, + And how he cannot be a perfect man, + Not being tried and tutor'd in the world: + Experience is by industry achiev'd, + And perfected by the swift course of time. + Then tell me whither were I best to send him. + PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant + How his companion, youthful Valentine, + Attends the Emperor in his royal court. + ANTONIO. I know it well. + PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither: + There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, + Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen, + And be in eye of every exercise + Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. + ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd; + And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it, + The execution of it shall make known: + Even with the speediest expedition + I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court. + PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso + With other gentlemen of good esteem + Are journeying to salute the Emperor, + And to commend their service to his will. + ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go. + + Enter PROTEUS + + And- in good time!- now will we break with him. + PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! + Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; + Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn. + O that our fathers would applaud our loves, + To seal our happiness with their consents! + O heavenly Julia! + ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there? + PROTEUS. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two + Of commendations sent from Valentine, + Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. + ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. + PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes + How happily he lives, how well-belov'd + And daily graced by the Emperor; + Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. + ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish? + PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship's will, + And not depending on his friendly wish. + ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish. + Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; + For what I will, I will, and there an end. + I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time + With Valentinus in the Emperor's court; + What maintenance he from his friends receives, + Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. + To-morrow be in readiness to go- + Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. + PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; + Please you, deliberate a day or two. + ANTONIO. Look what thou want'st shall be sent after thee. + No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go. + Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd + To hasten on his expedition. + Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO + PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, + And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. + I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, + Lest he should take exceptions to my love; + And with the vantage of mine own excuse + Hath he excepted most against my love. + O, how this spring of love resembleth + The uncertain glory of an April day, + Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, + And by an by a cloud takes all away! + + Re-enter PANTHINO + + PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; + He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. + PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto; + And yet a thousand times it answers 'No.' Exeunt + +ACT II. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter VALENTINE and SPEED + + SPEED. Sir, your glove. + VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on. + SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one. + VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, give it me, it's mine; + Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! + Ah, Silvia! Silvia! + SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia! + VALENTINE. How now, sirrah? + SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir. + VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her? + SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. + VALENTINE. Well, you'll still be too forward. + SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. + VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia? + SPEED. She that your worship loves? + VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love? + SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd, like + Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a + love-song, like a robin redbreast; to walk alone, like one that + had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his + A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; + to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears + robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were + wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to + walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently + after dinner; when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money. + And now you are metamorphis'd with a mistress, that, when I look + on you, I can hardly think you my master. + VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv'd in me? + SPEED. They are all perceiv'd without ye. + VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot. + SPEED. Without you! Nay, that's certain; for, without you were so + simple, none else would; but you are so without these follies + that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the + water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a + physician to comment on your malady. + VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? + SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? + VALENTINE. Hast thou observ'd that? Even she, I mean. + SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not. + VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st + her not? + SPEED. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? + VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd. + SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough. + VALENTINE. What dost thou know? + SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour'd. + VALENTINE. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour + infinite. + SPEED. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all + count. + VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count? + SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts + of her beauty. + VALENTINE. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty. + SPEED. You never saw her since she was deform'd. + VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform'd? + SPEED. Ever since you lov'd her. + VALENTINE. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her, and still + I see her beautiful. + SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her. + VALENTINE. Why? + SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own + eyes had the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir + Proteus for going ungarter'd! + VALENTINE. What should I see then? + SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he, + being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being + in love, cannot see to put on your hose. + VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you + could not see to wipe my shoes. + SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you + swing'd me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you + for yours. + VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. + SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. + VALENTINE. Last night she enjoin'd me to write some lines to one + she loves. + SPEED. And have you? + VALENTINE. I have. + SPEED. Are they not lamely writ? + VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. + + Enter SILVIA + + Peace! here she comes. + SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! + Now will he interpret to her. + VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows. + SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev'n! + Here's a million of manners. + SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. + SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him. + VALENTINE. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter + Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; + Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, + But for my duty to your ladyship. + SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done. + VALENTINE. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; + For, being ignorant to whom it goes, + I writ at random, very doubtfully. + SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? + VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, + Please you command, a thousand times as much; + And yet- + SILVIA. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; + And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not. + And yet take this again- and yet I thank you- + Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. + SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another' yet.' + VALENTINE. What means your ladyship? Do you not like it? + SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ; + But, since unwillingly, take them again. + Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter] + VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you. + SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request; + But I will none of them; they are for you: + I would have had them writ more movingly. + VALENTINE. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. + SILVIA. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over; + And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. + VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then? + SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. + And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA + SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, + As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! + My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor, + He being her pupil, to become her tutor. + O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better, + That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? + VALENTINE. How now, sir! What are you reasoning with yourself? + SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason. + VALENTINE. To do what? + SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia? + VALENTINE. To whom? + SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure. + VALENTINE. What figure? + SPEED. By a letter, I should say. + VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me. + SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? + Why, do you not perceive the jest? + VALENTINE. No, believe me. + SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her + earnest? + VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word. + SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter. + VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend. + SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. + VALENTINE. I would it were no worse. + SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well. + 'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty, + Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; + Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover, + Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.' + All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why muse you, + sir? 'Tis dinner time. + VALENTINE. I have din'd. + SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on + the air, I am one that am nourish'd by my victuals, and would + fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved. + Exeunt + +SCENE II. Verona. JULIA'S house + +Enter PROTEUS and JULIA + + PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia. + JULIA. I must, where is no remedy. + PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return. + JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. + Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. + [Giving a ring] + PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this. + JULIA. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. + PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy; + And when that hour o'erslips me in the day + Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, + The next ensuing hour some foul mischance + Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! + My father stays my coming; answer not; + The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears: + That tide will stay me longer than I should. + Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA + What, gone without a word? + Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; + For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. + + Enter PANTHINO + + PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. + PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come. + Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Verona. A street + +Enter LAUNCE, leading a dog + + LAUNCE. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the + kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have receiv'd my + proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am going with Sir Proteus to + the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog + that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, + our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a + great perplexity; yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. + He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than + a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my + grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. + Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this + left shoe is my father; no, no, left shoe is my mother; nay, that + cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the worser + sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. + A vengeance on 't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, + for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand; this + hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is himself, and I am + the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to + my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not the shoe speak a + word for weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now + come I to my mother. O that she could speak now like a wood woman! + Well, I kiss her- why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath up and + down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog + all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay + the dust with my tears. + + Enter PANTHINO + + PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp'd, and + thou art to post after with oars. What's the matter? Why weep'st + thou, man? Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any + longer. + LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the + unkindest tied that ever any man tied. + PANTHINO. What's the unkindest tide? + LAUNCE. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog. + PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in losing + the flood, lose thy voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy + master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, in + losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth? + LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. + PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue? + LAUNCE. In thy tale. + PANTHINO. In thy tail! + LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the + service, and the tied! Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able + to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive + the boat with my sighs. + PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. + LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar'st. + PANTHINO. Will thou go? + LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED + + SILVIA. Servant! + VALENTINE. Mistress? + SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. + VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it's for love. + SPEED. Not of you. + VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then. + SPEED. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Exit + SILVIA. Servant, you are sad. + VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so. + THURIO. Seem you that you are not? + VALENTINE. Haply I do. + THURIO. So do counterfeits. + VALENTINE. So do you. + THURIO. What seem I that I am not? + VALENTINE. Wise. + THURIO. What instance of the contrary? + VALENTINE. Your folly. + THURIO. And how quote you my folly? + VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin. + THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet. + VALENTINE. Well, then, I'll double your folly. + THURIO. How? + SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour? + VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. + THURIO. That hath more mind to feed on your blood than live in your + air. + VALENTINE. You have said, sir. + THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. + VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. + SILVIA. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. + VALENTINE. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. + SILVIA. Who is that, servant? + VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio + borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he + borrows kindly in your company. + THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your + wit bankrupt. + VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, + and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it + appears by their bare liveries that they live by your bare words. + + Enter DUKE + + SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. + DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. + Sir Valentine, your father is in good health. + What say you to a letter from your friends + Of much good news? + VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful + To any happy messenger from thence. + DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? + VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman + To be of worth and worthy estimation, + And not without desert so well reputed. + DUKE. Hath he not a son? + VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves + The honour and regard of such a father. + DUKE. You know him well? + VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy + We have convers'd and spent our hours together; + And though myself have been an idle truant, + Omitting the sweet benefit of time + To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, + Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, + Made use and fair advantage of his days: + His years but young, but his experience old; + His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe; + And, in a word, for far behind his worth + Comes all the praises that I now bestow, + He is complete in feature and in mind, + With all good grace to grace a gentleman. + DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, + He is as worthy for an empress' love + As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. + Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me + With commendation from great potentates, + And here he means to spend his time awhile. + I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. + VALENTINE. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. + DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worth- + Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio; + For Valentine, I need not cite him to it. + I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE + VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I told your ladyship + Had come along with me but that his mistresss + Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. + SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them + Upon some other pawn for fealty. + VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. + SILVIA. Nay, then, he should be blind; and, being blind, + How could he see his way to seek out you? + VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. + THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. + VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; + Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO + + Enter PROTEUS + + SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. + VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you + Confirm his welcome with some special favour. + SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, + If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. + VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him + To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. + SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. + PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant + To have a look of such a worthy mistress. + VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability; + Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. + PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. + SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed. + Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. + PROTEUS. I'll die on him that says so but yourself. + SILVIA. That you are welcome? + PROTEUS. That you are worthless. + + Re-enter THURIO + + THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. + SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio, + Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome. + I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; + When you have done we look to hear from you. + PROTEUS. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. + Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO + VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? + PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. + VALENTINE. And how do yours? + PROTEUS. I left them all in health. + VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? + PROTEUS. My tales of love were wont to weary you; + I know you joy not in a love-discourse. + VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now; + I have done penance for contemning Love, + Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me + With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, + With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; + For, in revenge of my contempt of love, + Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes + And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. + O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord, + And hath so humbled me as I confess + There is no woe to his correction, + Nor to his service no such joy on earth. + Now no discourse, except it be of love; + Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, + Upon the very naked name of love. + PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye. + Was this the idol that you worship so? + VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? + PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon. + VALENTINE. Call her divine. + PROTEUS. I will not flatter her. + VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises! + PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills, + And I must minister the like to you. + VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine, + Yet let her be a principality, + Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. + PROTEUS. Except my mistress. + VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any; + Except thou wilt except against my love. + PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? + VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too: + She shall be dignified with this high honour- + To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth + Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss + And, of so great a favour growing proud, + Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow'r + And make rough winter everlastingly. + PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? + VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing + To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; + She is alone. + PROTEUS. Then let her alone. + VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own; + And I as rich in having such a jewel + As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, + The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. + Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, + Because thou seest me dote upon my love. + My foolish rival, that her father likes + Only for his possessions are so huge, + Is gone with her along; and I must after, + For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. + PROTEUS. But she loves you? + VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay more, our marriage-hour, + With all the cunning manner of our flight, + Determin'd of- how I must climb her window, + The ladder made of cords, and all the means + Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. + Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, + In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. + PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth; + I must unto the road to disembark + Some necessaries that I needs must use; + And then I'll presently attend you. + VALENTINE. Will you make haste? + PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE + Even as one heat another heat expels + Or as one nail by strength drives out another, + So the remembrance of my former love + Is by a newer object quite forgotten. + Is it my mind, or Valentinus' praise, + Her true perfection, or my false transgression, + That makes me reasonless to reason thus? + She is fair; and so is Julia that I love- + That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; + Which like a waxen image 'gainst a fire + Bears no impression of the thing it was. + Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, + And that I love him not as I was wont. + O! but I love his lady too too much, + And that's the reason I love him so little. + How shall I dote on her with more advice + That thus without advice begin to love her! + 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, + And that hath dazzled my reason's light; + But when I look on her perfections, + There is no reason but I shall be blind. + If I can check my erring love, I will; + If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. Exit + +SCENE V. Milan. A street + +Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally + + SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua. + LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I + reckon this always, that a man is never undone till he be hang'd, + nor never welcome to a place till some certain shot be paid, and + the hostess say 'Welcome!' + SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with you + presently; where, for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have + five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with + Madam Julia? + LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very + fairly in jest. + SPEED. But shall she marry him? + LAUNCE. No. + SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her? + LAUNCE. No, neither. + SPEED. What, are they broken? + LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish. + SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them? + LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well + with her. + SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. + LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff + understands me. + SPEED. What thou say'st? + LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but lean, and my + staff understands me. + SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed. + LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. + SPEED. But tell me true, will't be a match? + LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will; + if he shake his tail and say nothing, it will. + SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will. + LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a + parable. + SPEED. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou + that my master is become a notable lover? + LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise. + SPEED. Than how? + LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. + SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me. + LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. + SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover. + LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love. + If thou wilt, go with me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an + Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. + SPEED. Why? + LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to + the ale with a Christian. Wilt thou go? + SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt + +SCENE VI. Milan. The DUKE's palace + +Enter PROTEUS + + PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; + To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; + To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; + And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath + Provokes me to this threefold perjury: + Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear. + O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd, + Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it! + At first I did adore a twinkling star, + But now I worship a celestial sun. + Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; + And he wants wit that wants resolved will + To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better. + Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad + Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd + With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths! + I cannot leave to love, and yet I do; + But there I leave to love where I should love. + Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose; + If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; + If I lose them, thus find I by their loss: + For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. + I to myself am dearer than a friend; + For love is still most precious in itself; + And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!- + Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. + I will forget that Julia is alive, + Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; + And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, + Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. + I cannot now prove constant to myself + Without some treachery us'd to Valentine. + This night he meaneth with a corded ladder + To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window, + Myself in counsel, his competitor. + Now presently I'll give her father notice + Of their disguising and pretended flight, + Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine, + For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter; + But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross + By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. + Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, + As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit + +SCENE VII. Verona. JULIA'S house + +Enter JULIA and LUCETTA + + JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me; + And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee, + Who art the table wherein all my thoughts + Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, + To lesson me and tell me some good mean + How, with my honour, I may undertake + A journey to my loving Proteus. + LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long! + JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary + To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; + Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, + And when the flight is made to one so dear, + Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. + LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return. + JULIA. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food? + Pity the dearth that I have pined in + By longing for that food so long a time. + Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. + Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow + As seek to quench the fire of love with words. + LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire, + But qualify the fire's extreme rage, + Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. + JULIA. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns. + The current that with gentle murmur glides, + Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; + But when his fair course is not hindered, + He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, + Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge + He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; + And so by many winding nooks he strays, + With willing sport, to the wild ocean. + Then let me go, and hinder not my course. + I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, + And make a pastime of each weary step, + Till the last step have brought me to my love; + And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil, + A blessed soul doth in Elysium. + LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along? + JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent + The loose encounters of lascivious men; + Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds + As may beseem some well-reputed page. + LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair. + JULIA. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings + With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots- + To be fantastic may become a youth + Of greater time than I shall show to be. + LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? + JULIA. That fits as well as 'Tell me, good my lord, + What compass will you wear your farthingale.' + Why ev'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta. + LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. + JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favour'd. + LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, + Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. + JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have + What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. + But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me + For undertaking so unstaid a journey? + I fear me it will make me scandaliz'd. + LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. + JULIA. Nay, that I will not. + LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go. + If Proteus like your journey when you come, + No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone. + I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal. + JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: + A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, + And instances of infinite of love, + Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. + LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men. + JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect! + But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth; + His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, + His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, + His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, + His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. + LUCETTA. Pray heav'n he prove so when you come to him. + JULIA. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong + To bear a hard opinion of his truth; + Only deserve my love by loving him. + And presently go with me to my chamber, + To take a note of what I stand in need of + To furnish me upon my longing journey. + All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, + My goods, my lands, my reputation; + Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. + Come, answer not, but to it presently; + I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt + +ACT III. SCENE I. Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS + + DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; + We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO + Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? + PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover + The law of friendship bids me to conceal; + But, when I call to mind your gracious favours + Done to me, undeserving as I am, + My duty pricks me on to utter that + Which else no worldly good should draw from me. + Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, + This night intends to steal away your daughter; + Myself am one made privy to the plot. + I know you have determin'd to bestow her + On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; + And should she thus be stol'n away from you, + It would be much vexation to your age. + Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose + To cross my friend in his intended drift + Than, by concealing it, heap on your head + A pack of sorrows which would press you down, + Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. + DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care, + Which to requite, command me while I live. + This love of theirs myself have often seen, + Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep, + And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid + Sir Valentine her company and my court; + But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err + And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, + A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, + I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find + That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. + And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, + Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, + I nightly lodge her in an upper tow'r, + The key whereof myself have ever kept; + And thence she cannot be convey'd away. + PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean + How he her chamber window will ascend + And with a corded ladder fetch her down; + For which the youthful lover now is gone, + And this way comes he with it presently; + Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. + But, good my lord, do it so cunningly + That my discovery be not aimed at; + For love of you, not hate unto my friend, + Hath made me publisher of this pretence. + DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know + That I had any light from thee of this. + PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit + + Enter VALENTINE + + DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? + VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger + That stays to bear my letters to my friends, + And I am going to deliver them. + DUKE. Be they of much import? + VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify + My health and happy being at your court. + DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; + I am to break with thee of some affairs + That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. + 'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought + To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. + VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match + Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman + Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities + Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. + Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? + DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, + Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; + Neither regarding that she is my child + Nor fearing me as if I were her father; + And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, + Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; + And, where I thought the remnant of mine age + Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty, + I now am full resolv'd to take a wife + And turn her out to who will take her in. + Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow'r; + For me and my possessions she esteems not. + VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this? + DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here, + Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, + And nought esteems my aged eloquence. + Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor- + For long agone I have forgot to court; + Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd- + How and which way I may bestow myself + To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. + VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words: + Dumb jewels often in their silent kind + More than quick words do move a woman's mind. + DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. + VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her. + Send her another; never give her o'er, + For scorn at first makes after-love the more. + If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, + But rather to beget more love in you; + If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone, + For why, the fools are mad if left alone. + Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; + For 'Get you gone' she doth not mean 'Away!' + Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; + Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. + That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, + If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. + DUKE. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends + Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; + And kept severely from resort of men, + That no man hath access by day to her. + VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night. + DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe, + That no man hath recourse to her by night. + VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window? + DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, + And built so shelving that one cannot climb it + Without apparent hazard of his life. + VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, + To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, + Would serve to scale another Hero's tow'r, + So bold Leander would adventure it. + DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, + Advise me where I may have such a ladder. + VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that. + DUKE. This very night; for Love is like a child, + That longs for everything that he can come by. + VALENTINE. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. + DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; + How shall I best convey the ladder thither? + VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it + Under a cloak that is of any length. + DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? + VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord. + DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak. + I'll get me one of such another length. + VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. + DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? + I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. + What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'! + And here an engine fit for my proceeding! + I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads] + 'My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly, + And slaves they are to me, that send them flying. + O, could their master come and go as lightly, + Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying! + My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them, + While I, their king, that thither them importune, + Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them, + Because myself do want my servants' fortune. + I curse myself, for they are sent by me, + That they should harbour where their lord should be.' + What's here? + 'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.' + 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. + Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops' son- + Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, + And with thy daring folly burn the world? + Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee? + Go, base intruder, over-weening slave, + Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; + And think my patience, more than thy desert, + Is privilege for thy departure hence. + Thank me for this more than for all the favours + Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. + But if thou linger in my territories + Longer than swiftest expedition + Will give thee time to leave our royal court, + By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love + I ever bore my daughter or thyself. + Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse, + But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit + VALENTINE. And why not death rather than living torment? + To die is to be banish'd from myself, + And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her + Is self from self, a deadly banishment. + What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? + What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? + Unless it be to think that she is by, + And feed upon the shadow of perfection. + Except I be by Silvia in the night, + There is no music in the nightingale; + Unless I look on Silvia in the day, + There is no day for me to look upon. + She is my essence, and I leave to be + If I be not by her fair influence + Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. + I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: + Tarry I here, I but attend on death; + But fly I hence, I fly away from life. + + Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE + + PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out. + LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho! + PROTEUS. What seest thou? + LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a + Valentine. + PROTEUS. Valentine? + VALENTINE. No. + PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit? + VALENTINE. Neither. + PROTEUS. What then? + VALENTINE. Nothing. + LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? + PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike? + LAUNCE. Nothing. + PROTEUS. Villain, forbear. + LAUNCE. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing. I pray you- + PROTEUS. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. + VALENTINE. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear good news, + So much of bad already hath possess'd them. + PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, + For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. + VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead? + PROTEUS. No, Valentine. + VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. + Hath she forsworn me? + PROTEUS. No, Valentine. + VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. + What is your news? + LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. + PROTEUS. That thou art banished- O, that's the news!- + From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. + VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already, + And now excess of it will make me surfeit. + Doth Silvia know that I am banished? + PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doom- + Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force- + A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears; + Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; + With them, upon her knees, her humble self, + Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them + As if but now they waxed pale for woe. + But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, + Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, + Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire- + But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. + Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, + When she for thy repeal was suppliant, + That to close prison he commanded her, + With many bitter threats of biding there. + VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st + Have some malignant power upon my life: + If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear, + As ending anthem of my endless dolour. + PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, + And study help for that which thou lament'st. + Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. + Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love; + Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. + Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, + And manage it against despairing thoughts. + Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence, + Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd + Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. + The time now serves not to expostulate. + Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate; + And, ere I part with thee, confer at large + Of all that may concern thy love affairs. + As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, + Regard thy danger, and along with me. + VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, + Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate. + PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. + VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! + Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS + LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think + my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one if he be but + one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am + in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor + who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman I will not + tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for + she hath had gossips; yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's + maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a + water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the + cate-log [Pulling out a paper] of her condition. 'Inprimis: She + can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse + cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a + jade. 'Item: She can milk.' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid + with clean hands. + + Enter SPEED + + SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership? + LAUNCE. With my master's ship? Why, it is at sea. + SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news, + then, in your paper? + LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st. + SPEED. Why, man? how black? + LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink. + SPEED. Let me read them. + LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. + SPEED. Thou liest; I can. + LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee? + SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather. + LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother. + This proves that thou canst not read. + SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. + LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy + speed. + SPEED. [Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.' + LAUNCE. Ay, that she can. + SPEED. 'Item: She brews good ale.' + LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you + brew good ale. + SPEED. 'Item: She can sew.' + LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'Can she so?' + SPEED. 'Item: She can knit.' + LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can + knit him a stock. + SPEED. 'Item: She can wash and scour.' + LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and + scour'd. + SPEED. 'Item: She can spin.' + LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for + her living. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.' + LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'bastard virtues'; that indeed + know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. + SPEED. 'Here follow her vices.' + LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues. + SPEED. 'Item: She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her + breath.' + LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. + Read on. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.' + LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath. + SPEED. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.' + LAUNCE. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. + SPEED. 'Item: She is slow in words.' + LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow + in words is a woman's only virtue. I pray thee, out with't; and + place it for her chief virtue. + SPEED. 'Item: She is proud.' + LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en + from her. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath no teeth.' + LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. + SPEED. 'Item: She is curst.' + LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. + SPEED. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.' + LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will; + for good things should be praised. + SPEED. 'Item: She is too liberal.' + LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow + of; of her purse she shall not, for that I'll keep shut. Now of + another thing she may, and that cannot I help. Well, proceed. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults + than hairs, and more wealth than faults.' + LAUNCE. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, and not mine, + twice or thrice in that last article. Rehearse that once more. + SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit'- + LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I'll prove it: the cover of + the salt hides the salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; + the hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, for the + greater hides the less. What's next? + SPEED. 'And more faults than hairs'- + LAUNCE. That's monstrous. O that that were out! + SPEED. 'And more wealth than faults.' + LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have + her; an if it be a match, as nothing is impossible- + SPEED. What then? + LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee + at the Northgate. + SPEED. For me? + LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay'd for a better man + than thee. + SPEED. And must I go to him? + LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long that + going will scarce serve the turn. + SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! + Exit + LAUNCE. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly + slave that will thrust himself into secrets! I'll after, to + rejoice in the boy's correction. Exit + +SCENE II. Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter DUKE and THURIO + + DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you + Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. + THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most, + Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, + That I am desperate of obtaining her. + DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure + Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat + Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. + A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, + And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. + + Enter PROTEUS + + How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman, + According to our proclamation, gone? + PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord. + DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously. + PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. + DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. + Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee- + For thou hast shown some sign of good desert- + Makes me the better to confer with thee. + PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace + Let me not live to look upon your Grace. + DUKE. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect + The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. + PROTEUS. I do, my lord. + DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant + How she opposes her against my will. + PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. + DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. + What might we do to make the girl forget + The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio? + PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine + With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent- + Three things that women highly hold in hate. + DUKE. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. + PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it; + Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken + By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. + DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him. + PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do: + 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, + Especially against his very friend. + DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him, + Your slander never can endamage him; + Therefore the office is indifferent, + Being entreated to it by your friend. + PROTEUS. You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it + By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, + She shall not long continue love to him. + But say this weed her love from Valentine, + It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. + THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, + Lest it should ravel and be good to none, + You must provide to bottom it on me; + Which must be done by praising me as much + As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. + DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, + Because we know, on Valentine's report, + You are already Love's firm votary + And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. + Upon this warrant shall you have access + Where you with Silvia may confer at large- + For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, + And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you- + Where you may temper her by your persuasion + To hate young Valentine and love my friend. + PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect. + But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; + You must lay lime to tangle her desires + By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes + Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. + DUKE. Ay, + Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. + PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty + You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart; + Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears + Moist it again, and frame some feeling line + That may discover such integrity; + For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, + Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, + Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans + Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. + After your dire-lamenting elegies, + Visit by night your lady's chamber window + With some sweet consort; to their instruments + Tune a deploring dump- the night's dead silence + Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance. + This, or else nothing, will inherit her. + DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. + THURIO. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice; + Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, + Let us into the city presently + To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music. + I have a sonnet that will serve the turn + To give the onset to thy good advice. + DUKE. About it, gentlemen! + PROTEUS. We'll wait upon your Grace till after supper, + And afterward determine our proceedings. + DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. Exeunt + +ACT IV. SCENE I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest + +Enter certain OUTLAWS + + FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. + SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. + + Enter VALENTINE and SPEED + + THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye; + If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. + SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains + That all the travellers do fear so much. + VALENTINE. My friends- + FIRST OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. + SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him. + THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man. + VALENTINE. Then know that I have little wealth to lose; + A man I am cross'd with adversity; + My riches are these poor habiliments, + Of which if you should here disfurnish me, + You take the sum and substance that I have. + SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you? + VALENTINE. To Verona. + FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you? + VALENTINE. From Milan. + THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there? + VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, + If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. + FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence? + VALENTINE. I was. + SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence? + VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse: + I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; + But yet I slew him manfully in fight, + Without false vantage or base treachery. + FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. + But were you banish'd for so small a fault? + VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. + SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues? + VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy, + Or else I often had been miserable. + THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, + This fellow were a king for our wild faction! + FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. + SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery. + VALENTINE. Peace, villain! + SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to? + VALENTINE. Nothing but my fortune. + THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, + Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth + Thrust from the company of awful men; + Myself was from Verona banished + For practising to steal away a lady, + An heir, and near allied unto the Duke. + SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman + Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. + FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these. + But to the purpose- for we cite our faults + That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives; + And, partly, seeing you are beautified + With goodly shape, and by your own report + A linguist, and a man of such perfection + As we do in our quality much want- + SECOND OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, + Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. + Are you content to be our general- + To make a virtue of necessity, + And live as we do in this wilderness? + THIRD OUTLAW. What say'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort? + Say 'ay' and be the captain of us all. + We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, + Love thee as our commander and our king. + FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest. + SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. + VALENTINE. I take your offer, and will live with you, + Provided that you do no outrages + On silly women or poor passengers. + THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices. + Come, go with us; we'll bring thee to our crews, + And show thee all the treasure we have got; + Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Milan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window + +Enter PROTEUS + + PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine, + And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. + Under the colour of commending him + I have access my own love to prefer; + But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, + To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. + When I protest true loyalty to her, + She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; + When to her beauty I commend my vows, + She bids me think how I have been forsworn + In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd; + And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, + The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, + Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love + The more it grows and fawneth on her still. + + Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS + + But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window, + And give some evening music to her ear. + THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us? + PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love + Will creep in service where it cannot go. + THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. + PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. + THURIO. Who? Silvia? + PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake. + THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, + Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. + + Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes + + HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, + why is it? + JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. + HOST. Come, we'll have you merry; I'll bring you where you shall + hear music, and see the gentleman that you ask'd for. + JULIA. But shall I hear him speak? + HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays] + JULIA. That will be music. + HOST. Hark, hark! + JULIA. Is he among these? + HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em. + + SONG + Who is Silvia? What is she, + That all our swains commend her? + Holy, fair, and wise is she; + The heaven such grace did lend her, + That she might admired be. + + Is she kind as she is fair? + For beauty lives with kindness. + Love doth to her eyes repair, + To help him of his blindness; + And, being help'd, inhabits there. + + Then to Silvia let us sing + That Silvia is excelling; + She excels each mortal thing + Upon the dull earth dwelling. + 'To her let us garlands bring. + + HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before? + How do you, man? The music likes you not. + JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not. + HOST. Why, my pretty youth? + JULIA. He plays false, father. + HOST. How, out of tune on the strings? + JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very + heart-strings. + HOST. You have a quick ear. + JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart. + HOST. I perceive you delight not in music. + JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so. + HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music! + JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite. + HOST. You would have them always play but one thing? + JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing. + But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on, + Often resort unto this gentlewoman? + HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov'd her out of + all nick. + JULIA. Where is Launce? + HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master's + command, he must carry for a present to his lady. + JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts. + PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead + That you shall say my cunning drift excels. + THURIO. Where meet we? + PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory's well. + THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS + + Enter SILVIA above, at her window + + PROTEUS. Madam, good ev'n to your ladyship. + SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen. + Who is that that spake? + PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, + You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. + SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it. + PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. + SILVIA. What's your will? + PROTEUS. That I may compass yours. + SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this, + That presently you hie you home to bed. + Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man, + Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, + To be seduced by thy flattery + That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? + Return, return, and make thy love amends. + For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, + I am so far from granting thy request + That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, + And by and by intend to chide myself + Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. + PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; + But she is dead. + JULIA. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it; + For I am sure she is not buried. + SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, + Survives, to whom, thyself art witness, + I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd + To wrong him with thy importunacy? + PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. + SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave + Assure thyself my love is buried. + PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. + SILVIA. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence; + Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. + JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that. + PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, + Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, + The picture that is hanging in your chamber; + To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; + For, since the substance of your perfect self + Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; + And to your shadow will I make true love. + JULIA. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it + And make it but a shadow, as I am. + SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; + But since your falsehood shall become you well + To worship shadows and adore false shapes, + Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it; + And so, good rest. + PROTEUS. As wretches have o'ernight + That wait for execution in the morn. + Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA + JULIA. Host, will you go? + HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep. + JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? + HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. + JULIA. Not so; but it hath been the longest night + That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. Exeunt + +SCENE III. Under SILVIA'S window + +Enter EGLAMOUR + + EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia + Entreated me to call and know her mind; + There's some great matter she'd employ me in. + Madam, madam! + + Enter SILVIA above, at her window + + SILVIA. Who calls? + EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend; + One that attends your ladyship's command. + SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow! + EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself! + According to your ladyship's impose, + I am thus early come to know what service + It is your pleasure to command me in. + SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman- + Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not- + Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. + Thou art not ignorant what dear good will + I bear unto the banish'd Valentine; + Nor how my father would enforce me marry + Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. + Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say + No grief did ever come so near thy heart + As when thy lady and thy true love died, + Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. + Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, + To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode; + And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, + I do desire thy worthy company, + Upon whose faith and honour I repose. + Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, + But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, + And on the justice of my flying hence + To keep me from a most unholy match, + Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues. + I do desire thee, even from a heart + As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, + To bear me company and go with me; + If not, to hide what I have said to thee, + That I may venture to depart alone. + EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances; + Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, + I give consent to go along with you, + Recking as little what betideth me + As much I wish all good befortune you. + When will you go? + SILVIA. This evening coming. + EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you? + SILVIA. At Friar Patrick's cell, + Where I intend holy confession. + EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady. + SILVIA. Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Under SILVIA'S Window + +Enter LAUNCE with his dog + + LAUNCE. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, + it goes hard- one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav'd from + drowning, when three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went + to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely 'Thus I + would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver him as a present to + Mistress Silvia from my master; and I came no sooner into the + dining-chamber, but he steps me to her trencher and steals her + capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself in + all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon + him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I + had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I + think verily he had been hang'd for't; sure as I live, he had + suffer'd for't. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the + company of three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table; + he had not been there, bless the mark, a pissing while but all the + chamber smelt him. 'Out with the dog' says one; 'What cur is that?' + says another; 'Whip him out' says the third; 'Hang him up' says the + Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was + Crab, and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs. 'Friend,' quoth + I 'you mean to whip the dog.' 'Ay, marry do I' quoth he. 'You do him + the more wrong,' quoth I; "twas I did the thing you wot of.' He makes + me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters + would do this for his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the + stock for puddings he hath stol'n, otherwise he had been executed; I + have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd, otherwise he had + suffer'd for't. Thou think'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the + trick you serv'd me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I + bid thee still mark me and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave + up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? Didst + thou ever see me do such a trick? + + Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy's clothes + + PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, + And will employ thee in some service presently. + JULIA. In what you please; I'll do what I can. + PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson + peasant! + Where have you been these two days loitering? + LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. + PROTEUS. And what says she to my little jewel? + LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish + thanks is good enough for such a present. + PROTEUS. But she receiv'd my dog? + LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back + again. + PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me? + LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol'n from me by the + hangman's boys in the market-place; and then I offer'd her mine + own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift + the greater. + PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again, + Or ne'er return again into my sight. + Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE + A slave that still an end turns me to shame! + Sebastian, I have entertained thee + Partly that I have need of such a youth + That can with some discretion do my business, + For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, + But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, + Which, if my augury deceive me not, + Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth; + Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. + Go presently, and take this ring with thee, + Deliver it to Madam Silvia- + She lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. + JULIA. It seems you lov'd not her, to leave her token. + She is dead, belike? + PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives. + JULIA. Alas! + PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry 'Alas'? + JULIA. I cannot choose + But pity her. + PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? + JULIA. Because methinks that she lov'd you as well + As you do love your lady Silvia. + She dreams on him that has forgot her love: + You dote on her that cares not for your love. + 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; + And thinking on it makes me cry 'Alas!' + PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal + This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady + I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. + Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, + Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. Exit PROTEUS + JULIA. How many women would do such a message? + Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain'd + A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. + Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him + That with his very heart despiseth me? + Because he loves her, he despiseth me; + Because I love him, I must pity him. + This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, + To bind him to remember my good will; + And now am I, unhappy messenger, + To plead for that which I would not obtain, + To carry that which I would have refus'd, + To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. + I am my master's true confirmed love, + But cannot be true servant to my master + Unless I prove false traitor to myself. + Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly + As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. + + Enter SILVIA, attended + + Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean + To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. + SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she? + JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience + To hear me speak the message I am sent on. + SILVIA. From whom? + JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. + SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture? + JULIA. Ay, madam. + SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there. + Go, give your master this. Tell him from me, + One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, + Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. + JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter. + Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd + Deliver'd you a paper that I should not. + This is the letter to your ladyship. + SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again. + JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me. + SILVIA. There, hold! + I will not look upon your master's lines. + I know they are stuff'd with protestations, + And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break + As easily as I do tear his paper. + JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. + SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me; + For I have heard him say a thousand times + His Julia gave it him at his departure. + Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, + Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. + JULIA. She thanks you. + SILVIA. What say'st thou? + JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her. + Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much. + SILVIA. Dost thou know her? + JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself. + To think upon her woes, I do protest + That I have wept a hundred several times. + SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. + JULIA. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. + SILVIA. Is she not passing fair? + JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is. + When she did think my master lov'd her well, + She, in my judgment, was as fair as you; + But since she did neglect her looking-glass + And threw her sun-expelling mask away, + The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks + And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, + That now she is become as black as I. + SILVIA. How tall was she? + JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost, + When all our pageants of delight were play'd, + Our youth got me to play the woman's part, + And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown; + Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments, + As if the garment had been made for me; + Therefore I know she is about my height. + And at that time I made her weep a good, + For I did play a lamentable part. + Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning + For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight; + Which I so lively acted with my tears + That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, + Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead + If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. + SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. + Alas, poor lady, desolate and left! + I weep myself, to think upon thy words. + Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this + For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. + Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS + JULIA. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her. + A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful! + I hope my master's suit will be but cold, + Since she respects my mistress' love so much. + Alas, how love can trifle with itself! + Here is her picture; let me see. I think, + If I had such a tire, this face of mine + Were full as lovely as is this of hers; + And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, + Unless I flatter with myself too much. + Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow; + If that be all the difference in his love, + I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. + Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine; + Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. + What should it be that he respects in her + But I can make respective in myself, + If this fond Love were not a blinded god? + Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, + For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, + Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd! + And were there sense in his idolatry + My substance should be statue in thy stead. + I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, + That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow, + I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, + To make my master out of love with thee. Exit + +ACT V. SCENE I. Milan. An abbey + +Enter EGLAMOUR + + EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky, + And now it is about the very hour + That Silvia at Friar Patrick's cell should meet me. + She will not fail, for lovers break not hours + Unless it be to come before their time, + So much they spur their expedition. + + Enter SILVIA + + See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening! + SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour, + Out at the postern by the abbey wall; + I fear I am attended by some spies. + EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off; + If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt + +SCENE II. Milan. The DUKE'S palace + +Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN + + THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? + PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was; + And yet she takes exceptions at your person. + THURIO. What, that my leg is too long? + PROTEUS. No; that it is too little. + THURIO. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. + JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes. + THURIO. What says she to my face? + PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one. + THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black. + PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is: + Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. + JULIA. [Aside] 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; + For I had rather wink than look on them. + THURIO. How likes she my discourse? + PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war. + THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace? + JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. + THURIO. What says she to my valour? + PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. + JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. + THURIO. What says she to my birth? + PROTEUS. That you are well deriv'd. + JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool. + THURIO. Considers she my possessions? + PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them. + THURIO. Wherefore? + JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them. + PROTEUS. That they are out by lease. + JULIA. Here comes the Duke. + + Enter DUKE + + DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio! + Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late? + THURIO. Not I. + PROTEUS. Nor I. + DUKE. Saw you my daughter? + PROTEUS. Neither. + DUKE. Why then, + She's fled unto that peasant Valentine; + And Eglamour is in her company. + 'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both + As he in penance wander'd through the forest; + Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she, + But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it; + Besides, she did intend confession + At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not. + These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence; + Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, + But mount you presently, and meet with me + Upon the rising of the mountain foot + That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled. + Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit + THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl + That flies her fortune when it follows her. + I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour + Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit + PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love + Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit + JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross that love + Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit + +SCENE III. The frontiers of Mantua. The forest + +Enter OUTLAWS with SILVA + + FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come. + Be patient; we must bring you to our captain. + SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one + Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. + SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away. + FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her? + SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us, + But Moyses and Valerius follow him. + Go thou with her to the west end of the wood; + There is our captain; we'll follow him that's fled. + The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape. + FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave; + Fear not; he bears an honourable mind, + And will not use a woman lawlessly. + SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt + +SCENE IV. Another part of the forest + +Enter VALENTINE + + VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man! + This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, + I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. + Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, + And to the nightingale's complaining notes + Tune my distresses and record my woes. + O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, + Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, + Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall + And leave no memory of what it was! + Repair me with thy presence, Silvia: + Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain. + What halloing and what stir is this to-day? + These are my mates, that make their wills their law, + Have some unhappy passenger in chase. + They love me well; yet I have much to do + To keep them from uncivil outrages. + Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here? + [Steps aside] + + Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian + + PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you, + Though you respect not aught your servant doth, + To hazard life, and rescue you from him + That would have forc'd your honour and your love. + Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; + A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, + And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. + VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear! + Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. + SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am! + PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; + But by my coming I have made you happy. + SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. + JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence. + SILVIA. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, + I would have been a breakfast to the beast + Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. + O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, + Whose life's as tender to me as my soul! + And full as much, for more there cannot be, + I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus. + Therefore be gone; solicit me no more. + PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, + Would I not undergo for one calm look? + O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, + When women cannot love where they're belov'd! + SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd! + Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, + For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith + Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths + Descended into perjury, to love me. + Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, + And that's far worse than none; better have none + Than plural faith, which is too much by one. + Thou counterfeit to thy true friend! + PROTEUS. In love, + Who respects friend? + SILVIA. All men but Proteus. + PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words + Can no way change you to a milder form, + I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, + And love you 'gainst the nature of love- force ye. + SILVIA. O heaven! + PROTEUS. I'll force thee yield to my desire. + VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch; + Thou friend of an ill fashion! + PROTEUS. Valentine! + VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love- + For such is a friend now; treacherous man, + Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye + Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say + I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me. + Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand + Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, + I am sorry I must never trust thee more, + But count the world a stranger for thy sake. + The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst! + 'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! + PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me. + Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow + Be a sufficient ransom for offence, + I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer + As e'er I did commit. + VALENTINE. Then I am paid; + And once again I do receive thee honest. + Who by repentance is not satisfied + Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas'd; + By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd. + And, that my love may appear plain and free, + All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. + JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons] + PROTEUS. Look to the boy. + VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! + What's the matter? Look up; speak. + JULIA. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliver a ring to Madam + Silvia, which, out of my neglect, was never done. + PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy? + JULIA. Here 'tis; this is it. + PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. + JULIA. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook; + This is the ring you sent to Silvia. + PROTEUS. But how cam'st thou by this ring? + At my depart I gave this unto Julia. + JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me; + And Julia herself have brought it hither. + PROTEUS. How! Julia! + JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, + And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. + How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! + O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! + Be thou asham'd that I have took upon me + Such an immodest raiment- if shame live + In a disguise of love. + It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, + Women to change their shapes than men their minds. + PROTEUS. Than men their minds! 'tis true. O heaven, were man + But constant, he were perfect! That one error + Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th' sins: + Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. + What is in Silvia's face but I may spy + More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? + VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either. + Let me be blest to make this happy close; + 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. + PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. + JULIA. And I mine. + + Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO + + OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize! + VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke. + Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, + Banished Valentine. + DUKE. Sir Valentine! + THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. + VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death; + Come not within the measure of my wrath; + Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, + Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands + Take but possession of her with a touch- + I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. + THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I; + I hold him but a fool that will endanger + His body for a girl that loves him not. + I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. + DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou + To make such means for her as thou hast done + And leave her on such slight conditions. + Now, by the honour of my ancestry, + I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, + And think thee worthy of an empress' love. + Know then, I here forget all former griefs, + Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, + Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, + To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine, + Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd; + Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. + VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy. + I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, + To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. + DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be. + VALENTINE. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, + Are men endu'd with worthy qualities; + Forgive them what they have committed here, + And let them be recall'd from their exile: + They are reformed, civil, full of good, + And fit for great employment, worthy lord. + DUKE. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee; + Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. + Come, let us go; we will include all jars + With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. + VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold + With our discourse to make your Grace to smile. + What think you of this page, my lord? + DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. + VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy. + DUKE. What mean you by that saying? + VALENTINE. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, + That you will wonder what hath fortuned. + Come, Proteus, 'tis your penance but to hear + The story of your loves discovered. + That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; + One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt + + + + +THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN: + +Presented at the Blackfriers by the Kings Maiesties servants, with +great applause: + +Written by the memorable Worthies of their time; + +Mr John Fletcher, Gent., and +Mr William Shakspeare, Gent. + +Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson: and are to be sold +at the signe of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634. + +(The Persons represented in the Play. + +Hymen, +Theseus, +Hippolita, Bride to Theseus +Emelia, Sister to Theseus +[Emelia's Woman], +Nymphs, +Three Queens, +Three valiant Knights, +Palamon, and +Arcite, The two Noble Kinsmen, in love with fair Emelia +[Valerius], +Perithous, +[A Herald], +[A Gentleman], +[A Messenger], +[A Servant], +[Wooer], +[Keeper], +Jaylor, +His Daughter, in love with Palamon +[His brother], +[A Doctor], +[4] Countreymen, +[2 Friends of the Jaylor], +[3 Knights], +[Nel, and other] +Wenches, +A Taborer, +Gerrold, A Schoolmaster.) + +PROLOGUE. + +[Florish.] + +New Playes, and Maydenheads, are neare a kin, +Much follow'd both, for both much mony g'yn, +If they stand sound, and well: And a good Play +(Whose modest Sceanes blush on his marriage day, +And shake to loose his honour) is like hir +That after holy Tye and first nights stir +Yet still is Modestie, and still retaines +More of the maid to sight, than Husbands paines; +We pray our Play may be so; For I am sure +It has a noble Breeder, and a pure, +A learned, and a Poet never went +More famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent: +Chaucer (of all admir'd) the Story gives, +There constant to Eternity it lives. +If we let fall the Noblenesse of this, +And the first sound this child heare, be a hisse, +How will it shake the bones of that good man, +And make him cry from under ground, 'O fan +From me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter +That blastes my Bayes, and my fam'd workes makes lighter +Then Robin Hood!' This is the feare we bring; +For to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing, +And too ambitious, to aspire to him, +Weake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim +In this deepe water. Do but you hold out +Your helping hands, and we shall take about, +And something doe to save us: You shall heare +Sceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare +Worth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe: +Content to you. If this play doe not keepe +A little dull time from us, we perceave +Our losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.] + +ACT I + +SCENE 1. (Athens. Before a temple.) + +[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before + singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast +in + her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene + two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then + Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a + Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After + her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)] + +The Song, [Musike.] + +Roses their sharpe spines being gon, +Not royall in their smels alone, +But in their hew. +Maiden Pinckes, of odour faint, +Dazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint +And sweet Time true. + +Prim-rose first borne child of Ver, +Merry Spring times Herbinger, +With her bels dimme. +Oxlips, in their Cradles growing, +Mary-golds, on death beds blowing, +Larkes-heeles trymme. + +All deere natures children sweete, +Ly fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.] +Blessing their sence. +Not an angle of the aire, +Bird melodious, or bird faire, +Is absent hence. + +The Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor +The boding Raven, nor Chough hore +Nor chattring Pie, +May on our Bridehouse pearch or sing, +Or with them any discord bring, +But from it fly. + +[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall + Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The + 2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.] + +1. QUEEN. +For pitties sake and true gentilities, +Heare, and respect me. + +2. QUEEN. +For your Mothers sake, +And as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones, +Heare and respect me. + +3. QUEEN +Now for the love of him whom Iove hath markd +The honour of your Bed, and for the sake +Of cleere virginity, be Advocate +For us, and our distresses. This good deede +Shall raze you out o'th Booke of Trespasses +All you are set downe there. + +THESEUS. +Sad Lady, rise. + +HIPPOLITA. +Stand up. + +EMILIA. +No knees to me. +What woman I may steed that is distrest, +Does bind me to her. + +THESEUS. +What's your request? Deliver you for all. + +1. QUEEN. +We are 3. Queenes, whose Soveraignes fel before +The wrath of cruell Creon; who endured +The Beakes of Ravens, Tallents of the Kights, +And pecks of Crowes, in the fowle feilds of Thebs. +He will not suffer us to burne their bones, +To urne their ashes, nor to take th' offence +Of mortall loathsomenes from the blest eye +Of holy Phoebus, but infects the windes +With stench of our slaine Lords. O pitty, Duke: +Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feard Sword +That does good turnes to'th world; give us the Bones +Of our dead Kings, that we may Chappell them; +And of thy boundles goodnes take some note +That for our crowned heades we have no roofe, +Save this which is the Lyons, and the Beares, +And vault to every thing. + +THESEUS. +Pray you, kneele not: +I was transported with your Speech, and suffer'd +Your knees to wrong themselves; I have heard the fortunes +Of your dead Lords, which gives me such lamenting +As wakes my vengeance, and revenge for'em, +King Capaneus was your Lord: the day +That he should marry you, at such a season, +As now it is with me, I met your Groome, +By Marsis Altar; you were that time faire, +Not Iunos Mantle fairer then your Tresses, +Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreathe +Was then nor threashd, nor blasted; Fortune at you +Dimpled her Cheeke with smiles: Hercules our kinesman +(Then weaker than your eies) laide by his Club, +He tumbled downe upon his Nemean hide +And swore his sinews thawd: O greife, and time, +Fearefull consumers, you will all devoure. + +1. QUEEN. +O, I hope some God, +Some God hath put his mercy in your manhood +Whereto heel infuse powre, and presse you forth +Our undertaker. + +THESEUS. +O no knees, none, Widdow, +Vnto the Helmeted Belona use them, +And pray for me your Souldier. +Troubled I am. [turnes away.] + +2. QUEEN. +Honoured Hypolita, +Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slaine +The Sith-tuskd Bore; that with thy Arme as strong +As it is white, wast neere to make the male +To thy Sex captive, but that this thy Lord, +Borne to uphold Creation in that honour +First nature stilde it in, shrunke thee into +The bownd thou wast ore-flowing, at once subduing +Thy force, and thy affection: Soldiresse +That equally canst poize sternenes with pitty, +Whom now I know hast much more power on him +Then ever he had on thee, who ow'st his strength +And his Love too, who is a Servant for +The Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies, +Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch, +Vnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us: +Require him he advance it ore our heades; +Speak't in a womans key: like such a woman +As any of us three; weepe ere you faile; +Lend us a knee; +But touch the ground for us no longer time +Then a Doves motion, when the head's pluckt off: +Tell him if he i'th blood cizd field lay swolne, +Showing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone, +What you would doe. + +HIPPOLITA. +Poore Lady, say no more: +I had as leife trace this good action with you +As that whereto I am going, and never yet +Went I so willing way. My Lord is taken +Hart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider: +Ile speake anon. + +3. QUEEN. +O my petition was [kneele to Emilia.] +Set downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied +Melts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme, +Is prest with deeper matter. + +EMILIA. +Pray stand up, +Your greefe is written in your cheeke. + +3. QUEEN. +O woe, +You cannot reade it there, there through my teares— +Like wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame +You may behold 'em. Lady, Lady, alacke, +He that will all the Treasure know o'th earth +Must know the Center too; he that will fish +For my least minnow, let him lead his line +To catch one at my heart. O pardon me: +Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits, +Makes me a Foole. + +EMILIA. +Pray you say nothing, pray you: +Who cannot feele nor see the raine, being in't, +Knowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were +The ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you +T'instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed— +Such heart peirc'd demonstration; but, alas, +Being a naturall Sifter of our Sex +Your sorrow beates so ardently upon me, +That it shall make a counter reflect gainst +My Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty, +Though it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort. + +THESEUS. +Forward to'th Temple, leave not out a Iot +O'th sacred Ceremony. + +1. QUEEN. +O, This Celebration +Will long last, and be more costly then +Your Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame +Knowles in the eare o'th world: what you doe quickly +Is not done rashly; your first thought is more +Then others laboured meditance: your premeditating +More then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions, +Soone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish, +Subdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke +What beds our slaine Kings have. + +2. QUEEN. +What greifes our beds, +That our deere Lords have none. + +3. QUEEN. +None fit for 'th dead: +Those that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance, +Weary of this worlds light, have to themselves +Beene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace +Affords them dust and shaddow. + +1. QUEEN. +But our Lords +Ly blistring fore the visitating Sunne, +And were good Kings, when living. + +THESEUS. +It is true, and I will give you comfort, +To give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe, +Must make some worke with Creon. + +1. QUEEN. +And that worke presents it selfe to'th doing: +Now twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow. +Then, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe +With it's owne sweat; Now he's secure, +Not dreames we stand before your puissance +Wrinching our holy begging in our eyes +To make petition cleere. + +2. QUEEN. +Now you may take him, drunke with his victory. + +3. QUEEN. +And his Army full of Bread, and sloth. + +THESEUS. +Artesius, that best knowest +How to draw out fit to this enterprise +The prim'st for this proceeding, and the number +To carry such a businesse, forth and levy +Our worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch +This grand act of our life, this daring deede +Of Fate in wedlocke. + +1. QUEEN. +Dowagers, take hands; +Let us be Widdowes to our woes: delay +Commends us to a famishing hope. + +ALL. +Farewell. + +2. QUEEN. +We come unseasonably: But when could greefe +Cull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit'st time +For best solicitation. + +THESEUS. +Why, good Ladies, +This is a service, whereto I am going, +Greater then any was; it more imports me +Then all the actions that I have foregone, +Or futurely can cope. + +1. QUEEN. +The more proclaiming +Our suit shall be neglected: when her Armes +Able to locke Iove from a Synod, shall +By warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when +Her twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall +Vpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke +Of rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care +For what thou feelst not? what thou feelst being able +To make Mars spurne his Drom. O, if thou couch +But one night with her, every howre in't will +Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and +Thou shalt remember nothing more then what +That Banket bids thee too. + +HIPPOLITA. +Though much unlike [Kneeling.] +You should be so transported, as much sorry +I should be such a Suitour; yet I thinke, +Did I not by th'abstayning of my joy, +Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit +That craves a present medcine, I should plucke +All Ladies scandall on me. Therefore, Sir, +As I shall here make tryall of my prayres, +Either presuming them to have some force, +Or sentencing for ay their vigour dombe: +Prorogue this busines we are going about, and hang +Your Sheild afore your Heart, about that necke +Which is my ffee, and which I freely lend +To doe these poore Queenes service. + +ALL QUEENS. +Oh helpe now, +Our Cause cries for your knee. + +EMILIA. +If you grant not [Kneeling.] +My Sister her petition in that force, +With that Celerity and nature, which +Shee makes it in, from henceforth ile not dare +To aske you any thing, nor be so hardy +Ever to take a Husband. + +THESEUS. +Pray stand up. +I am entreating of my selfe to doe +That which you kneele to have me. Pyrithous, +Leade on the Bride; get you and pray the Gods +For successe, and returne; omit not any thing +In the pretended Celebration. Queenes, +Follow your Soldier. As before, hence you [to Artesius] +And at the banckes of Aulis meete us with +The forces you can raise, where we shall finde +The moytie of a number, for a busines +More bigger look't. Since that our Theame is haste, +I stamp this kisse upon thy currant lippe; +Sweete, keepe it as my Token. Set you forward, +For I will see you gone. [Exeunt towards the Temple.] +Farewell, my beauteous Sister: Pyrithous, +Keepe the feast full, bate not an howre on't. + +PERITHOUS. +Sir, +Ile follow you at heeles; The Feasts solempnity +Shall want till your returne. + +THESEUS. +Cosen, I charge you +Boudge not from Athens; We shall be returning +Ere you can end this Feast, of which, I pray you, +Make no abatement; once more, farewell all. + +1. QUEEN. +Thus do'st thou still make good the tongue o'th world. + +2. QUEEN. +And earnst a Deity equal with Mars. + +3. QUEEN. +If not above him, for +Thou being but mortall makest affections bend +To Godlike honours; they themselves, some say, +Grone under such a Mastry. + +THESEUS. +As we are men, +Thus should we doe; being sensually subdude, +We loose our humane tytle. Good cheere, Ladies. [Florish.] +Now turne we towards your Comforts. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 2. (Thebs). + +[Enter Palamon, and Arcite.] + +ARCITE. +Deere Palamon, deerer in love then Blood +And our prime Cosen, yet unhardned in +The Crimes of nature; Let us leave the Citty +Thebs, and the temptings in't, before we further +Sully our glosse of youth: +And here to keepe in abstinence we shame +As in Incontinence; for not to swim +I'th aide o'th Current were almost to sincke, +At least to frustrate striving, and to follow +The common Streame, twold bring us to an Edy +Where we should turne or drowne; if labour through, +Our gaine but life, and weakenes. + +PALAMON. +Your advice +Is cride up with example: what strange ruins +Since first we went to Schoole, may we perceive +Walking in Thebs? Skars, and bare weedes +The gaine o'th Martialist, who did propound +To his bold ends honour, and golden Ingots, +Which though he won, he had not, and now flurted +By peace for whom he fought: who then shall offer +To Marsis so scornd Altar? I doe bleede +When such I meete, and wish great Iuno would +Resume her ancient fit of Ielouzie +To get the Soldier worke, that peace might purge +For her repletion, and retaine anew +Her charitable heart now hard, and harsher +Then strife or war could be. + +ARCITE. +Are you not out? +Meete you no ruine but the Soldier in +The Cranckes and turnes of Thebs? you did begin +As if you met decaies of many kindes: +Perceive you none, that doe arowse your pitty +But th'un-considerd Soldier? + +PALAMON. +Yes, I pitty +Decaies where ere I finde them, but such most +That, sweating in an honourable Toyle, +Are paide with yce to coole 'em. + +ARCITE. +Tis not this +I did begin to speake of: This is vertue +Of no respect in Thebs; I spake of Thebs +How dangerous if we will keepe our Honours, +It is for our resyding, where every evill +Hath a good cullor; where eve'ry seeming good's +A certaine evill, where not to be ev'n Iumpe +As they are, here were to be strangers, and +Such things to be, meere Monsters. + +PALAMON. +Tis in our power, +(Vnlesse we feare that Apes can Tutor's) to +Be Masters of our manners: what neede I +Affect anothers gate, which is not catching +Where there is faith, or to be fond upon +Anothers way of speech, when by mine owne +I may be reasonably conceiv'd; sav'd too, +Speaking it truly? why am I bound +By any generous bond to follow him +Followes his Taylor, haply so long untill +The follow'd make pursuit? or let me know, +Why mine owne Barber is unblest, with him +My poore Chinne too, for tis not Cizard iust +To such a Favorites glasse: What Cannon is there +That does command my Rapier from my hip +To dangle't in my hand, or to go tip toe +Before the streete be foule? Either I am +The fore-horse in the Teame, or I am none +That draw i'th sequent trace: these poore sleight sores +Neede not a plantin; That which rips my bosome +Almost to'th heart's— + +ARCITE. +Our Vncle Creon. + +PALAMON. +He, +A most unbounded Tyrant, whose successes +Makes heaven unfeard, and villany assured +Beyond its power there's nothing, almost puts +Faith in a feavour, and deifies alone +Voluble chance; who onely attributes +The faculties of other Instruments +To his owne Nerves and act; Commands men service, +And what they winne in't, boot and glory; on(e) +That feares not to do harm; good, dares not; Let +The blood of mine that's sibbe to him be suckt +From me with Leeches; Let them breake and fall +Off me with that corruption. + +ARCITE. +Cleere spirited Cozen, +Lets leave his Court, that we may nothing share +Of his lowd infamy: for our milke +Will relish of the pasture, and we must +Be vile or disobedient, not his kinesmen +In blood, unlesse in quality. + +PALAMON. +Nothing truer: +I thinke the Ecchoes of his shames have dea'ft +The eares of heav'nly Iustice: widdows cryes +Descend againe into their throates, and have not + +[enter Valerius.] + +Due audience of the Gods.—Valerius! + +VALERIUS. +The King cals for you; yet be leaden footed, +Till his great rage be off him. Phebus, when +He broke his whipstocke and exclaimd against +The Horses of the Sun, but whisperd too +The lowdenesse of his Fury. + +PALAMON. +Small windes shake him: +But whats the matter? + +VALERIUS. +Theseus (who where he threates appals,) hath sent +Deadly defyance to him, and pronounces +Ruine to Thebs; who is at hand to seale +The promise of his wrath. + +ARCITE. +Let him approach; +But that we feare the Gods in him, he brings not +A jot of terrour to us; Yet what man +Thirds his owne worth (the case is each of ours) +When that his actions dregd with minde assurd +Tis bad he goes about? + +PALAMON. +Leave that unreasond. +Our services stand now for Thebs, not Creon, +Yet to be neutrall to him were dishonour; +Rebellious to oppose: therefore we must +With him stand to the mercy of our Fate, +Who hath bounded our last minute. + +ARCITE. +So we must. +Ist sed this warres a foote? or it shall be, +On faile of some condition? + +VALERIUS. +Tis in motion +The intelligence of state came in the instant +With the defier. + +PALAMON. +Lets to the king, who, were he +A quarter carrier of that honour which +His Enemy come in, the blood we venture +Should be as for our health, which were not spent, +Rather laide out for purchase: but, alas, +Our hands advanc'd before our hearts, what will +The fall o'th stroke doe damage? + +ARCITE. +Let th'event, +That never erring Arbitratour, tell us +When we know all our selves, and let us follow +The becking of our chance. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 3. (Before the gates of Athens.) + +[Enter Pirithous, Hipolita, Emilia.] + +PERITHOUS. +No further. + +HIPPOLITA. +Sir, farewell; repeat my wishes +To our great Lord, of whose succes I dare not +Make any timerous question; yet I wish him +Exces and overflow of power, and't might be, +To dure ill-dealing fortune: speede to him, +Store never hurtes good Gouernours. + +PERITHOUS. +Though I know +His Ocean needes not my poore drops, yet they +Must yeild their tribute there. My precious Maide, +Those best affections, that the heavens infuse +In their best temperd peices, keepe enthroand +In your deare heart. + +EMILIA. +Thanckes, Sir. Remember me +To our all royall Brother, for whose speede +The great Bellona ile sollicite; and +Since in our terrene State petitions are not +Without giftes understood, Ile offer to her +What I shall be advised she likes: our hearts +Are in his Army, in his Tent. + +HIPPOLITA. +In's bosome: +We have bin Soldiers, and wee cannot weepe +When our Friends don their helmes, or put to sea, +Or tell of Babes broachd on the Launce, or women +That have sod their Infants in (and after eate them) +The brine, they wept at killing 'em; Then if +You stay to see of us such Spincsters, we +Should hold you here for ever. + +PERITHOUS. +Peace be to you, +As I pursue this war, which shall be then +Beyond further requiring. [Exit Pir.] + +EMILIA. +How his longing +Followes his Friend! since his depart, his sportes +Though craving seriousnes, and skill, past slightly +His careles execution, where nor gaine +Made him regard, or losse consider; but +Playing one busines in his hand, another +Directing in his head, his minde, nurse equall +To these so diffring Twyns—have you observ'd him, +Since our great Lord departed? + +HIPPOLITA. +With much labour, +And I did love him fort: they two have Cabind +In many as dangerous, as poore a Corner, +Perill and want contending; they have skift +Torrents whose roring tyranny and power +I'th least of these was dreadfull, and they have +Fought out together, where Deaths-selfe was lodgd, +Yet fate hath brought them off: Their knot of love, +Tide, weau'd, intangled, with so true, so long, +And with a finger of so deepe a cunning, +May be outworne, never undone. I thinke +Theseus cannot be umpire to himselfe, +Cleaving his conscience into twaine and doing +Each side like Iustice, which he loves best. + +EMILIA. +Doubtlesse +There is a best, and reason has no manners +To say it is not you: I was acquainted +Once with a time, when I enjoyd a Play-fellow; +You were at wars, when she the grave enrichd, +Who made too proud the Bed, tooke leave o th Moone +(Which then lookt pale at parting) when our count +Was each eleven. + +HIPPOLITA. +Twas Flaui(n)a. + +EMILIA. +Yes. +You talke of Pirithous and Theseus love; +Theirs has more ground, is more maturely seasond, +More buckled with strong Iudgement and their needes +The one of th'other may be said to water [2. Hearses ready + with Palamon: and Arcite: the 3. Queenes. Theseus: and his + Lordes ready.] +Their intertangled rootes of love; but I +And shee I sigh and spoke of were things innocent, +Lou'd for we did, and like the Elements +That know not what, nor why, yet doe effect +Rare issues by their operance, our soules +Did so to one another; what she lik'd, +Was then of me approov'd, what not, condemd, +No more arraignment; the flowre that I would plucke +And put betweene my breasts (then but beginning +To swell about the blossome) oh, she would long +Till shee had such another, and commit it +To the like innocent Cradle, where Phenix like +They dide in perfume: on my head no toy +But was her patterne; her affections (pretty, +Though, happely, her careles were) I followed +For my most serious decking; had mine eare +Stolne some new aire, or at adventure humd on +From musicall Coynadge, why it was a note +Whereon her spirits would sojourne (rather dwell on) +And sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsall +(Which ev'ry innocent wots well comes in +Like old importments bastard) has this end, +That the true love tweene Mayde, and mayde, may be +More then in sex idividuall. + +HIPPOLITA. +Y'are out of breath +And this high speeded pace, is but to say +That you shall never like the Maide Flavina +Love any that's calld Man. + +EMILIA. +I am sure I shall not. + +HIPPOLITA. +Now, alacke, weake Sister, +I must no more beleeve thee in this point +(Though in't I know thou dost beleeve thy selfe,) +Then I will trust a sickely appetite, +That loathes even as it longs; but, sure, my Sister, +If I were ripe for your perswasion, you +Have saide enough to shake me from the Arme +Of the all noble Theseus, for whose fortunes +I will now in, and kneele with great assurance, +That we, more then his Pirothous, possesse +The high throne in his heart. + +EMILIA. +I am not +Against your faith; yet I continew mine. [Exeunt. Cornets.] + +SCENE 4. (A field before Thebes. Dead bodies lying on the ground.) + +[A Battaile strooke within: Then a Retrait: Florish. Then + Enter Theseus (victor), (Herald and Attendants:) the three + Queenes meete him, and fall on their faces before him.] + +1. QUEEN. +To thee no starre be darke. + +2. QUEEN. +Both heaven and earth +Friend thee for ever. + +3. QUEEN. +All the good that may +Be wishd upon thy head, I cry Amen too't. + +THESEUS. +Th'imparciall Gods, who from the mounted heavens +View us their mortall Heard, behold who erre, +And in their time chastice: goe and finde out +The bones of your dead Lords, and honour them +With treble Ceremonie; rather then a gap +Should be in their deere rights, we would supply't. +But those we will depute, which shall invest +You in your dignities, and even each thing +Our hast does leave imperfect: So, adiew, +And heavens good eyes looke on you. What are those? [Exeunt +Queenes.] + +HERALD. +Men of great quality, as may be judgd +By their appointment; Sone of Thebs have told's +They are Sisters children, Nephewes to the King. + +THESEUS. +By'th Helme of Mars, I saw them in the war, +Like to a paire of Lions, smeard with prey, +Make lanes in troopes agast. I fixt my note +Constantly on them; for they were a marke +Worth a god's view: what prisoner was't that told me +When I enquired their names? + +HERALD. +Wi'leave, they'r called Arcite and Palamon. + +THESEUS. +Tis right: those, those. They are not dead? + +HERALD. +Nor in a state of life: had they bin taken, +When their last hurts were given, twas possible [3. Hearses +ready.] +They might have bin recovered; Yet they breathe +And haue the name of men. + +THESEUS. +Then like men use 'em. +The very lees of such (millions of rates) +Exceede the wine of others: all our Surgions +Convent in their behoofe; our richest balmes +Rather then niggard, waft: their lives concerne us +Much more then Thebs is worth: rather then have 'em +Freed of this plight, and in their morning state +(Sound and at liberty) I would 'em dead; +But forty thousand fold we had rather have 'em +Prisoners to us then death. Beare 'em speedily +From our kinde aire, to them unkinde, and minister +What man to man may doe—for our sake more, +Since I have knowne frights, fury, friends beheastes, +Loves provocations, zeale, a mistris Taske, +Desire of liberty, a feavour, madnes, +Hath set a marke which nature could not reach too +Without some imposition: sicknes in will +Or wrastling strength in reason. For our Love +And great Appollos mercy, all our best +Their best skill tender. Leade into the Citty, +Where having bound things scatterd, we will post [Florish.] +To Athens for(e) our Army [Exeunt. Musicke.] + +SCENE 5. (Another part of the same.) + +[Enter the Queenes with the Hearses of their Knightes, in a + Funerall Solempnity, &c.] + +Vrnes and odours bring away, +Vapours, sighes, darken the day; +Our dole more deadly lookes than dying; +Balmes, and Gummes, and heavy cheeres, +Sacred vials fill'd with teares, +And clamors through the wild ayre flying. + +Come all sad and solempne Showes, +That are quick-eyd pleasures foes; +We convent nought else but woes. +We convent, &c. + +3. QUEEN. +This funeral path brings to your housholds grave: +Ioy ceaze on you againe: peace sleepe with him. + +2. QUEEN. +And this to yours. + +1. QUEEN. +Yours this way: Heavens lend +A thousand differing waies to one sure end. + +3. QUEEN. +This world's a Citty full of straying Streetes, And Death's the market +place, where each one meetes. [Exeunt severally.] + +ACT II + +SCENE 1. (Athens. A garden, with a prison in the background.) + +[Enter Iailor, and Wooer.] + +IAILOR. +I may depart with little, while I live; some thing I may cast to you, +not much: Alas, the Prison I keepe, though it be for great ones, yet +they seldome come; Before one Salmon, you shall take a number of +Minnowes. I am given out to be better lyn'd then it can appeare to me +report is a true Speaker: I would I were really that I am deliverd to +be. Marry, what I have (be it what it will) I will assure upon my +daughter at the day of my death. + +WOOER. +Sir, I demaund no more then your owne offer, and I will estate +your +Daughter in what I have promised. + +IAILOR. +Wel, we will talke more of this, when the solemnity is past. But have +you a full promise of her? When that shall be seene, I tender my +consent. + +[Enter Daughter.] + +WOOER. +I have Sir; here shee comes. + +IAILOR. +Your Friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old busines: +But no more of that now; so soone as the Court hurry is over, we will +have an end of it: I'th meane time looke tenderly to the two Prisoners. + I can tell you they are princes. + +DAUGHTER. +These strewings are for their Chamber; tis pitty they are in prison, +and twer pitty they should be out: I doe thinke they have patience to +make any adversity asham'd; the prison it selfe is proud of 'em; and +they have all the world in their Chamber. + +IAILOR. +They are fam'd to be a paire of absolute men. + +DAUGHTER. +By my troth, I think Fame but stammers 'em; they stand a greise above +the reach of report. + +IAILOR. +I heard them reported in the Battaile to be the only doers. + +DAUGHTER. +Nay, most likely, for they are noble suffrers; I mervaile how they +would have lookd had they beene Victors, that with such a constant +Nobility enforce a freedome out of Bondage, making misery their Mirth, +and affliction a toy to jest at. + +IAILOR. +Doe they so? + +DAUGHTER. +It seemes to me they have no more sence of their Captivity, then I of +ruling Athens: they eate well, looke merrily, discourse of many things, +but nothing of their owne restraint, and disasters: yet sometime a +devided sigh, martyrd as 'twer i'th deliverance, will breake from one +of them; when the other presently gives it so sweete a rebuke, that I +could wish my selfe a Sigh to be so chid, or at least a Sigher to be +comforted. + +WOOER. +I never saw 'em. + +IAILOR. +The Duke himselfe came privately in the night, + +[Enter Palamon, and Arcite, above.] + +and so did they: what the reason of it is, I know not: Looke, yonder +they are! that's Arcite lookes out. + +DAUGHTER. +No, Sir, no, that's Palamon: Arcite is the lower of the twaine; you may +perceive a part of him. + +IAILOR. +Goe too, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object; out +of their sight. + +DAUGHTER. +It is a holliday to looke on them: Lord, the diffrence of men! + [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 2. (The prison) + +[Enter Palamon, and Arcite in prison.] + +PALAMON. +How doe you, Noble Cosen? + +ARCITE. +How doe you, Sir? + +PALAMON. +Why strong inough to laugh at misery, +And beare the chance of warre, yet we are prisoners, +I feare, for ever, Cosen. + +ARCITE. +I beleeve it, +And to that destiny have patiently +Laide up my houre to come. + +PALAMON. +O Cosen Arcite, +Where is Thebs now? where is our noble Country? +Where are our friends, and kindreds? never more +Must we behold those comforts, never see +The hardy youthes strive for the Games of honour +(Hung with the painted favours of their Ladies, +Like tall Ships under saile) then start among'st 'em +And as an Eastwind leave 'en all behinde us, +Like lazy Clowdes, whilst Palamon and Arcite, +Even in the wagging of a wanton leg +Out-stript the peoples praises, won the Garlands, +Ere they have time to wish 'em ours. O never +Shall we two exercise, like Twyns of honour, +Our Armes againe, and feele our fyry horses +Like proud Seas under us: our good Swords now +(Better the red-eyd god of war nev'r wore) +Ravishd our sides, like age must run to rust, +And decke the Temples of those gods that hate us: +These hands shall never draw'em out like lightning, +To blast whole Armies more. + +ARCITE. +No, Palamon, +Those hopes are Prisoners with us; here we are +And here the graces of our youthes must wither +Like a too-timely Spring; here age must finde us, +And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried; +The sweete embraces of a loving wife, +Loden with kisses, armd with thousand Cupids +Shall never claspe our neckes, no issue know us, +No figures of our selves shall we ev'r see, +To glad our age, and like young Eagles teach 'em +Boldly to gaze against bright armes, and say: +'Remember what your fathers were, and conquer.' +The faire-eyd Maides, shall weepe our Banishments, +And in their Songs, curse ever-blinded fortune, +Till shee for shame see what a wrong she has done +To youth and nature. This is all our world; +We shall know nothing here but one another, +Heare nothing but the Clocke that tels our woes. +The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it: +Sommer shall come, and with her all delights; +But dead-cold winter must inhabite here still. + +PALAMON. +Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban houndes, +That shooke the aged Forrest with their ecchoes, +No more now must we halloa, no more shake +Our pointed Iavelyns, whilst the angry Swine +Flyes like a parthian quiver from our rages, +Strucke with our well-steeld Darts: All valiant uses +(The foode, and nourishment of noble mindes,) +In us two here shall perish; we shall die +(Which is the curse of honour) lastly +Children of greife, and Ignorance. + +ARCITE. +Yet, Cosen, +Even from the bottom of these miseries, +From all that fortune can inflict upon us, +I see two comforts rysing, two meere blessings, +If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience, +And the enjoying of our greefes together. +Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish +If I thinke this our prison. + +PALAMON. +Certeinly, +Tis a maine goodnes, Cosen, that our fortunes +Were twyn'd together; tis most true, two soules +Put in two noble Bodies—let 'em suffer +The gaule of hazard, so they grow together— +Will never sincke; they must not, say they could: +A willing man dies sleeping, and all's done. + +ARCITE. +Shall we make worthy uses of this place +That all men hate so much? + +PALAMON. +How, gentle Cosen? + +ARCITE. +Let's thinke this prison holy sanctuary, +To keepe us from corruption of worse men. +We are young and yet desire the waies of honour, +That liberty and common Conversation, +The poyson of pure spirits, might like women +Wooe us to wander from. What worthy blessing +Can be but our Imaginations +May make it ours? And heere being thus together, +We are an endles mine to one another; +We are one anothers wife, ever begetting +New birthes of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance; +We are, in one another, Families, +I am your heire, and you are mine: This place +Is our Inheritance, no hard Oppressour +Dare take this from us; here, with a little patience, +We shall live long, and loving: No surfeits seeke us: +The hand of war hurts none here, nor the Seas +Swallow their youth: were we at liberty, +A wife might part us lawfully, or busines; +Quarrels consume us, Envy of ill men +Grave our acquaintance; I might sicken, Cosen, +Where you should never know it, and so perish +Without your noble hand to close mine eies, +Or praiers to the gods: a thousand chaunces, +Were we from hence, would seaver us. + +PALAMON. +You have made me +(I thanke you, Cosen Arcite) almost wanton +With my Captivity: what a misery +It is to live abroade, and every where! +Tis like a Beast, me thinkes: I finde the Court here— +I am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures +That wooe the wils of men to vanity, +I see through now, and am sufficient +To tell the world, tis but a gaudy shaddow, +That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him. +What had we bin, old in the Court of Creon, +Where sin is Iustice, lust and ignorance +The vertues of the great ones! Cosen Arcite, +Had not the loving gods found this place for us, +We had died as they doe, ill old men, unwept, +And had their Epitaphes, the peoples Curses: +Shall I say more? + +ARCITE. +I would heare you still. + +PALAMON. +Ye shall. +Is there record of any two that lov'd +Better then we doe, Arcite? + +ARCITE. +Sure, there cannot. + +PALAMON. +I doe not thinke it possible our friendship +Should ever leave us. + +ARCITE. +Till our deathes it cannot; + +[Enter Emilia and her woman (below).] + +And after death our spirits shall be led +To those that love eternally. Speake on, Sir. + +EMILIA. +This garden has a world of pleasures in't. +What Flowre is this? + +WOMAN. +Tis calld Narcissus, Madam. + +EMILIA. +That was a faire Boy, certaine, but a foole, +To love himselfe; were there not maides enough? + +ARCITE. +Pray forward. + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +EMILIA. +Or were they all hard hearted? + +WOMAN. +They could not be to one so faire. + +EMILIA. +Thou wouldst not. + +WOMAN. +I thinke I should not, Madam. + +EMILIA. +That's a good wench: +But take heede to your kindnes though. + +WOMAN. +Why, Madam? + +EMILIA. +Men are mad things. + +ARCITE. +Will ye goe forward, Cosen? + +EMILIA. +Canst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench? + +WOMAN. +Yes. + +EMILIA. +Ile have a gowne full of 'em, and of these; +This is a pretty colour, wilt not doe +Rarely upon a Skirt, wench? + +WOMAN. +Deinty, Madam. + +ARCITE. +Cosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon? + +PALAMON. +Never till now I was in prison, Arcite. + +ARCITE. +Why whats the matter, Man? + +PALAMON. +Behold, and wonder. +By heaven, shee is a Goddesse. + +ARCITE. +Ha. + +PALAMON. +Doe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite. + +EMILIA. +Of all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best. + +WOMAN. +Why, gentle Madam? + +EMILIA. +It is the very Embleme of a Maide. +For when the west wind courts her gently, +How modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun, +With her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her, +Rude and impatient, then, like Chastity, +Shee lockes her beauties in her bud againe, +And leaves him to base briers. + +WOMAN. +Yet, good Madam, +Sometimes her modesty will blow so far +She fals for't: a Mayde, +If shee have any honour, would be loth +To take example by her. + +EMILIA. +Thou art wanton. + +ARCITE. +She is wondrous faire. + +PALAMON. +She is beauty extant. + +EMILIA. +The Sun grows high, lets walk in: keep these flowers; +Weele see how neere Art can come neere their colours. +I am wondrous merry hearted, I could laugh now. + +WOMAN. +I could lie downe, I am sure. + +EMILIA. +And take one with you? + +WOMAN. +That's as we bargaine, Madam. + +EMILIA. +Well, agree then. [Exeunt Emilia and woman.] + +PALAMON. +What thinke you of this beauty? + +ARCITE. +Tis a rare one. + +PALAMON. +Is't but a rare one? + +ARCITE. +Yes, a matchles beauty. + +PALAMON. +Might not a man well lose himselfe and love her? + +ARCITE. +I cannot tell what you have done, I have; +Beshrew mine eyes for't: now I feele my Shackles. + +PALAMON. +You love her, then? + +ARCITE. +Who would not? + +PALAMON. +And desire her? + +ARCITE. +Before my liberty. + +PALAMON. +I saw her first. + +ARCITE. +That's nothing. + +PALAMON. +But it shall be. + +ARCITE. +I saw her too. + +PALAMON. +Yes, but you must not love her. + +ARCITE. +I will not as you doe, to worship her, +As she is heavenly, and a blessed Goddes; +I love her as a woman, to enjoy her: +So both may love. + +PALAMON. +You shall not love at all. + +ARCITE. +Not love at all! +Who shall deny me? + +PALAMON. +I, that first saw her; I, that tooke possession +First with mine eyes of all those beauties +In her reveald to mankinde: if thou lou'st her, +Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes, +Thou art a Traytour, Arcite, and a fellow +False as thy Title to her: friendship, blood, +And all the tyes betweene us I disclaime, +If thou once thinke upon her. + +ARCITE. +Yes, I love her, +And if the lives of all my name lay on it, +I must doe so; I love her with my soule: +If that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon; +I say againe, I love, and in loving her maintaine +I am as worthy and as free a lover, +And have as just a title to her beauty +As any Palamon or any living +That is a mans Sonne. + +PALAMON. +Have I cald thee friend? + +ARCITE. +Yes, and have found me so; why are you mov'd thus? +Let me deale coldly with you: am not I +Part of your blood, part of your soule? you have told me +That I was Palamon, and you were Arcite. + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +ARCITE. +Am not I liable to those affections, +Those joyes, greifes, angers, feares, my friend shall suffer? + +PALAMON. +Ye may be. + +ARCITE. +Why, then, would you deale so cunningly, +So strangely, so vnlike a noble kinesman, +To love alone? speake truely: doe you thinke me +Vnworthy of her sight? + +PALAMON. +No; but unjust, +If thou pursue that sight. + +ARCITE. +Because an other +First sees the Enemy, shall I stand still +And let mine honour downe, and never charge? + +PALAMON. +Yes, if he be but one. + +ARCITE. +But say that one +Had rather combat me? + +PALAMON. +Let that one say so, +And use thy freedome; els if thou pursuest her, +Be as that cursed man that hates his Country, +A branded villaine. + +ARCITE. +You are mad. + +PALAMON. +I must be, +Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concernes me, +And in this madnes, if I hazard thee +And take thy life, I deale but truely. + +ARCITE. +Fie, Sir, +You play the Childe extreamely: I will love her, +I must, I ought to doe so, and I dare; +And all this justly. + +PALAMON. +O that now, that now +Thy false-selfe and thy friend had but this fortune, +To be one howre at liberty, and graspe +Our good Swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee +What 'twer to filch affection from another: +Thou art baser in it then a Cutpurse; +Put but thy head out of this window more, +And as I have a soule, Ile naile thy life too't. + +ARCITE. +Thou dar'st not, foole, thou canst not, thou art feeble. +Put my head out? Ile throw my Body out, +And leape the garden, when I see her next + +[Enter Keeper.] + +And pitch between her armes to anger thee. + +PALAMON. +No more; the keeper's comming; I shall live +To knocke thy braines out with my Shackles. + +ARCITE. +Doe. + +KEEPER. +By your leave, Gentlemen— + +PALAMON. +Now, honest keeper? + +KEEPER. +Lord Arcite, you must presently to'th Duke; +The cause I know not yet. + +ARCITE. +I am ready, keeper. + +KEEPER. +Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you +Of your faire Cosens Company. [Exeunt Arcite, and Keeper.] + +PALAMON. +And me too, +Even when you please, of life. Why is he sent for? +It may be he shall marry her; he's goodly, +And like enough the Duke hath taken notice +Both of his blood and body: But his falsehood! +Why should a friend be treacherous? If that +Get him a wife so noble, and so faire, +Let honest men ne're love againe. Once more +I would but see this faire One. Blessed Garden, +And fruite, and flowers more blessed, that still blossom +As her bright eies shine on ye! would I were, +For all the fortune of my life hereafter, +Yon little Tree, yon blooming Apricocke; +How I would spread, and fling my wanton armes +In at her window; I would bring her fruite +Fit for the Gods to feed on: youth and pleasure +Still as she tasted should be doubled on her, +And if she be not heavenly, I would make her +So neere the Gods in nature, they should feare her, + +[Enter Keeper.] + +And then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper. +Wher's Arcite? + +KEEPER. +Banishd: Prince Pirithous +Obtained his liberty; but never more +Vpon his oth and life must he set foote +Vpon this Kingdome. + +PALAMON. +Hees a blessed man! +He shall see Thebs againe, and call to Armes +The bold yong men, that, when he bids 'em charge, +Fall on like fire: Arcite shall have a Fortune, +If he dare make himselfe a worthy Lover, +Yet in the Feild to strike a battle for her; +And if he lose her then, he's a cold Coward; +How bravely may he beare himselfe to win her +If he be noble Arcite—thousand waies. +Were I at liberty, I would doe things +Of such a vertuous greatnes, that this Lady, +This blushing virgine, should take manhood to her +And seeke to ravish me. + +KEEPER. +My Lord for you +I have this charge too— + +PALAMON. +To discharge my life? + +KEEPER. +No, but from this place to remoove your Lordship: +The windowes are too open. + +PALAMON. +Devils take 'em, +That are so envious to me! pre'thee kill me. + +KEEPER. +And hang for't afterward. + +PALAMON. +By this good light, +Had I a sword I would kill thee. + +KEEPER. +Why, my Lord? + +PALAMON. +Thou bringst such pelting scuruy news continually +Thou art not worthy life. I will not goe. + +KEEPER. +Indeede, you must, my Lord. + +PALAMON. +May I see the garden? + +KEEPER. +Noe. + +PALAMON. +Then I am resolud, I will not goe. + +KEEPER. +I must constraine you then: and for you are dangerous, +Ile clap more yrons on you. + +PALAMON. +Doe, good keeper. +Ile shake 'em so, ye shall not sleepe; +Ile make ye a new Morrisse: must I goe? + +KEEPER. +There is no remedy. + +PALAMON. +Farewell, kinde window. +May rude winde never hurt thee. O, my Lady, +If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was, +Dreame how I suffer. Come; now bury me. [Exeunt Palamon, and +Keeper.] + +SCENE 3. (The country near Athens. + +[Enter Arcite.] + +ARCITE. +Banishd the kingdome? tis a benefit, +A mercy I must thanke 'em for, but banishd +The free enjoying of that face I die for, +Oh twas a studdied punishment, a death +Beyond Imagination: Such a vengeance +That, were I old and wicked, all my sins +Could never plucke upon me. Palamon, +Thou ha'st the Start now, thou shalt stay and see +Her bright eyes breake each morning gainst thy window, +And let in life into thee; thou shalt feede +Vpon the sweetenes of a noble beauty, +That nature nev'r exceeded, nor nev'r shall: +Good gods! what happines has Palamon! +Twenty to one, hee'le come to speake to her, +And if she be as gentle as she's faire, +I know she's his; he has a Tongue will tame +Tempests, and make the wild Rockes wanton. +Come what can come, +The worst is death; I will not leave the Kingdome. +I know mine owne is but a heape of ruins, +And no redresse there; if I goe, he has her. +I am resolu'd an other shape shall make me, +Or end my fortunes. Either way, I am happy: +Ile see her, and be neere her, or no more. + +[Enter 4. Country people, & one with a garlond before them.] + +1. COUNTREYMAN +My Masters, ile be there, that's certaine + +2. COUNTREYMAN +And Ile be there. + +3. COUNTREYMAN +And I. + +4. COUNTREYMAN +Why, then, have with ye, Boyes; Tis but a chiding. +Let the plough play to day, ile tick'lt out +Of the Iades tailes to morrow. + +1. COUNTREYMAN +I am sure +To have my wife as jealous as a Turkey: +But that's all one; ile goe through, let her mumble. + +2. COUNTREYMAN +Clap her aboard to morrow night, and stoa her, +And all's made up againe. + +3. COUNTREYMAN +I, doe but put a feskue in her fist, and you shall see her +Take a new lesson out, and be a good wench. +Doe we all hold against the Maying? + +4. COUNTREYMAN +Hold? what should aile us? + +3. COUNTREYMAN +Arcas will be there. + +2. COUNTREYMAN +And Sennois. +And Rycas, and 3. better lads nev'r dancd +Under green Tree. And yee know what wenches: ha? +But will the dainty Domine, the Schoolemaster, +Keep touch, doe you thinke? for he do's all, ye know. + +3. COUNTREYMAN +Hee'l eate a hornebooke ere he faile: goe too, the matter's too farre +driven betweene him and the Tanners daughter, to let slip now, and she +must see the Duke, and she must daunce too. + +4. COUNTREYMAN +Shall we be lusty? + +2. COUNTREYMAN +All the Boyes in Athens blow wind i'th breech on's, and heere ile be +and there ile be, for our Towne, and here againe, and there againe: ha, +Boyes, heigh for the weavers. + +1. COUNTREYMAN +This must be done i'th woods. + +4. COUNTREYMAN +O, pardon me. + +2. COUNTREYMAN +By any meanes, our thing of learning saies so: +Where he himselfe will edifie the Duke +Most parlously in our behalfes: hees excellent i'th woods; +Bring him to'th plaines, his learning makes no cry. + +3. COUNTREYMAN +Weele see the sports, then; every man to's Tackle: +And, Sweete Companions, lets rehearse by any meanes, +Before the Ladies see us, and doe sweetly, +And God knows what May come on't. + +4. COUNTREYMAN +Content; the sports once ended, wee'l performe. +Away, Boyes and hold. + +ARCITE. +By your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither goe you? + +4. COUNTREYMAN +Whither? why, what a question's that? + +ARCITE. +Yes, tis a question, to me that know not. + +3. COUNTREYMAN +To the Games, my Friend. + +2. COUNTREYMAN +Where were you bred, you know it not? + +ARCITE. +Not farre, Sir, +Are there such Games to day? + +1. COUNTREYMAN +Yes, marry, are there: +And such as you neuer saw; The Duke himselfe +Will be in person there. + +ARCITE. +What pastimes are they? + +2. COUNTREYMAN +Wrastling, and Running.—Tis a pretty Fellow. + +3. COUNTREYMAN +Thou wilt not goe along? + +ARCITE. +Not yet, Sir. + +4. COUNTREYMAN +Well, Sir, +Take your owne time: come, Boyes. + +1. COUNTREYMAN +My minde misgives me; +This fellow has a veng'ance tricke o'th hip: +Marke how his Bodi's made for't + +2. COUNTREYMAN +Ile be hangd, though, +If he dare venture; hang him, plumb porredge, +He wrastle? he rost eggs! Come, lets be gon, Lads. [Exeunt.] + +ARCITE. +This is an offerd oportunity +I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled, +The best men calld it excellent, and run— +Swifter the winde upon a feild of Corne +(Curling the wealthy eares) never flew: Ile venture, +And in some poore disguize be there; who knowes +Whether my browes may not be girt with garlands? +And happines preferre me to a place, +Where I may ever dwell in sight of her. [Exit Arcite.] + +SCENE 4. (Athens. A room in the prison.) + +[Enter Iailors Daughter alone.] + +DAUGHTER. +Why should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds +He never will affect me; I am base, +My Father the meane Keeper of his Prison, +And he a prince: To marry him is hopelesse; +To be his whore is witles. Out upon't, +What pushes are we wenches driven to, +When fifteene once has found us! First, I saw him; +I (seeing) thought he was a goodly man; +He has as much to please a woman in him, +(If he please to bestow it so) as ever +These eyes yet lookt on. Next, I pittied him, +And so would any young wench, o' my Conscience, +That ever dream'd, or vow'd her Maydenhead +To a yong hansom Man; Then I lov'd him, +Extreamely lov'd him, infinitely lov'd him; +And yet he had a Cosen, faire as he too. +But in my heart was Palamon, and there, +Lord, what a coyle he keepes! To heare him +Sing in an evening, what a heaven it is! +And yet his Songs are sad ones. Fairer spoken +Was never Gentleman. When I come in +To bring him water in a morning, first +He bowes his noble body, then salutes me, thus: +'Faire, gentle Mayde, good morrow; may thy goodnes +Get thee a happy husband.' Once he kist me. +I lov'd my lips the better ten daies after. +Would he would doe so ev'ry day! He greives much, +And me as much to see his misery. +What should I doe, to make him know I love him? +For I would faine enjoy him. Say I ventur'd +To set him free? what saies the law then? Thus much +For Law, or kindred! I will doe it, +And this night, or to morrow, he shall love me. [Exit.] + +SCENE 5. (An open place in Athens.) + +[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Emilia: Arcite with a +Garland, &c.] + +[This short florish of Cornets and Showtes within.] + +THESEUS. +You have done worthily; I have not seene, +Since Hercules, a man of tougher synewes; +What ere you are, you run the best, and wrastle, +That these times can allow. + +ARCITE. +I am proud to please you. + +THESEUS. +What Countrie bred you? + +ARCITE. +This; but far off, Prince. + +THESEUS. +Are you a Gentleman? + +ARCITE. +My father said so; +And to those gentle uses gave me life. + +THESEUS. +Are you his heire? + +ARCITE. +His yongest, Sir. + +THESEUS. +Your Father +Sure is a happy Sire then: what prooves you? + +ARCITE. +A little of all noble Quallities: +I could have kept a Hawke, and well have holloa'd +To a deepe crie of Dogges; I dare not praise +My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me +Would say it was my best peece: last, and greatest, +I would be thought a Souldier. + +THESEUS. +You are perfect. + +PERITHOUS. +Vpon my soule, a proper man. + +EMILIA. +He is so. + +PERITHOUS. +How doe you like him, Ladie? + +HIPPOLITA. +I admire him; +I have not seene so yong a man so noble +(If he say true,) of his sort. + +EMILIA. +Beleeve, +His mother was a wondrous handsome woman; +His face, me thinkes, goes that way. + +HIPPOLITA. +But his Body +And firie minde illustrate a brave Father. + +PERITHOUS. +Marke how his vertue, like a hidden Sun, +Breakes through his baser garments. + +HIPPOLITA. +Hee's well got, sure. + +THESEUS. +What made you seeke this place, Sir? + +ARCITE. +Noble Theseus, +To purchase name, and doe my ablest service +To such a well-found wonder as thy worth, +For onely in thy Court, of all the world, +Dwells faire-eyd honor. + +PERITHOUS. +All his words are worthy. + +THESEUS. +Sir, we are much endebted to your travell, +Nor shall you loose your wish: Perithous, +Dispose of this faire Gentleman. + +PERITHOUS. +Thankes, Theseus. +What ere you are y'ar mine, and I shall give you +To a most noble service, to this Lady, +This bright yong Virgin; pray, observe her goodnesse; +You have honourd hir faire birth-day with your vertues, +And as your due y'ar hirs: kisse her faire hand, Sir. + +ARCITE. +Sir, y'ar a noble Giver: dearest Bewtie, +Thus let me seale my vowd faith: when your Servant +(Your most unworthie Creature) but offends you, +Command him die, he shall. + +EMILIA. +That were too cruell. +If you deserve well, Sir, I shall soone see't: +Y'ar mine, and somewhat better than your rancke +Ile use you. + +PERITHOUS. +Ile see you furnish'd, and because you say +You are a horseman, I must needs intreat you +This after noone to ride, but tis a rough one. + +ARCITE. +I like him better, Prince, I shall not then +Freeze in my Saddle. + +THESEUS. +Sweet, you must be readie, +And you, Emilia, and you, Friend, and all, +To morrow by the Sun, to doe observance +To flowry May, in Dians wood: waite well, Sir, +Vpon your Mistris. Emely, I hope +He shall not goe a foote. + +EMILIA. +That were a shame, Sir, +While I have horses: take your choice, and what +You want at any time, let me but know it; +If you serve faithfully, I dare assure you +You'l finde a loving Mistris. + +ARCITE. +If I doe not, +Let me finde that my Father ever hated, +Disgrace and blowes. + +THESEUS. +Go, leade the way; you have won it: +It shall be so; you shall receave all dues +Fit for the honour you have won; Twer wrong else. +Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a Servant, +That, if I were a woman, would be Master, +But you are wise. [Florish.] + +EMILIA. +I hope too wise for that, Sir. [Exeunt omnes.] + +SCENE 6. (Before the prison.) + +[Enter Iaylors Daughter alone.] + +DAUGHTER. +Let all the Dukes, and all the divells rore, +He is at liberty: I have venturd for him, +And out I have brought him to a little wood +A mile hence. I have sent him, where a Cedar, +Higher than all the rest, spreads like a plane +Fast by a Brooke, and there he shall keepe close, +Till I provide him Fyles and foode, for yet +His yron bracelets are not off. O Love, +What a stout hearted child thou art! My Father +Durst better have indur'd cold yron, than done it: +I love him beyond love and beyond reason, +Or wit, or safetie: I have made him know it. +I care not, I am desperate; If the law +Finde me, and then condemne me for't, some wenches, +Some honest harted Maides, will sing my Dirge, +And tell to memory my death was noble, +Dying almost a Martyr: That way he takes, +I purpose is my way too: Sure he cannot +Be so unmanly, as to leave me here; +If he doe, Maides will not so easily +Trust men againe: And yet he has not thank'd me +For what I have done: no not so much as kist me, +And that (me thinkes) is not so well; nor scarcely +Could I perswade him to become a Freeman, +He made such scruples of the wrong he did +To me, and to my Father. Yet I hope, +When he considers more, this love of mine +Will take more root within him: Let him doe +What he will with me, so he use me kindly; +For use me so he shall, or ile proclaime him, +And to his face, no man. Ile presently +Provide him necessaries, and packe my cloathes up, +And where there is a patch of ground Ile venture, +So hee be with me; By him, like a shadow, +Ile ever dwell; within this houre the whoobub +Will be all ore the prison: I am then +Kissing the man they looke for: farewell, Father; +Get many more such prisoners and such daughters, +And shortly you may keepe your selfe. Now to him! + +ACT III + +SCENE 1. (A forest near Athens.) + +[Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a +Maying.] + +[Enter Arcite alone.] + +ARCITE. +The Duke has lost Hypolita; each tooke +A severall land. This is a solemne Right +They owe bloomd May, and the Athenians pay it +To'th heart of Ceremony. O Queene Emilia, +Fresher then May, sweeter +Then hir gold Buttons on the bowes, or all +Th'enamelld knackes o'th Meade or garden: yea, +We challenge too the bancke of any Nymph +That makes the streame seeme flowers; thou, o Iewell +O'th wood, o'th world, hast likewise blest a place +With thy sole presence: in thy rumination +That I, poore man, might eftsoones come betweene +And chop on some cold thought! thrice blessed chance, +To drop on such a Mistris, expectation +Most giltlesse on't! tell me, O Lady Fortune, +(Next after Emely my Soveraigne) how far +I may be prowd. She takes strong note of me, +Hath made me neere her; and this beuteous Morne +(The prim'st of all the yeare) presents me with +A brace of horses: two such Steeds might well +Be by a paire of Kings backt, in a Field +That their crownes titles tride. Alas, alas, +Poore Cosen Palamon, poore prisoner, thou +So little dream'st upon my fortune, that +Thou thinkst thy selfe the happier thing, to be +So neare Emilia; me thou deem'st at Thebs, +And therein wretched, although free. But if +Thou knew'st my Mistris breathd on me, and that +I ear'd her language, livde in her eye, O Coz, +What passion would enclose thee! + +[Enter Palamon as out of a Bush, with his Shackles: bends his fist at +Arcite.] + +PALAMON. +Traytor kinesman, +Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signes +Of prisonment were off me, and this hand +But owner of a Sword: By all othes in one, +I and the iustice of my love would make thee +A confest Traytor. O thou most perfidious +That ever gently lookd; the voydest of honour, +That eu'r bore gentle Token; falsest Cosen +That ever blood made kin, call'st thou hir thine? +Ile prove it in my Shackles, with these hands, +Void of appointment, that thou ly'st, and art +A very theefe in love, a Chaffy Lord, +Nor worth the name of villaine: had I a Sword +And these house clogges away— + +ARCITE. +Deere Cosin Palamon— + +PALAMON. +Cosoner Arcite, give me language such +As thou hast shewd me feate. + +ARCITE. +Not finding in +The circuit of my breast any grosse stuffe +To forme me like your blazon, holds me to +This gentlenesse of answer; tis your passion +That thus mistakes, the which to you being enemy, +Cannot to me be kind: honor, and honestie +I cherish, and depend on, how so ev'r +You skip them in me, and with them, faire Coz, +Ile maintaine my proceedings; pray, be pleas'd +To shew in generous termes your griefes, since that +Your question's with your equall, who professes +To cleare his owne way with the minde and Sword +Of a true Gentleman. + +PALAMON. +That thou durst, Arcite! + +ARCITE. +My Coz, my Coz, you have beene well advertis'd +How much I dare, y'ave seene me use my Sword +Against th'advice of feare: sure, of another +You would not heare me doubted, but your silence +Should breake out, though i'th Sanctuary. + +PALAMON. +Sir, +I have seene you move in such a place, which well +Might justifie your manhood; you were calld +A good knight and a bold; But the whole weeke's not faire, +If any day it rayne: Their valiant temper +Men loose when they encline to trecherie, +And then they fight like coupelld Beares, would fly +Were they not tyde. + +ARCITE. +Kinsman, you might as well +Speake this and act it in your Glasse, as to +His eare which now disdaines you. + +PALAMON. +Come up to me, +Quit me of these cold Gyves, give me a Sword, +Though it be rustie, and the charity +Of one meale lend me; Come before me then, +A good Sword in thy hand, and doe but say +That Emily is thine: I will forgive +The trespasse thou hast done me, yea, my life, +If then thou carry't, and brave soules in shades +That have dyde manly, which will seeke of me +Some newes from earth, they shall get none but this, +That thou art brave and noble. + +ARCITE. +Be content: +Againe betake you to your hawthorne house; +With counsaile of the night, I will be here +With wholesome viands; these impediments +Will I file off; you shall have garments and +Perfumes to kill the smell o'th prison; after, +When you shall stretch your selfe and say but, 'Arcite, +I am in plight,' there shall be at your choyce +Both Sword and Armour. + +PALAMON. +Oh you heavens, dares any +So noble beare a guilty busines! none +But onely Arcite, therefore none but Arcite +In this kinde is so bold. + +ARCITE. +Sweete Palamon. + +PALAMON. +I doe embrace you and your offer,—for +Your offer doo't I onely, Sir; your person, +Without hipocrisy I may not wish [Winde hornes of Cornets.] +More then my Swords edge ont. + +ARCITE. +You heare the Hornes; +Enter your Musite least this match between's +Be crost, er met: give me your hand; farewell. +Ile bring you every needfull thing: I pray you, +Take comfort and be strong. + +PALAMON. +Pray hold your promise; +And doe the deede with a bent brow: most certaine +You love me not, be rough with me, and powre +This oile out of your language; by this ayre, +I could for each word give a Cuffe, my stomach +Not reconcild by reason. + +ARCITE. +Plainely spoken, +Yet pardon me hard language: when I spur [Winde hornes.] +My horse, I chide him not; content and anger +In me have but one face. Harke, Sir, they call +The scatterd to the Banket; you must guesse +I have an office there. + +PALAMON. +Sir, your attendance +Cannot please heaven, and I know your office +Vnjustly is atcheev'd. + +ARCITE. +If a good title, +I am perswaded this question sicke between's +By bleeding must be cur'd. I am a Suitour, +That to your Sword you will bequeath this plea +And talke of it no more. + +PALAMON. +But this one word: +You are going now to gaze upon my Mistris, +For note you, mine she is— + +ARCITE. +Nay, then. + +PALAMON. +Nay, pray you, +You talke of feeding me to breed me strength: +You are going now to looke upon a Sun +That strengthens what it lookes on; there +You have a vantage ore me, but enjoy't till +I may enforce my remedy. Farewell. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 2. (Another Part of the forest.) + +[Enter Iaylors daughter alone.] + +DAUGHTER. +He has mistooke the Brake I meant, is gone +After his fancy. Tis now welnigh morning; +No matter, would it were perpetuall night, +And darkenes Lord o'th world. Harke, tis a woolfe: +In me hath greife slaine feare, and but for one thing +I care for nothing, and that's Palamon. +I wreake not if the wolves would jaw me, so +He had this File: what if I hallowd for him? +I cannot hallow: if I whoop'd, what then? +If he not answeard, I should call a wolfe, +And doe him but that service. I have heard +Strange howles this live-long night, why may't not be +They have made prey of him? he has no weapons, +He cannot run, the Iengling of his Gives +Might call fell things to listen, who have in them +A sence to know a man unarmd, and can +Smell where resistance is. Ile set it downe +He's torne to peeces; they howld many together +And then they fed on him: So much for that, +Be bold to ring the Bell; how stand I then? +All's char'd when he is gone. No, no, I lye, +My Father's to be hang'd for his escape; +My selfe to beg, if I prizd life so much +As to deny my act, but that I would not, +Should I try death by dussons.—I am mop't, +Food tooke I none these two daies, +Sipt some water. I have not closd mine eyes +Save when my lids scowrd off their brine; alas, +Dissolue my life, Let not my sence unsettle, +Least I should drowne, or stab or hang my selfe. +O state of Nature, faile together in me, +Since thy best props are warpt! So, which way now? +The best way is the next way to a grave: +Each errant step beside is torment. Loe, +The Moone is down, the Cryckets chirpe, the Schreichowle +Calls in the dawne; all offices are done +Save what I faile in: But the point is this, +An end, and that is all. [Exit.] + +SCENE 3. (Same as Scene I.) + +[Enter Arcite, with Meate, Wine, and Files.] + +ARCITE. +I should be neere the place: hoa, Cosen Palamon. [Enter +Palamon.] + +PALAMON. +Arcite? + +ARCITE. +The same: I have brought you foode and files. +Come forth and feare not, here's no Theseus. + +PALAMON. +Nor none so honest, Arcite. + +ARCITE. +That's no matter, +Wee'l argue that hereafter: Come, take courage; +You shall not dye thus beastly: here, Sir, drinke; +I know you are faint: then ile talke further with you. + +PALAMON. +Arcite, thou mightst now poyson me. + +ARCITE. +I might, +But I must feare you first: Sit downe, and, good, now +No more of these vaine parlies; let us not, +Having our ancient reputation with us, +Make talke for Fooles and Cowards. To your health, &c. + +PALAMON. +Doe. + +ARCITE. +Pray, sit downe then; and let me entreate you, +By all the honesty and honour in you, +No mention of this woman: t'will disturbe us; +We shall have time enough. + +PALAMON. +Well, Sir, Ile pledge you. + +ARCITE. +Drinke a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man. +Doe not you feele it thaw you? + +PALAMON. +Stay, Ile tell you after a draught or two more. + +ARCITE. +Spare it not, the Duke has more, Cuz: Eate now. + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +ARCITE. +I am glad you have so good a stomach. + +PALAMON. +I am gladder I have so good meate too't. + +ARCITE. +Is't not mad lodging here in the wild woods, Cosen? + +PALAMON. +Yes, for them that have wilde Consciences. + +ARCITE. +How tasts your vittails? your hunger needs no sawce, I see. + +PALAMON. +Not much; +But if it did, yours is too tart, sweete Cosen: what is this? + +ARCITE. +Venison. + +PALAMON. +Tis a lusty meate: +Giue me more wine; here, Arcite, to the wenches +We have known in our daies. The Lord Stewards daughter, +Doe you remember her? + +ARCITE. +After you, Cuz. + +PALAMON. +She lov'd a black-haird man. + +ARCITE. +She did so; well, Sir. + +PALAMON. +And I have heard some call him Arcite, and— + +ARCITE. +Out with't, faith. + +PALAMON. +She met him in an Arbour: +What did she there, Cuz? play o'th virginals? + +ARCITE. +Something she did, Sir. + +PALAMON. +Made her groane a moneth for't, or 2. or 3. or 10. + +ARCITE. +The Marshals Sister +Had her share too, as I remember, Cosen, +Else there be tales abroade; you'l pledge her? + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +ARCITE. +A pretty broune wench t'is. There was a time +When yong men went a hunting, and a wood, +And a broade Beech: and thereby hangs a tale:—heigh ho! + +PALAMON. +For Emily, upon my life! Foole, +Away with this straind mirth; I say againe, +That sigh was breathd for Emily; base Cosen, +Dar'st thou breake first? + +ARCITE. +You are wide. + +PALAMON. +By heaven and earth, ther's nothing in thee honest. + +ARCITE. +Then Ile leave you: you are a Beast now. + +PALAMON. +As thou makst me, Traytour. + +ARCITE. +Ther's all things needfull, files and shirts, and perfumes: +Ile come againe some two howres hence, and bring +That that shall quiet all, + +PALAMON. +A Sword and Armour? + +ARCITE. +Feare me not; you are now too fowle; farewell. +Get off your Trinkets; you shall want nought. + +PALAMON. +Sir, ha— + +ARCITE. +Ile heare no more. [Exit.] + +PALAMON. +If he keepe touch, he dies for't. [Exit.] + +SCENE 4. (Another part of the forest.) + +[Enter Iaylors daughter.] + +DAUGHTER. +I am very cold, and all the Stars are out too, +The little Stars, and all, that looke like aglets: +The Sun has seene my Folly. Palamon! +Alas no; hees in heaven. Where am I now? +Yonder's the sea, and ther's a Ship; how't tumbles! +And ther's a Rocke lies watching under water; +Now, now, it beates upon it; now, now, now, +Ther's a leak sprung, a sound one, how they cry! +Spoon her before the winde, you'l loose all els: +Vp with a course or two, and take about, Boyes. +Good night, good night, y'ar gone.—I am very hungry. +Would I could finde a fine Frog; he would tell me +Newes from all parts o'th world, then would I make +A Carecke of a Cockle shell, and sayle +By east and North East to the King of Pigmes, +For he tels fortunes rarely. Now my Father, +Twenty to one, is trust up in a trice +To morrow morning; Ile say never a word. + +[Sing.] + +For ile cut my greene coat a foote above my knee, And ile clip my +yellow lockes an inch below mine eie. hey, nonny, nonny, nonny, He's +buy me a white Cut, forth for to ride And ile goe seeke him, throw the +world that is so wide hey nonny, nonny, nonny. + +O for a pricke now like a Nightingale, +To put my breast against. I shall sleepe like a Top else. +[Exit.] + +SCENE 5. (Another part of the forest.) + +[Enter a Schoole master, 4. Countrymen, and Bavian. 2. or 3. wenches, +with a Taborer.] + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Fy, fy, what tediosity, & disensanity is here among ye? have my +Rudiments bin labourd so long with ye? milkd unto ye, and by a figure +even the very plumbroth & marrow of my understanding laid upon ye? and +do you still cry: where, and how, & wherfore? you most course freeze +capacities, ye jane Iudgements, have I saide: thus let be, and there +let be, and then let be, and no man understand mee? Proh deum, medius +fidius, ye are all dunces! For why, here stand I, Here the Duke comes, +there are you close in the Thicket; the Duke appeares, I meete him and +unto him I utter learned things and many figures; he heares, and nods, +and hums, and then cries: rare, and I goe forward; at length I fling my +Cap up; marke there; then do you, as once did Meleager and the Bore, +break comly out before him: like true lovers, cast your selves in a +Body decently, and sweetly, by a figure trace and turne, Boyes. + +1. COUNTREYMAN. +And sweetly we will doe it Master Gerrold. + +2. COUNTREYMAN. +Draw up the Company. Where's the Taborour? + +3. COUNTREYMAN. +Why, Timothy! + +TABORER. +Here, my mad boyes, have at ye. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +But I say, where's their women? + +4. COUNTREYMAN. +Here's Friz and Maudline. + +2. COUNTREYMAN. +And little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbery. + +1. COUNTREYMAN. +And freckeled Nel, that never faild her Master. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Wher be your Ribands, maids? swym with your Bodies +And carry it sweetly, and deliverly +And now and then a fauour, and a friske. + +NEL. +Let us alone, Sir. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Wher's the rest o'th Musicke? + +3. COUNTREYMAN. +Dispersd as you commanded. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Couple, then, +And see what's wanting; wher's the Bavian? +My friend, carry your taile without offence +Or scandall to the Ladies; and be sure +You tumble with audacity and manhood; +And when you barke, doe it with judgement. + +BAVIAN. +Yes, Sir. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Quo usque tandem? Here is a woman wanting. + +4. COUNTREYMAN. +We may goe whistle: all the fat's i'th fire. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +We have, +As learned Authours utter, washd a Tile, +We have beene FATUUS, and laboured vainely. + +2. COUNTREYMAN. +This is that scornefull peece, that scurvy hilding, +That gave her promise faithfully, she would be here, +Cicely the Sempsters daughter: +The next gloves that I give her shall be dog skin; +Nay and she faile me once—you can tell, Arcas, +She swore by wine and bread, she would not breake. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +An Eele and woman, +A learned Poet sayes, unles by'th taile +And with thy teeth thou hold, will either faile. +In manners this was false position + +1. COUNTREYMAN. +A fire ill take her; do's she flinch now? + +3. COUNTREYMAN. +What +Shall we determine, Sir? + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Nothing. +Our busines is become a nullity; +Yea, and a woefull, and a pittious nullity. + +4. COUNTREYMAN. +Now when the credite of our Towne lay on it, +Now to be frampall, now to pisse o'th nettle! +Goe thy waies; ile remember thee, ile fit thee. + +[Enter Iaylors daughter.] + +DAUGHTER. +[Sings.] + +The George alow came from the South, +From the coast of Barbary a. +And there he met with brave gallants of war +By one, by two, by three, a. + +Well haild, well haild, you jolly gallants, +And whither now are you bound a? +O let me have your company [Chaire and stooles out.] +Till (I) come to the sound a. + +There was three fooles, fell out about an howlet: +The one sed it was an owle, +The other he sed nay, +The third he sed it was a hawke, +And her bels wer cut away. + +3. COUNTREYMAN. +Ther's a dainty mad woman M(aiste)r +Comes i'th Nick, as mad as a march hare: +If wee can get her daunce, wee are made againe: +I warrant her, shee'l doe the rarest gambols. + +1. COUNTREYMAN. +A mad woman? we are made, Boyes. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +And are you mad, good woman? + +DAUGHTER. +I would be sorry else; +Give me your hand. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Why? + +DAUGHTER. +I can tell your fortune. +You are a foole: tell ten. I have pozd him: Buz! +Friend you must eate no whitebread; if you doe, +Your teeth will bleede extreamely. Shall we dance, ho? +I know you, y'ar a Tinker: Sirha Tinker, +Stop no more holes, but what you should. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Dij boni. A Tinker, Damzell? + +DAUGHTER. +Or a Conjurer: +Raise me a devill now, and let him play +Quipassa o'th bels and bones. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Goe, take her, +And fluently perswade her to a peace: +Et opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis. +Strike up, and leade her in. + +2. COUNTREYMAN. +Come, Lasse, lets trip it. + +DAUGHTER. +Ile leade. [Winde Hornes.] + +3. COUNTREYMAN. +Doe, doe. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Perswasively, and cunningly: away, boyes, [Ex. all but +Schoolemaster.] +I heare the hornes: give me some meditation, +And marke your Cue.—Pallas inspire me. + +[Enter Thes. Pir. Hip. Emil. Arcite, and traine.] + +THESEUS. +This way the Stag tooke. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Stay, and edifie. + +THESEUS. +What have we here? + +PERITHOUS. +Some Countrey sport, upon my life, Sir. + +THESEUS. +Well, Sir, goe forward, we will edifie. +Ladies, sit downe, wee'l stay it. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Thou, doughtie Duke, all haile: all haile, sweet Ladies. + +THESEUS. +This is a cold beginning. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +If you but favour, our Country pastime made is. +We are a few of those collected here, +That ruder Tongues distinguish villager; +And to say veritie, and not to fable, +We are a merry rout, or else a rable, +Or company, or, by a figure, Choris, +That fore thy dignitie will dance a Morris. +And I, that am the rectifier of all, +By title Pedagogus, that let fall +The Birch upon the breeches of the small ones, +And humble with a Ferula the tall ones, +Doe here present this Machine, or this frame: +And daintie Duke, whose doughtie dismall fame +From Dis to Dedalus, from post to pillar, +Is blowne abroad, helpe me thy poore well willer, +And with thy twinckling eyes looke right and straight +Vpon this mighty MORR—of mickle waight; +IS now comes in, which being glewd together, +Makes MORRIS, and the cause that we came hether. +The body of our sport, of no small study, +I first appeare, though rude, and raw, and muddy, +To speake before thy noble grace this tenner: +At whose great feete I offer up my penner. +The next the Lord of May and Lady bright, +The Chambermaid and Servingman by night +That seeke out silent hanging: Then mine Host +And his fat Spowse, that welcomes to their cost +The gauled Traveller, and with a beckning +Informes the Tapster to inflame the reckning: +Then the beast eating Clowne, and next the foole, +The Bavian, with long tayle and eke long toole, +Cum multis alijs that make a dance: +Say 'I,' and all shall presently advance. + +THESEUS. +I, I, by any meanes, deere Domine. + +PERITHOUS. +Produce. + +(SCHOOLMASTER.) +Intrate, filij; Come forth, and foot it.— + +[Musicke, Dance. Knocke for Schoole.] + +[Enter the Dance.] + +Ladies, if we have beene merry, +And have pleasd yee with a derry, +And a derry, and a downe, +Say the Schoolemaster's no Clowne: +Duke, if we have pleasd thee too, +And have done as good Boyes should doe, +Give us but a tree or twaine +For a Maypole, and againe, +Ere another yeare run out, +Wee'l make thee laugh and all this rout. + +THESEUS. +Take 20., Domine; how does my sweet heart? + +HIPPOLITA. +Never so pleasd, Sir. + +EMILIA. +Twas an excellent dance, and for a preface +I never heard a better. + +THESEUS. +Schoolemaster, I thanke you.—One see'em all rewarded. + +PERITHOUS. +And heer's something to paint your Pole withall. + +THESEUS. +Now to our sports againe. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +May the Stag thou huntst stand long, +And thy dogs be swift and strong: +May they kill him without lets, +And the Ladies eate his dowsets! +Come, we are all made. [Winde Hornes.] +Dij Deoeq(ue) omnes, ye have danc'd rarely, wenches. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 6. (Same as Scene III.) + +[Enter Palamon from the Bush.] + +PALAMON. +About this houre my Cosen gave his faith +To visit me againe, and with him bring +Two Swords, and two good Armors; if he faile, +He's neither man nor Souldier. When he left me, +I did not thinke a weeke could have restord +My lost strength to me, I was growne so low, +And Crest-falne with my wants: I thanke thee, Arcite, +Thou art yet a faire Foe; and I feele my selfe +With this refreshing, able once againe +To out dure danger: To delay it longer +Would make the world think, when it comes to hearing, +That I lay fatting like a Swine to fight, +And not a Souldier: Therefore, this blest morning +Shall be the last; and that Sword he refuses, +If it but hold, I kill him with; tis Iustice: +So love, and Fortune for me!—O, good morrow. + +[Enter Arcite with Armors and Swords.] + +ARCITE. +Good morrow, noble kinesman. + +PALAMON. +I have put you to too much paines, Sir. + +ARCITE. +That too much, faire Cosen, +Is but a debt to honour, and my duty. + +PALAMON. +Would you were so in all, Sir; I could wish ye +As kinde a kinsman, as you force me finde +A beneficiall foe, that my embraces +Might thanke ye, not my blowes. + +ARCITE. +I shall thinke either, well done, +A noble recompence. + +PALAMON. +Then I shall quit you. + +ARCITE. +Defy me in these faire termes, and you show +More then a Mistris to me, no more anger +As you love any thing that's honourable: +We were not bred to talke, man; when we are arm'd +And both upon our guards, then let our fury, +Like meeting of two tides, fly strongly from us, +And then to whom the birthright of this Beauty +Truely pertaines (without obbraidings, scornes, +Dispisings of our persons, and such powtings, +Fitter for Girles and Schooleboyes) will be seene +And quickly, yours, or mine: wilt please you arme, Sir, +Or if you feele your selfe not fitting yet +And furnishd with your old strength, ile stay, Cosen, +And ev'ry day discourse you into health, +As I am spard: your person I am friends with, +And I could wish I had not saide I lov'd her, +Though I had dide; But loving such a Lady +And justifying my Love, I must not fly from't. + +PALAMON. +Arcite, thou art so brave an enemy, +That no man but thy Cosen's fit to kill thee: +I am well and lusty, choose your Armes. + +ARCITE. +Choose you, Sir. + +PALAMON. +Wilt thou exceede in all, or do'st thou doe it +To make me spare thee? + +ARCITE. +If you thinke so, Cosen, +You are deceived, for as I am a Soldier, +I will not spare you. + +PALAMON. +That's well said. + +ARCITE. +You'l finde it. + +PALAMON. +Then, as I am an honest man and love +With all the justice of affection, +Ile pay thee soundly. This ile take. + +ARCITE. +That's mine, then; +Ile arme you first. + +PALAMON. +Do: pray thee, tell me, Cosen, +Where gotst thou this good Armour? + +ARCITE. +Tis the Dukes, +And to say true, I stole it; doe I pinch you? + +PALAMON. +Noe. + +ARCITE. +Is't not too heavie? + +PALAMON. +I have worne a lighter, +But I shall make it serve. + +ARCITE. +Ile buckl't close. + +PALAMON. +By any meanes. + +ARCITE. +You care not for a Grand guard? + +PALAMON. +No, no; wee'l use no horses: I perceave +You would faine be at that Fight. + +ARCITE. +I am indifferent. + +PALAMON. +Faith, so am I: good Cosen, thrust the buckle +Through far enough. + +ARCITE. +I warrant you. + +PALAMON. +My Caske now. + +ARCITE. +Will you fight bare-armd? + +PALAMON. +We shall be the nimbler. + +ARCITE. +But use your Gauntlets though; those are o'th least, +Prethee take mine, good Cosen. + +PALAMON. +Thanke you, Arcite. +How doe I looke? am I falne much away? + +ARCITE. +Faith, very little; love has usd you kindly. + +PALAMON. +Ile warrant thee, Ile strike home. + +ARCITE. +Doe, and spare not; +Ile give you cause, sweet Cosen. + +PALAMON. +Now to you, Sir: +Me thinkes this Armor's very like that, Arcite, +Thou wor'st the day the 3. Kings fell, but lighter. + +ARCITE. +That was a very good one; and that day, +I well remember, you outdid me, Cosen. +I never saw such valour: when you chargd +Vpon the left wing of the Enemie, +I spurd hard to come up, and under me +I had a right good horse. + +PALAMON. +You had indeede; a bright Bay, I remember. + +ARCITE. +Yes, but all +Was vainely labour'd in me; you outwent me, +Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little +I did by imitation. + +PALAMON. +More by vertue; +You are modest, Cosen. + +ARCITE. +When I saw you charge first, +Me thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder +Breake from the Troope. + +PALAMON. +But still before that flew +The lightning of your valour. Stay a little, +Is not this peece too streight? + +ARCITE. +No, no, tis well. + +PALAMON. +I would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword, +A bruise would be dishonour. + +ARCITE. +Now I am perfect. + +PALAMON. +Stand off, then. + +ARCITE. +Take my Sword, I hold it better. + +PALAMON. +I thanke ye: No, keepe it; your life lyes on it. +Here's one; if it but hold, I aske no more +For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me! [They bow + severall wayes: then advance and stand.] + +ARCITE. +And me my love! Is there ought else to say? + +PALAMON. +This onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son, +And that blood we desire to shed is mutuall; +In me, thine, and in thee, mine. My Sword +Is in my hand, and if thou killst me, +The gods and I forgive thee; If there be +A place prepar'd for those that sleepe in honour, +I wish his wearie soule that falls may win it: +Fight bravely, Cosen; give me thy noble hand. + +ARCITE. +Here, Palamon: This hand shall never more +Come neare thee with such friendship. + +PALAMON. +I commend thee. + +ARCITE. +If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward, +For none but such dare die in these just Tryalls. +Once more farewell, my Cosen. + +PALAMON. +Farewell, Arcite. [Fight.] + +[Hornes within: they stand.] + +ARCITE. +Loe, Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us. + +PALAMON. +Why? + +ARCITE. +This is the Duke, a hunting as I told you. +If we be found, we are wretched. O retire +For honours sake, and safety presently +Into your Bush agen; Sir, we shall finde +Too many howres to dye in: gentle Cosen, +If you be seene you perish instantly +For breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me, +For my contempt. Then all the world will scorne us, +And say we had a noble difference, +But base disposers of it. + +PALAMON. +No, no, Cosen, +I will no more be hidden, nor put off +This great adventure to a second Tryall: +I know your cunning, and I know your cause; +He that faints now, shame take him: put thy selfe +Vpon thy present guard— + +ARCITE. +You are not mad? + +PALAMON. +Or I will make th'advantage of this howre +Mine owne, and what to come shall threaten me, +I feare lesse then my fortune: know, weake Cosen, +I love Emilia, and in that ile bury +Thee, and all crosses else. + +ARCITE. +Then, come what can come, +Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well +Die, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me, +The law will have the honour of our ends. +Have at thy life. + +PALAMON. +Looke to thine owne well, Arcite. [Fight againe. Hornes.] + +[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous and traine.] + +THESEUS. +What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors, +Are you, That gainst the tenor of my Lawes +Are making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed, +Without my leave, and Officers of Armes? +By Castor, both shall dye. + +PALAMON. +Hold thy word, Theseus. +We are certainly both Traitors, both despisers +Of thee and of thy goodnesse: I am Palamon, +That cannot love thee, he that broke thy Prison; +Thinke well what that deserves: and this is Arcite, +A bolder Traytor never trod thy ground, +A Falser neu'r seem'd friend: This is the man +Was begd and banish'd; this is he contemnes thee +And what thou dar'st doe, and in this disguise +Against thy owne Edict followes thy Sister, +That fortunate bright Star, the faire Emilia, +Whose servant, (if there be a right in seeing, +And first bequeathing of the soule to) justly +I am, and, which is more, dares thinke her his. +This treacherie, like a most trusty Lover, +I call'd him now to answer; if thou bee'st, +As thou art spoken, great and vertuous, +The true descider of all injuries, +Say, 'Fight againe,' and thou shalt see me, Theseus, +Doe such a Iustice, thou thy selfe wilt envie. +Then take my life; Ile wooe thee too't. + +PERITHOUS. +O heaven, +What more then man is this! + +THESEUS. +I have sworne. + +ARCITE. +We seeke not +Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. Tis to me +A thing as soone to dye, as thee to say it, +And no more mov'd: where this man calls me Traitor, +Let me say thus much: if in love be Treason, +In service of so excellent a Beutie, +As I love most, and in that faith will perish, +As I have brought my life here to confirme it, +As I have serv'd her truest, worthiest, +As I dare kill this Cosen, that denies it, +So let me be most Traitor, and ye please me. +For scorning thy Edict, Duke, aske that Lady +Why she is faire, and why her eyes command me +Stay here to love her; and if she say 'Traytor,' +I am a villaine fit to lye unburied. + +PALAMON. +Thou shalt have pitty of us both, o Theseus, +If unto neither thou shew mercy; stop +(As thou art just) thy noble eare against us. +As thou art valiant, for thy Cosens soule +Whose 12. strong labours crowne his memory, +Lets die together, at one instant, Duke, +Onely a little let him fall before me, +That I may tell my Soule he shall not have her. + +THESEUS. +I grant your wish, for, to say true, your Cosen +Has ten times more offended; for I gave him +More mercy then you found, Sir, your offenses +Being no more then his. None here speake for 'em, +For, ere the Sun set, both shall sleepe for ever. + +HIPPOLITA. +Alas the pitty! now or never, Sister, +Speake, not to be denide; That face of yours +Will beare the curses else of after ages +For these lost Cosens. + +EMILIA. +In my face, deare Sister, +I finde no anger to 'em, nor no ruyn; +The misadventure of their owne eyes kill 'em; +Yet that I will be woman, and have pitty, +My knees shall grow to'th ground but Ile get mercie. +Helpe me, deare Sister; in a deede so vertuous +The powers of all women will be with us. +Most royall Brother— + +HIPPOLITA. +Sir, by our tye of Marriage— + +EMILIA. +By your owne spotlesse honour— + +HIPPOLITA. +By that faith, +That faire hand, and that honest heart you gave me. + +EMILIA. +By that you would have pitty in another, +By your owne vertues infinite. + +HIPPOLITA. +By valour, +By all the chaste nights I have ever pleasd you. + +THESEUS. +These are strange Conjurings. + +PERITHOUS. +Nay, then, Ile in too: +By all our friendship, Sir, by all our dangers, +By all you love most: warres and this sweet Lady. + +EMILIA. +By that you would have trembled to deny, +A blushing Maide. + +HIPPOLITA. +By your owne eyes: By strength, +In which you swore I went beyond all women, +Almost all men, and yet I yeelded, Theseus. + +PERITHOUS. +To crowne all this: By your most noble soule, +Which cannot want due mercie, I beg first. + +HIPPOLITA. +Next, heare my prayers. + +EMILIA. +Last, let me intreate, Sir. + +PERITHOUS. +For mercy. + +HIPPOLITA. +Mercy. + +EMILIA. +Mercy on these Princes. + +THESEUS. +Ye make my faith reele: Say I felt +Compassion to'em both, how would you place it? + +EMILIA. +Vpon their lives: But with their banishments. + +THESEUS. +You are a right woman, Sister; you have pitty, +But want the vnderstanding where to use it. +If you desire their lives, invent a way +Safer then banishment: Can these two live +And have the agony of love about 'em, +And not kill one another? Every day +They'ld fight about you; howrely bring your honour +In publique question with their Swords. Be wise, then, +And here forget 'em; it concernes your credit +And my oth equally: I have said they die; +Better they fall by'th law, then one another. +Bow not my honor. + +EMILIA. +O my noble Brother, +That oth was rashly made, and in your anger, +Your reason will not hold it; if such vowes +Stand for expresse will, all the world must perish. +Beside, I have another oth gainst yours, +Of more authority, I am sure more love, +Not made in passion neither, but good heede. + +THESEUS. +What is it, Sister? + +PERITHOUS. +Vrge it home, brave Lady. + +EMILIA. +That you would nev'r deny me any thing +Fit for my modest suit, and your free granting: +I tye you to your word now; if ye fall in't, +Thinke how you maime your honour, +(For now I am set a begging, Sir, I am deafe +To all but your compassion.) How, their lives +Might breed the ruine of my name, Opinion! +Shall any thing that loves me perish for me? +That were a cruell wisedome; doe men proyne +The straight yong Bowes that blush with thousand Blossoms, +Because they may be rotten? O Duke Theseus, +The goodly Mothers that have groand for these, +And all the longing Maides that ever lov'd, +If your vow stand, shall curse me and my Beauty, +And in their funerall songs for these two Cosens +Despise my crueltie, and cry woe worth me, +Till I am nothing but the scorne of women; +For heavens sake save their lives, and banish 'em. + +THESEUS. +On what conditions? + +EMILIA. +Sweare'em never more +To make me their Contention, or to know me, +To tread upon thy Dukedome; and to be, +Where ever they shall travel, ever strangers +To one another. + +PALAMON. +Ile be cut a peeces +Before I take this oth: forget I love her? +O all ye gods dispise me, then! Thy Banishment +I not mislike, so we may fairely carry +Our Swords and cause along: else, never trifle, +But take our lives, Duke: I must love and will, +And for that love must and dare kill this Cosen +On any peece the earth has. + +THESEUS. +Will you, Arcite, +Take these conditions? + +PALAMON. +He's a villaine, then. + +PERITHOUS. +These are men. + +ARCITE. +No, never, Duke: Tis worse to me than begging +To take my life so basely; though I thinke +I never shall enjoy her, yet ile preserve +The honour of affection, and dye for her, +Make death a Devill. + +THESEUS. +What may be done? for now I feele compassion. + +PERITHOUS. +Let it not fall agen, Sir. + +THESEUS. +Say, Emilia, +If one of them were dead, as one must, are you +Content to take th'other to your husband? +They cannot both enjoy you; They are Princes +As goodly as your owne eyes, and as noble +As ever fame yet spoke of; looke upon 'em, +And if you can love, end this difference. +I give consent; are you content too, Princes? + +BOTH. +With all our soules. + +THESEUS. +He that she refuses +Must dye, then. + +BOTH. +Any death thou canst invent, Duke. + +PALAMON. +If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour, +And Lovers yet unborne shall blesse my ashes. + +ARCITE. +If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, +And Souldiers sing my Epitaph. + +THESEUS. +Make choice, then. + +EMILIA. +I cannot, Sir, they are both too excellent: +For me, a hayre shall never fall of these men. + +HIPPOLITA. +What will become of 'em? + +THESEUS. +Thus I ordaine it; +And by mine honor, once againe, it stands, +Or both shall dye:—You shall both to your Countrey, +And each within this moneth, accompanied +With three faire Knights, appeare againe in this place, +In which Ile plant a Pyramid; and whether, +Before us that are here, can force his Cosen +By fayre and knightly strength to touch the Pillar, +He shall enjoy her: the other loose his head, +And all his friends; Nor shall he grudge to fall, +Nor thinke he dies with interest in this Lady: +Will this content yee? + +PALAMON. +Yes: here, Cosen Arcite, +I am friends againe, till that howre. + +ARCITE. +I embrace ye. + +THESEUS. +Are you content, Sister? + +EMILIA. +Yes, I must, Sir, +Els both miscarry. + +THESEUS. +Come, shake hands againe, then; +And take heede, as you are Gentlemen, this Quarrell +Sleepe till the howre prefixt; and hold your course. + +PALAMON. +We dare not faile thee, Theseus. + +THESEUS. +Come, Ile give ye +Now usage like to Princes, and to Friends: +When ye returne, who wins, Ile settle heere; +Who looses, yet Ile weepe upon his Beere. [Exeunt.] + +ACT IV + +SCENE 1. (Athens. A room in the prison.) + +[Enter Iailor and his friend.] + +IAILOR. +Heare you no more? was nothing saide of me +Concerning the escape of Palamon? +Good Sir, remember. + +1. FRIEND. +Nothing that I heard, +For I came home before the busines +Was fully ended: Yet I might perceive, +Ere I departed, a great likelihood +Of both their pardons: For Hipolita, +And faire-eyd Emilie, upon their knees +Begd with such hansom pitty, that the Duke +Me thought stood staggering, whether he should follow +His rash oth, or the sweet compassion +Of those two Ladies; and to second them, +That truely noble Prince Perithous, +Halfe his owne heart, set in too, that I hope +All shall be well: Neither heard I one question +Of your name or his scape. + +[Enter 2. Friend.] + +IAILOR. +Pray heaven it hold so. + +2. FRIEND. +Be of good comfort, man; I bring you newes, +Good newes. + +IAILOR. +They are welcome, + +2. FRIEND. +Palamon has cleerd you, +And got your pardon, and discoverd how +And by whose meanes he escapt, which was your Daughters, +Whose pardon is procurd too; and the Prisoner, +Not to be held ungratefull to her goodnes, +Has given a summe of money to her Marriage, +A large one, ile assure you. + +IAILOR. +Ye are a good man +And ever bring good newes. + +1. FRIEND. +How was it ended? + +2. FRIEND. +Why, as it should be; they that nev'r begd +But they prevaild, had their suites fairely granted, +The prisoners have their lives. + +1. FRIEND. +I knew t'would be so. + +2. FRIEND. +But there be new conditions, which you'l heare of +At better time. + +IAILOR. +I hope they are good. + +2. FRIEND. +They are honourable, +How good they'l prove, I know not. + +[Enter Wooer.] + +1. FRIEND. +T'will be knowne. + +WOOER. +Alas, Sir, wher's your Daughter? + +IAILOR. +Why doe you aske? + +WOOER. +O, Sir, when did you see her? + +2. FRIEND. +How he lookes? + +IAILOR. +This morning. + +WOOER. +Was she well? was she in health, Sir? +When did she sleepe? + +1. FRIEND. +These are strange Questions. + +IAILOR. +I doe not thinke she was very well, for now +You make me minde her, but this very day +I ask'd her questions, and she answered me +So farre from what she was, so childishly, +So sillily, as if she were a foole, +An Inocent, and I was very angry. +But what of her, Sir? + +WOOER. +Nothing but my pitty; +But you must know it, and as good by me +As by an other that lesse loves her— + +IAILOR. +Well, Sir. + +1. FRIEND. +Not right? + +2. FRIEND. +Not well? + +WOOER. +No, Sir, not well. +Tis too true, she is mad. + +1. FRIEND. +It cannot be. + +WOOER. +Beleeve, you'l finde it so. + +IAILOR. +I halfe suspected +What you (have) told me: the gods comfort her: +Either this was her love to Palamon, +Or feare of my miscarrying on his scape, +Or both. + +WOOER. +Tis likely. + +IAILOR. +But why all this haste, Sir? + +WOOER. +Ile tell you quickly. As I late was angling +In the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace, +From the far shore, thicke set with reedes and Sedges, +As patiently I was attending sport, +I heard a voyce, a shrill one, and attentive +I gave my eare, when I might well perceive +T'was one that sung, and by the smallnesse of it +A boy or woman. I then left my angle +To his owne skill, came neere, but yet perceivd not +Who made the sound, the rushes and the Reeds +Had so encompast it: I laide me downe +And listned to the words she sung, for then, +Through a small glade cut by the Fisher men, +I saw it was your Daughter. + +IAILOR. +Pray, goe on, Sir? + +WOOER. +She sung much, but no sence; onely I heard her +Repeat this often: 'Palamon is gone, +Is gone to'th wood to gather Mulberies; +Ile finde him out to morrow.' + +1. FRIEND. +Pretty soule. + +WOOER. +'His shackles will betray him, hee'l be taken, +And what shall I doe then? Ile bring a beavy, +A hundred blacke eyd Maides, that love as I doe, +With Chaplets on their heads of Daffadillies, +With cherry-lips, and cheekes of Damaske Roses, +And all wee'l daunce an Antique fore the Duke, +And beg his pardon.' Then she talk'd of you, Sir; +That you must loose your head to morrow morning, +And she must gather flowers to bury you, +And see the house made handsome: then she sung +Nothing but 'Willow, willow, willow,' and betweene +Ever was, 'Palamon, faire Palamon,' +And 'Palamon was a tall yong man.' The place +Was knee deepe where she sat; her careles Tresses +A wreathe of bull-rush rounded; about her stucke +Thousand fresh water flowers of severall cullors, +That me thought she appeard like the faire Nimph +That feedes the lake with waters, or as Iris +Newly dropt downe from heaven; Rings she made +Of rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke +The prettiest posies: 'Thus our true love's tide,' +'This you may loose, not me,' and many a one: +And then she wept, and sung againe, and sigh'd, +And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand. + +2. FRIEND. +Alas, what pitty it is! + +WOOER. +I made in to her. +She saw me, and straight sought the flood; I sav'd her, +And set her safe to land: when presently +She slipt away, and to the Citty made, +With such a cry and swiftnes, that, beleeve me, +Shee left me farre behinde her; three or foure +I saw from farre off crosse her, one of 'em +I knew to be your brother; where she staid, +And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her, [Enter + Brother, Daughter, and others.] +And hether came to tell you. Here they are. + +DAUGHTER. [sings.] + +May you never more enjoy the light, &c. + +Is not this a fine Song? + +BROTHER. +O, a very fine one. + +DAUGHTER. +I can sing twenty more. + +BROTHER. +I thinke you can. + +DAUGHTER. +Yes, truely, can I; I can sing the Broome, +And Bony Robin. Are not you a tailour? + +BROTHER. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +Wher's my wedding Gowne? + +BROTHER. +Ile bring it to morrow. + +DAUGHTER. +Doe, very rarely; I must be abroad else +To call the Maides, and pay the Minstrels, +For I must loose my Maydenhead by cock-light; +Twill never thrive else. +[Singes.] O faire, oh sweete, &c. + +BROTHER. +You must ev'n take it patiently. + +IAILOR. +Tis true. + +DAUGHTER. +Good ev'n, good men; pray, did you ever heare +Of one yong Palamon? + +IAILOR. +Yes, wench, we know him. + +DAUGHTER. +Is't not a fine yong Gentleman? + +IAILOR. +Tis Love. + +BROTHER. +By no meane crosse her; she is then distemperd +Far worse then now she showes. + +1. FRIEND. +Yes, he's a fine man. + +DAUGHTER. +O, is he so? you have a Sister? + +1. FRIEND. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +But she shall never have him, tell her so, +For a tricke that I know; y'had best looke to her, +For if she see him once, she's gone, she's done, +And undon in an howre. All the young Maydes +Of our Towne are in love with him, but I laugh at 'em +And let 'em all alone; Is't not a wise course? + +1. FRIEND. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +There is at least two hundred now with child by him— +There must be fowre; yet I keepe close for all this, +Close as a Cockle; and all these must be Boyes, +He has the tricke on't, and at ten yeares old +They must be all gelt for Musitians, +And sing the wars of Theseus. + +2. FRIEND. +This is strange. + +DAUGHTER. +As ever you heard, but say nothing. + +1. FRIEND. +No. + +DAUGHTER. +They come from all parts of the Dukedome to him; +Ile warrant ye, he had not so few last night +As twenty to dispatch: hee'l tickl't up +In two howres, if his hand be in. + +IAILOR. +She's lost +Past all cure. + +BROTHER. +Heaven forbid, man. + +DAUGHTER. +Come hither, you are a wise man. + +1. FRIEND. +Do's she know him? + +2. FRIEND. +No, would she did. + +DAUGHTER. +You are master of a Ship? + +IAILOR. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +Wher's your Compasse? + +IAILOR. +Heere. + +DAUGHTER. +Set it too'th North. +And now direct your course to'th wood, wher Palamon +Lyes longing for me; For the Tackling +Let me alone; Come, waygh, my hearts, cheerely! + +ALL. +Owgh, owgh, owgh, tis up, the wind's faire, +Top the Bowling, out with the maine saile; +Wher's your Whistle, Master? + +BROTHER. +Lets get her in. + +IAILOR. +Vp to the top, Boy. + +BROTHER. +Wher's the Pilot? + +1. FRIEND. +Heere. + +DAUGHTER. +What ken'st thou? + +2. FRIEND. +A faire wood. + +DAUGHTER. +Beare for it, master: take about! [Singes.] +When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 2. (A Room in the Palace.) + +[Enter Emilia alone, with 2. Pictures.] + +EMILIA. +Yet I may binde those wounds up, that must open +And bleed to death for my sake else; Ile choose, +And end their strife: Two such yong hansom men +Shall never fall for me, their weeping Mothers, +Following the dead cold ashes of their Sonnes, +Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven, +What a sweet face has Arcite! if wise nature, +With all her best endowments, all those beuties +She sowes into the birthes of noble bodies, +Were here a mortall woman, and had in her +The coy denialls of yong Maydes, yet doubtles, +She would run mad for this man: what an eye, +Of what a fyry sparkle, and quick sweetnes, +Has this yong Prince! Here Love himselfe sits smyling, +Iust such another wanton Ganimead +Set Jove a fire with, and enforcd the god +Snatch up the goodly Boy, and set him by him +A shining constellation: What a brow, +Of what a spacious Majesty, he carries! +Arch'd like the great eyd Iuno's, but far sweeter, +Smoother then Pelops Shoulder! Fame and honour, +Me thinks, from hence, as from a Promontory +Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings, and sing +To all the under world the Loves and Fights +Of gods, and such men neere 'em. Palamon +Is but his foyle, to him a meere dull shadow: +Hee's swarth and meagre, of an eye as heavy +As if he had lost his mother; a still temper, +No stirring in him, no alacrity, +Of all this sprightly sharpenes not a smile; +Yet these that we count errours may become him: +Narcissus was a sad Boy, but a heavenly:— +Oh who can finde the bent of womans fancy? +I am a Foole, my reason is lost in me; +I have no choice, and I have ly'd so lewdly +That women ought to beate me. On my knees +I aske thy pardon, Palamon; thou art alone, +And only beutifull, and these the eyes, +These the bright lamps of beauty, that command +And threaten Love, and what yong Mayd dare crosse 'em? +What a bold gravity, and yet inviting, +Has this browne manly face! O Love, this only +From this howre is Complexion: Lye there, Arcite, +Thou art a changling to him, a meere Gipsey, +And this the noble Bodie. I am sotted, +Vtterly lost: My Virgins faith has fled me; +For if my brother but even now had ask'd me +Whether I lov'd, I had run mad for Arcite; +Now, if my Sister, More for Palamon. +Stand both together: Now, come aske me, Brother.— +Alas, I know not! Aske me now, sweet Sister;— +I may goe looke. What a meere child is Fancie, +That, having two faire gawdes of equall sweetnesse, +Cannot distinguish, but must crie for both. + +[Enter (a) Gent(leman.)] + +EMILIA. +How now, Sir? + +GENTLEMAN. +From the Noble Duke your Brother, +Madam, I bring you newes: The Knights are come. + +EMILIA. +To end the quarrell? + +GENTLEMAN. +Yes. + +EMILIA. +Would I might end first: +What sinnes have I committed, chast Diana, +That my unspotted youth must now be soyld +With blood of Princes? and my Chastitie +Be made the Altar, where the lives of Lovers +(Two greater and two better never yet +Made mothers joy) must be the sacrifice +To my unhappy Beautie? + +[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous and attendants.] + +THESEUS. +Bring 'em in +Quickly, By any meanes; I long to see 'em.— +Your two contending Lovers are return'd, +And with them their faire Knights: Now, my faire Sister, +You must love one of them. + +EMILIA. +I had rather both, +So neither for my sake should fall untimely. + +[Enter Messenger. (Curtis.)] + +THESEUS. +Who saw 'em? + +PERITHOUS. +I, a while. + +GENTLEMAN. +And I. + +THESEUS. +From whence come you, Sir? + +MESSENGER. +From the Knights. + +THESEUS. +Pray, speake, +You that have seene them, what they are. + +MESSENGER. +I will, Sir, +And truly what I thinke: Six braver spirits +Then these they have brought, (if we judge by the outside) +I never saw, nor read of. He that stands +In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming, +Should be a stout man, by his face a Prince, +(His very lookes so say him) his complexion, +Nearer a browne, than blacke, sterne, and yet noble, +Which shewes him hardy, fearelesse, proud of dangers: +The circles of his eyes show fire within him, +And as a heated Lyon, so he lookes; +His haire hangs long behind him, blacke and shining +Like Ravens wings: his shoulders broad and strong, +Armd long and round, and on his Thigh a Sword +Hung by a curious Bauldricke, when he frownes +To seale his will with: better, o'my conscience +Was never Souldiers friend. + +THESEUS. +Thou ha'st well describde him. + +PERITHOUS. +Yet a great deale short, +Me thinkes, of him that's first with Palamon. + +THESEUS. +Pray, speake him, friend. + +PERITHOUS. +I ghesse he is a Prince too, +And, if it may be, greater; for his show +Has all the ornament of honour in't: +Hee's somewhat bigger, then the Knight he spoke of, +But of a face far sweeter; His complexion +Is (as a ripe grape) ruddy: he has felt, +Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter +To make this cause his owne: In's face appeares +All the faire hopes of what he undertakes, +And when he's angry, then a setled valour +(Not tainted with extreames) runs through his body, +And guides his arme to brave things: Feare he cannot, +He shewes no such soft temper; his head's yellow, +Hard hayr'd, and curld, thicke twind like Ivy tods, +Not to undoe with thunder; In his face +The liverie of the warlike Maide appeares, +Pure red, and white, for yet no beard has blest him. +And in his rowling eyes sits victory, +As if she ever ment to court his valour: +His Nose stands high, a Character of honour. +His red lips, after fights, are fit for Ladies. + +EMILIA. +Must these men die too? + +PERITHOUS. +When he speakes, his tongue +Sounds like a Trumpet; All his lyneaments +Are as a man would wish 'em, strong and cleane, +He weares a well-steeld Axe, the staffe of gold; +His age some five and twenty. + +MESSENGER. +Ther's another, +A little man, but of a tough soule, seeming +As great as any: fairer promises +In such a Body yet I never look'd on. + +PERITHOUS. +O, he that's freckle fac'd? + +MESSENGER. +The same, my Lord; +Are they not sweet ones? + +PERITHOUS. +Yes, they are well. + +MESSENGER. +Me thinkes, +Being so few, and well disposd, they show +Great, and fine art in nature: he's white hair'd, +Not wanton white, but such a manly colour +Next to an aborne; tough, and nimble set, +Which showes an active soule; his armes are brawny, +Linde with strong sinewes: To the shoulder peece +Gently they swell, like women new conceav'd, +Which speakes him prone to labour, never fainting +Vnder the waight of Armes; stout harted, still, +But when he stirs, a Tiger; he's gray eyd, +Which yeelds compassion where he conquers: sharpe +To spy advantages, and where he finds 'em, +He's swift to make 'em his: He do's no wrongs, +Nor takes none; he's round fac'd, and when he smiles +He showes a Lover, when he frownes, a Souldier: +About his head he weares the winners oke, +And in it stucke the favour of his Lady: +His age, some six and thirtie. In his hand +He beares a charging Staffe, embost with silver. + +THESEUS. +Are they all thus? + +PERITHOUS. +They are all the sonnes of honour. + +THESEUS. +Now, as I have a soule, I long to see'em. +Lady, you shall see men fight now. + +HIPPOLITA. +I wish it, +But not the cause, my Lord; They would show +Bravely about the Titles of two Kingdomes; +Tis pitty Love should be so tyrannous: +O my soft harted Sister, what thinke you? +Weepe not, till they weepe blood, Wench; it must be. + +THESEUS. +You have steel'd 'em with your Beautie.—Honord Friend, +To you I give the Feild; pray, order it +Fitting the persons that must use it. + +PERITHOUS. +Yes, Sir. + +THESEUS. +Come, Ile goe visit 'em: I cannot stay, +Their fame has fir'd me so; Till they appeare. +Good Friend, be royall. + +PERITHOUS. +There shall want no bravery. + +EMILIA. +Poore wench, goe weepe, for whosoever wins, +Looses a noble Cosen for thy sins. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 3. (A room in the prison.) + +[Enter Iailor, Wooer, Doctor.] + +DOCTOR. +Her distraction is more at some time of the Moone, then at other some, +is it not? + +IAILOR. +She is continually in a harmelesse distemper, sleepes little, +altogether without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another +world, and a better; and what broken peece of matter so'ere she's +about, the name Palamon lardes it, that she farces ev'ry busines +withall, fyts it to every question.— + +[Enter Daughter.] + +Looke where shee comes, you shall perceive her behaviour. + +DAUGHTER. +I have forgot it quite; The burden on't, was DOWNE A, DOWNE A, and pend +by no worse man, then Giraldo, Emilias Schoolemaster; he's as +Fantasticall too, as ever he may goe upon's legs,—for in the next world +will Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Eneas. + +DOCTOR. +What stuff's here? pore soule! + +IAILOR. +Ev'n thus all day long. + +DAUGHTER. +Now for this Charme, that I told you of: you must bring a peece of +silver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your +chance to come where the blessed spirits, as ther's a sight now—we +maids that have our Lyvers perish'd, crakt to peeces with Love, we +shall come there, and doe nothing all day long but picke flowers with +Proserpine; then will I make Palamon a Nosegay; then let him marke +me,—then— + +DOCTOR. +How prettily she's amisse? note her a little further. + +DAUGHTER. +Faith, ile tell you, sometime we goe to Barly breake, we of the +blessed; alas, tis a sore life they have i'th other place, such +burning, frying, boyling, hissing, howling, chattring, cursing, oh they +have shrowd measure! take heede; if one be mad, or hang or drowne +themselves, thither they goe, Iupiter blesse vs, and there shall we be +put in a Caldron of lead, and Vsurers grease, amongst a whole million +of cutpurses, and there boyle like a Gamon of Bacon that will never be +enough. [Exit.] + +DOCTOR. +How her braine coynes! + +DAUGHTER. +Lords and Courtiers, that have got maids with Child, they are in this +place: they shall stand in fire up to the Nav'le, and in yce up to'th +hart, and there th'offending part burnes, and the deceaving part +freezes; in troth, a very greevous punishment, as one would thinke, for +such a Trifle; beleve me, one would marry a leaprous witch, to be rid +on't, Ile assure you. + +DOCTOR. +How she continues this fancie! Tis not an engraffed Madnesse, but a +most thicke, and profound mellencholly. + +DAUGHTER. +To heare there a proud Lady, and a proud Citty wiffe, howle together! I +were a beast and il'd call it good sport: one cries, 'O this smoake!' +another, 'this fire!' One cries, 'O, that ever I did it behind the +arras!' and then howles; th'other curses a suing fellow and her garden +house. [Sings] I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c. [Exit Daugh.] + +IAILOR. +What thinke you of her, Sir? + +DOCTOR. +I thinke she has a perturbed minde, which I cannot minister to. + +IAILOR. +Alas, what then? + +DOCTOR. +Vnderstand you, she ever affected any man, ere she beheld +Palamon? + +IAILOR. +I was once, Sir, in great hope she had fixd her liking on this +gentleman, my friend. + +WOOER. +I did thinke so too, and would account I had a great pen-worth on't, to +give halfe my state, that both she and I at this present stood +unfainedly on the same tearmes. + +DOCTOR. +That intemprat surfeit of her eye hath distemperd the other sences: +they may returne and settle againe to execute their preordaind +faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you +must doe: Confine her to a place, where the light may rather seeme to +steale in, then be permitted; take vpon you (yong Sir, her friend) the +name of Palamon; say you come to eate with her, and to commune of Love; +this will catch her attention, for this her minde beates upon; other +objects that are inserted tweene her minde and eye become the prankes +and friskins of her madnes; Sing to her such greene songs of Love, as +she sayes Palamon hath sung in prison; Come to her, stucke in as sweet +flowers as the season is mistres of, and thereto make an addition of +som other compounded odours, which are grateful to the sence: all this +shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet, and +ev'ry good thing: desire to eate with her, carve her, drinke to her, +and still among, intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into +her favour: Learne what Maides have beene her companions and +play-pheeres, and let them repaire to her with Palamon in their +mouthes, and appeare with tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a +falsehood she is in, which is with falsehood to be combated. This may +bring her to eate, to sleepe, and reduce what's now out of square in +her, into their former law, and regiment; I have seene it approved, how +many times I know not, but to make the number more, I have great hope +in this. I will, betweene the passages of this project, come in with +my applyance: Let us put it in execution, and hasten the successe, +which, doubt not, will bring forth comfort. [Florish. Exeunt.] + +ACT V + +SCENE 1. (Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana.) + +[Enter Thesius, Perithous, Hipolita, attendants.] + +THESEUS. +Now let'em enter, and before the gods +Tender their holy prayers: Let the Temples +Burne bright with sacred fires, and the Altars +In hallowed clouds commend their swelling Incense +To those above us: Let no due be wanting; [Florish of Cornets.] +They have a noble worke in hand, will honour +The very powers that love 'em. + +[Enter Palamon and Arcite, and their Knights.] + +PERITHOUS. +Sir, they enter. + +THESEUS. +You valiant and strong harted Enemies, +You royall German foes, that this day come +To blow that furnesse out that flames betweene ye: +Lay by your anger for an houre, and dove-like, +Before the holy Altars of your helpers, +(The all feard gods) bow downe your stubborne bodies. +Your ire is more than mortall; So your helpe be, +And as the gods regard ye, fight with Iustice; +Ile leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye +I part my wishes. + +PERITHOUS. +Honour crowne the worthiest. [Exit Theseus, and his traine.] + +PALAMON. +The glasse is running now that cannot finish +Till one of us expire: Thinke you but thus, +That were there ought in me which strove to show +Mine enemy in this businesse, wer't one eye +Against another, Arme opprest by Arme, +I would destroy th'offender, Coz, I would, +Though parcell of my selfe: Then from this gather +How I should tender you. + +ARCITE. +I am in labour +To push your name, your auncient love, our kindred +Out of my memory; and i'th selfe same place +To seate something I would confound: So hoyst we +The sayles, that must these vessells port even where +The heavenly Lymiter pleases. + +PALAMON. +You speake well; +Before I turne, Let me embrace thee, Cosen: +This I shall never doe agen. + +ARCITE. +One farewell. + +PALAMON. +Why, let it be so: Farewell, Coz. [Exeunt Palamon and his +Knights.] + +ARCITE. +Farewell, Sir.— +Knights, Kinsemen, Lovers, yea, my Sacrifices, +True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you +Expells the seedes of feare, and th'apprehension +Which still is farther off it, Goe with me +Before the god of our profession: There +Require of him the hearts of Lyons, and +The breath of Tigers, yea, the fearcenesse too, +Yea, the speed also,—to goe on, I meane, +Else wish we to be Snayles: you know my prize +Must be drag'd out of blood; force and great feate +Must put my Garland on, where she stickes +The Queene of Flowers: our intercession then +Must be to him that makes the Campe a Cestron +Brymd with the blood of men: give me your aide +And bend your spirits towards him. [They kneele.] +Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turnd +Greene Neptune into purple, (whose Approach) +Comets prewarne, whose havocke in vaste Feild +Vnearthed skulls proclaime, whose breath blowes downe, +The teeming Ceres foyzon, who doth plucke +With hand armypotent from forth blew clowdes +The masond Turrets, that both mak'st and break'st +The stony girthes of Citties: me thy puple, +Yongest follower of thy Drom, instruct this day +With military skill, that to thy lawde +I may advance my Streamer, and by thee, +Be stil'd the Lord o'th day: give me, great Mars, +Some token of thy pleasure. + +[Here they fall on their faces as formerly, and there is heard + clanging of Armor, with a short Thunder as the burst of a +Battaile, + whereupon they all rise and bow to the Altar.] + +O Great Corrector of enormous times, +Shaker of ore-rank States, thou grand decider +Of dustie and old tytles, that healst with blood +The earth when it is sicke, and curst the world +O'th pluresie of people; I doe take +Thy signes auspiciously, and in thy name +To my designe march boldly. Let us goe. [Exeunt.] + +[Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance.] + +PALAMON. +Our stars must glister with new fire, or be +To daie extinct; our argument is love, +Which if the goddesse of it grant, she gives +Victory too: then blend your spirits with mine, +You, whose free noblenesse doe make my cause +Your personall hazard; to the goddesse Venus +Commend we our proceeding, and implore +Her power unto our partie. [Here they kneele as formerly.] +Haile, Soveraigne Queene of secrets, who hast power +To call the feircest Tyrant from his rage, +And weepe unto a Girle; that ha'st the might, +Even with an ey-glance, to choke Marsis Drom +And turne th'allarme to whispers; that canst make +A Criple florish with his Crutch, and cure him +Before Apollo; that may'st force the King +To be his subjects vassaile, and induce +Stale gravitie to daunce; the pould Bachelour— +Whose youth, like wonton Boyes through Bonfyres, +Have skipt thy flame—at seaventy thou canst catch +And make him, to the scorne of his hoarse throate, +Abuse yong laies of love: what godlike power +Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou +Add'st flames hotter then his; the heavenly fyres +Did scortch his mortall Son, thine him; the huntresse +All moyst and cold, some say, began to throw +Her Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace +Me, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke +As t'wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier +Then Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles. +I have never beene foule mouthd against thy law, +Nev'r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not, +Had I kend all that were; I never practised +Vpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade +Of liberall wits; I never at great feastes +Sought to betray a Beautie, but have blush'd +At simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh +To large Confessors, and have hotly ask'd them +If they had Mothers: I had one, a woman, +And women t'wer they wrong'd. I knew a man +Of eightie winters, this I told them, who +A Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power +To put life into dust; the aged Crampe +Had screw'd his square foote round, +The Gout had knit his fingers into knots, +Torturing Convulsions from his globie eyes, +Had almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life +In him seem'd torture: this Anatomie +Had by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I +Beleev'd it was him, for she swore it was, +And who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am +To those that prate and have done no Companion; +To those that boast and have not a defyer; +To those that would and cannot a Rejoycer. +Yea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices +The fowlest way, nor names concealements in +The boldest language: such a one I am, +And vow that lover never yet made sigh +Truer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse, +Give me the victory of this question, which +Is true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe +Of thy great pleasure. + +[Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall + againe upon their faces, then on their knees.] + +PALAMON. +O thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign'st +In mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world, +And we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes +For this faire Token, which, being layd unto +Mine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.] +My body to this businesse. Let us rise +And bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.] + +[Still Musicke of Records.] + +[Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a +wheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke +with flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is +conveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of +Diana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they +curtsey and kneele.] + +EMILIA. +O sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene, +Abandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative, +Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure +As windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights +Alow'st no more blood than will make a blush, +Which is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest, +Am humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe, +With that thy rare greene eye, which never yet +Beheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin; +And, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare +(Which nev'r heard scurrill terme, into whose port +Ne're entred wanton found,) to my petition +Seasond with holy feare: This is my last +Of vestall office; I am bride habited, +But mayden harted, a husband I have pointed, +But doe not know him; out of two I should +Choose one and pray for his successe, but I +Am guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes, +Were I to loose one, they are equall precious, +I could doombe neither, that which perish'd should +Goe too't unsentenc'd: Therefore, most modest Queene, +He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me +And has the truest title in't, Let him +Take off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant +The fyle and qualitie I hold, I may +Continue in thy Band. + +[Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends + a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.] + +See what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes +Out from the bowells of her holy Altar +With sacred act advances! But one Rose: +If well inspird, this Battaile shal confound +Both these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre +Must grow alone unpluck'd. + +[Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\ + from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)] + +The flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris, +Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather'd: +I thinke so, but I know not thine owne will; +Vnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she's pleas'd, +Her Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.] + +SCENE 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.) + +[Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.] + +DOCTOR. +Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her? + +WOOER. +O very much; The maids that kept her company +Have halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon; +Within this halfe houre she came smiling to me, +And asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her: +I told her presently, and kist her twice. + +DOCTOR. +Twas well done; twentie times had bin far better, +For there the cure lies mainely. + +WOOER. +Then she told me +She would watch with me to night, for well she knew +What houre my fit would take me. + +DOCTOR. +Let her doe so, +And when your fit comes, fit her home, +And presently. + +WOOER. +She would have me sing. + +DOCTOR. +You did so? + +WOOER. +No. + +DOCTOR. +Twas very ill done, then; +You should observe her ev'ry way. + +WOOER. +Alas, +I have no voice, Sir, to confirme her that way. + +DOCTOR. +That's all one, if yee make a noyse; +If she intreate againe, doe any thing,— +Lye with her, if she aske you. + +IAILOR. +Hoa, there, Doctor! + +DOCTOR. +Yes, in the waie of cure. + +IAILOR. +But first, by your leave, +I'th way of honestie. + +DOCTOR. +That's but a nicenesse, +Nev'r cast your child away for honestie; +Cure her first this way, then if shee will be honest, +She has the path before her. + +IAILOR. +Thanke yee, Doctor. + +DOCTOR. +Pray, bring her in, +And let's see how shee is. + +IAILOR. +I will, and tell her +Her Palamon staies for her: But, Doctor, +Me thinkes you are i'th wrong still. [Exit Iaylor.] + +DOCTOR. +Goe, goe: +You Fathers are fine Fooles: her honesty? +And we should give her physicke till we finde that— + +WOOER. +Why, doe you thinke she is not honest, Sir? + +DOCTOR. +How old is she? + +WOOER. +She's eighteene. + +DOCTOR. +She may be, +But that's all one; tis nothing to our purpose. +What ere her Father saies, if you perceave +Her moode inclining that way that I spoke of, +Videlicet, the way of flesh—you have me? + +WOOER. +Yet, very well, Sir. + +DOCTOR. +Please her appetite, +And doe it home; it cures her, ipso facto, +The mellencholly humour that infects her. + +WOOER. +I am of your minde, Doctor. + +[Enter Iaylor, Daughter, Maide.] + +DOCTOR. +You'l finde it so; she comes, pray humour her. + +IAILOR. +Come, your Love Palamon staies for you, childe, +And has done this long houre, to visite you. + +DAUGHTER. +I thanke him for his gentle patience; +He's a kind Gentleman, and I am much bound to him. +Did you nev'r see the horse he gave me? + +IAILOR. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +How doe you like him? + +IAILOR. +He's a very faire one. + +DAUGHTER. +You never saw him dance? + +IAILOR. +No. + +DAUGHTER. +I have often. +He daunces very finely, very comely, +And for a Iigge, come cut and long taile to him, +He turnes ye like a Top. + +IAILOR. +That's fine, indeede. + +DAUGHTER. +Hee'l dance the Morris twenty mile an houre, +And that will founder the best hobby-horse +(If I have any skill) in all the parish, +And gallops to the turne of LIGHT A' LOVE: +What thinke you of this horse? + +IAILOR. +Having these vertues, +I thinke he might be broght to play at Tennis. + +DAUGHTER. +Alas, that's nothing. + +IAILOR. +Can he write and reade too? + +DAUGHTER. +A very faire hand, and casts himselfe th'accounts +Of all his hay and provender: That Hostler +Must rise betime that cozens him. You know +The Chestnut Mare the Duke has? + +IAILOR. +Very well. + +DAUGHTER. +She is horribly in love with him, poore beast, +But he is like his master, coy and scornefull. + +IAILOR. +What dowry has she? + +DAUGHTER. +Some two hundred Bottles, +And twenty strike of Oates; but hee'l ne're have her; +He lispes in's neighing, able to entice +A Millars Mare: Hee'l be the death of her. + +DOCTOR. +What stuffe she utters! + +IAILOR. +Make curtsie; here your love comes. + +WOOER. +Pretty soule, +How doe ye? that's a fine maide, ther's a curtsie! + +DAUGHTER. +Yours to command ith way of honestie. +How far is't now to'th end o'th world, my Masters? + +DOCTOR. +Why, a daies Iorney, wench. + +DAUGHTER. +Will you goe with me? + +WOOER. +What shall we doe there, wench? + +DAUGHTER. +Why, play at stoole ball: +What is there else to doe? + +WOOER. +I am content, +If we shall keepe our wedding there. + +DAUGHTER. +Tis true: +For there, I will assure you, we shall finde +Some blind Priest for the purpose, that will venture +To marry us, for here they are nice, and foolish; +Besides, my father must be hang'd to morrow +And that would be a blot i'th businesse. +Are not you Palamon? + +WOOER. +Doe not you know me? + +DAUGHTER. +Yes, but you care not for me; I have nothing +But this pore petticoate, and too corse Smockes. + +WOOER. +That's all one; I will have you. + +DAUGHTER. +Will you surely? + +WOOER. +Yes, by this faire hand, will I. + +DAUGHTER. +Wee'l to bed, then. + +WOOER. +Ev'n when you will. [Kisses her.] + +DAUGHTER. +O Sir, you would faine be nibling. + +WOOER. +Why doe you rub my kisse off? + +DAUGHTER. +Tis a sweet one, +And will perfume me finely against the wedding. +Is not this your Cosen Arcite? + +DOCTOR. +Yes, sweet heart, +And I am glad my Cosen Palamon +Has made so faire a choice. + +DAUGHTER. +Doe you thinke hee'l have me? + +DOCTOR. +Yes, without doubt. + +DAUGHTER. +Doe you thinke so too? + +IAILOR. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +We shall have many children:—Lord, how y'ar growne! +My Palamon, I hope, will grow, too, finely, +Now he's at liberty: Alas, poore Chicken, +He was kept downe with hard meate and ill lodging, +But ile kisse him up againe. + +[Emter a Messenger.] + +MESSENGER. +What doe you here? you'l loose the noblest sight +That ev'r was seene. + +IAILOR. +Are they i'th Field? + +MESSENGER. +They are. +You beare a charge there too. + +IAILOR. +Ile away straight. +I must ev'n leave you here. + +DOCTOR. +Nay, wee'l goe with you; +I will not loose the Fight. + +IAILOR. +How did you like her? + +DOCTOR. +Ile warrant you, within these 3. or 4. daies +Ile make her right againe. You must not from her, +But still preserve her in this way. + +WOOER. +I will. + +DOCTOR. +Lets get her in. + +WOOER. +Come, sweete, wee'l goe to dinner; +And then weele play at Cardes. + +DAUGHTER. +And shall we kisse too? + +WOOER. +A hundred times. + +DAUGHTER. +And twenty. + +WOOER. +I, and twenty. + +DAUGHTER. +And then wee'l sleepe together. + +DOCTOR. +Take her offer. + +WOOER. +Yes, marry, will we. + +DAUGHTER. +But you shall not hurt me. + +WOOER. +I will not, sweete. + +DAUGHTER. +If you doe, Love, ile cry. [Florish. Exeunt] + +SCENE 3. (A Place near the Lists.) + +[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Perithous: and some Attendants, + (T. Tucke: Curtis.)] + +EMILIA. +Ile no step further. + +PERITHOUS. +Will you loose this sight? + +EMILIA. +I had rather see a wren hawke at a fly +Then this decision; ev'ry blow that falls +Threats a brave life, each stroake laments +The place whereon it fals, and sounds more like +A Bell then blade: I will stay here; +It is enough my hearing shall be punishd +With what shall happen—gainst the which there is +No deaffing, but to heare—not taint mine eye +With dread sights, it may shun. + +PERITHOUS. +Sir, my good Lord, +Your Sister will no further. + +THESEUS. +Oh, she must. +She shall see deeds of honour in their kinde, +Which sometime show well, pencild. Nature now +Shall make and act the Story, the beleife +Both seald with eye and eare; you must be present, +You are the victours meede, the price, and garlond +To crowne the Questions title. + +EMILIA. +Pardon me; +If I were there, I'ld winke. + +THESEUS. +You must be there; +This Tryall is as t'wer i'th night, and you +The onely star to shine. + +EMILIA. +I am extinct; +There is but envy in that light, which showes +The one the other: darkenes, which ever was +The dam of horrour, who do's stand accurst +Of many mortall Millions, may even now, +By casting her blacke mantle over both, +That neither coulde finde other, get her selfe +Some part of a good name, and many a murther +Set off wherto she's guilty. + +HIPPOLITA. +You must goe. + +EMILIA. +In faith, I will not. + +THESEUS. +Why, the knights must kindle +Their valour at your eye: know, of this war +You are the Treasure, and must needes be by +To give the Service pay. + +EMILIA. +Sir, pardon me; +The tytle of a kingdome may be tride +Out of it selfe. + +THESEUS. +Well, well, then, at your pleasure; +Those that remaine with you could wish their office +To any of their Enemies. + +HIPPOLITA. +Farewell, Sister; +I am like to know your husband fore your selfe +By some small start of time: he whom the gods +Doe of the two know best, I pray them he +Be made your Lot. + +[Exeunt Theseus, Hipolita, Perithous, &c.] + +EMILIA. +Arcite is gently visagd; yet his eye +Is like an Engyn bent, or a sharpe weapon +In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage +Are bedfellowes in his visage. Palamon +Has a most menacing aspect: his brow +Is grav'd, and seemes to bury what it frownes on; +Yet sometime tis not so, but alters to +The quallity of his thoughts; long time his eye +Will dwell upon his object. Mellencholly +Becomes him nobly; So do's Arcites mirth, +But Palamons sadnes is a kinde of mirth, +So mingled, as if mirth did make him sad, +And sadnes, merry; those darker humours that +Sticke misbecomingly on others, on them +Live in faire dwelling. [Cornets. Trompets sound as to a +charge.] +Harke, how yon spurs to spirit doe incite +The Princes to their proofe! Arcite may win me, +And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to +The spoyling of his figure. O, what pitty +Enough for such a chance; if I were by, +I might doe hurt, for they would glance their eies +Toward my Seat, and in that motion might +Omit a ward, or forfeit an offence +Which crav'd that very time: it is much better +I am not there; oh better never borne +Then minister to such harme. [Cornets. A great cry and noice within, + crying 'a Palamon'.] What is the chance? + +[Enter Servant.] + +SERVANT. +The Crie's 'a Palamon'. + +EMILIA. +Then he has won! Twas ever likely; +He lookd all grace and successe, and he is +Doubtlesse the prim'st of men: I pre'thee, run +And tell me how it goes. [Showt, and Cornets: Crying, 'a +Palamon.'] + +SERVANT. +Still Palamon. + +EMILIA. +Run and enquire. Poore Servant, thou hast lost; +Vpon my right side still I wore thy picture, +Palamons on the left: why so, I know not; +I had no end in't else, chance would have it so. +On the sinister side the heart lyes; Palamon +Had the best boding chance. [Another cry, and showt within, and + Cornets.] This burst of clamour +Is sure th'end o'th Combat. + +[Enter Servant.] + +SERVANT. +They saide that Palamon had Arcites body +Within an inch o'th Pyramid, that the cry +Was generall 'a Palamon': But, anon, +Th'Assistants made a brave redemption, and +The two bold Tytlers, at this instant are +Hand to hand at it. + +EMILIA. +Were they metamorphisd +Both into one! oh why? there were no woman +Worth so composd a Man: their single share, +Their noblenes peculier to them, gives +The prejudice of disparity, values shortnes, [Cornets. Cry within, + Arcite, Arcite.] +To any Lady breathing—More exulting? +Palamon still? + +SERVANT. +Nay, now the sound is Arcite. + +EMILIA. +I pre'thee, lay attention to the Cry, [Cornets. A great showt and +cry, 'Arcite, victory!'] Set both thine eares to'th busines. + +SERVANT. +The cry is +'Arcite', and 'victory', harke: 'Arcite, victory!' +The Combats consummation is proclaim'd +By the wind Instruments. + +EMILIA. +Halfe sights saw +That Arcite was no babe; god's lyd, his richnes +And costlines of spirit look't through him, it could +No more be hid in him then fire in flax, +Then humble banckes can goe to law with waters, +That drift windes force to raging: I did thinke +Good Palamon would miscarry; yet I knew not +Why I did thinke so; Our reasons are not prophets, +When oft our fancies are. They are comming off: +Alas, poore Palamon! [Cornets.] + +[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and + attendants, &c.] + +THESEUS. +Lo, where our Sister is in expectation, +Yet quaking, and unsetled.—Fairest Emily, +The gods by their divine arbitrament +Have given you this Knight; he is a good one +As ever strooke at head. Give me your hands; +Receive you her, you him; be plighted with +A love that growes, as you decay. + +ARCITE. +Emily, +To buy you, I have lost what's deerest to me, +Save what is bought, and yet I purchase cheapely, +As I doe rate your value. + +THESEUS. +O loved Sister, +He speakes now of as brave a Knight as ere +Did spur a noble Steed: Surely, the gods +Would have him die a Batchelour, least his race +Should shew i'th world too godlike: His behaviour +So charmed me, that me thought Alcides was +To him a sow of lead: if I could praise +Each part of him to'th all I have spoke, your Arcite +Did not loose by't; For he that was thus good +Encountred yet his Better. I have heard +Two emulous Philomels beate the eare o'th night +With their contentious throates, now one the higher, +Anon the other, then againe the first, +And by and by out breasted, that the sence +Could not be judge betweene 'em: So it far'd +Good space betweene these kinesmen; till heavens did +Make hardly one the winner. Weare the Girlond +With joy that you have won: For the subdude, +Give them our present Iustice, since I know +Their lives but pinch 'em; Let it here be done. +The Sceane's not for our seeing, goe we hence, +Right joyfull, with some sorrow.—Arme your prize, +I know you will not loose her.—Hipolita, +I see one eye of yours conceives a teare +The which it will deliver. [Florish.] + +EMILIA. +Is this wynning? +Oh all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy? +But that your wils have saide it must be so, +And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, +This miserable Prince, that cuts away +A life more worthy from him then all women, +I should, and would, die too. + +HIPPOLITA. +Infinite pitty, +That fowre such eies should be so fixd on one +That two must needes be blinde fort. + +THESEUS. +So it is. [Exeunt.] + +SCENE 4. (The same; a Block prepared.) + +[Enter Palamon and his Knightes pyniond: Iaylor, Executioner, &c. +Gard.] + +(PALAMON.) +Ther's many a man alive that hath out liv'd +The love o'th people; yea, i'th selfesame state +Stands many a Father with his childe; some comfort +We have by so considering: we expire +And not without mens pitty. To live still, +Have their good wishes; we prevent +The loathsome misery of age, beguile +The Gowt and Rheume, that in lag howres attend +For grey approachers; we come towards the gods +Yong and unwapper'd, not halting under Crymes +Many and stale: that sure shall please the gods, +Sooner than such, to give us Nectar with 'em, +For we are more cleare Spirits. My deare kinesmen, +Whose lives (for this poore comfort) are laid downe, +You have sould 'em too too cheape. + +1. KNIGHT. +What ending could be +Of more content? ore us the victors have +Fortune, whose title is as momentary, +As to us death is certaine: A graine of honour +They not ore'-weigh us. + +2. KNIGHT. +Let us bid farewell; +And with our patience anger tottring Fortune, +Who at her certain'st reeles. + +3. KNIGHT. +Come; who begins? + +PALAMON. +Ev'n he that led you to this Banket shall +Taste to you all.—Ah ha, my Friend, my Friend, +Your gentle daughter gave me freedome once; +You'l see't done now for ever: pray, how do'es she? +I heard she was not well; her kind of ill +Gave me some sorrow. + +IAILOR. +Sir, she's well restor'd, +And to be marryed shortly. + +PALAMON. +By my short life, +I am most glad on't; Tis the latest thing +I shall be glad of; pre'thee tell her so: +Commend me to her, and to peece her portion, +Tender her this. [Gives purse.] + +1. KNIGHT. +Nay lets be offerers all. + +2. KNIGHT. +Is it a maide? + +PALAMON. +Verily, I thinke so, +A right good creature, more to me deserving +Then I can quight or speake of. + +ALL KNIGHTS. +Commend us to her. [They give their purses.] + +IAILOR. +The gods requight you all, +And make her thankefull. + +PALAMON. +Adiew; and let my life be now as short, +As my leave taking. [Lies on the Blocke.] + +1. KNIGHT. +Leade, couragious Cosin. + +2. KNIGHT. +Wee'l follow cheerefully. [A great noise within crying, 'run, save, +hold!'] + +[Enter in hast a Messenger.] + +MESSENGER. +Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold! + +[Enter Pirithous in haste.] + +PERITHOUS. +Hold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made, +If you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon, +The gods will shew their glory in a life, +That thou art yet to leade. + +PALAMON. +Can that be, +When Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare? + +PERITHOUS. +Arise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare +That are most dearly sweet and bitter. + +PALAMON. +What +Hath wakt us from our dreame? + +PERITHOUS. +List then: your Cosen, +Mounted upon a Steed that Emily +Did first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing +Not a hayre worth of white—which some will say +Weakens his price, and many will not buy +His goodnesse with this note: Which superstition +Heere findes allowance—On this horse is Arcite +Trotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins +Did rather tell then trample; for the horse +Would make his length a mile, if't pleas'd his Rider +To put pride in him: as he thus went counting +The flinty pavement, dancing, as t'wer, to'th Musicke +His owne hoofes made; (for as they say from iron +Came Musickes origen) what envious Flint, +Cold as old Saturne, and like him possest +With fire malevolent, darted a Sparke, +Or what feirce sulphur else, to this end made, +I comment not;—the hot horse, hot as fire, +Tooke Toy at this, and fell to what disorder +His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end, +Forgets schoole dooing, being therein traind, +And of kind mannadge; pig-like he whines +At the sharpe Rowell, which he freats at rather +Then any jot obaies; seekes all foule meanes +Of boystrous and rough Iadrie, to dis-seate +His Lord, that kept it bravely: when nought serv'd, +When neither Curb would cracke, girth breake nor diffring plunges +Dis-roote his Rider whence he grew, but that +He kept him tweene his legges, on his hind hoofes on end he stands, +That Arcites leggs, being higher then his head, +Seem'd with strange art to hand: His victors wreath +Even then fell off his head: and presently +Backeward the Iade comes ore, and his full poyze +Becomes the Riders loade: yet is he living, +But such a vessell tis, that floates but for +The surge that next approaches: he much desires +To have some speech with you: Loe he appeares. + +[Enter Theseus, Hipolita, Emilia, Arcite in a chaire.] + +PALAMON. +O miserable end of our alliance! +The gods are mightie, Arcite: if thy heart, +Thy worthie, manly heart, be yet unbroken, +Give me thy last words; I am Palamon, +One that yet loves thee dying. + +ARCITE. +Take Emilia +And with her all the worlds joy: Reach thy hand: +Farewell: I have told my last houre. I was false, +Yet never treacherous: Forgive me, Cosen:— +One kisse from faire Emilia: Tis done: +Take her: I die. + +PALAMON. +Thy brave soule seeke Elizium. + +EMILIA. +Ile close thine eyes, Prince; blessed soules be with thee! +Thou art a right good man, and while I live, +This day I give to teares. + +PALAMON. +And I to honour. + +THESEUS. +In this place first you fought: ev'n very here +I sundred you: acknowledge to the gods +Our thankes that you are living. +His part is playd, and though it were too short, +He did it well: your day is lengthned, and +The blissefull dew of heaven do's arowze you. +The powerfull Venus well hath grac'd her Altar, +And given you your love: Our Master Mars +Hath vouch'd his Oracle, and to Arcite gave +The grace of the Contention: So the Deities +Have shewd due justice: Beare this hence. + +PALAMON. +O Cosen, +That we should things desire, which doe cost us +The losse of our desire! That nought could buy +Deare love, but losse of deare love! + +THESEUS. +Never Fortune +Did play a subtler Game: The conquerd triumphes, +The victor has the Losse: yet in the passage +The gods have beene most equall: Palamon, +Your kinseman hath confest the right o'th Lady +Did lye in you, for you first saw her, and +Even then proclaimd your fancie: He restord her +As your stolne Iewell, and desir'd your spirit +To send him hence forgiven; The gods my justice +Take from my hand, and they themselves become +The Executioners: Leade your Lady off; +And call your Lovers from the stage of death, +Whom I adopt my Frinds. A day or two +Let us looke sadly, and give grace unto +The Funerall of Arcite; in whose end +The visages of Bridegroomes weele put on +And smile with Palamon; for whom an houre, +But one houre, since, I was as dearely sorry, +As glad of Arcite: and am now as glad, +As for him sorry. O you heavenly Charmers, +What things you make of us! For what we lacke +We laugh, for what we have, are sorry: still +Are children in some kind. Let us be thankefull +For that which is, and with you leave dispute +That are above our question. Let's goe off, +And beare us like the time. [Florish. Exeunt.] + +EPILOGUE + +I would now aske ye how ye like the Play, +But, as it is with Schoole Boyes, cannot say, +I am cruell fearefull: pray, yet stay a while, +And let me looke upon ye: No man smile? +Then it goes hard, I see; He that has +Lov'd a yong hansome wench, then, show his face— +Tis strange if none be heere—and if he will +Against his Conscience, let him hisse, and kill +Our Market: Tis in vaine, I see, to stay yee; +Have at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye? +And yet mistake me not: I am not bold; +We have no such cause. If the tale we have told +(For tis no other) any way content ye +(For to that honest purpose it was ment ye) +We have our end; and ye shall have ere long, +I dare say, many a better, to prolong +Your old loves to us: we, and all our might +Rest at your service. Gentlemen, good night. [Florish.] + + + + +THE WINTER’S TALE + + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace. +Scene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace. +Scene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison. +Scene III. The same. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT III +Scene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town. +Scene II. The same. A Court of Justice. +Scene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea. + +ACT IV +Scene I. Prologue. +Scene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes. +Scene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage. +Scene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage. + +ACT V +Scene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes. +Scene II. The same. Before the Palace. +Scene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house. + +Dramatis Personæ + +LEONTES, King of Sicilia +MAMILLIUS, his son +CAMILLO, Sicilian Lord +ANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord +CLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord +DION, Sicilian Lord +POLIXENES, King of Bohemia +FLORIZEL, his son +ARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord +An Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita +CLOWN, his son +AUTOLYCUS, a rogue +A Mariner +A Gaoler +Servant to the Old Shepherd +Other Sicilian Lords +Sicilian Gentlemen +Officers of a Court of Judicature + +HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes +PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione +PAULINA, wife to Antigonus +EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen +MOPSA, shepherdess +DORCAS, shepherdess +Other Ladies, attending on the Queen + +Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds, +Shepherdesses, Guards, &c. + +TIME, as Chorus + +Scene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace. + + Enter Camillo and Archidamus. + +ARCHIDAMUS. +If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion +whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, +great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. + +CAMILLO. +I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the +visitation which he justly owes him. + +ARCHIDAMUS. +Wherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our +loves. For indeed,— + +CAMILLO. +Beseech you— + +ARCHIDAMUS. +Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge. We cannot with such +magnificence—in so rare—I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy +drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, +though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. + +CAMILLO. +You pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely. + +ARCHIDAMUS. +Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine +honesty puts it to utterance. + +CAMILLO. +Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained +together in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt them then such +an affection which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more +mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their +society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally +attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies, that +they have seemed to be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a +vast; and embraced as it were from the ends of opposed winds. The +heavens continue their loves! + +ARCHIDAMUS. +I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. +You have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a +gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. + +CAMILLO. +I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; +one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh. They that +went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a +man. + +ARCHIDAMUS. +Would they else be content to die? + +CAMILLO. +Yes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. + +ARCHIDAMUS. +If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he +had one. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace. + + Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants. + +POLIXENES. +Nine changes of the watery star hath been +The shepherd’s note since we have left our throne +Without a burden. Time as long again +Would be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks; +And yet we should, for perpetuity, +Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher, +Yet standing in rich place, I multiply +With one “we thank you” many thousands more +That go before it. + +LEONTES. +Stay your thanks a while, +And pay them when you part. + +POLIXENES. +Sir, that’s tomorrow. +I am question’d by my fears, of what may chance +Or breed upon our absence; that may blow +No sneaping winds at home, to make us say +“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d +To tire your royalty. + +LEONTES. +We are tougher, brother, +Than you can put us to ’t. + +POLIXENES. +No longer stay. + +LEONTES. +One seve’night longer. + +POLIXENES. +Very sooth, tomorrow. + +LEONTES. +We’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that +I’ll no gainsaying. + +POLIXENES. +Press me not, beseech you, so, +There is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world, +So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now, +Were there necessity in your request, although +’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs +Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder +Were, in your love a whip to me; my stay +To you a charge and trouble: to save both, +Farewell, our brother. + +LEONTES. +Tongue-tied, our queen? Speak you. + +HERMIONE. +I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until +You had drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, +Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure +All in Bohemia’s well: this satisfaction +The by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him, +He’s beat from his best ward. + +LEONTES. +Well said, Hermione. + +HERMIONE. +To tell he longs to see his son were strong. +But let him say so then, and let him go; +But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, +We’ll thwack him hence with distaffs. +[_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure +The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia +You take my lord, I’ll give him my commission +To let him there a month behind the gest +Prefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes, +I love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind +What lady she her lord. You’ll stay? + +POLIXENES. +No, madam. + +HERMIONE. +Nay, but you will? + +POLIXENES. +I may not, verily. + +HERMIONE. +Verily! +You put me off with limber vows; but I, +Though you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths, +Should yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily, +You shall not go. A lady’s verily is +As potent as a lord’s. Will go yet? +Force me to keep you as a prisoner, +Not like a guest: so you shall pay your fees +When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? +My prisoner or my guest? By your dread “verily,” +One of them you shall be. + +POLIXENES. +Your guest, then, madam. +To be your prisoner should import offending; +Which is for me less easy to commit +Than you to punish. + +HERMIONE. +Not your gaoler then, +But your kind hostess. Come, I’ll question you +Of my lord’s tricks and yours when you were boys. +You were pretty lordings then. + +POLIXENES. +We were, fair queen, +Two lads that thought there was no more behind +But such a day tomorrow as today, +And to be boy eternal. + +HERMIONE. +Was not my lord +The verier wag o’ th’ two? + +POLIXENES. +We were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun +And bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d +Was innocence for innocence; we knew not +The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d +That any did. Had we pursu’d that life, +And our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d +With stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven +Boldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d +Hereditary ours. + +HERMIONE. +By this we gather +You have tripp’d since. + +POLIXENES. +O my most sacred lady, +Temptations have since then been born to ’s! for +In those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl; +Your precious self had then not cross’d the eyes +Of my young play-fellow. + +HERMIONE. +Grace to boot! +Of this make no conclusion, lest you say +Your queen and I are devils. Yet go on; +Th’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer, +If you first sinn’d with us, and that with us +You did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not +With any but with us. + +LEONTES. +Is he won yet? + +HERMIONE. +He’ll stay, my lord. + +LEONTES. +At my request he would not. +Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st +To better purpose. + +HERMIONE. +Never? + +LEONTES. +Never but once. + +HERMIONE. +What! have I twice said well? when was’t before? +I prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s +As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless +Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. +Our praises are our wages. You may ride ’s +With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere +With spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal: +My last good deed was to entreat his stay. +What was my first? It has an elder sister, +Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! +But once before I spoke to the purpose—when? +Nay, let me have’t; I long. + +LEONTES. +Why, that was when +Three crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death, +Ere I could make thee open thy white hand +And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter +“I am yours for ever.” + +HERMIONE. +’Tis Grace indeed. +Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice. +The one for ever earn’d a royal husband; +Th’ other for some while a friend. + + [_Giving her hand to Polixenes._] + +LEONTES. +[_Aside._] Too hot, too hot! +To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. +I have _tremor cordis_ on me. My heart dances, +But not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment +May a free face put on, derive a liberty +From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, +And well become the agent: ’t may, I grant: +But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, +As now they are, and making practis’d smiles +As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere +The mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment +My bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius, +Art thou my boy? + +MAMILLIUS. +Ay, my good lord. + +LEONTES. +I’ fecks! +Why, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d thy nose? +They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, +We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: +And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf +Are all call’d neat.—Still virginalling +Upon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf! +Art thou my calf? + +MAMILLIUS. +Yes, if you will, my lord. + +LEONTES. +Thou want’st a rough pash and the shoots that I have +To be full like me:—yet they say we are +Almost as like as eggs; women say so, +That will say anything. But were they false +As o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false +As dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes +No bourn ’twixt his and mine, yet were it true +To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, +Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain! +Most dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be? +Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: +Thou dost make possible things not so held, +Communicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?— +With what’s unreal thou coactive art, +And fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent +Thou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost, +And that beyond commission, and I find it, +And that to the infection of my brains +And hardening of my brows. + +POLIXENES. +What means Sicilia? + +HERMIONE. +He something seems unsettled. + +POLIXENES. +How, my lord? +What cheer? How is’t with you, best brother? + +HERMIONE. +You look +As if you held a brow of much distraction: +Are you mov’d, my lord? + +LEONTES. +No, in good earnest. +How sometimes nature will betray its folly, +Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime +To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines +Of my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil +Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech’d, +In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled +Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, +As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. +How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, +This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, +Will you take eggs for money? + +MAMILLIUS. +No, my lord, I’ll fight. + +LEONTES. +You will? Why, happy man be ’s dole! My brother, +Are you so fond of your young prince as we +Do seem to be of ours? + +POLIXENES. +If at home, sir, +He’s all my exercise, my mirth, my matter: +Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; +My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. +He makes a July’s day short as December; +And with his varying childness cures in me +Thoughts that would thick my blood. + +LEONTES. +So stands this squire +Offic’d with me. We two will walk, my lord, +And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, +How thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome; +Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap: +Next to thyself and my young rover, he’s +Apparent to my heart. + +HERMIONE. +If you would seek us, +We are yours i’ the garden. Shall ’s attend you there? + +LEONTES. +To your own bents dispose you: you’ll be found, +Be you beneath the sky. [_Aside._] I am angling now, +Though you perceive me not how I give line. +Go to, go to! +How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! +And arms her with the boldness of a wife +To her allowing husband! + + [_Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione and Attendants._] + +Gone already! +Inch-thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a fork’d one!— +Go, play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I +Play too; but so disgrac’d a part, whose issue +Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour +Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, +Or I am much deceiv’d, cuckolds ere now; +And many a man there is, even at this present, +Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm, +That little thinks she has been sluic’d in ’s absence, +And his pond fish’d by his next neighbour, by +Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t, +Whiles other men have gates, and those gates open’d, +As mine, against their will. Should all despair +That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind +Would hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none; +It is a bawdy planet, that will strike +Where ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it, +From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded, +No barricado for a belly. Know’t; +It will let in and out the enemy +With bag and baggage. Many thousand of us +Have the disease, and feel’t not.—How now, boy! + +MAMILLIUS. +I am like you, they say. + +LEONTES. +Why, that’s some comfort. +What! Camillo there? + +CAMILLO. +Ay, my good lord. + +LEONTES. +Go play, Mamillius; thou’rt an honest man. + + [_Exit Mamillius._] + +Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. + +CAMILLO. +You had much ado to make his anchor hold: +When you cast out, it still came home. + +LEONTES. +Didst note it? + +CAMILLO. +He would not stay at your petitions; made +His business more material. + +LEONTES. +Didst perceive it? +[_Aside._] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding, +“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone +When I shall gust it last.—How came’t, Camillo, +That he did stay? + +CAMILLO. +At the good queen’s entreaty. + +LEONTES. +At the queen’s be’t: “good” should be pertinent, +But so it is, it is not. Was this taken +By any understanding pate but thine? +For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in +More than the common blocks. Not noted, is’t, +But of the finer natures? by some severals +Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes +Perchance are to this business purblind? say. + +CAMILLO. +Business, my lord? I think most understand +Bohemia stays here longer. + +LEONTES. +Ha? + +CAMILLO. +Stays here longer. + +LEONTES. +Ay, but why? + +CAMILLO. +To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties +Of our most gracious mistress. + +LEONTES. +Satisfy? +Th’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy? +Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, +With all the nearest things to my heart, as well +My chamber-counsels, wherein, priest-like, thou +Hast cleans’d my bosom; I from thee departed +Thy penitent reform’d. But we have been +Deceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d +In that which seems so. + +CAMILLO. +Be it forbid, my lord! + +LEONTES. +To bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or, +If thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward, +Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining +From course requir’d; or else thou must be counted +A servant grafted in my serious trust, +And therein negligent; or else a fool +That seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn, +And tak’st it all for jest. + +CAMILLO. +My gracious lord, +I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; +In every one of these no man is free, +But that his negligence, his folly, fear, +Among the infinite doings of the world, +Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, +If ever I were wilful-negligent, +It was my folly; if industriously +I play’d the fool, it was my negligence, +Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful +To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, +Whereof the execution did cry out +Against the non-performance, ’twas a fear +Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord, +Are such allow’d infirmities that honesty +Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace, +Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass +By its own visage: if I then deny it, +’Tis none of mine. + +LEONTES. +Ha’ not you seen, Camillo? +(But that’s past doubt: you have, or your eye-glass +Is thicker than a cuckold’s horn) or heard? +(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour +Cannot be mute) or thought? (for cogitation +Resides not in that man that does not think) +My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, +Or else be impudently negative, +To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say +My wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name +As rank as any flax-wench that puts to +Before her troth-plight: say’t and justify’t. + +CAMILLO. +I would not be a stander-by to hear +My sovereign mistress clouded so, without +My present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart, +You never spoke what did become you less +Than this; which to reiterate were sin +As deep as that, though true. + +LEONTES. +Is whispering nothing? +Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? +Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career +Of laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible +Of breaking honesty?—horsing foot on foot? +Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift? +Hours, minutes? Noon, midnight? and all eyes +Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, +That would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing? +Why, then the world and all that’s in’t is nothing, +The covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing, +My wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings, +If this be nothing. + +CAMILLO. +Good my lord, be cur’d +Of this diseas’d opinion, and betimes, +For ’tis most dangerous. + +LEONTES. +Say it be, ’tis true. + +CAMILLO. +No, no, my lord. + +LEONTES. +It is; you lie, you lie: +I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee, +Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, +Or else a hovering temporizer that +Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, +Inclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver +Infected as her life, she would not live +The running of one glass. + +CAMILLO. +Who does infect her? + +LEONTES. +Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging +About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I +Had servants true about me, that bare eyes +To see alike mine honour as their profits, +Their own particular thrifts, they would do that +Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou, +His cupbearer,—whom I from meaner form +Have bench’d and rear’d to worship, who mayst see +Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven, +How I am galled,—mightst bespice a cup, +To give mine enemy a lasting wink; +Which draught to me were cordial. + +CAMILLO. +Sir, my lord, +I could do this, and that with no rash potion, +But with a ling’ring dram, that should not work +Maliciously like poison. But I cannot +Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, +So sovereignly being honourable. +I have lov’d thee,— + +LEONTES. +Make that thy question, and go rot! +Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, +To appoint myself in this vexation; sully +The purity and whiteness of my sheets, +(Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted +Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps) +Give scandal to the blood o’ th’ prince, my son, +(Who I do think is mine, and love as mine) +Without ripe moving to’t? Would I do this? +Could man so blench? + +CAMILLO. +I must believe you, sir: +I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t; +Provided that, when he’s remov’d, your highness +Will take again your queen as yours at first, +Even for your son’s sake, and thereby for sealing +The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms +Known and allied to yours. + +LEONTES. +Thou dost advise me +Even so as I mine own course have set down: +I’ll give no blemish to her honour, none. + +CAMILLO. +My lord, +Go then; and with a countenance as clear +As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia +And with your queen. I am his cupbearer. +If from me he have wholesome beverage, +Account me not your servant. + +LEONTES. +This is all: +Do’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart; +Do’t not, thou splitt’st thine own. + +CAMILLO. +I’ll do’t, my lord. + +LEONTES. +I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me. + + [_Exit._] + +CAMILLO. +O miserable lady! But, for me, +What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner +Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do’t +Is the obedience to a master; one +Who, in rebellion with himself, will have +All that are his so too. To do this deed, +Promotion follows. If I could find example +Of thousands that had struck anointed kings +And flourish’d after, I’d not do’t. But since +Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, +Let villainy itself forswear’t. I must +Forsake the court: to do’t, or no, is certain +To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now! +Here comes Bohemia. + + Enter Polixenes. + +POLIXENES. +This is strange. Methinks +My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? +Good day, Camillo. + +CAMILLO. +Hail, most royal sir! + +POLIXENES. +What is the news i’ th’ court? + +CAMILLO. +None rare, my lord. + +POLIXENES. +The king hath on him such a countenance +As he had lost some province, and a region +Lov’d as he loves himself. Even now I met him +With customary compliment, when he, +Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling +A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and +So leaves me to consider what is breeding +That changes thus his manners. + +CAMILLO. +I dare not know, my lord. + +POLIXENES. +How, dare not? Do not? Do you know, and dare not? +Be intelligent to me? ’Tis thereabouts; +For, to yourself, what you do know, you must, +And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo, +Your chang’d complexions are to me a mirror +Which shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be +A party in this alteration, finding +Myself thus alter’d with’t. + +CAMILLO. +There is a sickness +Which puts some of us in distemper, but +I cannot name the disease, and it is caught +Of you that yet are well. + +POLIXENES. +How caught of me? +Make me not sighted like the basilisk. +I have look’d on thousands who have sped the better +By my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo,— +As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto +Clerk-like, experienc’d, which no less adorns +Our gentry than our parents’ noble names, +In whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you, +If you know aught which does behove my knowledge +Thereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not +In ignorant concealment. + +CAMILLO. +I may not answer. + +POLIXENES. +A sickness caught of me, and yet I well? +I must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo, +I conjure thee, by all the parts of man +Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least +Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare +What incidency thou dost guess of harm +Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; +Which way to be prevented, if to be; +If not, how best to bear it. + +CAMILLO. +Sir, I will tell you; +Since I am charg’d in honour, and by him +That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel, +Which must be ev’n as swiftly follow’d as +I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me +Cry lost, and so goodnight! + +POLIXENES. +On, good Camillo. + +CAMILLO. +I am appointed him to murder you. + +POLIXENES. +By whom, Camillo? + +CAMILLO. +By the king. + +POLIXENES. +For what? + +CAMILLO. +He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, +As he had seen’t or been an instrument +To vice you to’t, that you have touch’d his queen +Forbiddenly. + +POLIXENES. +O, then my best blood turn +To an infected jelly, and my name +Be yok’d with his that did betray the Best! +Turn then my freshest reputation to +A savour that may strike the dullest nostril +Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn’d, +Nay, hated too, worse than the great’st infection +That e’er was heard or read! + +CAMILLO. +Swear his thought over +By each particular star in heaven and +By all their influences, you may as well +Forbid the sea for to obey the moon +As or by oath remove or counsel shake +The fabric of his folly, whose foundation +Is pil’d upon his faith, and will continue +The standing of his body. + +POLIXENES. +How should this grow? + +CAMILLO. +I know not: but I am sure ’tis safer to +Avoid what’s grown than question how ’tis born. +If therefore you dare trust my honesty, +That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you +Shall bear along impawn’d, away tonight. +Your followers I will whisper to the business, +And will by twos and threes, at several posterns, +Clear them o’ th’ city. For myself, I’ll put +My fortunes to your service, which are here +By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain, +For, by the honour of my parents, I +Have utter’d truth: which if you seek to prove, +I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer +Than one condemned by the king’s own mouth, +Thereon his execution sworn. + +POLIXENES. +I do believe thee. +I saw his heart in ’s face. Give me thy hand, +Be pilot to me, and thy places shall +Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and +My people did expect my hence departure +Two days ago. This jealousy +Is for a precious creature: as she’s rare, +Must it be great; and, as his person’s mighty, +Must it be violent; and as he does conceive +He is dishonour’d by a man which ever +Profess’d to him, why, his revenges must +In that be made more bitter. Fear o’ershades me. +Good expedition be my friend, and comfort +The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing +Of his ill-ta’en suspicion! Come, Camillo, +I will respect thee as a father if +Thou bear’st my life off hence. Let us avoid. + +CAMILLO. +It is in mine authority to command +The keys of all the posterns: please your highness +To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Hermione, Mamillius and Ladies. + +HERMIONE. +Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, +’Tis past enduring. + +FIRST LADY. +Come, my gracious lord, +Shall I be your playfellow? + +MAMILLIUS. +No, I’ll none of you. + +FIRST LADY. +Why, my sweet lord? + +MAMILLIUS. +You’ll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if +I were a baby still. I love you better. + +SECOND LADY. +And why so, my lord? + +MAMILLIUS. +Not for because +Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, +Become some women best, so that there be not +Too much hair there, but in a semicircle +Or a half-moon made with a pen. + +SECOND LADY. +Who taught this? + +MAMILLIUS. +I learn’d it out of women’s faces. Pray now, +What colour are your eyebrows? + +FIRST LADY. +Blue, my lord. + +MAMILLIUS. +Nay, that’s a mock. I have seen a lady’s nose +That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. + +FIRST LADY. +Hark ye, +The queen your mother rounds apace. We shall +Present our services to a fine new prince +One of these days, and then you’d wanton with us, +If we would have you. + +SECOND LADY. +She is spread of late +Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her! + +HERMIONE. +What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now +I am for you again. Pray you sit by us, +And tell ’s a tale. + +MAMILLIUS. +Merry or sad shall’t be? + +HERMIONE. +As merry as you will. + +MAMILLIUS. +A sad tale’s best for winter. I have one +Of sprites and goblins. + +HERMIONE. +Let’s have that, good sir. +Come on, sit down. Come on, and do your best +To fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it. + +MAMILLIUS. +There was a man,— + +HERMIONE. +Nay, come, sit down, then on. + +MAMILLIUS. +Dwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly, +Yond crickets shall not hear it. + +HERMIONE. +Come on then, +And give’t me in mine ear. + + Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and Guards. + +LEONTES. +Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him? + +FIRST LORD. +Behind the tuft of pines I met them, never +Saw I men scour so on their way: I ey’d them +Even to their ships. + +LEONTES. +How blest am I +In my just censure, in my true opinion! +Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs’d +In being so blest! There may be in the cup +A spider steep’d, and one may drink, depart, +And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge +Is not infected; but if one present +Th’ abhorr’d ingredient to his eye, make known +How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, +With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. +Camillo was his help in this, his pander. +There is a plot against my life, my crown; +All’s true that is mistrusted. That false villain +Whom I employ’d, was pre-employ’d by him. +He has discover’d my design, and I +Remain a pinch’d thing; yea, a very trick +For them to play at will. How came the posterns +So easily open? + +FIRST LORD. +By his great authority, +Which often hath no less prevail’d than so +On your command. + +LEONTES. +I know’t too well. +Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him. +Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you +Have too much blood in him. + +HERMIONE. +What is this? sport? + +LEONTES. +Bear the boy hence, he shall not come about her, +Away with him, and let her sport herself +With that she’s big with; for ’tis Polixenes +Has made thee swell thus. + + [_Exit Mamillius with some of the Guards._] + +HERMIONE. +But I’d say he had not, +And I’ll be sworn you would believe my saying, +Howe’er you learn th’ nayward. + +LEONTES. +You, my lords, +Look on her, mark her well. Be but about +To say, “she is a goodly lady,” and +The justice of your hearts will thereto add +“’Tis pity she’s not honest, honourable”: +Praise her but for this her without-door form, +Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight +The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands +That calumny doth use—O, I am out, +That mercy does; for calumny will sear +Virtue itself—these shrugs, these hum’s, and ha’s, +When you have said “she’s goodly,” come between, +Ere you can say “she’s honest”: but be it known, +From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, +She’s an adultress! + +HERMIONE. +Should a villain say so, +The most replenish’d villain in the world, +He were as much more villain: you, my lord, +Do but mistake. + +LEONTES. +You have mistook, my lady, +Polixenes for Leontes O thou thing, +Which I’ll not call a creature of thy place, +Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, +Should a like language use to all degrees, +And mannerly distinguishment leave out +Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said +She’s an adultress; I have said with whom: +More, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is +A federary with her; and one that knows +What she should shame to know herself +But with her most vile principal, that she’s +A bed-swerver, even as bad as those +That vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy +To this their late escape. + +HERMIONE. +No, by my life, +Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, +When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that +You thus have publish’d me! Gentle my lord, +You scarce can right me throughly then, to say +You did mistake. + +LEONTES. +No. If I mistake +In those foundations which I build upon, +The centre is not big enough to bear +A school-boy’s top. Away with her to prison! +He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty +But that he speaks. + +HERMIONE. +There’s some ill planet reigns: +I must be patient till the heavens look +With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, +I am not prone to weeping, as our sex +Commonly are; the want of which vain dew +Perchance shall dry your pities. But I have +That honourable grief lodg’d here which burns +Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords, +With thoughts so qualified as your charities +Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so +The king’s will be perform’d. + +LEONTES. +Shall I be heard? + +HERMIONE. +Who is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness +My women may be with me, for you see +My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; +There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress +Has deserv’d prison, then abound in tears +As I come out: this action I now go on +Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord: +I never wish’d to see you sorry; now +I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave. + +LEONTES. +Go, do our bidding. Hence! + + [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies with Guards._] + +FIRST LORD. +Beseech your highness, call the queen again. + +ANTIGONUS. +Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice +Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer, +Yourself, your queen, your son. + +FIRST LORD. +For her, my lord, +I dare my life lay down, and will do’t, sir, +Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless +I’ th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean +In this which you accuse her. + +ANTIGONUS. +If it prove +She’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where +I lodge my wife; I’ll go in couples with her; +Than when I feel and see her no further trust her. +For every inch of woman in the world, +Ay, every dram of woman’s flesh, is false, +If she be. + +LEONTES. +Hold your peaces. + +FIRST LORD. +Good my lord,— + +ANTIGONUS. +It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: +You are abus’d, and by some putter-on +That will be damn’d for’t: would I knew the villain, +I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw’d, +I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven; +The second and the third, nine and some five; +If this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour, +I’ll geld ’em all; fourteen they shall not see, +To bring false generations: they are co-heirs, +And I had rather glib myself than they +Should not produce fair issue. + +LEONTES. +Cease; no more. +You smell this business with a sense as cold +As is a dead man’s nose: but I do see’t and feel’t, +As you feel doing thus; and see withal +The instruments that feel. + +ANTIGONUS. +If it be so, +We need no grave to bury honesty. +There’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten +Of the whole dungy earth. + +LEONTES. +What! Lack I credit? + +FIRST LORD. +I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, +Upon this ground: and more it would content me +To have her honour true than your suspicion, +Be blam’d for’t how you might. + +LEONTES. +Why, what need we +Commune with you of this, but rather follow +Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative +Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness +Imparts this; which, if you, or stupified +Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not +Relish a truth, like us, inform yourselves +We need no more of your advice: the matter, +The loss, the gain, the ord’ring on’t, is all +Properly ours. + +ANTIGONUS. +And I wish, my liege, +You had only in your silent judgement tried it, +Without more overture. + +LEONTES. +How could that be? +Either thou art most ignorant by age, +Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight, +Added to their familiarity, +(Which was as gross as ever touch’d conjecture, +That lack’d sight only, nought for approbation +But only seeing, all other circumstances +Made up to th’ deed) doth push on this proceeding. +Yet, for a greater confirmation +(For in an act of this importance, ’twere +Most piteous to be wild), I have dispatch’d in post +To sacred Delphos, to Apollo’s temple, +Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know +Of stuff’d sufficiency: now from the oracle +They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had, +Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? + +FIRST LORD. +Well done, my lord. + +LEONTES. +Though I am satisfied, and need no more +Than what I know, yet shall the oracle +Give rest to the minds of others, such as he +Whose ignorant credulity will not +Come up to th’ truth. So have we thought it good +From our free person she should be confin’d, +Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence +Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; +We are to speak in public; for this business +Will raise us all. + +ANTIGONUS. +[_Aside._] To laughter, as I take it, +If the good truth were known. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison. + + Enter Paulina a Gentleman and Attendants. + +PAULINA. +The keeper of the prison, call to him; +Let him have knowledge who I am. + + [_Exit the Gentleman._] + +Good lady! +No court in Europe is too good for thee; +What dost thou then in prison? + + Enter Gentleman with the Gaoler. + +Now, good sir, +You know me, do you not? + +GAOLER. +For a worthy lady +And one who much I honour. + +PAULINA. +Pray you then, +Conduct me to the queen. + +GAOLER. +I may not, madam. +To the contrary I have express commandment. + +PAULINA. +Here’s ado, to lock up honesty and honour from +Th’ access of gentle visitors! Is’t lawful, pray you, +To see her women? any of them? Emilia? + +GAOLER. +So please you, madam, +To put apart these your attendants, I +Shall bring Emilia forth. + +PAULINA. +I pray now, call her. +Withdraw yourselves. + + [_Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants._] + +GAOLER. +And, madam, +I must be present at your conference. + +PAULINA. +Well, be’t so, prithee. + + [_Exit Gaoler._] + +Here’s such ado to make no stain a stain +As passes colouring. + + Re-enter Gaoler with Emilia. + +Dear gentlewoman, +How fares our gracious lady? + +EMILIA. +As well as one so great and so forlorn +May hold together: on her frights and griefs, +(Which never tender lady hath borne greater) +She is, something before her time, deliver’d. + +PAULINA. +A boy? + +EMILIA. +A daughter; and a goodly babe, +Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives +Much comfort in ’t; says “My poor prisoner, +I am as innocent as you.” + +PAULINA. +I dare be sworn. +These dangerous unsafe lunes i’ th’ king, beshrew them! +He must be told on’t, and he shall: the office +Becomes a woman best. I’ll take’t upon me. +If I prove honey-mouth’d, let my tongue blister, +And never to my red-look’d anger be +The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, +Commend my best obedience to the queen. +If she dares trust me with her little babe, +I’ll show’t the king, and undertake to be +Her advocate to th’ loud’st. We do not know +How he may soften at the sight o’ th’ child: +The silence often of pure innocence +Persuades, when speaking fails. + +EMILIA. +Most worthy madam, +Your honour and your goodness is so evident, +That your free undertaking cannot miss +A thriving issue: there is no lady living +So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship +To visit the next room, I’ll presently +Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer, +Who but today hammer’d of this design, +But durst not tempt a minister of honour, +Lest she should be denied. + +PAULINA. +Tell her, Emilia, +I’ll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from ’t +As boldness from my bosom, let’t not be doubted +I shall do good. + +EMILIA. +Now be you blest for it! +I’ll to the queen: please you come something nearer. + +GAOLER. +Madam, if ’t please the queen to send the babe, +I know not what I shall incur to pass it, +Having no warrant. + +PAULINA. +You need not fear it, sir: +This child was prisoner to the womb, and is, +By law and process of great nature thence +Freed and enfranchis’d: not a party to +The anger of the king, nor guilty of, +If any be, the trespass of the queen. + +GAOLER. +I do believe it. + +PAULINA. +Do not you fear: upon mine honour, I +Will stand betwixt you and danger. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants. + +LEONTES. +Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness +To bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If +The cause were not in being,—part o’ th’ cause, +She th’ adultress; for the harlot king +Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank +And level of my brain, plot-proof. But she +I can hook to me. Say that she were gone, +Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest +Might come to me again. Who’s there? + +FIRST ATTENDANT. +My lord. + +LEONTES. +How does the boy? + +FIRST ATTENDANT. +He took good rest tonight; +’Tis hop’d his sickness is discharg’d. + +LEONTES. +To see his nobleness, +Conceiving the dishonour of his mother. +He straight declin’d, droop’d, took it deeply, +Fasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself, +Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, +And downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go, +See how he fares. + + [_Exit First Attendant._] + +Fie, fie! no thought of him. +The very thought of my revenges that way +Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty, +And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be, +Until a time may serve. For present vengeance, +Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes +Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow: +They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor +Shall she, within my power. + + Enter Paulina carrying a baby, with Antigonus, lords and servants. + +FIRST LORD. +You must not enter. + +PAULINA. +Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me: +Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, +Than the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul, +More free than he is jealous. + +ANTIGONUS. +That’s enough. + +SERVANT. +Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded +None should come at him. + +PAULINA. +Not so hot, good sir; +I come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you, +That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh +At each his needless heavings,—such as you +Nourish the cause of his awaking. I +Do come with words as med’cinal as true, +Honest as either, to purge him of that humour +That presses him from sleep. + +LEONTES. +What noise there, ho? + +PAULINA. +No noise, my lord; but needful conference +About some gossips for your highness. + +LEONTES. +How! +Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, +I charg’d thee that she should not come about me. +I knew she would. + +ANTIGONUS. +I told her so, my lord, +On your displeasure’s peril and on mine, +She should not visit you. + +LEONTES. +What, canst not rule her? + +PAULINA. +From all dishonesty he can. In this, +Unless he take the course that you have done, +Commit me for committing honour—trust it, +He shall not rule me. + +ANTIGONUS. +La you now, you hear. +When she will take the rein I let her run; +But she’ll not stumble. + +PAULINA. +Good my liege, I come,— +And, I beseech you hear me, who professes +Myself your loyal servant, your physician, +Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dares +Less appear so, in comforting your evils, +Than such as most seem yours—I say I come +From your good queen. + +LEONTES. +Good queen! + +PAULINA. +Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen, +And would by combat make her good, so were I +A man, the worst about you. + +LEONTES. +Force her hence. + +PAULINA. +Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes +First hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off; +But first I’ll do my errand. The good queen, +(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter; +Here ’tis; commends it to your blessing. + + [_Laying down the child._] + +LEONTES. +Out! +A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door: +A most intelligencing bawd! + +PAULINA. +Not so. +I am as ignorant in that as you +In so entitling me; and no less honest +Than you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant, +As this world goes, to pass for honest. + +LEONTES. +Traitors! +Will you not push her out? [_To Antigonus._] Give her the bastard, +Thou dotard! Thou art woman-tir’d, unroosted +By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard, +Take’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone. + +PAULINA. +For ever +Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou +Tak’st up the princess by that forced baseness +Which he has put upon ’t! + +LEONTES. +He dreads his wife. + +PAULINA. +So I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt +You’d call your children yours. + +LEONTES. +A nest of traitors! + +ANTIGONUS. +I am none, by this good light. + +PAULINA. +Nor I; nor any +But one that’s here, and that’s himself. For he +The sacred honour of himself, his queen’s, +His hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander, +Whose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not, +(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse +He cannot be compell’d to’t) once remove +The root of his opinion, which is rotten +As ever oak or stone was sound. + +LEONTES. +A callat +Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, +And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; +It is the issue of Polixenes. +Hence with it, and together with the dam +Commit them to the fire. + +PAULINA. +It is yours; +And, might we lay th’ old proverb to your charge, +So like you ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords, +Although the print be little, the whole matter +And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip, +The trick of ’s frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, +The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles; +The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: +And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it +So like to him that got it, if thou hast +The ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours +No yellow in ’t, lest she suspect, as he does, +Her children not her husband’s! + +LEONTES. +A gross hag! +And, losel, thou art worthy to be hang’d +That wilt not stay her tongue. + +ANTIGONUS. +Hang all the husbands +That cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself +Hardly one subject. + +LEONTES. +Once more, take her hence. + +PAULINA. +A most unworthy and unnatural lord +Can do no more. + +LEONTES. +I’ll have thee burnt. + +PAULINA. +I care not. +It is an heretic that makes the fire, +Not she which burns in ’t. I’ll not call you tyrant; +But this most cruel usage of your queen, +Not able to produce more accusation +Than your own weak-hing’d fancy, something savours +Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, +Yea, scandalous to the world. + +LEONTES. +On your allegiance, +Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, +Where were her life? She durst not call me so, +If she did know me one. Away with her! + +PAULINA. +I pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone. +Look to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her +A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? +You that are thus so tender o’er his follies, +Will never do him good, not one of you. +So, so. Farewell; we are gone. + + [_Exit._] + +LEONTES. +Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. +My child? Away with’t. Even thou, that hast +A heart so tender o’er it, take it hence, +And see it instantly consum’d with fire; +Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight: +Within this hour bring me word ’tis done, +And by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life, +With that thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse +And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; +The bastard brains with these my proper hands +Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; +For thou set’st on thy wife. + +ANTIGONUS. +I did not, sir: +These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, +Can clear me in ’t. + +LORDS +We can: my royal liege, +He is not guilty of her coming hither. + +LEONTES. +You’re liars all. + +FIRST LORD. +Beseech your highness, give us better credit: +We have always truly serv’d you; and beseech +So to esteem of us. And on our knees we beg, +As recompense of our dear services +Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, +Which being so horrible, so bloody, must +Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. + +LEONTES. +I am a feather for each wind that blows. +Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel +And call me father? better burn it now +Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. +It shall not neither. [_To Antigonus._] You, sir, come you hither, +You that have been so tenderly officious +With Lady Margery, your midwife, there, +To save this bastard’s life—for ’tis a bastard, +So sure as this beard’s grey. What will you adventure +To save this brat’s life? + +ANTIGONUS. +Anything, my lord, +That my ability may undergo, +And nobleness impose: at least thus much: +I’ll pawn the little blood which I have left +To save the innocent. Anything possible. + +LEONTES. +It shall be possible. Swear by this sword +Thou wilt perform my bidding. + +ANTIGONUS. +I will, my lord. + +LEONTES. +Mark, and perform it, seest thou? for the fail +Of any point in’t shall not only be +Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu’d wife, +Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, +As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry +This female bastard hence, and that thou bear it +To some remote and desert place, quite out +Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, +Without more mercy, to it own protection +And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune +It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, +On thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture, +That thou commend it strangely to some place +Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. + +ANTIGONUS. +I swear to do this, though a present death +Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe: +Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens +To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, +Casting their savageness aside, have done +Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous +In more than this deed does require! And blessing +Against this cruelty, fight on thy side, +Poor thing, condemn’d to loss! + + [_Exit with the child._] + +LEONTES. +No, I’ll not rear +Another’s issue. + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +Please your highness, posts +From those you sent to th’ oracle are come +An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, +Being well arriv’d from Delphos, are both landed, +Hasting to th’ court. + +FIRST LORD. +So please you, sir, their speed +Hath been beyond account. + +LEONTES. +Twenty-three days +They have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells +The great Apollo suddenly will have +The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; +Summon a session, that we may arraign +Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath +Been publicly accus’d, so shall she have +A just and open trial. While she lives, +My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me, +And think upon my bidding. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town. + + Enter Cleomenes and Dion. + +CLEOMENES +The climate’s delicate; the air most sweet, +Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing +The common praise it bears. + +DION. +I shall report, +For most it caught me, the celestial habits +(Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence +Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! +How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, +It was i’ th’ offering! + +CLEOMENES +But of all, the burst +And the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle, +Kin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense +That I was nothing. + +DION. +If the event o’ th’ journey +Prove as successful to the queen,—O, be’t so!— +As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, +The time is worth the use on’t. + +CLEOMENES +Great Apollo +Turn all to th’ best! These proclamations, +So forcing faults upon Hermione, +I little like. + +DION. +The violent carriage of it +Will clear or end the business: when the oracle, +(Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up) +Shall the contents discover, something rare +Even then will rush to knowledge. Go. Fresh horses! +And gracious be the issue! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice. + + Enter Leontes, Lords and Officers appear, properly seated. + +LEONTES. +This sessions (to our great grief we pronounce) +Even pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried +The daughter of a king, our wife, and one +Of us too much belov’d. Let us be clear’d +Of being tyrannous, since we so openly +Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, +Even to the guilt or the purgation. +Produce the prisoner. + +OFFICER. +It is his highness’ pleasure that the queen +Appear in person here in court. Silence! + + Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending. + +LEONTES. +Read the indictment. + +OFFICER. +[_Reads._] “Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia, +thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing +adultery with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo +to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal +husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, +thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject, +didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by +night.” + +HERMIONE. +Since what I am to say must be but that +Which contradicts my accusation, and +The testimony on my part no other +But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me +To say “Not guilty”. Mine integrity, +Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, +Be so receiv’d. But thus, if powers divine +Behold our human actions, as they do, +I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make +False accusation blush, and tyranny +Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know, +Who least will seem to do so, my past life +Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, +As I am now unhappy; which is more +Than history can pattern, though devis’d +And play’d to take spectators. For behold me, +A fellow of the royal bed, which owe +A moiety of the throne, a great king’s daughter, +The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing +To prate and talk for life and honour ’fore +Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it +As I weigh grief, which I would spare. For honour, +’Tis a derivative from me to mine, +And only that I stand for. I appeal +To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes +Came to your court, how I was in your grace, +How merited to be so; since he came, +With what encounter so uncurrent I +Have strain’d t’ appear thus: if one jot beyond +The bound of honour, or in act or will +That way inclining, harden’d be the hearts +Of all that hear me, and my near’st of kin +Cry fie upon my grave! + +LEONTES. +I ne’er heard yet +That any of these bolder vices wanted +Less impudence to gainsay what they did +Than to perform it first. + +HERMIONE. +That’s true enough; +Though ’tis a saying, sir, not due to me. + +LEONTES. +You will not own it. + +HERMIONE. +More than mistress of +Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not +At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, +With whom I am accus’d, I do confess +I lov’d him as in honour he requir’d, +With such a kind of love as might become +A lady like me; with a love even such, +So and no other, as yourself commanded: +Which not to have done, I think had been in me +Both disobedience and ingratitude +To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, +Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely, +That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, +I know not how it tastes, though it be dish’d +For me to try how: all I know of it +Is that Camillo was an honest man; +And why he left your court, the gods themselves, +Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. + +LEONTES. +You knew of his departure, as you know +What you have underta’en to do in ’s absence. + +HERMIONE. +Sir, +You speak a language that I understand not: +My life stands in the level of your dreams, +Which I’ll lay down. + +LEONTES. +Your actions are my dreams. +You had a bastard by Polixenes, +And I but dream’d it. As you were past all shame +(Those of your fact are so) so past all truth, +Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as +Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, +No father owning it (which is, indeed, +More criminal in thee than it), so thou +Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage +Look for no less than death. + +HERMIONE. +Sir, spare your threats: +The bug which you would fright me with, I seek. +To me can life be no commodity. +The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, +I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, +But know not how it went. My second joy, +And first-fruits of my body, from his presence +I am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort, +Starr’d most unluckily, is from my breast, +(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth) +Hal’d out to murder; myself on every post +Proclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred +The child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs +To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried +Here to this place, i’ th’ open air, before +I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, +Tell me what blessings I have here alive, +That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. +But yet hear this: mistake me not: no life, +I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, +Which I would free, if I shall be condemn’d +Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else +But what your jealousies awake I tell you +’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, +I do refer me to the oracle: +Apollo be my judge! + +FIRST LORD. +This your request +Is altogether just: therefore bring forth, +And in Apollo’s name, his oracle: + + [_Exeunt certain Officers._] + +HERMIONE. +The Emperor of Russia was my father. +O that he were alive, and here beholding +His daughter’s trial! that he did but see +The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes +Of pity, not revenge! + + Enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion. + +OFFICER. +You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, +That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have +Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought +This seal’d-up oracle, by the hand deliver’d +Of great Apollo’s priest; and that since then +You have not dared to break the holy seal, +Nor read the secrets in’t. + +CLEOMENES, DION. +All this we swear. + +LEONTES. +Break up the seals and read. + +OFFICER. +[_Reads._] “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true +subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; +and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not +found.” + +LORDS +Now blessed be the great Apollo! + +HERMIONE. +Praised! + +LEONTES. +Hast thou read truth? + +OFFICER. +Ay, my lord, even so +As it is here set down. + +LEONTES. +There is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle: +The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood. + + Enter a Servant hastily. + +SERVANT. +My lord the king, the king! + +LEONTES. +What is the business? + +SERVANT. +O sir, I shall be hated to report it. +The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear +Of the queen’s speed, is gone. + +LEONTES. +How! gone? + +SERVANT. +Is dead. + +LEONTES. +Apollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves +Do strike at my injustice. + + [_Hermione faints._] + +How now there? + +PAULINA. +This news is mortal to the queen. Look down +And see what death is doing. + +LEONTES. +Take her hence: +Her heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover. +I have too much believ’d mine own suspicion. +Beseech you tenderly apply to her +Some remedies for life. + + [_Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione._] + +Apollo, pardon +My great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle! +I’ll reconcile me to Polixenes, +New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, +Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; +For, being transported by my jealousies +To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose +Camillo for the minister to poison +My friend Polixenes: which had been done, +But that the good mind of Camillo tardied +My swift command, though I with death and with +Reward did threaten and encourage him, +Not doing it and being done. He, most humane +And fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest +Unclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here, +Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard +Of all incertainties himself commended, +No richer than his honour. How he glisters +Thorough my rust! And how his piety +Does my deeds make the blacker! + + Enter Paulina. + +PAULINA. +Woe the while! +O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, +Break too! + +FIRST LORD. +What fit is this, good lady? + +PAULINA. +What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? +What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling +In leads or oils? What old or newer torture +Must I receive, whose every word deserves +To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny, +Together working with thy jealousies, +Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle +For girls of nine. O, think what they have done, +And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all +Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. +That thou betray’dst Polixenes, ’twas nothing; +That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant +And damnable ingrateful; nor was’t much +Thou wouldst have poison’d good Camillo’s honour, +To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, +More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon +The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, +To be or none or little, though a devil +Would have shed water out of fire ere done’t, +Nor is’t directly laid to thee the death +Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts, +Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart +That could conceive a gross and foolish sire +Blemish’d his gracious dam: this is not, no, +Laid to thy answer: but the last—O lords, +When I have said, cry Woe!—the queen, the queen, +The sweet’st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance for’t +Not dropp’d down yet. + +FIRST LORD. +The higher powers forbid! + +PAULINA. +I say she’s dead: I’ll swear’t. If word nor oath +Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring +Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, +Heat outwardly or breath within, I’ll serve you +As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! +Do not repent these things, for they are heavier +Than all thy woes can stir. Therefore betake thee +To nothing but despair. A thousand knees +Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, +Upon a barren mountain, and still winter +In storm perpetual, could not move the gods +To look that way thou wert. + +LEONTES. +Go on, go on: +Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d +All tongues to talk their bitterest. + +FIRST LORD. +Say no more: +Howe’er the business goes, you have made fault +I’ th’ boldness of your speech. + +PAULINA. +I am sorry for ’t: +All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, +I do repent. Alas, I have show’d too much +The rashness of a woman: he is touch’d +To th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help, +Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction +At my petition; I beseech you, rather +Let me be punish’d, that have minded you +Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, +Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: +The love I bore your queen—lo, fool again! +I’ll speak of her no more, nor of your children. +I’ll not remember you of my own lord, +Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, +And I’ll say nothing. + +LEONTES. +Thou didst speak but well +When most the truth, which I receive much better +Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me +To the dead bodies of my queen and son: +One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall +The causes of their death appear, unto +Our shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit +The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there +Shall be my recreation. So long as nature +Will bear up with this exercise, so long +I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me +To these sorrows. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea. + + Enter Antigonus with the Child and a Mariner. + +ANTIGONUS. +Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon +The deserts of Bohemia? + +MARINER. +Ay, my lord, and fear +We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly, +And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, +The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, +And frown upon ’s. + +ANTIGONUS. +Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; +Look to thy bark: I’ll not be long before +I call upon thee. + +MARINER. +Make your best haste, and go not +Too far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather; +Besides, this place is famous for the creatures +Of prey that keep upon ’t. + +ANTIGONUS. +Go thou away: +I’ll follow instantly. + +MARINER. +I am glad at heart +To be so rid o’ th’ business. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTIGONUS. +Come, poor babe. +I have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead +May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother +Appear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream +So like a waking. To me comes a creature, +Sometimes her head on one side, some another. +I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, +So fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes, +Like very sanctity, she did approach +My cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me, +And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes +Became two spouts. The fury spent, anon +Did this break from her: “Good Antigonus, +Since fate, against thy better disposition, +Hath made thy person for the thrower-out +Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, +Places remote enough are in Bohemia, +There weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe +Is counted lost for ever, Perdita +I prithee call’t. For this ungentle business, +Put on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see +Thy wife Paulina more.” And so, with shrieks, +She melted into air. Affrighted much, +I did in time collect myself and thought +This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys, +Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, +I will be squar’d by this. I do believe +Hermione hath suffer’d death, and that +Apollo would, this being indeed the issue +Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, +Either for life or death, upon the earth +Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie; and there thy +character: there these; + + [_Laying down the child and a bundle._] + +Which may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, +And still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch, +That for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d +To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, +But my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I +To be by oath enjoin’d to this. Farewell! +The day frowns more and more. Thou’rt like to have +A lullaby too rough. I never saw +The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour! +Well may I get aboard! This is the chase: +I am gone for ever. + + [_Exit, pursued by a bear._] + + Enter an old Shepherd. + +SHEPHERD. +I would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that +youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but +getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, +fighting—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen +and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my +best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if +anywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, +an ’t be thy will, what have we here? + + [_Taking up the child._] + + Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder? + A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not + bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has + been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They + were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up + for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now. + Whoa-ho-hoa! + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +Hilloa, loa! + +SHEPHERD. +What, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead +and rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man? + +CLOWN. +I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it +is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you +cannot thrust a bodkin’s point. + +SHEPHERD. +Why, boy, how is it? + +CLOWN. +I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up +the shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the +poor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship +boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and +froth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land +service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried +to me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to +make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but +first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the +poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder +than the sea or weather. + +SHEPHERD. +Name of mercy, when was this, boy? + +CLOWN. +Now, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not +yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at +it now. + +SHEPHERD. +Would I had been by to have helped the old man! + +CLOWN. +I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your +charity would have lacked footing. + +SHEPHERD. +Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless +thyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s +a sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look +thee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me +I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t. +What’s within, boy? + +CLOWN. +You’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you, +you’re well to live. Gold! all gold! + +SHEPHERD. +This is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it +close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still +requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next +way home. + +CLOWN. +Go you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone +from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst +but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it. + +SHEPHERD. +That’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him +what he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him. + +CLOWN. +Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground. + +SHEPHERD. +’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. + + Enter Time, the Chorus. + +TIME. +I that please some, try all: both joy and terror +Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, +Now take upon me, in the name of Time, +To use my wings. Impute it not a crime +To me or my swift passage, that I slide +O’er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried +Of that wide gap, since it is in my power +To o’erthrow law, and in one self-born hour +To plant and o’erwhelm custom. Let me pass +The same I am, ere ancient’st order was +Or what is now received. I witness to +The times that brought them in; so shall I do +To th’ freshest things now reigning, and make stale +The glistering of this present, as my tale +Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, +I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing +As you had slept between. Leontes leaving +Th’ effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving +That he shuts up himself, imagine me, +Gentle spectators, that I now may be +In fair Bohemia, and remember well, +I mentioned a son o’ th’ king’s, which Florizel +I now name to you; and with speed so pace +To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace +Equal with wondering. What of her ensues +I list not prophesy; but let Time’s news +Be known when ’tis brought forth. A shepherd’s daughter, +And what to her adheres, which follows after, +Is th’ argument of Time. Of this allow, +If ever you have spent time worse ere now; +If never, yet that Time himself doth say +He wishes earnestly you never may. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes. + + Enter Polixenes and Camillo. + +POLIXENES. +I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: ’tis a sickness +denying thee anything; a death to grant this. + +CAMILLO. +It is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have for the most +part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the +penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I +might be some allay, or I o’erween to think so,—which is another spur +to my departure. + +POLIXENES. +As thou lov’st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by +leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made; +better not to have had thee than thus to want thee. Thou, having made +me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must +either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very +services thou hast done, which if I have not enough considered (as too +much I cannot) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my +profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, +prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the +remembrance of that penitent, as thou call’st him, and reconciled king, +my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even +now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince +Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being +gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their +virtues. + +CAMILLO. +Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs +may be, are to me unknown, but I have missingly noted he is of late +much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises +than formerly he hath appeared. + +POLIXENES. +I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I +have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I +have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most +homely shepherd, a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond +the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. + +CAMILLO. +I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare +note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin +from such a cottage. + +POLIXENES. +That’s likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the angle that +plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we +will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; +from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my +son’s resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business, +and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. + +CAMILLO. +I willingly obey your command. + +POLIXENES. +My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage. + + Enter Autolycus, singing. + +AUTOLYCUS. +_When daffodils begin to peer, + With, hey! the doxy over the dale, +Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year, + For the red blood reigns in the winter’s pale._ + +_The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, + With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! +Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; + For a quart of ale is a dish for a king._ + +_The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, + With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay, +Are summer songs for me and my aunts, + While we lie tumbling in the hay._ + +I have served Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile, but now +I am out of service. + +_But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? + The pale moon shines by night: +And when I wander here and there, + I then do most go right._ + +_If tinkers may have leave to live, + And bear the sow-skin budget, +Then my account I well may give + And in the stocks avouch it._ + +My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My +father named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under Mercury, +was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I +purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows +and knock are too powerful on the highway. Beating and hanging are +terrors to me. For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A +prize! a prize! + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +Let me see: every ’leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd +shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Aside._] If the springe hold, the cock’s mine. + +CLOWN. +I cannot do’t without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our +sheep-shearing feast? “Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, +rice”—what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath +made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me +four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers, three-man song-men all, and +very good ones; but they are most of them means and basses, but one +puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have +saffron to colour the warden pies; “mace; dates”, none, that’s out of +my note; “nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger”, but that I may beg; +“four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o’ th’ sun.” + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Grovelling on the ground._] O that ever I was born! + +CLOWN. +I’ th’ name of me! + +AUTOLYCUS. +O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! + +CLOWN. +Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather +than have these off. + +AUTOLYCUS. +O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I +have received, which are mighty ones and millions. + +CLOWN. +Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta’en from me, and +these detestable things put upon me. + +CLOWN. +What, by a horseman or a footman? + +AUTOLYCUS. +A footman, sweet sir, a footman. + +CLOWN. +Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee: +if this be a horseman’s coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me +thy hand, I’ll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. + + [_Helping him up._] + +AUTOLYCUS. +O, good sir, tenderly, O! + +CLOWN. +Alas, poor soul! + +AUTOLYCUS. +O, good sir, softly, good sir. I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. + +CLOWN. +How now! canst stand? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Softly, dear sir! [_Picks his pocket._] good sir, softly. You ha’ done +me a charitable office. + +CLOWN. +Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. + +AUTOLYCUS. +No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past +three-quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going. I shall there +have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that +kills my heart. + +CLOWN. +What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? + +AUTOLYCUS. +A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames. I +knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for +which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the +court. + +CLOWN. +His vices, you would say; there’s no virtue whipped out of the court. +They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but +abide. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well. He hath been since an +ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff. Then he compassed a +motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker’s wife within a mile +where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish +professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. + +CLOWN. +Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs, and +bear-baitings. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that’s the rogue that put me into this +apparel. + +CLOWN. +Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia. If you had but looked big and +spit at him, he’d have run. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that +way; and that he knew, I warrant him. + +CLOWN. +How do you now? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Sweet sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk: I will even +take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman’s. + +CLOWN. +Shall I bring thee on the way? + +AUTOLYCUS. +No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. + +CLOWN. +Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Prosper you, sweet sir! + + [_Exit Clown._] + + Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I’ll be with you + at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out + another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name + put in the book of virtue! +[_Sings._] +_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, + And merrily hent the stile-a: +A merry heart goes all the day, + Your sad tires in a mile-a._ + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage. + + Enter Florizel and Perdita. + +FLORIZEL. +These your unusual weeds to each part of you +Do give a life, no shepherdess, but Flora +Peering in April’s front. This your sheep-shearing +Is as a meeting of the petty gods, +And you the queen on ’t. + +PERDITA. +Sir, my gracious lord, +To chide at your extremes it not becomes me; +O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, +The gracious mark o’ th’ land, you have obscur’d +With a swain’s wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, +Most goddess-like prank’d up. But that our feasts +In every mess have folly, and the feeders +Digest it with a custom, I should blush +To see you so attir’d; swoon, I think, +To show myself a glass. + +FLORIZEL. +I bless the time +When my good falcon made her flight across +Thy father’s ground. + +PERDITA. +Now Jove afford you cause! +To me the difference forges dread. Your greatness +Hath not been us’d to fear. Even now I tremble +To think your father, by some accident, +Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! +How would he look to see his work, so noble, +Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how +Should I, in these my borrow’d flaunts, behold +The sternness of his presence? + +FLORIZEL. +Apprehend +Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, +Humbling their deities to love, have taken +The shapes of beasts upon them. Jupiter +Became a bull and bellow’d; the green Neptune +A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob’d god, +Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, +As I seem now. Their transformations +Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, +Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires +Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts +Burn hotter than my faith. + +PERDITA. +O, but, sir, +Your resolution cannot hold when ’tis +Oppos’d, as it must be, by the power of the king: +One of these two must be necessities, +Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, +Or I my life. + +FLORIZEL. +Thou dearest Perdita, +With these forc’d thoughts, I prithee, darken not +The mirth o’ th’ feast. Or I’ll be thine, my fair, +Or not my father’s. For I cannot be +Mine own, nor anything to any, if +I be not thine. To this I am most constant, +Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle. +Strangle such thoughts as these with anything +That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: +Lift up your countenance, as it were the day +Of celebration of that nuptial which +We two have sworn shall come. + +PERDITA. +O lady Fortune, +Stand you auspicious! + +FLORIZEL. +See, your guests approach: +Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, +And let’s be red with mirth. + + Enter Shepherd with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised; Clown, Mopsa, + Dorcas with others. + +SHEPHERD. +Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv’d, upon +This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, +Both dame and servant; welcom’d all; serv’d all; +Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here +At upper end o’ th’ table, now i’ th’ middle; +On his shoulder, and his; her face o’ fire +With labour, and the thing she took to quench it +She would to each one sip. You are retired, +As if you were a feasted one, and not +The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid +These unknown friends to ’s welcome, for it is +A way to make us better friends, more known. +Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself +That which you are, mistress o’ th’ feast. Come on, +And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, +As your good flock shall prosper. + +PERDITA. +[_To Polixenes._] Sir, welcome. +It is my father’s will I should take on me +The hostess-ship o’ the day. +[_To Camillo._] You’re welcome, sir. +Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, +For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep +Seeming and savour all the winter long. +Grace and remembrance be to you both! +And welcome to our shearing! + +POLIXENES. +Shepherdess— +A fair one are you—well you fit our ages +With flowers of winter. + +PERDITA. +Sir, the year growing ancient, +Not yet on summer’s death nor on the birth +Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ th’ season +Are our carnations and streak’d gillyvors, +Which some call nature’s bastards: of that kind +Our rustic garden’s barren; and I care not +To get slips of them. + +POLIXENES. +Wherefore, gentle maiden, +Do you neglect them? + +PERDITA. +For I have heard it said +There is an art which, in their piedness, shares +With great creating nature. + +POLIXENES. +Say there be; +Yet nature is made better by no mean +But nature makes that mean. So, over that art +Which you say adds to nature, is an art +That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry +A gentler scion to the wildest stock, +And make conceive a bark of baser kind +By bud of nobler race. This is an art +Which does mend nature, change it rather, but +The art itself is nature. + +PERDITA. +So it is. + +POLIXENES. +Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, +And do not call them bastards. + +PERDITA. +I’ll not put +The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; +No more than, were I painted, I would wish +This youth should say ’twere well, and only therefore +Desire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you: +Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram, +The marigold, that goes to bed with th’ sun +And with him rises weeping. These are flowers +Of middle summer, and I think they are given +To men of middle age. You’re very welcome. + +CAMILLO. +I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, +And only live by gazing. + +PERDITA. +Out, alas! +You’d be so lean that blasts of January +Would blow you through and through. [_To Florizel_] Now, my fair’st +friend, +I would I had some flowers o’ th’ spring, that might +Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, +That wear upon your virgin branches yet +Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, +From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let’st fall +From Dis’s waggon! daffodils, +That come before the swallow dares, and take +The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, +But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes +Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, +That die unmarried ere they can behold +Bright Phoebus in his strength (a malady +Most incident to maids); bold oxlips and +The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, +The flower-de-luce being one. O, these I lack, +To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend, +To strew him o’er and o’er! + +FLORIZEL. +What, like a corse? + +PERDITA. +No, like a bank for love to lie and play on; +Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried, +But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers. +Methinks I play as I have seen them do +In Whitsun pastorals. Sure this robe of mine +Does change my disposition. + +FLORIZEL. +What you do +Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, +I’d have you do it ever. When you sing, +I’d have you buy and sell so, so give alms, +Pray so; and, for the ord’ring your affairs, +To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you +A wave o’ th’ sea, that you might ever do +Nothing but that, move still, still so, +And own no other function. Each your doing, +So singular in each particular, +Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, +That all your acts are queens. + +PERDITA. +O Doricles, +Your praises are too large. But that your youth, +And the true blood which peeps fairly through ’t, +Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd, +With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, +You woo’d me the false way. + +FLORIZEL. +I think you have +As little skill to fear as I have purpose +To put you to ’t. But, come; our dance, I pray. +Your hand, my Perdita. So turtles pair +That never mean to part. + +PERDITA. +I’ll swear for ’em. + +POLIXENES. +This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever +Ran on the green-sward. Nothing she does or seems +But smacks of something greater than herself, +Too noble for this place. + +CAMILLO. +He tells her something +That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is +The queen of curds and cream. + +CLOWN. +Come on, strike up. + +DORCAS. +Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, to mend her kissing with! + +MOPSA. +Now, in good time! + +CLOWN. +Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. +Come, strike up. + + [_Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses._] + +POLIXENES. +Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this +Which dances with your daughter? + +SHEPHERD. +They call him Doricles; and boasts himself +To have a worthy feeding. But I have it +Upon his own report, and I believe it. +He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter. +I think so too; for never gaz’d the moon +Upon the water as he’ll stand and read, +As ’twere, my daughter’s eyes. And, to be plain, +I think there is not half a kiss to choose +Who loves another best. + +POLIXENES. +She dances featly. + +SHEPHERD. +So she does anything, though I report it +That should be silent. If young Doricles +Do light upon her, she shall bring him that +Which he not dreams of. + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never +dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. +He sings several tunes faster than you’ll tell money. He utters them as +he had eaten ballads, and all men’s ears grew to his tunes. + +CLOWN. +He could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad but even +too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant +thing indeed and sung lamentably. + +SERVANT. +He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes. No milliner can so fit his +customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids, so +without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos +and fadings, “jump her and thump her”; and where some stretch-mouthed +rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the +matter, he makes the maid to answer “Whoop, do me no harm, good man”; +puts him off, slights him, with “Whoop, do me no harm, good man.” + +POLIXENES. +This is a brave fellow. + +CLOWN. +Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any +unbraided wares? + +SERVANT. +He hath ribbons of all the colours i’ th’ rainbow; points, more than +all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to +him by th’ gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why he sings ’em +over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a +she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the +square on ’t. + +CLOWN. +Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. + +PERDITA. +Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in ’s tunes. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +CLOWN. +You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you’d think, +sister. + +PERDITA. +Ay, good brother, or go about to think. + + Enter Autolycus, singing. + +AUTOLYCUS. +_Lawn as white as driven snow, +Cypress black as e’er was crow, +Gloves as sweet as damask roses, +Masks for faces and for noses, +Bugle-bracelet, necklace amber, +Perfume for a lady’s chamber, +Golden quoifs and stomachers +For my lads to give their dears, +Pins and poking-sticks of steel, +What maids lack from head to heel. +Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; +Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. +Come, buy._ + +CLOWN. +If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; +but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain +ribbons and gloves. + +MOPSA. +I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. + +DORCAS. +He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars. + +MOPSA. +He hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which +will shame you to give him again. + +CLOWN. +Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets +where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you +are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you +must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are +whispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more. + +MOPSA. +I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet +gloves. + +CLOWN. +Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my +money? + +AUTOLYCUS. +And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to +be wary. + +CLOWN. +Fear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. + +CLOWN. +What hast here? Ballads? + +MOPSA. +Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are +sure they are true. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Here’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to +bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’ +heads and toads carbonadoed. + +MOPSA. +Is it true, think you? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Very true, and but a month old. + +DORCAS. +Bless me from marrying a usurer! + +AUTOLYCUS. +Here’s the midwife’s name to’t, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or +six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? + +MOPSA. +Pray you now, buy it. + +CLOWN. +Come on, lay it by; and let’s first see more ballads. We’ll buy the +other things anon. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Here’s another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on +Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, +and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought +she was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish for she would not +exchange flesh with one that loved her. The ballad is very pitiful, and +as true. + +DORCAS. +Is it true too, think you? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Five justices’ hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold. + +CLOWN. +Lay it by too: another. + +AUTOLYCUS. +This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. + +MOPSA. +Let’s have some merry ones. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of “Two maids +wooing a man.” There’s scarce a maid westward but she sings it. ’Tis in +request, I can tell you. + +MOPSA. +We can both sing it: if thou’lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; ’tis in +three parts. + +DORCAS. +We had the tune on ’t a month ago. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I can bear my part; you must know ’tis my occupation: have at it with +you. + +SONG. + +AUTOLYCUS. +_Get you hence, for I must go +Where it fits not you to know._ + +DORCAS. +_Whither?_ + +MOPSA. +_O, whither?_ + +DORCAS. +_Whither?_ + +MOPSA. +_It becomes thy oath full well +Thou to me thy secrets tell._ + +DORCAS. +_Me too! Let me go thither._ + +MOPSA. +Or thou goest to th’ grange or mill. + +DORCAS. +_If to either, thou dost ill._ + +AUTOLYCUS. +_Neither._ + +DORCAS. +_What, neither?_ + +AUTOLYCUS. +_Neither._ + +DORCAS. +_Thou hast sworn my love to be._ + +MOPSA. +_Thou hast sworn it more to me. +Then whither goest? Say, whither?_ + +CLOWN. +We’ll have this song out anon by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen +are in sad talk, and we’ll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack +after me. Wenches, I’ll buy for you both. Pedlar, let’s have the first +choice. Follow me, girls. + + [_Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa._] + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Aside._] And you shall pay well for ’em. + +SONG. + + + _Will you buy any tape, + Or lace for your cape, +My dainty duck, my dear-a? + Any silk, any thread, + Any toys for your head, +Of the new’st and fin’st, fin’st wear-a? + Come to the pedlar; + Money’s a meddler +That doth utter all men’s ware-a._ + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Servant. + +SERVANT. +Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, +three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair. They call +themselves saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a +gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in ’t; but they themselves +are o’ the mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but +bowling) it will please plentifully. + +SHEPHERD. +Away! we’ll none on ’t. Here has been too much homely foolery already. +I know, sir, we weary you. + +POLIXENES. +You weary those that refresh us: pray, let’s see these four threes of +herdsmen. + +SERVANT. +One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the +king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half +by th’ square. + +SHEPHERD. +Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; +but quickly now. + +SERVANT. +Why, they stay at door, sir. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then + exeunt. + +POLIXENES. +O, father, you’ll know more of that hereafter. +[_To Camillo._] Is it not too far gone? ’Tis time to part them. +He’s simple and tells much. [_To Florizel._] How now, fair shepherd! +Your heart is full of something that does take +Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young +And handed love, as you do, I was wont +To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack’d +The pedlar’s silken treasury and have pour’d it +To her acceptance. You have let him go, +And nothing marted with him. If your lass +Interpretation should abuse, and call this +Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited +For a reply, at least if you make a care +Of happy holding her. + +FLORIZEL. +Old sir, I know +She prizes not such trifles as these are: +The gifts she looks from me are pack’d and lock’d +Up in my heart, which I have given already, +But not deliver’d. O, hear me breathe my life +Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, +Hath sometime lov’d. I take thy hand! this hand, +As soft as dove’s down and as white as it, +Or Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow that’s bolted +By th’ northern blasts twice o’er. + +POLIXENES. +What follows this? +How prettily the young swain seems to wash +The hand was fair before! I have put you out. +But to your protestation. Let me hear +What you profess. + +FLORIZEL. +Do, and be witness to ’t. + +POLIXENES. +And this my neighbour, too? + +FLORIZEL. +And he, and more +Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: +That were I crown’d the most imperial monarch, +Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth +That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge +More than was ever man’s, I would not prize them +Without her love; for her employ them all; +Commend them and condemn them to her service, +Or to their own perdition. + +POLIXENES. +Fairly offer’d. + +CAMILLO. +This shows a sound affection. + +SHEPHERD. +But my daughter, +Say you the like to him? + +PERDITA. +I cannot speak +So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: +By th’ pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out +The purity of his. + +SHEPHERD. +Take hands, a bargain! +And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t. +I give my daughter to him, and will make +Her portion equal his. + +FLORIZEL. +O, that must be +I’ th’ virtue of your daughter: one being dead, +I shall have more than you can dream of yet; +Enough then for your wonder. But come on, +Contract us ’fore these witnesses. + +SHEPHERD. +Come, your hand; +And, daughter, yours. + +POLIXENES. +Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; +Have you a father? + +FLORIZEL. +I have; but what of him? + +POLIXENES. +Knows he of this? + +FLORIZEL. +He neither does nor shall. + +POLIXENES. +Methinks a father +Is at the nuptial of his son a guest +That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, +Is not your father grown incapable +Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid +With age and alt’ring rheums? can he speak? hear? +Know man from man? dispute his own estate? +Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing +But what he did being childish? + +FLORIZEL. +No, good sir; +He has his health, and ampler strength indeed +Than most have of his age. + +POLIXENES. +By my white beard, +You offer him, if this be so, a wrong +Something unfilial: reason my son +Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason +The father, all whose joy is nothing else +But fair posterity, should hold some counsel +In such a business. + +FLORIZEL. +I yield all this; +But for some other reasons, my grave sir, +Which ’tis not fit you know, I not acquaint +My father of this business. + +POLIXENES. +Let him know ’t. + +FLORIZEL. +He shall not. + +POLIXENES. +Prithee let him. + +FLORIZEL. +No, he must not. + +SHEPHERD. +Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve +At knowing of thy choice. + +FLORIZEL. +Come, come, he must not. +Mark our contract. + +POLIXENES. +[_Discovering himself._] Mark your divorce, young sir, +Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base +To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir, +That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, +I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can +But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece +Of excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know +The royal fool thou cop’st with,— + +SHEPHERD. +O, my heart! + +POLIXENES. +I’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made +More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, +If I may ever know thou dost but sigh +That thou no more shalt see this knack (as never +I mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession; +Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, +Far than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. +Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, +Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee +From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, +Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too +That makes himself, but for our honour therein, +Unworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou +These rural latches to his entrance open, +Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, +I will devise a death as cruel for thee +As thou art tender to ’t. + + [_Exit._] + +PERDITA. +Even here undone. +I was not much afeard, for once or twice +I was about to speak, and tell him plainly +The selfsame sun that shines upon his court +Hides not his visage from our cottage, but +Looks on alike. [_To Florizel._] Will’t please you, sir, be gone? +I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, +Of your own state take care. This dream of mine— +Being now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther, +But milk my ewes, and weep. + +CAMILLO. +Why, how now, father! +Speak ere thou diest. + +SHEPHERD. +I cannot speak, nor think, +Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir, +You have undone a man of fourscore three, +That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, +To die upon the bed my father died, +To lie close by his honest bones; but now +Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me +Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, +That knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure +To mingle faith with him! Undone, undone! +If I might die within this hour, I have liv’d +To die when I desire. + + [_Exit._] + +FLORIZEL. +Why look you so upon me? +I am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d, +But nothing alt’red: what I was, I am: +More straining on for plucking back; not following +My leash unwillingly. + +CAMILLO. +Gracious my lord, +You know your father’s temper: at this time +He will allow no speech (which I do guess +You do not purpose to him) and as hardly +Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: +Then, till the fury of his highness settle, +Come not before him. + +FLORIZEL. +I not purpose it. +I think Camillo? + +CAMILLO. +Even he, my lord. + +PERDITA. +How often have I told you ’twould be thus! +How often said my dignity would last +But till ’twere known! + +FLORIZEL. +It cannot fail but by +The violation of my faith; and then +Let nature crush the sides o’ th’ earth together +And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. +From my succession wipe me, father; I +Am heir to my affection. + +CAMILLO. +Be advis’d. + +FLORIZEL. +I am, and by my fancy. If my reason +Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; +If not, my senses, better pleas’d with madness, +Do bid it welcome. + +CAMILLO. +This is desperate, sir. + +FLORIZEL. +So call it: but it does fulfil my vow. +I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, +Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may +Be thereat glean’d; for all the sun sees or +The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides +In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath +To this my fair belov’d. Therefore, I pray you, +As you have ever been my father’s honour’d friend, +When he shall miss me,—as, in faith, I mean not +To see him any more,—cast your good counsels +Upon his passion: let myself and fortune +Tug for the time to come. This you may know, +And so deliver, I am put to sea +With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; +And, most opportune to her need, I have +A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar’d +For this design. What course I mean to hold +Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor +Concern me the reporting. + +CAMILLO. +O my lord, +I would your spirit were easier for advice, +Or stronger for your need. + +FLORIZEL. +Hark, Perdita. [_Takes her aside._] +[_To Camillo._] I’ll hear you by and by. + +CAMILLO. +He’s irremovable, +Resolv’d for flight. Now were I happy if +His going I could frame to serve my turn, +Save him from danger, do him love and honour, +Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia +And that unhappy king, my master, whom +I so much thirst to see. + +FLORIZEL. +Now, good Camillo, +I am so fraught with curious business that +I leave out ceremony. + +CAMILLO. +Sir, I think +You have heard of my poor services, i’ th’ love +That I have borne your father? + +FLORIZEL. +Very nobly +Have you deserv’d: it is my father’s music +To speak your deeds, not little of his care +To have them recompens’d as thought on. + +CAMILLO. +Well, my lord, +If you may please to think I love the king, +And, through him, what’s nearest to him, which is +Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, +If your more ponderous and settled project +May suffer alteration. On mine honour, +I’ll point you where you shall have such receiving +As shall become your highness; where you may +Enjoy your mistress; from the whom, I see, +There’s no disjunction to be made, but by, +As heavens forfend, your ruin. Marry her, +And with my best endeavours in your absence +Your discontenting father strive to qualify +And bring him up to liking. + +FLORIZEL. +How, Camillo, +May this, almost a miracle, be done? +That I may call thee something more than man, +And after that trust to thee. + +CAMILLO. +Have you thought on +A place whereto you’ll go? + +FLORIZEL. +Not any yet. +But as th’ unthought-on accident is guilty +To what we wildly do, so we profess +Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies +Of every wind that blows. + +CAMILLO. +Then list to me: +This follows, if you will not change your purpose, +But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, +And there present yourself and your fair princess, +For so, I see, she must be, ’fore Leontes: +She shall be habited as it becomes +The partner of your bed. Methinks I see +Leontes opening his free arms and weeping +His welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness, +As ’twere i’ th’ father’s person; kisses the hands +Of your fresh princess; o’er and o’er divides him +’Twixt his unkindness and his kindness. Th’ one +He chides to hell, and bids the other grow +Faster than thought or time. + +FLORIZEL. +Worthy Camillo, +What colour for my visitation shall I +Hold up before him? + +CAMILLO. +Sent by the king your father +To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, +The manner of your bearing towards him, with +What you (as from your father) shall deliver, +Things known betwixt us three, I’ll write you down, +The which shall point you forth at every sitting +What you must say; that he shall not perceive +But that you have your father’s bosom there +And speak his very heart. + +FLORIZEL. +I am bound to you: +There is some sap in this. + +CAMILLO. +A course more promising +Than a wild dedication of yourselves +To unpath’d waters, undream’d shores, most certain +To miseries enough: no hope to help you, +But as you shake off one to take another: +Nothing so certain as your anchors, who +Do their best office if they can but stay you +Where you’ll be loath to be. Besides, you know +Prosperity’s the very bond of love, +Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together +Affliction alters. + +PERDITA. +One of these is true: +I think affliction may subdue the cheek, +But not take in the mind. + +CAMILLO. +Yea, say you so? +There shall not at your father’s house, these seven years +Be born another such. + +FLORIZEL. +My good Camillo, +She is as forward of her breeding as +She is i’ th’ rear our birth. + +CAMILLO. +I cannot say ’tis pity +She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress +To most that teach. + +PERDITA. +Your pardon, sir; for this +I’ll blush you thanks. + +FLORIZEL. +My prettiest Perdita! +But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo, +Preserver of my father, now of me, +The medicine of our house, how shall we do? +We are not furnish’d like Bohemia’s son, +Nor shall appear in Sicilia. + +CAMILLO. +My lord, +Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes +Do all lie there: it shall be so my care +To have you royally appointed as if +The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, +That you may know you shall not want,—one word. +[_They talk aside._] + + Enter Autolycus. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very +simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery. Not a counterfeit stone, +not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, +glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. +They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed +and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose +purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. +My clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man) grew so in +love with the wenches’ song that he would not stir his pettitoes till +he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me +that all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a +placket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; +I would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no +feeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in +this time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses; +and had not the old man come in with a whoobub against his daughter and +the king’s son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a +purse alive in the whole army. + + Camillo, Florizel and Perdita come forward. + +CAMILLO. +Nay, but my letters, by this means being there +So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. + +FLORIZEL. +And those that you’ll procure from king Leontes? + +CAMILLO. +Shall satisfy your father. + +PERDITA. +Happy be you! +All that you speak shows fair. + +CAMILLO. +[_Seeing Autolycus._] Who have we here? +We’ll make an instrument of this; omit +Nothing may give us aid. + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Aside._] If they have overheard me now,—why, hanging. + +CAMILLO. +How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here’s no +harm intended to thee. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I am a poor fellow, sir. + +CAMILLO. +Why, be so still; here’s nobody will steal that from thee: yet, for the +outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee +instantly,—thou must think there’s a necessity in’t—and change garments +with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, +yet hold thee, there’s some boot. + + [_Giving money._] + +AUTOLYCUS. +I am a poor fellow, sir: [_Aside._] I know ye well enough. + +CAMILLO. +Nay, prithee dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Are you in earnest, sir? [_Aside._] I smell the trick on’t. + +FLORIZEL. +Dispatch, I prithee. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. + +CAMILLO. +Unbuckle, unbuckle. + + [_Florizel and Autolycus exchange garments._] + +Fortunate mistress,—let my prophecy +Come home to you!—you must retire yourself +Into some covert. Take your sweetheart’s hat +And pluck it o’er your brows, muffle your face, +Dismantle you; and, as you can, disliken +The truth of your own seeming; that you may +(For I do fear eyes over) to shipboard +Get undescried. + +PERDITA. +I see the play so lies +That I must bear a part. + +CAMILLO. +No remedy. +Have you done there? + +FLORIZEL. +Should I now meet my father, +He would not call me son. + +CAMILLO. +Nay, you shall have no hat. [_Giving it to Perdita._] +Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Adieu, sir. + +FLORIZEL. +O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? +Pray you a word. + + [_They converse apart._] + +CAMILLO. +[_Aside._] What I do next, shall be to tell the king +Of this escape, and whither they are bound; +Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail +To force him after: in whose company +I shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight +I have a woman’s longing. + +FLORIZEL. +Fortune speed us! +Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. + +CAMILLO. +The swifter speed the better. + + [_Exeunt Florizel, Perdita and Camillo._] + +AUTOLYCUS. +I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, +and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is +requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is +the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this +been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the +gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The +prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his +father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of +honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do’t: I hold it the +more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. + + Enter Clown and Shepherd. + +Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane’s end, +every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. + +CLOWN. +See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the +king she’s a changeling, and none of your flesh and blood. + +SHEPHERD. +Nay, but hear me. + +CLOWN. +Nay, but hear me. + +SHEPHERD. +Go to, then. + +CLOWN. +She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not +offended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by +him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all +but what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle, I +warrant you. + +SHEPHERD. +I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son’s pranks too; +who, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father nor to me, to go +about to make me the king’s brother-in-law. + +CLOWN. +Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him, +and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Aside._] Very wisely, puppies! + +SHEPHERD. +Well, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him +scratch his beard. + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Aside._] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the +flight of my master. + +CLOWN. +Pray heartily he be at’ palace. + +AUTOLYCUS. +[_Aside._] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by +chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. [_Takes off his false +beard._] How now, rustics! whither are you bound? + +SHEPHERD. +To the palace, an it like your worship. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the +place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, +breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known? discover! + +CLOWN. +We are but plain fellows, sir. + +AUTOLYCUS. +A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none +but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them +for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not +give us the lie. + +CLOWN. +Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken +yourself with the manner. + +SHEPHERD. +Are you a courtier, an ’t like you, sir? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of +the court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of +the court? receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect I not on +thy baseness court-contempt? Think’st thou, for that I insinuate, or +toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier +_cap-a-pe_, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business +there. Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair. + +SHEPHERD. +My business, sir, is to the king. + +AUTOLYCUS. +What advocate hast thou to him? + +SHEPHERD. +I know not, an ’t like you. + +CLOWN. +Advocate’s the court-word for a pheasant. Say you have none. + +SHEPHERD. +None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. + +AUTOLYCUS. +How bless’d are we that are not simple men! +Yet nature might have made me as these are, +Therefore I will not disdain. + +CLOWN. +This cannot be but a great courtier. + +SHEPHERD. +His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. + +CLOWN. +He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I’ll +warrant; I know by the picking on’s teeth. + +AUTOLYCUS. +The fardel there? What’s i’ th’ fardel? Wherefore that box? + +SHEPHERD. +Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must +know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may +come to th’ speech of him. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Age, thou hast lost thy labour. + +SHEPHERD. +Why, sir? + +AUTOLYCUS. +The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge +melancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things +serious, thou must know the king is full of grief. + +SHEPHERD. +So ’tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd’s +daughter. + +AUTOLYCUS. +If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly. The curses he shall +have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart +of monster. + +CLOWN. +Think you so, sir? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; +but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall +all come under the hangman: which, though it be great pity, yet it is +necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have +his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that +death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheepcote! All +deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. + +CLOWN. +Has the old man e’er a son, sir, do you hear, an ’t like you, sir? + +AUTOLYCUS. +He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then ’nointed over with honey, +set on the head of a wasp’s nest; then stand till he be three quarters +and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitæ or some other hot +infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication +proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a +southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to +death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are +to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem +to be honest plain men) what you have to the king. Being something +gently considered, I’ll bring you where he is aboard, tender your +persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in +man besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. + +CLOWN. +He seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and +though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with +gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no +more ado. Remember: “ston’d” and “flayed alive”. + +SHEPHERD. +An ’t please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that +gold I have. I’ll make it as much more, and leave this young man in +pawn till I bring it you. + +AUTOLYCUS. +After I have done what I promised? + +SHEPHERD. +Ay, sir. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? + +CLOWN. +In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall +not be flayed out of it. + +AUTOLYCUS. +O, that’s the case of the shepherd’s son. Hang him, he’ll be made an +example. + +CLOWN. +Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights. +He must know ’tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone +else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the +business is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be +brought you. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the +right-hand. I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. + +CLOWN. +We are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed. + +SHEPHERD. +Let’s before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. + + [_Exeunt Shepherd and Clown._] + +AUTOLYCUS. +If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she +drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion: +gold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how +that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, +these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again +and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let +him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against +that title and what shame else belongs to ’t. To him will I present +them. There may be matter in it. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes. + + Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others. + +CLEOMENES +Sir, you have done enough, and have perform’d +A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make +Which you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down +More penitence than done trespass: at the last, +Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; +With them, forgive yourself. + +LEONTES. +Whilst I remember +Her and her virtues, I cannot forget +My blemishes in them; and so still think of +The wrong I did myself: which was so much +That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and +Destroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man +Bred his hopes out of. + +PAULINA. +True, too true, my lord. +If, one by one, you wedded all the world, +Or from the all that are took something good, +To make a perfect woman, she you kill’d +Would be unparallel’d. + +LEONTES. +I think so. Kill’d! +She I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me +Sorely, to say I did: it is as bitter +Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, +Say so but seldom. + +CLEOMENES +Not at all, good lady. +You might have spoken a thousand things that would +Have done the time more benefit and grac’d +Your kindness better. + +PAULINA. +You are one of those +Would have him wed again. + +DION. +If you would not so, +You pity not the state, nor the remembrance +Of his most sovereign name; consider little +What dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue, +May drop upon his kingdom, and devour +Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy +Than to rejoice the former queen is well? +What holier than, for royalty’s repair, +For present comfort, and for future good, +To bless the bed of majesty again +With a sweet fellow to ’t? + +PAULINA. +There is none worthy, +Respecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods +Will have fulfill’d their secret purposes; +For has not the divine Apollo said, +Is ’t not the tenor of his oracle, +That king Leontes shall not have an heir +Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, +Is all as monstrous to our human reason +As my Antigonus to break his grave +And come again to me; who, on my life, +Did perish with the infant. ’Tis your counsel +My lord should to the heavens be contrary, +Oppose against their wills. [_To Leontes._] Care not for issue; +The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander +Left his to th’ worthiest; so his successor +Was like to be the best. + +LEONTES. +Good Paulina, +Who hast the memory of Hermione, +I know, in honour, O that ever I +Had squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now, +I might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes, +Have taken treasure from her lips,— + +PAULINA. +And left them +More rich for what they yielded. + +LEONTES. +Thou speak’st truth. +No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse, +And better us’d, would make her sainted spirit +Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, +(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed, +And begin “Why to me?” + +PAULINA. +Had she such power, +She had just cause. + +LEONTES. +She had; and would incense me +To murder her I married. + +PAULINA. +I should so. +Were I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark +Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t +You chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears +Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d +Should be “Remember mine.” + +LEONTES. +Stars, stars, +And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; +I’ll have no wife, Paulina. + +PAULINA. +Will you swear +Never to marry but by my free leave? + +LEONTES. +Never, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit! + +PAULINA. +Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. + +CLEOMENES +You tempt him over-much. + +PAULINA. +Unless another, +As like Hermione as is her picture, +Affront his eye. + +CLEOMENES +Good madam,— + +PAULINA. +I have done. +Yet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir, +No remedy but you will,—give me the office +To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young +As was your former, but she shall be such +As, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy +To see her in your arms. + +LEONTES. +My true Paulina, +We shall not marry till thou bid’st us. + +PAULINA. +That +Shall be when your first queen’s again in breath; +Never till then. + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, +Son of Polixenes, with his princess (she +The fairest I have yet beheld) desires access +To your high presence. + +LEONTES. +What with him? he comes not +Like to his father’s greatness: his approach, +So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us +’Tis not a visitation fram’d, but forc’d +By need and accident. What train? + +SERVANT. +But few, +And those but mean. + +LEONTES. +His princess, say you, with him? + +SERVANT. +Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think, +That e’er the sun shone bright on. + +PAULINA. +O Hermione, +As every present time doth boast itself +Above a better gone, so must thy grave +Give way to what’s seen now! Sir, you yourself +Have said and writ so,—but your writing now +Is colder than that theme,—‘She had not been, +Nor was not to be equall’d’; thus your verse +Flow’d with her beauty once; ’tis shrewdly ebb’d, +To say you have seen a better. + +SERVANT. +Pardon, madam: +The one I have almost forgot,—your pardon;— +The other, when she has obtain’d your eye, +Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, +Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal +Of all professors else; make proselytes +Of who she but bid follow. + +PAULINA. +How! not women? + +SERVANT. +Women will love her that she is a woman +More worth than any man; men, that she is +The rarest of all women. + +LEONTES. +Go, Cleomenes; +Yourself, assisted with your honour’d friends, +Bring them to our embracement. + + [_Exeunt Cleomenes and others._] + +Still, ’tis strange +He thus should steal upon us. + +PAULINA. +Had our prince, +Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair’d +Well with this lord. There was not full a month +Between their births. + +LEONTES. +Prithee no more; cease; Thou know’st +He dies to me again when talk’d of: sure, +When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches +Will bring me to consider that which may +Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. + + Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others. + +Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; +For she did print your royal father off, +Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, +Your father’s image is so hit in you, +His very air, that I should call you brother, +As I did him, and speak of something wildly +By us perform’d before. Most dearly welcome! +And your fair princess,—goddess! O, alas! +I lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and earth +Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as +You, gracious couple, do! And then I lost,— +All mine own folly,—the society, +Amity too, of your brave father, whom, +Though bearing misery, I desire my life +Once more to look on him. + +FLORIZEL. +By his command +Have I here touch’d Sicilia, and from him +Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, +Can send his brother: and, but infirmity, +Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz’d +His wish’d ability, he had himself +The lands and waters ’twixt your throne and his +Measur’d, to look upon you; whom he loves, +He bade me say so,—more than all the sceptres +And those that bear them living. + +LEONTES. +O my brother,— +Good gentleman!—the wrongs I have done thee stir +Afresh within me; and these thy offices, +So rarely kind, are as interpreters +Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, +As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too +Expos’d this paragon to the fearful usage, +At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, +To greet a man not worth her pains, much less +Th’ adventure of her person? + +FLORIZEL. +Good, my lord, +She came from Libya. + +LEONTES. +Where the warlike Smalus, +That noble honour’d lord, is fear’d and lov’d? + +FLORIZEL. +Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter +His tears proclaim’d his, parting with her: thence, +A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross’d, +To execute the charge my father gave me +For visiting your highness: my best train +I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss’d; +Who for Bohemia bend, to signify +Not only my success in Libya, sir, +But my arrival, and my wife’s, in safety +Here, where we are. + +LEONTES. +The blessed gods +Purge all infection from our air whilst you +Do climate here! You have a holy father, +A graceful gentleman; against whose person, +So sacred as it is, I have done sin, +For which the heavens, taking angry note, +Have left me issueless. And your father’s bless’d, +As he from heaven merits it, with you, +Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, +Might I a son and daughter now have look’d on, +Such goodly things as you! + + Enter a Lord. + +LORD. +Most noble sir, +That which I shall report will bear no credit, +Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, +Bohemia greets you from himself by me; +Desires you to attach his son, who has— +His dignity and duty both cast off— +Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with +A shepherd’s daughter. + +LEONTES. +Where’s Bohemia? speak. + +LORD. +Here in your city; I now came from him. +I speak amazedly, and it becomes +My marvel and my message. To your court +Whiles he was hast’ning—in the chase, it seems, +Of this fair couple—meets he on the way +The father of this seeming lady and +Her brother, having both their country quitted +With this young prince. + +FLORIZEL. +Camillo has betray’d me; +Whose honour and whose honesty till now, +Endur’d all weathers. + +LORD. +Lay ’t so to his charge. +He’s with the king your father. + +LEONTES. +Who? Camillo? + +LORD. +Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now +Has these poor men in question. Never saw I +Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth; +Forswear themselves as often as they speak. +Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them +With divers deaths in death. + +PERDITA. +O my poor father! +The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have +Our contract celebrated. + +LEONTES. +You are married? + +FLORIZEL. +We are not, sir, nor are we like to be. +The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. +The odds for high and low’s alike. + +LEONTES. +My lord, +Is this the daughter of a king? + +FLORIZEL. +She is, +When once she is my wife. + +LEONTES. +That “once”, I see by your good father’s speed, +Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, +Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, +Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry +Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, +That you might well enjoy her. + +FLORIZEL. +Dear, look up: +Though Fortune, visible an enemy, +Should chase us with my father, power no jot +Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, +Remember since you ow’d no more to time +Than I do now: with thought of such affections, +Step forth mine advocate. At your request +My father will grant precious things as trifles. + +LEONTES. +Would he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress, +Which he counts but a trifle. + +PAULINA. +Sir, my liege, +Your eye hath too much youth in ’t: not a month +’Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes +Than what you look on now. + +LEONTES. +I thought of her +Even in these looks I made. [_To Florizel._] But your petition +Is yet unanswer’d. I will to your father. +Your honour not o’erthrown by your desires, +I am friend to them and you: upon which errand +I now go toward him; therefore follow me, +And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. Before the Palace. + + Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. + +AUTOLYCUS. +Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver +the manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we +were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the +shepherd say he found the child. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I would most gladly know the issue of it. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived +in the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seemed +almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes. +There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; +they looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A +notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder, +that knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy +or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here +comes a gentleman that happily knows more. + + Enter a Gentleman. + +The news, Rogero? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled: the king’s daughter is +found: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that +ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady +Paulina’s steward: he can deliver you more. + + Enter a third Gentleman. + + How goes it now, sir? This news, which is called true, is so like an + old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king + found his heir? + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you +hear you’ll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The +mantle of Queen Hermione’s, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters +of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the +majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of +nobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other +evidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king’s daughter. +Did you see the meeting of the two kings? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +No. + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. +There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such +manner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy +waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with +countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, +not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of +his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries “O, +thy mother, thy mother!” then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces +his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her; +now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten +conduit of many kings’ reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, +which lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though +credit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a +bear: this avouches the shepherd’s son, who has not only his innocence, +which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his +that Paulina knows. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +What became of his bark and his followers? + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +Wrecked the same instant of their master’s death, and in the view of +the shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the +child were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat +that ’twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye +declined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle +was fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her +in embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no +more be in danger of losing. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; +for by such was it acted. + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine +eyes (caught the water, though not the fish) was, when at the relation +of the queen’s death (with the manner how she came to it bravely +confessed and lamented by the king) how attentivenes wounded his +daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an +“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept +blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all +sorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been +universal. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Are they returned to the court? + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +No: the princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the +keeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed +by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself +eternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of +her custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath +done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of +answer. Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and +there they intend to sup. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath +privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, +visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company +piece the rejoicing? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an +eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our +knowledge. Let’s along. + + [_Exeunt Gentlemen._] + +AUTOLYCUS. +Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop +on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told +him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what. But he at that +time over-fond of the shepherd’s daughter (so he then took her to be), +who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of +weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover’d. But ’tis all +one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not +have relish’d among my other discredits. + + Enter Shepherd and Clown. + +Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already +appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. + +SHEPHERD. +Come, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be +all gentlemen born. + +CLOWN. +You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, +because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see +them not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these +robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am +not now a gentleman born. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. + +CLOWN. +Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. + +SHEPHERD. +And so have I, boy! + +CLOWN. +So you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the +king’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two +kings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and +the princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and +there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. + +SHEPHERD. +We may live, son, to shed many more. + +CLOWN. +Ay; or else ’twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we +are. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed +to your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my +master. + +SHEPHERD. +Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. + +CLOWN. +Thou wilt amend thy life? + +AUTOLYCUS. +Ay, an it like your good worship. + +CLOWN. +Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true +fellow as any is in Bohemia. + +SHEPHERD. +You may say it, but not swear it. + +CLOWN. +Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, +I’ll swear it. + +SHEPHERD. +How if it be false, son? + +CLOWN. +If it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of +his friend. And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy +hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall +fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and +I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. + +AUTOLYCUS. +I will prove so, sir, to my power. + +CLOWN. +Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou +dar’st venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. +Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the +queen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house. + + Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords + and Attendants. + +LEONTES. +O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort +That I have had of thee! + +PAULINA. +What, sovereign sir, +I did not well, I meant well. All my services +You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d, +With your crown’d brother and these your contracted +Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, +It is a surplus of your grace which never +My life may last to answer. + +LEONTES. +O Paulina, +We honour you with trouble. But we came +To see the statue of our queen: your gallery +Have we pass’d through, not without much content +In many singularities; but we saw not +That which my daughter came to look upon, +The statue of her mother. + +PAULINA. +As she liv’d peerless, +So her dead likeness, I do well believe, +Excels whatever yet you look’d upon +Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it +Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare +To see the life as lively mock’d as ever +Still sleep mock’d death. Behold, and say ’tis well. + + Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as a + statue. + +I like your silence, it the more shows off +Your wonder: but yet speak. First you, my liege. +Comes it not something near? + +LEONTES. +Her natural posture! +Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed +Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she +In thy not chiding; for she was as tender +As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, +Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing +So aged as this seems. + +POLIXENES. +O, not by much! + +PAULINA. +So much the more our carver’s excellence, +Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her +As she liv’d now. + +LEONTES. +As now she might have done, +So much to my good comfort as it is +Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, +Even with such life of majesty, warm life, +As now it coldly stands, when first I woo’d her! +I am asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me +For being more stone than it? O royal piece, +There’s magic in thy majesty, which has +My evils conjur’d to remembrance and +From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, +Standing like stone with thee. + +PERDITA. +And give me leave, +And do not say ’tis superstition, that +I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, +Dear queen, that ended when I but began, +Give me that hand of yours to kiss. + +PAULINA. +O, patience! +The statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s +Not dry. + +CAMILLO. +My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, +Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, +So many summers dry. Scarce any joy +Did ever so long live; no sorrow +But kill’d itself much sooner. + +POLIXENES. +Dear my brother, +Let him that was the cause of this have power +To take off so much grief from you as he +Will piece up in himself. + +PAULINA. +Indeed, my lord, +If I had thought the sight of my poor image +Would thus have wrought you—for the stone is mine— +I’d not have show’d it. + +LEONTES. +Do not draw the curtain. + +PAULINA. +No longer shall you gaze on’t, lest your fancy +May think anon it moves. + +LEONTES. +Let be, let be. +Would I were dead, but that methinks already— +What was he that did make it? See, my lord, +Would you not deem it breath’d? And that those veins +Did verily bear blood? + +POLIXENES. +Masterly done: +The very life seems warm upon her lip. + +LEONTES. +The fixture of her eye has motion in ’t, +As we are mock’d with art. + +PAULINA. +I’ll draw the curtain: +My lord’s almost so far transported that +He’ll think anon it lives. + +LEONTES. +O sweet Paulina, +Make me to think so twenty years together! +No settled senses of the world can match +The pleasure of that madness. Let ’t alone. + +PAULINA. +I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but +I could afflict you further. + +LEONTES. +Do, Paulina; +For this affliction has a taste as sweet +As any cordial comfort. Still methinks +There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel +Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, +For I will kiss her! + +PAULINA. +Good my lord, forbear: +The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; +You’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own +With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? + +LEONTES. +No, not these twenty years. + +PERDITA. +So long could I +Stand by, a looker on. + +PAULINA. +Either forbear, +Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you +For more amazement. If you can behold it, +I’ll make the statue move indeed, descend, +And take you by the hand. But then you’ll think +(Which I protest against) I am assisted +By wicked powers. + +LEONTES. +What you can make her do +I am content to look on: what to speak, +I am content to hear; for ’tis as easy +To make her speak as move. + +PAULINA. +It is requir’d +You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; +Or those that think it is unlawful business +I am about, let them depart. + +LEONTES. +Proceed: +No foot shall stir. + +PAULINA. +Music, awake her: strike! [_Music._] +’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; +Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; +I’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away. +Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him +Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. + + Hermione comes down from the pedestal. + +Start not; her actions shall be holy as +You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her +Until you see her die again; for then +You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: +When she was young you woo’d her; now in age +Is she become the suitor? + +LEONTES. +[_Embracing her._] O, she’s warm! +If this be magic, let it be an art +Lawful as eating. + +POLIXENES. +She embraces him. + +CAMILLO. +She hangs about his neck. +If she pertain to life, let her speak too. + +POLIXENES. +Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv’d, +Or how stol’n from the dead. + +PAULINA. +That she is living, +Were it but told you, should be hooted at +Like an old tale; but it appears she lives, +Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. +Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel +And pray your mother’s blessing. Turn, good lady, +Our Perdita is found. + + [_Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione._] + +HERMIONE. +You gods, look down, +And from your sacred vials pour your graces +Upon my daughter’s head! Tell me, mine own, +Where hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found +Thy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I, +Knowing by Paulina that the oracle +Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv’d +Myself to see the issue. + +PAULINA. +There’s time enough for that; +Lest they desire upon this push to trouble +Your joys with like relation. Go together, +You precious winners all; your exultation +Partake to everyone. I, an old turtle, +Will wing me to some wither’d bough, and there +My mate, that’s never to be found again, +Lament till I am lost. + +LEONTES. +O peace, Paulina! +Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, +As I by thine a wife: this is a match, +And made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine; +But how, is to be question’d; for I saw her, +As I thought, dead; and have in vain said many +A prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far— +For him, I partly know his mind—to find thee +An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, +And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty +Is richly noted, and here justified +By us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place. +What! look upon my brother: both your pardons, +That e’er I put between your holy looks +My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, +And son unto the king, whom heavens directing, +Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, +Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely +Each one demand, and answer to his part +Perform’d in this wide gap of time, since first +We were dissever’d. Hastily lead away! + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + + +A LOVER’S COMPLAINT + + + +From off a hill whose concave womb reworded +A plaintful story from a sist’ring vale, +My spirits t’attend this double voice accorded, +And down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale; +Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, +Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, +Storming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain. + +Upon her head a platted hive of straw, +Which fortified her visage from the sun, +Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw +The carcass of a beauty spent and done; +Time had not scythed all that youth begun, +Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage +Some beauty peeped through lattice of sear’d age. + +Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, +Which on it had conceited characters, +Laund’ring the silken figures in the brine +That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears, +And often reading what contents it bears; +As often shrieking undistinguish’d woe, +In clamours of all size, both high and low. + +Sometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride, +As they did batt’ry to the spheres intend; +Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied +To th’orbed earth; sometimes they do extend +Their view right on; anon their gazes lend +To every place at once, and nowhere fix’d, +The mind and sight distractedly commix’d. + +Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, +Proclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride; +For some untuck’d descended her sheav’d hat, +Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; +Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, +And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, +Though slackly braided in loose negligence. + +A thousand favours from a maund she drew, +Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet, +Which one by one she in a river threw, +Upon whose weeping margent she was set, +Like usury applying wet to wet, +Or monarchs’ hands, that lets not bounty fall +Where want cries ‘some,’ but where excess begs ‘all’. + +Of folded schedules had she many a one, +Which she perus’d, sigh’d, tore and gave the flood; +Crack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone, +Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; +Found yet mo letters sadly penn’d in blood, +With sleided silk, feat and affectedly +Enswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy. + +These often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes, +And often kiss’d, and often gave to tear; +Cried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies, +What unapproved witness dost thou bear! +Ink would have seem’d more black and damned here!’ +This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, +Big discontent so breaking their contents. + +A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh, +Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew +Of court, of city, and had let go by +The swiftest hours observed as they flew, +Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew; +And, privileg’d by age, desires to know +In brief the grounds and motives of her woe. + +So slides he down upon his grained bat, +And comely distant sits he by her side, +When he again desires her, being sat, +Her grievance with his hearing to divide: +If that from him there may be aught applied +Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, +’Tis promised in the charity of age. + +‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold +The injury of many a blasting hour, +Let it not tell your judgement I am old, +Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power. +I might as yet have been a spreading flower, +Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied +Love to myself, and to no love beside. + +‘But woe is me! Too early I attended +A youthful suit; it was to gain my grace; +O one by nature’s outwards so commended, +That maiden’s eyes stuck over all his face, +Love lack’d a dwelling and made him her place; +And when in his fair parts she did abide, +She was new lodg’d and newly deified. + +‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls, +And every light occasion of the wind +Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls, +What’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find, +Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind: +For on his visage was in little drawn, +What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. + +‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin; +His phoenix down began but to appear, +Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, +Whose bare out-bragg’d the web it seemed to wear. +Yet show’d his visage by that cost more dear, +And nice affections wavering stood in doubt +If best were as it was, or best without. + +‘His qualities were beauteous as his form, +For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; +Yet if men mov’d him, was he such a storm +As oft ’twixt May and April is to see, +When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. +His rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth +Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. + +‘Well could he ride, and often men would say +That horse his mettle from his rider takes, +Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, +What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes! +And controversy hence a question takes, +Whether the horse by him became his deed, +Or he his manage by th’ well-doing steed. + +‘But quickly on this side the verdict went, +His real habitude gave life and grace +To appertainings and to ornament, +Accomplish’d in himself, not in his case; +All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, +Came for additions; yet their purpos’d trim +Piec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him. + +‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue +All kind of arguments and question deep, +All replication prompt, and reason strong, +For his advantage still did wake and sleep, +To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep: +He had the dialect and different skill, +Catching all passions in his craft of will. + +‘That he did in the general bosom reign +Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted, +To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain +In personal duty, following where he haunted, +Consent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted, +And dialogued for him what he would say, +Ask’d their own wills, and made their wills obey. + +‘Many there were that did his picture get +To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind, +Like fools that in th’ imagination set +The goodly objects which abroad they find +Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d, +And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them, +Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. + +‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand, +Sweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart. +My woeful self that did in freedom stand, +And was my own fee-simple (not in part) +What with his art in youth, and youth in art, +Threw my affections in his charmed power, +Reserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower. + +‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did, +Demand of him, nor being desired yielded, +Finding myself in honour so forbid, +With safest distance I mine honour shielded. +Experience for me many bulwarks builded +Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil +Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. + +‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent +The destin’d ill she must herself assay, +Or force’d examples ’gainst her own content, +To put the by-pass’d perils in her way? +Counsel may stop a while what will not stay: +For when we rage, advice is often seen +By blunting us to make our wills more keen. + +‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, +That we must curb it upon others’ proof, +To be forbode the sweets that seems so good, +For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. +O appetite, from judgement stand aloof! +The one a palate hath that needs will taste, +Though reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.” + +‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”, +And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; +Heard where his plants in others’ orchards grew, +Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; +Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; +Thought characters and words merely but art, +And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. + +‘And long upon these terms I held my city, +Till thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid, +Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, +And be not of my holy vows afraid: +That’s to ye sworn, to none was ever said, +For feasts of love I have been call’d unto, +Till now did ne’er invite, nor never woo. + +‘“All my offences that abroad you see +Are errors of the blood, none of the mind: +Love made them not; with acture they may be, +Where neither party is nor true nor kind, +They sought their shame that so their shame did find, +And so much less of shame in me remains, +By how much of me their reproach contains. + +‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen, +Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, +Or my affection put to th’ smallest teen, +Or any of my leisures ever charmed: +Harm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed; +Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, +And reign’d commanding in his monarchy. + +‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, +Of pallid pearls and rubies red as blood, +Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me +Of grief and blushes, aptly understood +In bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood; +Effects of terror and dear modesty, +Encamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly. + +‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair, +With twisted metal amorously empleach’d, +I have receiv’d from many a several fair, +Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d, +With th’ annexions of fair gems enrich’d, +And deep-brain’d sonnets that did amplify +Each stone’s dear nature, worth and quality. + +‘“The diamond, why ’twas beautiful and hard, +Whereto his invis’d properties did tend, +The deep green emerald, in whose fresh regard +Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; +The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend +With objects manifold; each several stone, +With wit well blazon’d smil’d, or made some moan. + +‘“Lo, all these trophies of affections hot, +Of pensiv’d and subdued desires the tender, +Nature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not, +But yield them up where I myself must render, +That is, to you, my origin and ender: +For these of force must your oblations be, +Since I their altar, you empatron me. + +‘“O then advance of yours that phraseless hand, +Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise; +Take all these similes to your own command, +Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise: +What me, your minister for you, obeys, +Works under you; and to your audit comes +Their distract parcels in combined sums. + +‘“Lo, this device was sent me from a nun, +Or sister sanctified of holiest note, +Which late her noble suit in court did shun, +Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; +For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, +But kept cold distance, and did thence remove +To spend her living in eternal love. + +‘“But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave +The thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives, +Planing the place which did no form receive, +Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves, +She that her fame so to herself contrives, +The scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight, +And makes her absence valiant, not her might. + +‘“O pardon me, in that my boast is true, +The accident which brought me to her eye, +Upon the moment did her force subdue, +And now she would the caged cloister fly: +Religious love put out religion’s eye: +Not to be tempted would she be immur’d, +And now to tempt all, liberty procur’d. + +‘“How mighty then you are, O hear me tell! +The broken bosoms that to me belong +Have emptied all their fountains in my well, +And mine I pour your ocean all among: +I strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong, +Must for your victory us all congest, +As compound love to physic your cold breast. + +‘“My parts had pow’r to charm a sacred nun, +Who, disciplin’d and dieted in grace, +Believ’d her eyes when they t’assail begun, +All vows and consecrations giving place. +O most potential love! Vow, bond, nor space, +In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, +For thou art all and all things else are thine. + +‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth +Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame, +How coldly those impediments stand forth, +Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame! +Love’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame, +And sweetens, in the suff’ring pangs it bears, +The aloes of all forces, shocks and fears. + +‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, +Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine, +And supplicant their sighs to your extend, +To leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine, +Lending soft audience to my sweet design, +And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, +That shall prefer and undertake my troth.” + +‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount, +Whose sights till then were levell’d on my face; +Each cheek a river running from a fount +With brinish current downward flowed apace. +O how the channel to the stream gave grace! +Who, glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses +That flame through water which their hue encloses. + +‘O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies +In the small orb of one particular tear! +But with the inundation of the eyes +What rocky heart to water will not wear? +What breast so cold that is not warmed here? +O cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath, +Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath. + +‘For lo, his passion, but an art of craft, +Even there resolv’d my reason into tears; +There my white stole of chastity I daff’d, +Shook off my sober guards, and civil fears, +Appear to him as he to me appears, +All melting, though our drops this diff’rence bore: +His poison’d me, and mine did him restore. + +‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter, +Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, +Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, +Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves, +In either’s aptness, as it best deceives, +To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, +Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows. + +‘That not a heart which in his level came +Could ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, +Showing fair nature is both kind and tame; +And veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim. +Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; +When he most burned in heart-wish’d luxury, +He preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity. + +‘Thus merely with the garment of a grace, +The naked and concealed fiend he cover’d, +That th’unexperient gave the tempter place, +Which, like a cherubin, above them hover’d. +Who, young and simple, would not be so lover’d? +Ay me! I fell, and yet do question make +What I should do again for such a sake. + +‘O, that infected moisture of his eye, +O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d! +O, that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly, +O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d, +O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed, +Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed, +And new pervert a reconciled maid.’ + + + + +THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM + +I. + +Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, +'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument, +Persuade my heart to this false perjury? +Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. +A woman I forswore; but I will prove, +Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: +My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; +Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. +My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is; +Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine, +Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is: +If broken, then it is no fault of mine. + If by me broke, what fool is not so wise + To break an oath, to win a paradise? + +II. + +Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook +With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, +Did court the lad with many a lovely look, +Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. +She told him stories to delight his ear; +She show'd him favours to allure his eye; +To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there: +Touches so soft still conquer chastity. +But whether unripe years did want conceit, +Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, +The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, +But smile and jest at every gentle offer: + Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward; + He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward! + +III. + +If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? +O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: +Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove; +Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd. +Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, +Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend. +If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; +Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend; +All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; +Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire: +Thy eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder, +Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. + Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, + To sing heavens' praise with such an earthly tongue. + +IV. + +Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, +And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, +When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, +A longing tarriance for Adonis made, +Under an osier growing by a brook, +A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen. +Hot was the day; she hotter that did look +For his approach, that often there had been. +Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by, +And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim; +The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, +Yet not so wistly as this queen on him: + He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood; + O Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood? + +V. + +Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle; +Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty; +Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle; +Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty: + A lily pale, with damask die to grace her, + None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. + +Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, +Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! +How many tales to please me hath she coin'd, +Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! + Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, + Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. + +She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth; +She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth; +She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing; +She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. + Was this a lover, or a lecher whether? + Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. + +VI. + +If music and sweet poetry agree, +As they must needs, the sister and the brother, +Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, +Because thou lovest the one, and I the other. +Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch +Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; +Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such +As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. +Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound +That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; +And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd +Whenas himself to singing he betakes. + One god is god of both, as poets feign; + One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. + +VII. + +Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love, + * * * * * * +Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, +For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild; +Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill: +Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds; +She, silly queen, with more than love's good will, +Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds; +Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth +Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar, +Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth! +See, in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore. + She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one, + And blushing fled, and left her all alone. + +VIII. + +Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded, +Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring! +Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded! +Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting! + Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, + And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. + +I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have; +For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will: +And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; +For why? I craved nothing of thee still: + O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee, + Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. + +IX. + +Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her, +Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him: +She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, +And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. +Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me, +And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms; +Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me; +As if the boy should use like loving charms; +Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips, +And with her lips on his did act the seizure; +And as she fetched breath, away he skips, +And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. + Ah! that I had my lady at this bay, + To kiss and clip me till I run away! + +X. + + Crabbed age and youth + Cannot live together + Youth is full of pleasance, + Age is full of care; + Youth like summer morn, + Age like winter weather; + Youth like summer brave, + Age like winter bare; + Youth is full of sport, + Age's breath is short; + Youth is nimble, age is lame; + Youth is hot and bold, + Age is weak and cold; + Youth is wild, and age is tame. + Age, I do abhor thee; + Youth, I do adore thee; + O, my love, my love is young! + Age, I do defy thee; + O, sweet shepherd, hie thee, + For methinks thou stay'st too long. + +XI. + +Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, +A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly; +A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud; +A brittle glass, that's broken presently: + A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, + Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. + +And as goods lost are seld or never found, +As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh, +As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground, +As broken glass no cement can redress, + So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost, + In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost. + +XII. + +Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share: +She bade good night that kept my rest away; +And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care, +To descant on the doubts of my decay. + Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow: + Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow; + +Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, +In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: +'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, +'T may be, again to make me wander thither: + 'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself, + As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. + +XIII. + +Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east! +My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise +Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. +Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, + While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, + And wish her lays were tuned like the lark; + +For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, +And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: +The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty; +Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight; + Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow; + For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow. + +Were I with her, the night would post too soon; +But now are minutes added to the hours; +To spite me now, each minute seems a moon; +Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers! + Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow: + Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow. + + + +THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE + + + +Let the bird of loudest lay, +On the sole Arabian tree, +Herald sad and trumpet be, +To whose sound chaste wings obey. + +But thou shrieking harbinger, +Foul precurrer of the fiend, +Augur of the fever’s end, +To this troop come thou not near. + +From this session interdict +Every fowl of tyrant wing, +Save the eagle, feather’d king; +Keep the obsequy so strict. + +Let the priest in surplice white, +That defunctive music can, +Be the death-divining swan, +Lest the requiem lack his right. + +And thou treble-dated crow, +That thy sable gender mak’st +With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st, +’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. + +Here the anthem doth commence: +Love and constancy is dead; +Phoenix and the turtle fled +In a mutual flame from hence. + +So they lov’d, as love in twain +Had the essence but in one; +Two distincts, division none: +Number there in love was slain. + +Hearts remote, yet not asunder; +Distance and no space was seen +’Twixt this turtle and his queen; +But in them it were a wonder. + +So between them love did shine, +That the turtle saw his right +Flaming in the phoenix’ sight; +Either was the other’s mine. + +Property was thus appalled, +That the self was not the same; +Single nature’s double name +Neither two nor one was called. + +Reason, in itself confounded, +Saw division grow together; +To themselves yet either neither, +Simple were so well compounded. + +That it cried, How true a twain +Seemeth this concordant one! +Love hath reason, reason none, +If what parts can so remain. + +Whereupon it made this threne +To the phoenix and the dove, +Co-supremes and stars of love, +As chorus to their tragic scene. + + + THRENOS + +Beauty, truth, and rarity. +Grace in all simplicity, +Here enclos’d in cinders lie. + +Death is now the phoenix’ nest; +And the turtle’s loyal breast +To eternity doth rest. + +Leaving no posterity:— +’Twas not their infirmity, +It was married chastity. + +Truth may seem, but cannot be; +Beauty brag, but ’tis not she; +Truth and beauty buried be. + +To this urn let those repair +That are either true or fair; +For these dead birds sigh a prayer. + + + +THE RAPE OF LUCRECE + + TO THE + + RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, + + EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD. + +THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this +pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant +I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored +lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what +I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were +my worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is +bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with +all happiness. + + Your Lordship's in all duty, + WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + + THE ARGUMENT. + +LUCIUS TARQUINIUS (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus), after he +had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly +murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or +staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the +kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to +besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army +meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, +in their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of +his own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity +of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; +and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of +that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his +wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the +other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several +disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and +his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with +Lucrece's beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed +with the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily +withdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained +and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously +stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the +morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily +dispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp +for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the +other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning +habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of +them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his +dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one +consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the +Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the +people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter +invective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so +moved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins +were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to +consuls. + +_______________________________________________________________ + +From the besieged Ardea all in post, +Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, +Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, +And to Collatium bears the lightless fire +Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire + And girdle with embracing flames the waist + Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. + +Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set +This bateless edge on his keen appetite; +When Collatine unwisely did not let +To praise the clear unmatched red and white +Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, + Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, + With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. + +For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, +Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state; +What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent +In the possession of his beauteous mate; +Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, + That kings might be espoused to more fame, + But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. + +O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! +And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done +As is the morning's silver-melting dew +Against the golden splendour of the sun! +An expir'd date, cancell'd ere well begun: + Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms, + Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. + +Beauty itself doth of itself persuade +The eyes of men without an orator; +What needeth then apologies be made, +To set forth that which is so singular? +Or why is Collatine the publisher + Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown + From thievish ears, because it is his own? + +Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty +Suggested this proud issue of a king; +For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be: +Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, +Braving compare, disdainfully did sting + His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt + That golden hap which their superiors want. + +But some untimely thought did instigate +His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those; +His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, +Neglected all, with swift intent he goes +To quench the coal which in his liver glows. + O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, + Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! + +When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd, +Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, +Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd +Which of them both should underprop her fame: +When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame; + When beauty boasted blushes, in despite + Virtue would stain that or with silver white. + +But beauty, in that white intituled, +From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field: +Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, +Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild +Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield; + Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,— + When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. + +This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, +Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white: +Of either's colour was the other queen, +Proving from world's minority their right: +Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; + The sovereignty of either being so great, + That oft they interchange each other's seat. + +Their silent war of lilies and of roses, +Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, +In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; +Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, +The coward captive vanquish'd doth yield + To those two armies that would let him go, + Rather than triumph in so false a foe. + +Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue, +(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) +In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, +Which far exceeds his barren skill to show: +Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe + Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, + In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. + +This earthly saint, adored by this devil, +Little suspecteth the false worshipper; +For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil; +Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear: +So guiltless she securely gives good cheer + And reverend welcome to her princely guest, + Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd: + +For that he colour'd with his high estate, +Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty; +That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, +Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, +Which, having all, all could not satisfy; + But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, + That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. + +But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes, +Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, +Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies +Writ in the glassy margents of such books; +She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; + Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, + More than his eyes were open'd to the light. + +He stories to her ears her husband's fame, +Won in the fields of fruitful Italy; +And decks with praises Collatine's high name, +Made glorious by his manly chivalry +With bruised arms and wreaths of victory: + Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, + And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. + +Far from the purpose of his coming hither, +He makes excuses for his being there. +No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather +Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear; +Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, + Upon the world dim darkness doth display, + And in her vaulty prison stows the day. + +For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, +Intending weariness with heavy spright; +For, after supper, long he questioned +With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night: +Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight; + And every one to rest themselves betake, + Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake. + +As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving +The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining; +Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, +Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining: +Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining; + And when great treasure is the meed propos'd, + Though death be adjunct, there's no death suppos'd. + +Those that much covet are with gain so fond, +For what they have not, that which they possess +They scatter and unloose it from their bond, +And so, by hoping more, they have but less; +Or, gaining more, the profit of excess + Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, + That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. + +The aim of all is but to nurse the life +With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age; +And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, +That one for all, or all for one we gage; +As life for honour in fell battles' rage; + Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost + The death of all, and all together lost. + +So that in vent'ring ill we leave to be +The things we are, for that which we expect; +And this ambitious foul infirmity, +In having much, torments us with defect +Of that we have: so then we do neglect + The thing we have; and, all for want of wit, + Make something nothing, by augmenting it. + +Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, +Pawning his honour to obtain his lust; +And for himself himself he must forsake: +Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? +When shall he think to find a stranger just, + When he himself himself confounds, betrays + To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days? + +Now stole upon the time the dead of night, +When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes: +No comfortable star did lend his light, +No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries; +Now serves the season that they may surprise + The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still, + While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. + +And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, +Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm; +Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; +Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm; +But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, + Doth too too oft betake him to retire, + Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. + +His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, +That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly; +Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, +Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye; +And to the flame thus speaks advisedly: + 'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, + So Lucrece must I force to my desire.' + +Here pale with fear he doth premeditate +The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, +And in his inward mind he doth debate +What following sorrow may on this arise; +Then looking scornfully, he doth despise + His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, + And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust: + +'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not +To darken her whose light excelleth thine: +And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot +With your uncleanness that which is divine! +Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: + Let fair humanity abhor the deed + That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed. + +'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! +O foul dishonour to my household's grave! +O impious act, including all foul harms! +A martial man to be soft fancy's slave! +True valour still a true respect should have; + Then my digression is so vile, so base, + That it will live engraven in my face. + +'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, +And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; +Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, +To cipher me how fondly I did dote; +That my posterity, sham'd with the note, + Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin + To wish that I their father had not been. + +'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? +A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy: +Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? +Or sells eternity to get a toy? +For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? + Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, + Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down? + +'If Collatinus dream of my intent, +Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage +Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? +This siege that hath engirt his marriage, +This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, + This dying virtue, this surviving shame, + Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? + +'O, what excuse can my invention make +When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? +Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake? +Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? +The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; + And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, + But, coward-like, with trembling terror die. + +'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, +Or lain in ambush to betray my life, +Or were he not my dear friend, this desire +Might have excuse to work upon his wife; +As in revenge or quittal of such strife: + But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, + The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. + +'Shameful it is;—ay, if the fact be known: +Hateful it is:— there is no hate in loving; +I'll beg her love;—but she is not her own; +The worst is but denial and reproving: +My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. + Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw + Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.' + +Thus, graceless, holds he disputation +'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will, +And with good thoughts makes dispensation, +Urging the worser sense for vantage still; +Which in a moment doth confound and kill + All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, + That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. + +Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand, +And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, +Fearing some hard news from the warlike band, +Where her beloved Collatinus lies. +O how her fear did make her colour rise! + First red as roses that on lawn we lay, + Then white as lawn, the roses took away. + +'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, +Forc'd it to tremble with her loyal fear; +Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, +Until her husband's welfare she did hear; +Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, + That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, + Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. + +'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? +All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth; +Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; +Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth: +Affection is my captain, and he leadeth; + And when his gaudy banner is display'd, + The coward fights and will not be dismay'd. + +'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die! +Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age! +My heart shall never countermand mine eye; +Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage; +My part is youth, and beats these from the stage: + Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; + Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?' + +As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear +Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. +Away he steals with opening, listening ear, +Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; +Both which, as servitors to the unjust, + So cross him with their opposite persuasion, + That now he vows a league, and now invasion. + +Within his thought her heavenly image sits, +And in the self-same seat sits Collatine: +That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; +That eye which him beholds, as more divine, +Unto a view so false will not incline; + But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, + Which once corrupted takes the worser part; + +And therein heartens up his servile powers, +Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, +Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; +And as their captain, so their pride doth grow. +Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. + By reprobate desire thus madly led, + The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. + +The locks between her chamber and his will, +Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward; +But, as they open they all rate his ill, +Which drives the creeping thief to some regard, +The threshold grates the door to have him heard; + Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there; + They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. + +As each unwilling portal yields him way, +Through little vents and crannies of the place +The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, +And blows the smoke of it into his face, +Extinguishing his conduct in this case; + But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, + Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch: + +And being lighted, by the light he spies +Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks; +He takes it from the rushes where it lies, +And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks: +As who should say this glove to wanton tricks + Is not inur'd: return again in haste; + Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste. + +But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; +He in the worst sense construes their denial: +The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, +He takes for accidental things of trial; +Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, + Who with a lingering stay his course doth let, + Till every minute pays the hour his debt. + +'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time, +Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring. +To add a more rejoicing to the prime, +And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. +Pain pays the income of each precious thing; + Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands, + The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' + +Now is he come unto the chamber door, +That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, +Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, +Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. +So from himself impiety hath wrought, + That for his prey to pray he doth begin, + As if the heavens should countenance his sin. + +But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, +Having solicited the eternal power, +That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, +And they would stand auspicious to the hour, +Even there he starts:—quoth he, 'I must de-flower; + The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, + How can they then assist me in the act? + +'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! +My will is back'd with resolution: +Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried, +The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution; +Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. + The eye of heaven is out, and misty night + Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' + +This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, +And with his knee the door he opens wide: +The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; +Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. +Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside; + But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, + Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. + +Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, +And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. +The curtains being close, about he walks, +Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head: +By their high treason is his heart misled; + Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon + To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. + +Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, +Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; +Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun +To wink, being blinded with a greater light: +Whether it is that she reflects so bright, + That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed; + But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. + +O, had they in that darksome prison died, +Then had they seen the period of their ill! +Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side +In his clear bed might have reposed still: +But they must ope, this blessed league to kill; + And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight + Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. + +Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, +Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss; +Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, +Swelling on either side to want his bliss; +Between whose hills her head entombed is: + Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, + To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. + +Without the bed her other fair hand was, +On the green coverlet; whose perfect white +Show'd like an April daisy on the grass, +With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night, +Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, + And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, + Till they might open to adorn the day. + +Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; +O modest wantons! wanton modesty! +Showing life's triumph in the map of death, +And death's dim look in life's mortality: +Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, + As if between them twain there were no strife, + But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. + +Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, +A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, +Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, +And him by oath they truly honoured. +These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred: + Who, like a foul usurper, went about + From this fair throne to heave the owner out. + +What could he see but mightily he noted? +What did he note but strongly he desir'd? +What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, +And in his will his wilful eye he tir'd. +With more than admiration he admir'd + Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, + Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. + +As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, +Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, +So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, +His rage of lust by grazing qualified; +Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side, + His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, + Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins: + +And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, +Obdurate vassals. fell exploits effecting, +In bloody death and ravishment delighting, +Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting, +Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: + Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, + Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking. + +His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, +His eye commends the leading to his hand; +His hand, as proud of such a dignity, +Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand +On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; + Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale, + Left their round turrets destitute and pale. + +They, mustering to the quiet cabinet +Where their dear governess and lady lies, +Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, +And fright her with confusion of their cries: +She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, + Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, + Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd. + +Imagine her as one in dead of night +From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, +That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, +Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking: +What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking, + From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view + The sight which makes supposed terror true. + +Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, +Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies; +She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears +Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes: +Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries: + Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, + In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights. + +His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, +(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!) +May feel her heart, poor citizen, distress'd, +Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, +Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. + This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, + To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. + +First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin +To sound a parley to his heartless foe, +Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, +The reason of this rash alarm to know, +Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; + But she with vehement prayers urgeth still + Under what colour he commits this ill. + +Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face, +(That even for anger makes the lily pale, +And the red rose blush at her own disgrace) +Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale: +Under that colour am I come to scale + Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine, + For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. + +'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide: +Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night, +Where thou with patience must my will abide, +My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, +Which I to conquer sought with all my might; + But as reproof and reason beat it dead, + By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. + +'I see what crosses my attempt will bring; +I know what thorns the growing rose defends; +I think the honey guarded with a sting; +All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends: +But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends; + Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, + And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. + +'I have debated, even in my soul, +What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed; +But nothing can Affection's course control, +Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. +I know repentant tears ensue the deed, + Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity; + Yet strike I to embrace mine infamy.' + +This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, +Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, +Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, +Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies: +So under his insulting falchion lies + Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells + With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells. + +'Lucrece,' quoth he, 'this night I must enjoy thee: +If thou deny, then force must work my way, +For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee; +That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay. +To kill thine honour with thy life's decay; + And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, + Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. + +'So thy surviving husband shall remain +The scornful mark of every open eye; +Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, +Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy: +And thou, the author of their obloquy, + Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, + And sung by children in succeeding times. + +'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: +The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; +A little harm, done to a great good end, +For lawful policy remains enacted. +The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted + In a pure compound; being so applied, + His venom in effect is purified. + +'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake, +Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot +The shame that from them no device can take, +The blemish that will never be forgot; +Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot: + For marks descried in men's nativity + Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' + +Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye +He rouseth up himself and makes a pause; +While she, the picture of pure piety, +Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, +Pleads in a wilderness where are no laws, + To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, + Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite. + +But when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat, +In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, +From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, +Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, +Hindering their present fall by this dividing; + So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, + And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. + +Yet, foul night-working cat, he doth but dally, +While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth; +Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, +A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth: +His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth + No penetrable entrance to her plaining: + Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. + +Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd +In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; +Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd, +Which to her oratory adds more grace. +She puts the period often from his place, + And midst the sentence so her accent breaks, + That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. + +She conjures him by high almighty Jove, +By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, +By her untimely tears, her husband's love, +By holy human law, and common troth, +By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, + That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, + And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. + +Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality +With such black payment as thou hast pretended; +Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee; +Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; +End thy ill aim before the shoot be ended: + He is no woodman that doth bend his bow + To strike a poor unseasonable doe. + +'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me; +Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me; +Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me; +Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me; +My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee. + If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, + Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans: + +'All which together, like a troubled ocean, +Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart; +To soften it with their continual motion; +For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. +O, if no harder than a stone thou art, + Melt at my tears, and be compassionate! + Soft pity enters at an iron gate. + +'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee; +Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? +To all the host of heaven I complain me, +Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name. +Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same, + Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; + For kings like gods should govern every thing. + +'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, +When thus thy vices bud before thy spring! +If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage, +What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king! +O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing + From vassal actors can he wip'd away; + Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. + +'This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, +But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love: +With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, +When they in thee the like offences prove: +If but for fear of this, thy will remove; + For princes are the glass, the school, the book, + Where subjects eyes do learn, do read, do look. + +'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn? +Must he in thee read lectures of such shame: +Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern +Authority for sin, warrant for blame, +To privilege dishonour in thy name? + Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, + And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. + +'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee, +From a pure heart command thy rebel will: +Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, +For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. +Thy princely office how canst thou fulfill, + When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say + He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way? + +'Think but how vile a spectacle it were +To view thy present trespass in another. +Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear; +Their own transgressions partially they smother: +This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. + O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies + That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes! + +'To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, +Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier; +I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal; +Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire: +His true respect will 'prison false desire, + And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, + That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine.' + +'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide +Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. +Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, +And with the wind in greater fury fret: +The petty streams that pay a daily debt + To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste, + Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' + +'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king; +And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood +Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, +Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. +If all these petty ills shall change thy good, + Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hears'd, + And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd. + +'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave; +Thou nobly base, they basely dignified; +Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave; +Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride: +The lesser thing should not the greater hide; + The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, + But low shrubs whither at the cedar's root. + +'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'— +'No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee: +Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate, +Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee; +That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee + Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, + To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' + +This said, he sets his foot upon the light, +For light and lust are deadly enemies; +Shame folded up in blind concealing night, +When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. +The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries; + Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd + Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: + +For with the nightly linen that she wears +He pens her piteous clamours in her head; +Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears +That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. +O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed! + The spots whereof could weeping purify, + Her tears should drop on them perpetually. + +But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, +And he hath won what he would lose again. +This forced league doth force a further strife; +This momentary joy breeds months of pain, +This hot desire converts to cold disdain: + Pure Chastity is rifled of her store, + And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. + +Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, +Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, +Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk +The prey wherein by nature they delight; +So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night: + His taste delicious, in digestion souring, + Devours his will, that liv'd by foul devouring. + +O deeper sin than bottomless conceit +Can comprehend in still imagination! +Drunken desire must vomit his receipt, +Ere he can see his own abomination. +While lust is in his pride no exclamation + Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire, + Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. + +And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, +With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, +Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, +Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case: +The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with Grace, + For there it revels; and when that decays, + The guilty rebel for remission prays. + +So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, +Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd; +For now against himself he sounds this doom, +That through the length of times he stands disgrac'd: +Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd; + To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, + To ask the spotted princess how she fares. + +She says, her subjects with foul insurrection +Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, +And by their mortal fault brought in subjection +Her immortality, and made her thrall +To living death, and pain perpetual; + Which in her prescience she controlled still, + But her foresight could not forestall their will. + +Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth, +A captive victor that hath lost in gain; +Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, +The scar that will, despite of cure, remain; +Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. + She hears the load of lust he left behind, + And he the burthen of a guilty mind. + +He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence; +She like a wearied lamb lies panting there; +He scowls, and hates himself for his offence; +She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; +He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear; + She stays, exclaiming on the direful night; + He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. + +He thence departs a heavy convertite; +She there remains a hopeless castaway: +He in his speed looks for the morning light; +She prays she never may behold the day; +'For day,' quoth she, 'night's scapes doth open lay; + And my true eyes have never practis'd how + To cloak offences with a cunning brow. + +'They think not but that every eye can see +The same disgrace which they themselves behold; +And therefore would they still in darkness be, +To have their unseen sin remain untold; +For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, + And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, + Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' + +Here she exclaims against repose and rest, +And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. +She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, +And bids it leap from thence, where it may find +Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. + Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite + Against the unseen secrecy of night: + +'O comfort-killing night, image of hell! +Dim register and notary of shame! +Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! +Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame! +Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame! + Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator + With close-tongued treason and the ravisher! + +'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night! +Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, +Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, +Make war against proportion'd course of time! +Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb + His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, + Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. + +'With rotten damps ravish the morning air; +Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick +The life of purity, the supreme fair, +Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick; +And let thy misty vapours march so thick, + That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light + May set at noon and make perpetual night. + +'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night's child), +The silver-shining queen he would distain; +Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd, +Through Night's black bosom should not peep again: +So should I have co-partners in my pain: + And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, + As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. + +'Where now I have no one to blush with me, +To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine, +To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; +But I alone alone must sit and pine, +Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, + Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, + Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. + +'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, +Let not the jealous day behold that face +Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak +Immodesty lies martyr'd with disgrace! +Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, + That all the faults which in thy reign are made, + May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade! + +'Make me not object to the tell-tale day! +The light will show, character'd in my brow, +The story of sweet chastity's decay, +The impious breach of holy wedlock vow: +Yea, the illiterate, that know not how + To cipher what is writ in learned books, + Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. + +'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story +And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name; +The orator, to deck his oratory, +Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame: +Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, + Will tie the hearers to attend each line, + How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. + +'Let my good name, that senseless reputation, +For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted: +If that be made a theme for disputation, +The branches of another root are rotted, +And undeserved reproach to him allotted, + That is as clear from this attaint of mine + As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. + +'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace! +O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar! +Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, +And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, +How he in peace is wounded, not in war. + Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, + Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! + +'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, +From me by strong assault it is bereft. +My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, +Have no perfection of my summer left, +But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft: + In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, + And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. + +'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;— +Yet for thy honour did I entertain him; +Coming from thee, I could not put him back, +For it had been dishonour to disdain him: +Besides, of weariness he did complain him, + And talk'd of virtue:—O unlook'd-for evil, + When virtue is profan'd in such a devil! + +'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? +Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? +Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud? +Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? +Or kings be breakers of their own behests? + But no perfection is so absolute, + That some impurity doth not pollute. + +'The aged man that coffers up his gold +Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits; +And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, +But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, +And useless barns the harvest of his wits; + Having no other pleasure of his gain + But torment that it cannot cure his pain. + +'So then he hath it when he cannot use it, +And leaves it to be master'd by his young; +Who in their pride do presently abuse it: +Their father was too weak, and they too strong, +To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. + The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, + Even in the moment that we call them ours. + +'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; +Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; +The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; +What virtue breeds iniquity devours: +We have no good that we can say is ours, + But ill-annexed Opportunity + Or kills his life or else his quality. + +'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great: +'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason; +Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get; +Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season; +'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason; + And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, + Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. + +'Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath; +Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; +Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth; +Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd! +Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud: + Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, + Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! + +'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, +Thy private feasting to a public fast; +Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name, +Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste: +Thy violent vanities can never last. + How comes it then, vile Opportunity, + Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? + +'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, +And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd? +When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end? +Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd? +Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd? + The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; + But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. + +'The patient dies while the physician sleeps; +The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; +Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; +Advice is sporting while infection breeds; +Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds: + Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, + Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. + +'When truth and virtue have to do with thee, +A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid; +They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee, +He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd +As well to hear as grant what he hath said. + My Collatine would else have come to me + When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. + +'Guilty thou art of murder and of theft; +Guilty of perjury and subornation; +Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift; +Guilty of incest, that abomination: +An accessory by thine inclination + To all sins past, and all that are to come, + From the creation to the general doom. + +'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, +Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care, +Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, +Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare; +Thou nursest all and murtherest all that are: + O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! + Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. + +'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, +Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? +Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me +To endless date of never-ending woes? +Time's office is to fine the hate of foes; + To eat up errors by opinion bred, + Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. + +'Time's glory is to calm contending kings, +To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, +To stamp the seal of time in aged things, +To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, +To wrong the wronger till he render right; + To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, + And smear with dust their glittering golden towers: + +'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, +To feed oblivion with decay of things, +To blot old books and alter their contents, +To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, +To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs; + To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, + And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel; + +'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter, +To make the child a man, the man a child, +To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, +To tame the unicorn and lion wild, +To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd; + To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, + And waste huge stones with little water-drops. + +'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, +Unless thou couldst return to make amends? +One poor retiring minute in an age +Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, +Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends: + O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back, + I could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack! + +'Thou cease!ess lackey to eternity, +With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight: +Devise extremes beyond extremity, +To make him curse this cursed crimeful night: +Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright; + And the dire thought of his committed evil + Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. + +'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, +Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans; +Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, +To make him moan; but pity not his moans: +Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones; + And let mild women to him lose their mildness, + Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. + +'Let him have time to tear his curled hair, +Let him have time against himself to rave, +Let him have time of Time's help to despair, +Let him have time to live a loathed slave, +Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave; + And time to see one that by alms doth live + Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. + +'Let him have time to see his friends his foes, +And merry fools to mock at him resort; +Let him have time to mark how slow time goes +In time of sorrow, and how swift and short +His time of folly and his time of sport: + And ever let his unrecalling crime + Have time to wail the abusing of his time. + +'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, +Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill! +At his own shadow let the thief run mad! +Himself himself seek every hour to kill! +Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill: + For who so base would such an office have + As slanderous deathsman to so base a slave? + +The baser is he, coming from a king, +To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. +The mightier man, the mightier is the thing +That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate; +For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. + The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, + But little stars may hide them when they list. + +'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, +And unperceived fly with the filth away; +But if the like the snow-white swan desire, +The stain upon his silver down will stay. +Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day: + Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, + But eagles gazed upon with every eye. + +'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools! +Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! +Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools; +Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; +To trembling clients be you mediators: + For me, I force not argument a straw, + Since that my case is past the help of law. + +'In vain I rail at Opportunity, +At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night; +In vain I cavil with mine infamy, +In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite: +This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. + The remedy indeed to do me good + Is to let forth my foul-defil'd blood. + +'Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? +Honour thyself to rid me of this shame; +For if I die, my honour lives in thee; +But if I live, thou livest in my defame: +Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, + And wast afear'd to scratch her wicked foe, + Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' + +This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, +To find some desperate instrument of death: +But this no slaughter-house no tool imparteth, +To make more vent for passage of her breath; +Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth + As smoke from Aetna, that in air consumes, + Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. + +'In vain,' quoth she, 'I live, and seek in vain +Some happy mean to end a hapless life. +I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, +Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife: +But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife: + So am I now:—O no, that cannot be; + Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. + +'O! that is gone for which I sought to live, +And therefore now I need not fear to die. +To clear this spot by death, at least I give +A badge of fame to slander's livery; +A dying life to living infamy; + Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, + To burn the guiltless casket where it lay! + +'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know +The stained taste of violated troth; +I will not wrong thy true affection so, +To flatter thee with an infringed oath; +This bastard graff shall never come to growth: + He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute + That thou art doting father of his fruit. + +Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, +Nor laugh with his companions at thy state; +But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought +Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. +For me, I am the mistress of my fate, + And with my trespass never will dispense, + Till life to death acquit my forced offence. + +'I will not poison thee with my attaint, +Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; +My sable ground of sin I will not paint, +To hide the truth of this false night's abuses; +My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices, + As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, + Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.' + +By this; lamenting Philomel had ended +The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, +And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended +To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow +Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow: + But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, + And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. + +Revealing day through every cranny spies, +And seems to point her out where she sits weeping, +To whom she sobbing speaks: 'O eye of eyes, +Why pryest thou through my window? leave thy peeping; +Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping: + Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, + For day hath nought to do what's done by night.' + +Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: +True grief is fond and testy as a child, +Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees. +Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; +Continuance tames the one: the other wild, + Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still + With too much labour drowns for want of skill. + +So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, +Holds disputation with each thing she views, +And to herself all sorrow doth compare; +No object but her passion's strength renews; +And as one shifts, another straight ensues: + Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words; + Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. + +The little birds that tune their morning's joy +Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. +For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy; +Sad souls are slain in merry company: +Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society: + True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd + When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. + +'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore; +He ten times pines that pines beholding food; +To see the salve doth make the wound ache more; +Great grief grieves most at that would do it good; +Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood; + Who, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows; + Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. + +'You mocking birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb +Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts, +And in my hearing be you mute and dumb! +(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; +A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:) + Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears; + Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. + +'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, +Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair: +As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, +So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, +And with deep groans the diapason bear: + For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, + While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. + +'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, +To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, +To imitate thee well, against my heart +Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye; +Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. + These means, as frets upon an instrument, + Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment. + +'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, +As shaming any eye should thee behold, +Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, +That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, +Will we find out; and there we will unfold + To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds: + Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.' + +As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, +Wildly determining which way to fly, +Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, +That cannot tread the way out readily; +So with herself is she in mutiny, + To live or die which of the twain were better, + When life is sham'd, and Death reproach's debtor. + +'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack! what were it, +But with my body my poor soul's pollution? +They that lose half with greater patience bear it +Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. +That mother tries a merciless conclusion + Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one, + Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. + +'My body or my soul, which was the dearer, +When the one pure, the other made divine? +Whose love of either to myself was nearer? +When both were kept for heaven and Collatine? +Ah, me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, + His leaves will wither, and his sap decay; + So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. + +'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, +Her mansion batter'd by the enemy; +Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, +Grossly engirt with daring infamy: +Then let it not be call'd impiety, + If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole + Through which I may convey this troubled soul. + +'Yet die I will not till my Collatine +Have heard the cause of my untimely death; +That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, +Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. +My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, + Which by him tainted shall for him be spent, + And as his due writ in my testament. + +'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife +That wounds my body so dishonoured. +'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life; +The one will live, the other being dead: +So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred; + For in my death I murther shameful scorn: + My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. + +'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, +What legacy shall I bequeath to thee? +My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast, +By whose example thou reveng'd mayst be. +How Tarquin must be used, read it in me: + Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, + And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. + +'This brief abridgement of my will I make: +My soul and body to the skies and ground; +My resolution, husband, do thou take; +Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound; +My shame be his that did my fame confound; + And all my fame that lives disburs'd be + To those that live, and think no shame of me. + +'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will; +How was I overseen that thou shalt see it! +My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill; +My life's foul deed my life's fair end shall free it. +Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say "so be it:" + Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee; + Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.' + +This plot of death when sadly she had laid, +And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, +With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, +Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies; +For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. + Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so + As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. + +Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, +With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, +And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, +(For why her face wore sorrow's livery,) +But durst not ask of her audaciously + Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, + Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. + +But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, +Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; +Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet +Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy +Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky, + Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, + Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. + +A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, +Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling: +One justly weeps; the other takes in hand +No cause, but company, of her drops spilling: +Their gentle sex to weep are often willing: + Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts, + And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts. + +For men have marble, women waxen minds, +And therefore are they form'd as marble will; +The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds +Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill: +Then call them not the authors of their ill, + No more than wax shall be accounted evil, + Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. + +Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, +Lays open all the little worms that creep; +In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain +Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep: +Through crystal walls each little mote will peep: + Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks, + Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. + +No man inveigb against the wither'd flower, +But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd! +Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, +Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild +Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd + With men's abuses! those proud lords, to blame, + Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. + +The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, +Assail'd by night with circumstances strong +Of present death, and shame that might ensue +By that her death, to do her husband wrong: +Such danger to resistance did belong; + The dying fear through all her body spread; + And who cannot abuse a body dead? + +By this, mild Patience bid fair Lucrece speak +To the poor counterfeit of her complaining: +'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break +Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining? +If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, + Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood: + If tears could help, mine own would do me good. + +'But tell me, girl, when went'—(and there she stay'd +Till after a deep groan) 'Tarquin from, hence?' +'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, +'The more to blame my sluggard negligence: +Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense; + Myself was stirring ere the break of day, + And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. + +'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold, +She would request to know your heaviness.' +'O peace!' quoth Lucrece: 'if it should be told, +The repetition cannot make it less; +For more it is than I can well express: + And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, + When more is felt than one hath power to tell. + +'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen— +Yet save that labour, for I have them here. +What should I say?—One of my husband's men +Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear +A letter to my lord, my love, my dear; + Bid him with speed prepare to carry it; + The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.' + +Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, +First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: +Conceit and grief an eager combat fight; +What wit sets down is blotted straight with will; +This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill: + Much like a press of people at a door, + Throng her inventions, which shall go before. + +At last she thus begins:—'Thou worthy lord +Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, +Health to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford +(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see) +Some present speed to come and visit me: + So, I commend me from our house in grief: + My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.' + +Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, +Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. +By this short schedule Collatine may know +Her grief, but not her grief's true quality; +She dares not thereof make discovery, + Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, + Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse. + +Besides, the life and feeling of her passion +She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her; +When sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the fashion +Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her +From that suspicion which the world my might bear her. + To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter + With words, till action might become them better. + +To see sad sights moves more than hear them told; +For then the eye interprets to the ear +The heavy motion that it doth behold, +When every part a part of woe doth bear. +'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear: + Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, + And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. + +Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ +'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;' +The post attends, and she delivers it, +Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast +As lagging fowls before the northern blast. + Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems: + Extremely still urgeth such extremes. + +The homely villain court'sies to her low; +And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye +Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, +And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. +But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie + Imagine every eye beholds their blame; + For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame: + +When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect +Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. +Such harmless creatures have a true respect +To talk in deeds, while others saucily +Promise more speed, but do it leisurely: + Even so this pattern of the worn-out age + Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. + +His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, +That two red fires in both their faces blaz'd; +She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust, +And, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd; +Her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd: + The more saw the blood his cheeks replenish, + The more she thought he spied in her some blemish. + +But long she thinks till he return again, +And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. +The weary time she cannot entertain, +For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, to groan: +So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, + That she her plaints a little while doth stay, + Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. + +At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece +Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy; +Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, +For Helen's rape the city to destroy, +Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy; + Which the conceited painter drew so proud, + As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. + +A thousand lamentable objects there, +In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: +Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, +Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife: +The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife; + The dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, + Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. + +There might you see the labouring pioner +Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust; +And from the towers of Troy there would appear +The very eyes of men through loopholes thrust, +Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust: + Such sweet observance in this work was had, + That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. + +In great commanders grace and majesty +You might behold, triumphing in their faces; +In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; +And here and there the painter interlaces +Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces; + Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, + That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble. + +In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art +Of physiognomy might one behold! +The face of either 'cipher'd either's heart; +Their face their manners most expressly told: +In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd; + But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent + Show'd deep regard and smiling government. + +There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, +As't were encouraging the Greeks to fight; +Making such sober action with his hand +That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight: +In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, + Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly + Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. + +About him were a press of gaping faces, +Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; +All jointly listening, but with several graces, +As if some mermaid did their ears entice; +Some high, some low, the painter was so nice: + The scalps of many, almost hid behind, + To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind. + +Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, +His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear; +Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and red; +Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear; +And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, + As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, + It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. + +For much imaginary work was there; +Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, +That for Achilles' image stood his spear, +Grip'd in an armed hand; himself, behind, +Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind: + A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, + Stood for the whole to be imagined, + +And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy +When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field, +Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy +To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield; +And to their hope they such odd action yield, + That through their light joy seemed to appear, + (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear, + +And, from the strond of Dardan, where they fought, +To Simois' reedy banks, the red blood ran, +Whose waves to imitate the battle sought +With swelling ridges; and their ranks began +To break upon the galled shore, and than + Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks, + They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. + +To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, +To find a face where all distress is stell'd. +Many she sees where cares have carved some, +But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, +Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, + Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, + Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. + +In her the painter had anatomiz'd +Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's reign: +Her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguis'd; +Of what she was no semblance did remain: +Her blue blood, chang'd to black in every vein, + Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, + Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. + +On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, +And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, +Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, +And bitter words to ban her cruel foes: +The painter was no god to lend her those; + And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong, + To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. + +'Poor instrument,' quoth she, 'without a sound, +I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue; +And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, +And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong, +And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long; + And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes + Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. + +'Show me the strumpet that began this stir, +That with my nails her beauty I may tear. +Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur +This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear; +Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here: + And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, + The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. + +'Why should the private pleasure of some one +Become the public plague of many mo? +Let sin, alone committed, light alone +Upon his head that hath transgressed so. +Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe: + For one's offence why should so many fall, + To plague a private sin in general? + +'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, +Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds; +Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, +And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, +And one man's lust these many lives confounds: + Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, + Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.' + +Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes: +For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell, +Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; +Then little strength rings out the doleful knell: +So Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell + To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow; + She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow. + +She throws her eyes about the painting round, +And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament: +At last she sees a wretched image bound, +That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent: +His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content; + Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, + So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. + +In him the painter labour'd with his skill +To hide deceit, and give the harmless show +An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, +A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe; +Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so + That blushing red no guilty instance gave, + Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. + +But, like a constant and confirmed devil, +He entertain'd a show so seeming just, +And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, +That jealousy itself cold not mistrust +False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust + Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms, + Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. + +The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew +For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story +The credulous Old Priam after slew; +Whose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory +Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, + And little stars shot from their fixed places, + When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces. + +This picture she advisedly perus'd, +And chid the painter for his wondrous skill; +Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd; +So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill: +And still on him she gaz'd; and gazing still, + Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, + That she concludes the picture was belied. + +'It cannot be,' quoth she, 'that so much guile'— +(She would have said) 'can lurk in such a look;' +But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while, +And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took; +'It cannot be' she in that sense forsook, + And turn'd it thus: 'It cannot be, I find, + But such a face should bear a wicked mind: + +'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, +So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, +(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,) +To me came Tarquin armed; so beguil'd +With outward honesty, but yet defil'd + With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish, + So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish. + +'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, +To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. +Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise? +For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds; +His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds; + Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity, + Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. + +'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell; +For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, +And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell; +These contraries such unity do hold, +Only to flatter fools, and make them bold; + So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter, + That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.' + +Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, +That patience is quite beaten from her breast. +She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, +Comparing him to that unhappy guest +Whose deed hath made herself herself detest; + At last she smilingly with this gives o'er; + 'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be sore.' + +Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, +And time doth weary time with her complaining. +She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, +And both she thinks too long with her remaining: +Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. + Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps; + And they that watch see time how slow it creeps. + +Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, +That she with painted images hath spent; +Being from the feeling of her own grief brought +By deep surmise of others' detriment: +Losing her woes in shows of discontent. + It easeth some, though none it ever cur'd, + To think their dolour others have endur'd. + +But now the mindful messenger, come back, +Brings home his lord and other company; +Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black: +And round about her tear-distained eye +Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky. + These water-galls in her dim element + Foretell new storms to those already spent. + +Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, +Amazedly in her sad face he stares: +Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw, +Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. +He hath no power to ask her how she fares, + Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, + Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. + +At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, +And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event +Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand? +Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent? +Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent? + Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, + And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' + +Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, +Ere once she can discharge one word of woe: +At length address'd to answer his desire, +She modestly prepares to let them know +Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe; + While Collatine and his consorted lords + With sad attention long to hear her words. + +And now this pale swan in her watery nest +Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending: +'Few words,' quoth she, 'shall fit the trespass best, +Where no excuse can give the fault amending: +In me more woes than words are now depending; + And my laments would be drawn out too long, + To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. + +'Then be this all the task it hath to say:— +Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed +A stranger came, and on that pillow lay +Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head; +And what wrong else may be imagined + By foul enforcement might be done to me, + From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free. + +'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, +With shining falchion in my chamber came +A creeping creature, with a flaming light, +And softly cried Awake, thou Roman dame, +And entertain my love; else lasting shame + On thee and thine this night I will inflict, + If thou my love's desire do contradict. + +'For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he, +Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, +I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee +And swear I found you where you did fulfil +The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill + The lechers in their deed: this act will be + My fame and thy perpetual infamy. + +'With this, I did begin to start and cry, +And then against my heart he sets his sword, +Swearing, unless I took all patiently, +I should not live to speak another word; +So should my shame still rest upon record, + And never be forgot in mighty Rome + The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. + +'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, +And far the weaker with so strong a fear: +My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak; +No rightful plea might plead for justice there: +His scarlet lust came evidence to swear + That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes; + And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies. + +'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse! +Or at the least this refuge let me find; +Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, +Immaculate and spotless is my mind; +That was not forc'd; that never was inclin'd + To accessary yieldings, but still pure + Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' + +Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, +With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe, +With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, +From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow +The grief away that stops his answer so: + But wretched as he is he strives in vain; + What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. + +As through an arch the violent roaring tide +Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste; +Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride +Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast; +In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past: + Even so his sighs, his sorrows make a saw. + To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. + +Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, +And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh: +'Dear Lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth +Another power; no flood by raining slaketh. +My woe too sensible thy passion maketh + More feeling-painful: let it then suffice + To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. + +'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, +For she that was thy Lucrece,—now attend me; +Be suddenly revenged on my foe, +Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me +From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me + Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die; + For sparing justice feeds iniquity. + +'But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she, +(Speaking to those that came with Collatine) +'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me, +With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine; +For 'tis a meritorious fair design + To chase injustice with revengeful arms: + Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.' + +At this request, with noble disposition +Each present lord began to promise aid, +As bound in knighthood to her imposition, +Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. +But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, + The protestation stops. 'O, speak,' quoth she, + 'How may this forced stain be wip'd from me? + +'What is the quality of mine offence, +Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance? +May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, +My low-declined honour to advance? +May any terms acquit me from this chance? + The poison'd fountain clears itself again; + And why not I from this compelled stain? + +With this, they all at once began to say, +Her body's stain her mind untainted clears; +While with a joyless smile she turns away +The face, that map which deep impression bears +Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears. + 'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living, + By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving. + +Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, +She throws forth Tarquin's name: 'He, he,' she says, +But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak; +Till after many accents and delays, +Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, + She utters this: 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, + That guides this hand to give this wound to me.' + +Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast +A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath'd: +That blow did bail it from the deep unrest +Of that polluted prison where it breath'd: +Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd + Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly + Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. + +Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, +Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew; +Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed, +Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw; +And from the purple fountain Brutus drew + The murderous knife, and, as it left the place, + Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase; + +And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide +In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood +Circles her body in on every side, +Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood +Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. + Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, + And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd. + +About the mourning and congealed face +Of that black blood a watery rigol goes, +Which seems to weep upon the tainted place: +And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes, +Corrupted blood some watery token shows; + And blood untainted still doth red abide, + Blushing at that which is so putrified. + +'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries, +'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv'd. +If in the child the father's image lies, +Where shall I live now Lucrece is unliv'd? +Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd + If children pre-decease progenitors, + We are their offspring, and they none of ours. + +'Poor broken glass, I often did behold +In thy sweet semblance my old age new born; +But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, +Shows me a bare-bon'd death by time outworn; +O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn! + And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, + That I no more can see what once I was! + +'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer, +If they surcease to be that should survive. +Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, +And leave the faltering feeble souls alive? +The old bees die, the young possess their hive: + Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see + Thy father die, and not thy father thee!' + +By this starts Collatine as from a dream, +And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; +And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream +He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, +And counterfeits to die with her a space; + Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, + And live, to be revenged on her death. + +The deep vexation of his inward soul +Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue; +Who, mad that sorrow should his use control, +Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, +Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng + Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid, + That no man could distinguish what he said. + +Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain, +But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. +This windy tempest, till it blow up rain, +Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more; +At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: + Then son and father weep with equal strife, + Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife. + +The one doth call her his, the other his, +Yet neither may possess the claim they lay, +The father says 'She's mine,' 'O, mine she is,' +Replies her husband: 'do not take away +My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say + He weeps for her, for she was only mine, + And only must be wail'd by Collatine.' + +'O,' quoth Lucretius, 'I did give that life +Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' +'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife, +I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.' +'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd + The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life, + Answer'd their cries, 'My daughter!' and 'My wife!' + +Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, +Seeing such emulation in their woe, +Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, +Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. +He with the Romans was esteemed so + As silly-jeering idiots are with kings, + For sportive words, and uttering foolish things: + +But now he throws that shallow habit by, +Wherein deep policy did him disguise; +And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, +To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. +'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, 'arise; + Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, + Now set thy long-experienc'd wit to school. + +'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? +Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds? +Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, +For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds? +Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds: + Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, + To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. + +'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart +In such relenting dew of lamentations, +But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, +To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, +That they will suffer these abominations, + (Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac'd,) + By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chas'd. + +'Now, by the Capitol that we adore, +And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd, +By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store, +By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd, +And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd + Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, + We will revenge the death of this true wife.' + +This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, +And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow; +And to his protestation urg'd the rest, +Who, wondering at him, did his words allow; +Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow; + And that deep vow, which Brutus made before, + He doth again repeat, and that they swore. + +When they had sworn to this advised doom, +They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence; +To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, +And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence: +Which being done with speedy diligence, + The Romans plausibly did give consent + To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. + + + + + + + VENUS AND ADONIS + + + + _Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo + Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua._ + + + + +TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE +HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, +and Baron of Titchfield. + +Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my +unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me +for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only, if +your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow +to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some +graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I +shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so +barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it +to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content; +which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful +expectation. + +Your honour’s in all duty, +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + + + VENUS AND ADONIS + +Even as the sun with purple-colour’d face +Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn, +Rose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase; +Hunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn; 4 + Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, + And like a bold-fac’d suitor ’gins to woo him. + +“Thrice fairer than myself,” thus she began, +“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare, 8 +Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, +More white and red than doves or roses are: + Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, + Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 12 + +“Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, +And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow; +If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed +A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know: 16 + Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses, + And being set, I’ll smother thee with kisses. + +“And yet not cloy thy lips with loath’d satiety, +But rather famish them amid their plenty, 20 +Making them red, and pale, with fresh variety: +Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty: + A summer’s day will seem an hour but short, + Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.” 24 + +With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, +The precedent of pith and livelihood, +And trembling in her passion, calls it balm, +Earth’s sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 28 + Being so enrag’d, desire doth lend her force + Courageously to pluck him from his horse. + +Over one arm the lusty courser’s rein, +Under her other was the tender boy, 32 +Who blush’d and pouted in a dull disdain, +With leaden appetite, unapt to toy; + She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, + He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 36 + +The studded bridle on a ragged bough +Nimbly she fastens;—O! how quick is love!— +The steed is stalled up, and even now +To tie the rider she begins to prove: 40 + Backward she push’d him, as she would be thrust, + And govern’d him in strength, though not in lust. + +So soon was she along, as he was down, +Each leaning on their elbows and their hips: 44 +Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, +And ’gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips, + And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, + “If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.” 48 + +He burns with bashful shame, she with her tears +Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks; +Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs +To fan and blow them dry again she seeks. 52 + He saith she is immodest, blames her miss; + What follows more, she murders with a kiss. + +Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, +Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 56 +Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, +Till either gorge be stuff’d or prey be gone: + Even so she kiss’d his brow, his cheek, his chin, + And where she ends she doth anew begin. 60 + +Forc’d to content, but never to obey, +Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face. +She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, +And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 64 + Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers + So they were dew’d with such distilling showers. + +Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, +So fasten’d in her arms Adonis lies; 68 +Pure shame and aw’d resistance made him fret, +Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: + Rain added to a river that is rank + Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 72 + +Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, +For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale. +Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, +’Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy pale; 76 + Being red she loves him best, and being white, + Her best is better’d with a more delight. + +Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; +And by her fair immortal hand she swears, 80 +From his soft bosom never to remove, +Till he take truce with her contending tears, + Which long have rain’d, making her cheeks all wet; + And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. + +Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 85 +Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, +Who, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in; +So offers he to give what she did crave, 88 + But when her lips were ready for his pay, + He winks, and turns his lips another way. + +Never did passenger in summer’s heat +More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. 92 +Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; +She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: + “O! pity,” ’gan she cry, “flint-hearted boy, + ’Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 96 + +“I have been woo’d as I entreat thee now, +Even by the stern and direful god of war, +Whose sinewy neck in battle ne’er did bow, +Who conquers where he comes in every jar; 100 + Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, + And begg’d for that which thou unask’d shalt have. + +“Over my altars hath he hung his lance, +His batter’d shield, his uncontrolled crest, 104 +And for my sake hath learn’d to sport and dance, +To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; + Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red + Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 108 + +“Thus he that overrul’d I oversway’d, +Leading him prisoner in a red rose chain: +Strong-temper’d steel his stronger strength obey’d, +Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 112 + Oh be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, + For mast’ring her that foil’d the god of fight. + +“Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, +Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red, 116 +The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine: +What see’st thou in the ground? hold up thy head, + Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies; + Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 120 + +“Art thou asham’d to kiss? then wink again, +And I will wink; so shall the day seem night. +Love keeps his revels where there are but twain; +Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight, 124 + These blue-vein’d violets whereon we lean + Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. + +“The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 127 +Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted, +Make use of time, let not advantage slip; +Beauty within itself should not be wasted, + Fair flowers that are not gather’d in their prime + Rot, and consume themselves in little time. 132 + +“Were I hard-favour’d, foul, or wrinkled old, +Ill-nurtur’d, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, +O’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, +Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 136 + Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee; + But having no defects, why dost abhor me? + +“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow, 139 +Mine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning; +My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, +My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning, + My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, + Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 144 + +“Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, +Or like a fairy, trip upon the green, +Or like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair, +Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 148 + Love is a spirit all compact of fire, + Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. + +“Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie: 151 +These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me; +Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky, +From morn till night, even where I list to sport me. + Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be + That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 156 + +“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? +Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? +Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, +Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 160 + Narcissus so himself himself forsook, + And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. + +“Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, +Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, 164 +Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; +Things growing to themselves are growth’s abuse, + Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty; + Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty. 168 + +“Upon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed, +Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? +By law of nature thou art bound to breed, +That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; 172 + And so in spite of death thou dost survive, + In that thy likeness still is left alive.” + +By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, +For where they lay the shadow had forsook them, 176 +And Titan, tired in the midday heat, +With burning eye did hotly overlook them, + Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, + So he were like him and by Venus’ side. 180 + +And now Adonis with a lazy spright, +And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, +His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight, +Like misty vapours when they blot the sky, 184 + Souring his cheeks, cries, “Fie, no more of love: + The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.” + +“Ay me,” quoth Venus, “young, and so unkind! +What bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone! 188 +I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind +Shall cool the heat of this descending sun: + I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs; + If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears. 192 + +“The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, +And lo I lie between that sun and thee: +The heat I have from thence doth little harm, +Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; 196 + And were I not immortal, life were done, + Between this heavenly and earthly sun. + +“Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel? +Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth: 200 +Art thou a woman’s son and canst not feel +What ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth? + O had thy mother borne so hard a mind, + She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 204 + +“What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this? +Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? +What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? +Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 208 + Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again, + And one for int’rest, if thou wilt have twain. + +“Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, +Well-painted idol, image dull and dead, 212 +Statue contenting but the eye alone, +Thing like a man, but of no woman bred: + Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion, + For men will kiss even by their own direction.” 216 + +This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, +And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; +Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; +Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause. 220 + And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, + And now her sobs do her intendments break. + +Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, +Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 224 +Sometimes her arms infold him like a band: +She would, he will not in her arms be bound; + And when from thence he struggles to be gone, + She locks her lily fingers one in one. 228 + +“Fondling,” she saith, “since I have hemm’d thee here +Within the circuit of this ivory pale, +I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; +Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 232 + Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, + Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. + +“Within this limit is relief enough, +Sweet bottom grass and high delightful plain, 236 +Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, +To shelter thee from tempest and from rain: + Then be my deer, since I am such a park, 239 + No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.” + +At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, +That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple; +Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, +He might be buried in a tomb so simple; 244 + Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, + Why there love liv’d, and there he could not die. + +These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, +Open’d their mouths to swallow Venus’ liking. 248 +Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? +Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? + Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, + To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 252 + +Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say? +Her words are done, her woes the more increasing; +The time is spent, her object will away, +And from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 256 + “Pity,” she cries; “some favour, some remorse!” + Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. + +But lo from forth a copse that neighbours by, +A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 260 +Adonis’ tramping courser doth espy, +And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud: + The strong-neck’d steed, being tied unto a tree, + Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 264 + +Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, +And now his woven girths he breaks asunder; +The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, +Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder; + The iron bit he crusheth ’tween his teeth, 269 + Controlling what he was controlled with. + +His ears up-prick’d; his braided hanging mane +Upon his compass’d crest now stand on end; 272 +His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, +As from a furnace, vapours doth he send: + His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, + Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 276 + +Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps, +With gentle majesty and modest pride; +Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, +As who should say, “Lo thus my strength is tried; + And this I do to captivate the eye 281 + Of the fair breeder that is standing by.” + +What recketh he his rider’s angry stir, +His flattering “Holla”, or his “Stand, I say”? 284 +What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? +For rich caparisons or trappings gay? + He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, + Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 288 + +Look when a painter would surpass the life, +In limning out a well-proportion’d steed, +His art with nature’s workmanship at strife, +As if the dead the living should exceed: 292 + So did this horse excel a common one, + In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone. + +Round-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, +Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, +High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong, +Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: + Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, + Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 300 + +Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares; +Anon he starts at stirring of a feather: +To bid the wind a base he now prepares, +And where he run or fly they know not whether; 304 + For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, + Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather’d wings. + +He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her; +She answers him as if she knew his mind, 308 +Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, +She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, + Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, + Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 312 + +Then like a melancholy malcontent, +He vails his tail that like a falling plume, +Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: +He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume. 316 + His love, perceiving how he was enrag’d, + Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag’d. + +His testy master goeth about to take him, +When lo the unback’d breeder, full of fear, 320 +Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, +With her the horse, and left Adonis there: + As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, + Outstripping crows that strive to overfly them. 324 + +All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, +Banning his boisterous and unruly beast; +And now the happy season once more fits +That love-sick love by pleading may be blest; 328 + For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong, + When it is barr’d the aidance of the tongue. + +An oven that is stopp’d, or river stay’d, +Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 332 +So of concealed sorrow may be said, +Free vent of words love’s fire doth assuage; + But when the heart’s attorney once is mute, + The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 336 + +He sees her coming, and begins to glow, +Even as a dying coal revives with wind, +And with his bonnet hides his angry brow, +Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 340 + Taking no notice that she is so nigh, + For all askance he holds her in his eye. + +O what a sight it was, wistly to view +How she came stealing to the wayward boy, 344 +To note the fighting conflict of her hue, +How white and red each other did destroy: + But now her cheek was pale, and by and by + It flash’d forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 348 + +Now was she just before him as he sat, +And like a lowly lover down she kneels; +With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, +Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 352 + His tend’rer cheek receives her soft hand’s print, + As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint. + +Oh what a war of looks was then between them, +Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing, 356 +His eyes saw her eyes, as they had not seen them, +Her eyes woo’d still, his eyes disdain’d the wooing: + And all this dumb play had his acts made plain + With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. + +Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 361 +A lily prison’d in a gaol of snow, +Or ivory in an alabaster band, +So white a friend engirts so white a foe: 364 + This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, + Show’d like two silver doves that sit a-billing. + +Once more the engine of her thoughts began: +“O fairest mover on this mortal round, 368 +Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, +My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound, + For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, + Though nothing but my body’s bane would cure thee.” + +“Give me my hand,” saith he, “why dost thou feel it?” +“Give me my heart,” saith she, “and thou shalt have it. +O give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it, +And being steel’d, soft sighs can never grave it. 376 + Then love’s deep groans I never shall regard, + Because Adonis’ heart hath made mine hard.” + +“For shame,” he cries, “let go, and let me go, +My day’s delight is past, my horse is gone, 380 +And ’tis your fault I am bereft him so, +I pray you hence, and leave me here alone, + For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, + Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.” 384 + +Thus she replies: “Thy palfrey as he should, +Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire, +Affection is a coal that must be cool’d; +Else, suffer’d, it will set the heart on fire, 388 + The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; + Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. + +“How like a jade he stood tied to the tree, +Servilely master’d with a leathern rein! 392 +But when he saw his love, his youth’s fair fee, +He held such petty bondage in disdain; + Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, + Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 396 + +“Who sees his true-love in her naked bed, +Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, +But when his glutton eye so full hath fed, +His other agents aim at like delight? 400 + Who is so faint that dare not be so bold + To touch the fire, the weather being cold? + +“Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy, +And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 404 +To take advantage on presented joy, +Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee. + O learn to love, the lesson is but plain, + And once made perfect, never lost again.” 408 + +“I know not love,” quoth he, “nor will not know it, +Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it; +’Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it; +My love to love is love but to disgrace it; 412 + For I have heard, it is a life in death, + That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath. + +“Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish’d? +Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 416 +If springing things be any jot diminish’d, +They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth; + The colt that’s back’d and burden’d being young, + Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 420 + +“You hurt my hand with wringing. Let us part, +And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat: +Remove your siege from my unyielding heart, +To love’s alarms it will not ope the gate: 424 + Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flatt’ry; + For where a heart is hard they make no batt’ry.” + +“What! canst thou talk?” quoth she, “hast thou a tongue? +O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing; 428 +Thy mermaid’s voice hath done me double wrong; +I had my load before, now press’d with bearing: + Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding, + Ear’s deep sweet music, and heart’s deep sore wounding. + +“Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 433 +That inward beauty and invisible; +Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move +Each part in me that were but sensible: 436 + Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, + Yet should I be in love by touching thee. + +“Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me, +And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 440 +And nothing but the very smell were left me, +Yet would my love to thee be still as much; + For from the stillitory of thy face excelling + Comes breath perfum’d, that breedeth love by smelling. + +“But oh what banquet wert thou to the taste, 445 +Being nurse and feeder of the other four; +Would they not wish the feast might ever last, +And bid suspicion double-lock the door, + Lest jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, + Should by his stealing in disturb the feast?” 448 + +Once more the ruby-colour’d portal open’d, +Which to his speech did honey passage yield, 452 +Like a red morn that ever yet betoken’d +Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field, + Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, + Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 456 + +This ill presage advisedly she marketh: +Even as the wind is hush’d before it raineth, +Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, +Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 460 + Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, + His meaning struck her ere his words begun. + +And at his look she flatly falleth down +For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth; 464 +A smile recures the wounding of a frown; +But blessed bankrout, that by love so thriveth! + The silly boy, believing she is dead, + Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red. 468 + +And all amaz’d brake off his late intent, +For sharply he did think to reprehend her, +Which cunning love did wittily prevent: +Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her! 472 + For on the grass she lies as she were slain, + Till his breath breatheth life in her again. + +He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, +He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard, 476 +He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks +To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr’d: + He kisses her; and she, by her good will, + Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 480 + +The night of sorrow now is turn’d to day: +Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, +Like the fair sun when in his fresh array +He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 484 + And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, + So is her face illumin’d with her eye. + +Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix’d, +As if from thence they borrow’d all their shine. 488 +Were never four such lamps together mix’d, +Had not his clouded with his brow’s repine; + But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light + Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 492 + +“O where am I?” quoth she, “in earth or heaven? +Or in the ocean drench’d, or in the fire? +What hour is this? or morn or weary even? +Do I delight to die, or life desire? 496 + But now I liv’d, and life was death’s annoy; + But now I died, and death was lively joy. + +“O thou didst kill me; kill me once again: +Thy eyes’ shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 500 +Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, +That they have murder’d this poor heart of mine; + And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, + But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 504 + +“Long may they kiss each other for this cure! +Oh never let their crimson liveries wear, +And as they last, their verdure still endure, +To drive infection from the dangerous year: 508 + That the star-gazers, having writ on death, + May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath. + +“Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, +What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 512 +To sell myself I can be well contented, +So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing; + Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, + Set thy seal manual on my wax-red lips. 516 + +“A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; +And pay them at thy leisure, one by one, +What is ten hundred touches unto thee? +Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? 520 + Say, for non-payment that the debt should double, + Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?” + +“Fair queen,” quoth he, “if any love you owe me, +Measure my strangeness with my unripe years: 524 +Before I know myself, seek not to know me; +No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears: + The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, + Or being early pluck’d, is sour to taste. 528 + +“Look the world’s comforter, with weary gait +His day’s hot task hath ended in the west; +The owl, night’s herald, shrieks, ’tis very late; +The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest, 532 + And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven’s light + Do summon us to part, and bid good night. + +“Now let me say good night, and so say you; +If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.” 536 +“Good night,” quoth she; and ere he says adieu, +The honey fee of parting tender’d is: + Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; + Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face. 540 + +Till breathless he disjoin’d, and backward drew +The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, +Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, +Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth, 544 + He with her plenty press’d, she faint with dearth, + Their lips together glued, fall to the earth. + +Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey, +And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; 548 +Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, +Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; + Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, + That she will draw his lips’ rich treasure dry. 552 + +And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, +With blindfold fury she begins to forage; +Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, +And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage, 556 + Planting oblivion, beating reason back, + Forgetting shame’s pure blush and honour’s wrack. + +Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, +Like a wild bird being tam’d with too much handling, +Or as the fleet-foot roe that’s tir’d with chasing, 561 +Or like the froward infant still’d with dandling: + He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, + While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 564 + +What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp’ring, +And yields at last to every light impression? +Things out of hope are compass’d oft with vent’ring, +Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 568 + Affection faints not like a pale-fac’d coward, + But then woos best when most his choice is froward. + +When he did frown, O had she then gave over, +Such nectar from his lips she had not suck’d. 572 +Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; +What though the rose have prickles, yet ’tis pluck’d. + Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, + Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at last. + +For pity now she can no more detain him; 577 +The poor fool prays her that he may depart: +She is resolv’d no longer to restrain him, +Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 580 + The which by Cupid’s bow she doth protest, + He carries thence encaged in his breast. + +“Sweet boy,” she says, “this night I’ll waste in sorrow, +For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 584 +Tell me, love’s master, shall we meet tomorrow +Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?” + He tells her no, tomorrow he intends + To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 588 + +“The boar!” quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, +Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, +Usurps her cheek, she trembles at his tale, +And on his neck her yoking arms she throws. 592 + She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck, + He on her belly falls, she on her back. + +Now is she in the very lists of love, +Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: 596 +All is imaginary she doth prove, +He will not manage her, although he mount her; + That worse than Tantalus’ is her annoy, + To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. 600 + +Even as poor birds, deceiv’d with painted grapes, +Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw: +Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, +As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 604 + The warm effects which she in him finds missing, + She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. + +But all in vain, good queen, it will not be, +She hath assay’d as much as may be prov’d; 608 +Her pleading hath deserv’d a greater fee; +She’s love, she loves, and yet she is not lov’d. + “Fie, fie,” he says, “you crush me; let me go; + You have no reason to withhold me so.” 612 + +“Thou hadst been gone,” quoth she, “sweet boy, ere this, +But that thou told’st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. +Oh be advis’d; thou know’st not what it is, +With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore, 616 + Whose tushes never sheath’d he whetteth still, + Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. + +“On his bow-back he hath a battle set +Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 620 +His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret; +His snout digs sepulchres where’er he goes; + Being mov’d, he strikes whate’er is in his way, + And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 624 + +“His brawny sides, with hairy bristles armed, +Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter; +His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed; +Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: 628 + The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, + As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes. + +“Alas! he naught esteems that face of thine, +To which love’s eyes pay tributary gazes; 632 +Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, +Whose full perfection all the world amazes; + But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread! + Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. + +“Oh let him keep his loathsome cabin still, 637 +Beauty hath naught to do with such foul fiends: +Come not within his danger by thy will; +They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. + When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, + I fear’d thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. + +“Didst thou not mark my face, was it not white? +Saw’st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 644 +Grew I not faint, and fell I not downright? +Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, + My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, + But like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. + +“For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy 649 +Doth call himself affection’s sentinel; +Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, +And in a peaceful hour doth cry “Kill, kill!” 652 + Distemp’ring gentle love in his desire, + As air and water do abate the fire. + +“This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, +This canker that eats up love’s tender spring, 656 +This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy, +That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring, + Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, + That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. 660 + +“And more than so, presenteth to mine eye +The picture of an angry chafing boar, +Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie +An image like thyself, all stain’d with gore; 664 + Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, + Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head. + +“What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, +That tremble at th’imagination? 668 +The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, +And fear doth teach it divination: + I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, + If thou encounter with the boar tomorrow. 672 + +“But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul’d by me; +Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, +Or at the fox which lives by subtilty, +Or at the roe which no encounter dare: 676 + Pursue these fearful creatures o’er the downs, + And on thy well-breath’d horse keep with thy hounds. + +“And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, +Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles 680 +How he outruns the wind, and with what care +He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: + The many musits through the which he goes + Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 684 + +“Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, +To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, +And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, +To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 688 + And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; + Danger deviseth shifts, wit waits on fear. + +“For there his smell with others being mingled, 691 +The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, +Ceasing their clamorous cry, till they have singled +With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; + Then do they spend their mouths: echo replies, + As if another chase were in the skies. 696 + +“By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, +Stands on his hinder legs with list’ning ear, +To hearken if his foes pursue him still. +Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; 700 + And now his grief may be compared well + To one sore sick that hears the passing bell. + +“Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch +Turn, and return, indenting with the way, 704 +Each envious briar his weary legs do scratch, +Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: + For misery is trodden on by many, + And being low never reliev’d by any. 708 + +“Lie quietly, and hear a little more; +Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: +To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, +Unlike myself thou hear’st me moralize, 712 + Applying this to that, and so to so, + For love can comment upon every woe. + +“Where did I leave?” “No matter where,” quoth he +“Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 716 +The night is spent.” “Why, what of that?” quoth she. +“I am,” quoth he, “expected of my friends; + And now ’tis dark, and going I shall fall.” + “In night,” quoth she, “desire sees best of all.” 720 + +But if thou fall, oh then imagine this, +The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips, +And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 723 +Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips + Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, + Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. + +“Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: +Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine 728 +Till forging nature be condemn’d of treason, +For stealing moulds from heaven, that were divine; + Wherein she fram’d thee, in high heaven’s despite, + To shame the sun by day and her by night. 732 + +“And therefore hath she brib’d the destinies, +To cross the curious workmanship of nature, +To mingle beauty with infirmities, +And pure perfection with impure defeature, 736 + Making it subject to the tyranny + Of mad mischances and much misery. + +“As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, +Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood, 740 +The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint +Disorder breeds by heating of the blood; + Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn’d despair, + Swear nature’s death, for framing thee so fair. 744 + +“And not the least of all these maladies +But in one minute’s fight brings beauty under: +Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, +Whereat th’impartial gazer late did wonder, 748 + Are on the sudden wasted, thaw’d and done, + As mountain snow melts with the midday sun. + +“Therefore despite of fruitless chastity, +Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns, 752 +That on the earth would breed a scarcity +And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, + Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night + Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 756 + +“What is thy body but a swallowing grave, +Seeming to bury that posterity, +Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, +If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 760 + If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, + Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. + +“So in thyself thyself art made away; +A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 764 +Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay, +Or butcher sire that reeves his son of life. + Foul cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets, + But gold that’s put to use more gold begets.” 768 + +“Nay then,” quoth Adon, “you will fall again +Into your idle over-handled theme; +The kiss I gave you is bestow’d in vain, +And all in vain you strive against the stream; 772 + For by this black-fac’d night, desire’s foul nurse, + Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. + +“If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, +And every tongue more moving than your own, 776 +Bewitching like the wanton mermaid’s songs, +Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown; + For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, + And will not let a false sound enter there. 780 + +“Lest the deceiving harmony should run +Into the quiet closure of my breast, +And then my little heart were quite undone, +In his bedchamber to be barr’d of rest. 784 + No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan, + But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. + +“What have you urg’d that I cannot reprove? +The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 790 +I hate not love, but your device in love +That lends embracements unto every stranger. + You do it for increase: O strange excuse! + When reason is the bawd to lust’s abuse. 792 + +“Call it not, love, for love to heaven is fled, +Since sweating lust on earth usurp’d his name; +Under whose simple semblance he hath fed +Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 796 + Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves, + As caterpillars do the tender leaves. + +“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, +But lust’s effect is tempest after sun; 800 +Love’s gentle spring doth always fresh remain, +Lust’s winter comes ere summer half be done. + Love surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies; + Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies. 804 + +“More I could tell, but more I dare not say; +The text is old, the orator too green. +Therefore, in sadness, now I will away; +My face is full of shame, my heart of teen, 808 + Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended + Do burn themselves for having so offended.” + +With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 811 +Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, +And homeward through the dark laund runs apace; +Leaves love upon her back deeply distress’d. + Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky, + So glides he in the night from Venus’ eye. 816 + +Which after him she darts, as one on shore +Gazing upon a late embarked friend, +Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, +Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend: 820 + So did the merciless and pitchy night + Fold in the object that did feed her sight. + +Whereat amaz’d, as one that unaware +Hath dropp’d a precious jewel in the flood, 824 +Or ’stonish’d as night-wanderers often are, +Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; + Even so confounded in the dark she lay, + Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 828 + +And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, +That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled, +Make verbal repetition of her moans; +Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: 832 + “Ay me!” she cries, and twenty times, “Woe, woe!” + And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. + +She marking them, begins a wailing note, +And sings extemporally a woeful ditty; 836 +How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote, +How love is wise in folly foolish witty: + Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, + And still the choir of echoes answer so. 840 + +Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, +For lovers’ hours are long, though seeming short, +If pleas’d themselves, others they think, delight +In such like circumstance, with such like sport: 844 + Their copious stories oftentimes begun, + End without audience, and are never done. + +For who hath she to spend the night withal, +But idle sounds resembling parasites; 848 +Like shrill-tongu’d tapsters answering every call, +Soothing the humour of fantastic wits? + She says, “’Tis so:” they answer all, “’Tis so;” + And would say after her, if she said “No.” 852 + +Lo here the gentle lark, weary of rest, +From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, +And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast +The sun ariseth in his majesty; 856 + Who doth the world so gloriously behold, + That cedar tops and hills seem burnish’d gold. + +Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow: +“Oh thou clear god, and patron of all light, 860 +From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow +The beauteous influence that makes him bright, + There lives a son that suck’d an earthly mother, + May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.” + +This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 865 +Musing the morning is so much o’erworn, +And yet she hears no tidings of her love; +She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn. 868 + Anon she hears them chant it lustily, + And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. + +And as she runs, the bushes in the way +Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 872 +Some twine about her thigh to make her stay: +She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, + Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, + Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake. 876 + +By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, +Whereat she starts like one that spies an adder +Wreath’d up in fatal folds just in his way, +The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder; 880 + Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds + Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds. + +For now she knows it is no gentle chase, +But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 884 +Because the cry remaineth in one place, +Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud, + Finding their enemy to be so curst, + They all strain court’sy who shall cope him first. 888 + +This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, +Through which it enters to surprise her heart; +Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, +With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part; 892 + Like soldiers when their captain once doth yield, + They basely fly and dare not stay the field. + +Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy, +Till cheering up her senses sore dismay’d, 896 +She tells them ’tis a causeless fantasy, +And childish error, that they are afraid; + Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more: + And with that word, she spied the hunted boar. 900 + +Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red, +Like milk and blood being mingled both together, +A second fear through all her sinews spread, +Which madly hurries her she knows not whither: 904 + This way she runs, and now she will no further, + But back retires, to rate the boar for murther. + +A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways, +She treads the path that she untreads again; 908 +Her more than haste is mated with delays, +Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, + Full of respects, yet naught at all respecting, + In hand with all things, naught at all effecting. + +Here kennel’d in a brake she finds a hound, 913 +And asks the weary caitiff for his master, +And there another licking of his wound, +’Gainst venom’d sores the only sovereign plaster. 916 + And here she meets another sadly scowling, + To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. + +When he hath ceas’d his ill-resounding noise, +Another flap-mouth’d mourner, black and grim, 920 +Against the welkin volleys out his voice; +Another and another answer him, + Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, + Shaking their scratch’d ears, bleeding as they go. + +Look how the world’s poor people are amazed 925 +At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, +Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, +Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; 928 + So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath, + And sighing it again, exclaims on death. + +“Hard-favour’d tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 931 +Hateful divorce of love,” thus chides she death, +“Grim-grinning ghost, earth’s worm, what dost thou mean? +To stifle beauty and to steal his breath, + Who when he liv’d, his breath and beauty set + Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet. 936 + +“If he be dead, O no, it cannot be, +Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it, +O yes, it may, thou hast no eyes to see, +But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 940 + Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart + Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant’s heart. + +“Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, +And hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 944 +The destinies will curse thee for this stroke; +They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck’st a flower. + Love’s golden arrow at him should have fled, + And not death’s ebon dart to strike him dead. 948 + +“Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok’st such weeping? +What may a heavy groan advantage thee? +Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping +Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? 952 + Now nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, + Since her best work is ruin’d with thy rigour.” + +Here overcome, as one full of despair, +She vail’d her eyelids, who like sluices stopp’d 956 +The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair +In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp’d + But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, + And with his strong course opens them again. 960 + +O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow; +Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; +Both crystals, where they view’d each other’s sorrow, +Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 964 + But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, + Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. + +Variable passions throng her constant woe, +As striving who should best become her grief; 968 +All entertain’d, each passion labours so, +That every present sorrow seemeth chief, + But none is best, then join they all together, + Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 972 + +By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla; +A nurse’s song ne’er pleas’d her babe so well: +The dire imagination she did follow +This sound of hope doth labour to expel; 976 + For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, + And flatters her it is Adonis’ voice. + +Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, +Being prison’d in her eye, like pearls in glass; 980 +Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, +Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass + To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, + Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown’d. + +O hard-believing love, how strange it seems 985 +Not to believe, and yet too credulous; +Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes; +Despair and hope make thee ridiculous, 988 + The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, + In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. + +Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought, +Adonis lives, and death is not to blame; 992 +It was not she that call’d him all to naught; +Now she adds honours to his hateful name. + She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, + Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 996 + +“No, no,” quoth she, “sweet death, I did but jest; +Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear +Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast, +Which knows no pity, but is still severe; 1000 + Then, gentle shadow,—truth I must confess— + I rail’d on thee, fearing my love’s decease. + +“’Tis not my fault, the boar provok’d my tongue; +Be wreak’d on him, invisible commander; 1004 +’Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; +I did but act, he’s author of my slander. + Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet, + Could rule them both, without ten women’s wit.” + +Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, 1009 +Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; +And that his beauty may the better thrive, +With death she humbly doth insinuate; 1012 + Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs and stories + His victories, his triumphs and his glories. + +“O love!” quoth she, “how much a fool was I, +To be of such a weak and silly mind, 1016 +To wail his death who lives, and must not die +Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind; + For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, + And beauty dead, black Chaos comes again. 1020 + +“Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear +As one with treasure laden, hemm’d with thieves, +Trifles unwitnessed with eye or ear, +Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.” 1024 + Even at this word she hears a merry horn, + Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. + +As falcon to the lure, away she flies; +The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light, 1028 +And in her haste unfortunately spies +The foul boar’s conquest on her fair delight; + Which seen, her eyes, as murder’d with the view, + Like stars asham’d of day, themselves withdrew. + +Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 1033 +Shrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain, +And there all smother’d up, in shade doth sit, +Long after fearing to creep forth again: 1036 + So at his bloody view her eyes are fled + Into the deep dark cabins of her head. + +Where they resign their office and their light +To the disposing of her troubled brain, 1040 +Who bids them still consort with ugly night, +And never wound the heart with looks again; + Who like a king perplexed in his throne, + By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 1044 + +Whereat each tributary subject quakes, +As when the wind imprison’d in the ground, +Struggling for passage, earth’s foundation shakes, +Which with cold terror doth men’s minds confound. + This mutiny each part doth so surprise 1049 + That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes. + +And being open’d, threw unwilling light +Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench’d +In his soft flank, whose wonted lily white 1053 +With purple tears that his wound wept, was drench’d. + No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf or weed, + But stole his blood and seem’d with him to bleed. + +This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth, 1057 +Over one shoulder doth she hang her head, +Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth; +She thinks he could not die, he is not dead: 1060 + Her voice is stopp’d, her joints forget to bow, + Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now. + +Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, +That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three; +And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 1065 +That makes more gashes, where no breach should be: + His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, + For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. + +“My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 1069 +And yet,” quoth she, “behold two Adons dead! +My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, +Mine eyes are turn’d to fire, my heart to lead: 1072 + Heavy heart’s lead, melt at mine eyes’ red fire! + So shall I die by drops of hot desire. + +“Alas poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! +What face remains alive that’s worth the viewing? +Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast +Of things long since, or anything ensuing? 1078 + The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim, + But true sweet beauty liv’d and died with him. + +“Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 1081 +Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you: +Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; +The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you. + But when Adonis liv’d, sun and sharp air 1085 + Lurk’d like two thieves, to rob him of his fair. + +“And therefore would he put his bonnet on, +Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 1088 +The wind would blow it off, and being gone, +Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep; + And straight, in pity of his tender years, + They both would strive who first should dry his tears. + +“To see his face the lion walk’d along 1093 +Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; +To recreate himself when he hath sung, +The tiger would be tame and gently hear him. 1096 + If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey, + And never fright the silly lamb that day. + +“When he beheld his shadow in the brook, +The fishes spread on it their golden gills; 1100 +When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, +That some would sing, some other in their bills + Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries, + He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. + +“But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 1105 +Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, +Ne’er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; +Witness the entertainment that he gave. 1108 + If he did see his face, why then I know + He thought to kiss him, and hath kill’d him so. + +“’Tis true, ’tis true; thus was Adonis slain: +He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 1112 +Who did not whet his teeth at him again, +But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; + And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine + Sheath’d unaware the tusk in his soft groin. 1116 + +“Had I been tooth’d like him, I must confess, +With kissing him I should have kill’d him first; +But he is dead, and never did he bless +My youth with his; the more am I accurst.” 1120 + With this she falleth in the place she stood, + And stains her face with his congealed blood. + +She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; +She takes him by the hand, and that is cold, 1124 +She whispers in his ears a heavy tale, +As if they heard the woeful words she told; +She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, +Where lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies. + +Two glasses where herself herself beheld 1129 +A thousand times, and now no more reflect; +Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell’d, +And every beauty robb’d of his effect. 1132 + “Wonder of time,” quoth she, “this is my spite, + That thou being dead, the day should yet be light. + +“Since thou art dead, lo here I prophesy, +Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend: 1136 +It shall be waited on with jealousy, +Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end; + Ne’er settled equally, but high or low, + That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe. + +“It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud, 1141 +Bud, and be blasted in a breathing while; +The bottom poison, and the top o’erstraw’d +With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile. 1144 + The strongest body shall it make most weak, + Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. + +“It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, +Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 1148 +The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, +Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures; + It shall be raging mad, and silly mild, + Make the young old, the old become a child. 1152 + +“It shall suspect where is no cause of fear, +It shall not fear where it should most mistrust; +It shall be merciful, and too severe, +And most deceiving when it seems most just; 1156 + Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward, + Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. + +“It shall be cause of war and dire events, +And set dissension ’twixt the son and sire; 1160 +Subject and servile to all discontents, +As dry combustious matter is to fire, + Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, + They that love best their love shall not enjoy.” 1164 + +By this the boy that by her side lay kill’d +Was melted like a vapour from her sight, +And in his blood that on the ground lay spill’d, +A purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white, 1168 + Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood + Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. + +She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, +Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath; 1172 +And says within her bosom it shall dwell, +Since he himself is reft from her by death; + She drops the stalk, and in the breach appears + Green-dropping sap, which she compares to tears. + +“Poor flower,” quoth she, “this was thy father’s guise, +Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire, +For every little grief to wet his eyes, +To grow unto himself was his desire, 1180 + And so ’tis thine; but know, it is as good + To wither in my breast as in his blood. + +“Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast; +Thou art the next of blood, and ’tis thy right: 1184 +Lo in this hollow cradle take thy rest, +My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: + There shall not be one minute in an hour + Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.” + +Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 1189 +And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid +Their mistress mounted through the empty skies, +In her light chariot quickly is convey’d; 1192 + Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen + Means to immure herself and not be seen. + + + + + FINIS + + + + + + + + + + + + + +* CONTENT NOTE (added in 2017) * + +This Project Gutenberg eBook was originally marked as having a copyright. +However, Project Gutenberg now believes that the eBook's contents does +not actually have a copyright. + +This is based on current understanding of copyright law, in which +"authorship" is required to obtain a copyright. 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