diff --git a/wordcount/README.md b/wordcount/README.md index 7e8c0cd..feee04e 100644 --- a/wordcount/README.md +++ b/wordcount/README.md @@ -8,8 +8,24 @@ A simple timer has been used to track execution time. Provide the name of the text file as a command line argument. -`go run main.go moby.txt` +`go run main.go shakespeare.txt` Example file to use: -https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/2701/pg2701.txt +https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/100 + +# Execution time + +For base branch: +`"shakespeare.txt": 741200 words, duration: 3422897ms` + +For the profile branch with buffering: +`"shakespeare.txt": 741200 words, duration: 97406ms` + +For this branch with global buffer: +`"shakespeare.txt": 741200 words, duration: 67800ms` + + +# To view profile + +`go tool pprof -http=:8080 cpuprofile.pprof` diff --git a/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof b/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof new file mode 100644 index 0000000..80124fc Binary files /dev/null and b/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof differ diff --git a/wordcount/cpuprofile01-moby.pprof b/wordcount/cpuprofile01-moby.pprof new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0384921 Binary files /dev/null and b/wordcount/cpuprofile01-moby.pprof differ diff --git a/wordcount/cpuprofile02-shakespeare.pprof b/wordcount/cpuprofile02-shakespeare.pprof new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6f6aba Binary files /dev/null and b/wordcount/cpuprofile02-shakespeare.pprof differ diff --git a/wordcount/main.go b/wordcount/main.go index a047b27..e089865 100644 --- a/wordcount/main.go +++ b/wordcount/main.go @@ -1,16 +1,20 @@ package main import ( + "bufio" "fmt" "io" "log" "os" + "runtime/pprof" "time" "unicode" ) +var buf [1]byte + func readbyte(r io.Reader) (rune, error) { - var buf [1]byte + _, err := r.Read(buf[:]) return rune(buf[0]), err } @@ -21,11 +25,19 @@ func main() { log.Fatalf("could not open file %q: %v", os.Args[1], err) } + fc, err := os.Create("cpuprofile.pprof") + if err != nil { + log.Fatal(err) + } + pprof.StartCPUProfile(fc) + defer pprof.StopCPUProfile() + start := time.Now() words := 0 + b := bufio.NewReader(f) inword := false for { - r, err := readbyte(f) + r, err := readbyte(b) if err == io.EOF { break } diff --git a/wordcount/shakespeare.txt b/wordcount/shakespeare.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2aa01a --- /dev/null +++ b/wordcount/shakespeare.txt @@ -0,0 +1,196389 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Works of 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 will 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 1, 1994 [eBook #100] + Most recently updated: January 18, 2024 + +Language: English + + + +*** START OF THE 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 + THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 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, THE 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 + 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, +Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: +Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament, +And only herald to the gaudy spring, +Within thine own bud buriest thy content, +And, tender churl, mak’st waste in 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 thyself thy beauty’s legacy? +Nature’s bequest gives nothing but doth lend, +And being frank she lends to those are free: +Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, +The bounteous largess given thee to give? +Profitless usurer why dost thou use +So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? +For having traffic with thyself alone, +Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive, +Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, +What acceptable audit canst thou leave? + 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 thyself to breed another thee, +Or ten times happier be it ten for one, +Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, +If ten of thine ten times 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, thyself 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 thyself in single life? +Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, +The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, +The world will be thy widow and still weep, +That thou no form of thee hast left behind, +When every private widow well may keep, +By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind: +Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend +Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; +But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end, +And kept 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 thyself 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 thyself thou stick’st not to conspire, +Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate +Which to repair should be thy chief desire: +O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, +Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? +Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, +Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove, + Make thee another self for love of me, + That beauty still may live in thine or thee. + + + 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 yourself 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 +Yourself again after yourself’s decease, +When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. +Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, +Which husbandry in honour might uphold, +Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day +And barren rage of death’s eternal cold? + O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know, + You had a father, let your son say so. + + + 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 thyself, 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 everything 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 yourself in your decay +With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? +Now stand you on the top of happy hours, +And many maiden gardens yet unset, +With virtuous wish would bear 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 yourself in eyes of men. + To give away yourself, keeps yourself 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 thyself the thanks if aught in me, +Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, +For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, +When thou thyself dost give invention light? +Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth +Than those old nine which rhymers invocate, +And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth +Eternal numbers to outlive long date. + 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 thyself deceivest +By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. +I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief +Although thou steal thee all my poverty: +And yet love knows it is a greater grief +To bear 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, +Thyself away, art present still with me, +For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, +And I am still with them, and they with thee. + Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight + Awakes my heart, 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 judgement that yourself 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 yourself may privilage your time +To what you will, to you it doth belong, +Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. + I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, + Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. + + + 59 + +If there be nothing new, but that which is, +Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, +Which labouring for invention bear amiss +The second burthen of a former child! +O that record could with a backward look, +Even of five hundred courses of the sun, +Show me your image in some antique book, +Since mind at first in character was done. +That I might see what the old world could say, +To this composed wonder of your frame, +Whether we are mended, or 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, myself, that for myself 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 thyself 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 yourself 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. +Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing, +Or me to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking, +So thy great gift upon misprision growing, +Comes home again, on better 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 wrong, +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 wretched make. + + + 92 + +But do thy worst to steal thyself away, +For term of life thou art assured mine, +And life no longer than thy love will stay, +For it depends upon that love of thine. +Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, +When in the least of them my life hath end, +I see, a better state to me belongs +Than that, which on thy humour doth depend. +Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, +Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie, +O what a happy title do I find, +Happy to have thy love, happy to die! + But what’s so blessed-fair that fears no 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, +They are the lords and owners of their faces, +Others, but stewards of their excellence: +The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet, +Though to 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 cheek 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 judgement 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 fell 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 judgement’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 judgement 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 ears with thy tongue’s tune delighted, +Nor tender feeling to base touches prone, +Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited +To any sensual feast with thee alone: +But my five wits, nor my five senses can +Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, +Who leaves 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 judgement 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 lie. + + + 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 seething 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 diseased; 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; nay worse of worst extended +With vilest torture, let my life be ended. + +KING. +Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak +His powerful sound within an organ weak; +And what impossibility would slay +In common sense, sense saves another way. +Thy life is dear, for all that life can rate +Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: +Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all +That happiness 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 thee 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._] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF 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 +Caesar 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. An Orchard near Oliver’s house + Scene II. A Lawn before the Duke’s Palace + Scene III. A Room in the Palace + + ACT II + Scene I. The Forest of Arden + Scene II. A Room in the Palace + Scene III. Before Oliver’s House + Scene IV. The Forest of Arden + Scene V. Another part of the Forest + Scene VI. Another part of the Forest + Scene VII. Another part of the Forest + + ACT III + Scene I. A Room in the Palace + Scene II. The Forest of Arden + Scene III. Another part of the Forest + Scene IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage + Scene V. Another part of the Forest + + ACT IV + Scene I. The Forest of Arden + Scene II. Another part of the Forest + Scene III. Another part of the Forest + + ACT V + Scene I. The Forest of Arden + Scene II. Another part of the Forest + Scene III. Another part of the Forest + Scene IV. Another part of the Forest + Epilogue + + +Dramatis Personæ + +ORLANDO, youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys +OLIVER, eldest son of Sir Rowland de Boys +JAQUES DE BOYS, second son of Sir Rowland de Boys +ADAM, Servant to Oliver +DENNIS, Servant to Oliver + +ROSALIND, Daughter of Duke Senior +CELIA, Daughter of Duke Frederick +TOUCHSTONE, a Clown + +DUKE SENIOR (Ferdinand), living in exile + +JAQUES, Lord attending on the Duke Senior +AMIENS, Lord attending on the Duke Senior + +DUKE FREDERICK, Brother to the Duke, and Usurper of his Dominions +CHARLES, his Wrestler +LE BEAU, a Courtier attending upon Frederick + +CORIN, Shepherd +SILVIUS, Shepherd +PHOEBE, a Shepherdess +AUDREY, a Country Wench +WILLIAM, a Country Fellow, in love with Audrey +SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a Vicar + +A person representing HYMEN + +Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other +Attendants. + +The scene lies first near Oliver’s house; afterwards partly in the +Usurper’s court and partly in the Forest of Arden. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. An Orchard near Oliver’s house + + +Enter Orlando and Adam. + +ORLANDO. +As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but +poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayst, 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 +hired; 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 anything. + +OLIVER. +What mar you then, sir? + +ORLANDO. +Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor +unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. + +OLIVER. +Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. + +ORLANDO. +Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion +have 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! + +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 pulled out thy tongue for saying so. Thou +has railed 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 charged you in +his will to give me good education. You have trained me like a peasant, +obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit +of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer 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. +Was 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 tomorrow 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 tomorrow 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 disguised against me to try a fall. Tomorrow, +sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some +broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and +tender, and for your love I would be loath to foil him, as I must for +my own honour if he come in. Therefore, out of my love to you, I came +hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his +intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that +it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. + +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 tomorrow 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 schooled and yet learned, full of noble +device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the +heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, +that I am altogether misprized. 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 tempered 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 +is 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 whipped 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-crammed. + +CELIA. +All the better; we shall be the more marketable. +_Bonjour_, 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 served the second, and so +the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man their father making such +pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with +weeping. + +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. + +DUKE 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. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +How now, daughter and cousin? Are you crept hither to see the +wrestling? + +ROSALIND. +Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. + +DUKE 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. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Do so; I’ll not be by. + +[_Duke Frederick steps aside._] + +LE BEAU. +Monsieur the challenger, the Princess calls for you. + +ORLANDO. +I attend them with all respect and duty. + +ROSALIND. +Young man, have you challenged 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 judgement, 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 misprized. 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 anything. But let +your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein if I +be foiled there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, +but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, +for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have +nothing. Only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better +supplied when I have made it empty. + +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 deceived 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. + +DUKE 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 mocked 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. + +[_Orlando and Charles 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._] + +DUKE FREDERICK. +No more, no more. + +ORLANDO. +Yes, I beseech your grace. I am not yet well breathed. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +How dost thou, Charles? + +LE BEAU. +He cannot speak, my lord. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Bear him away. + +[_Charles is carried off by Attendants._] + +What is thy name, young man? + +ORLANDO. +Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +I would thou hadst been son to some man else. +The world esteemed thy father honourable, +But I did find him still mine enemy. +Thou shouldst have better pleased 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 Frederick, Le Beau and Lords._] + +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 loved Sir Rowland as his soul, +And all the world was of my father’s mind. +Had I before known this young man his son, +I should have given him tears unto entreaties +Ere he should thus have ventured. + +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 deserved. +If you do keep your promises in love +But justly, as you have exceeded 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 urged conference. +O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown. +Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. + +Enter Le Beau. + +LE BEAU. +Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you +To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved +High commendation, true applause, and love, +Yet such is now the Duke’s condition +That he misconsters 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 banished Duke, +And here detained 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. A Room in the 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 lamed 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 loved 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. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, +And get you from our court. + +ROSALIND. +Me, uncle? + +DUKE FREDERICK. +You, cousin. +Within these ten days if that thou be’st 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. + +DUKE 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. + +DUKE 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 banished 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. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake, +Else had she with her father ranged 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, learned, played, ate together, +And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans, +Still we went coupled and inseparable. + +DUKE 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 passed upon her. She is banished. + +CELIA. +Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege. +I cannot live out of her company. + +DUKE 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 Frederick 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 grieved than I am. + +ROSALIND. +I have more cause. + +CELIA. +Thou hast not, cousin. +Prithee be cheerful. Know’st thou not the Duke +Hath banished 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 sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl? +No, let my father seek another heir. +Therefore devise with me how we may fly, +Whither to go, and what to bear with us, +And do not seek to take your change upon you, +To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out. +For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, +Say what thou canst, I’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 curtal-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 called? + +CELIA. +Something that hath a reference to my state: +No longer Celia, but Aliena. + +ROSALIND. +But, cousin, what if we assayed 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, dressed as 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. + +AMIENS. +I would not change it. 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 gored. + +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 banished you. +Today 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 sequestered stag, +That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt, +Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord, +The wretched animal heaved forth such groans +That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat +Almost to bursting, and the big round tears +Coursed 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 assigned 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. A Room in the Palace + +Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. + +DUKE 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 untreasured of their mistress. + +SECOND LORD. +My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft +Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. +Hesperia, the princess’ gentlewoman, +Confesses that she secretly o’erheard +Your daughter and her cousin much commend +The parts and graces of the wrestler +That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; +And she believes wherever they are gone +That youth is surely in their company. + +DUKE 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 boisterous 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 saved 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 thee +To the last gasp with truth and loyalty. +From seventeen years till now almost fourscore +Here lived I, but now live here no more. +At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, +But at fourscore it is too late a week. +Yet fortune cannot recompense me better +Than to die well and not my master’s debtor. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden + +Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as Aliena, and 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 loved ere now. + +SILVIUS. +No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, +Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover +As ever sighed 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 loved. +Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, +Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, +Thou hast not loved. +Or if thou hast not broke from company +Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, +Thou hast not loved. +O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! + +[_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 batlet, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopped +hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of +her, from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, said with +weeping tears, “Wear these for my sake.” We that are true lovers run +into strange capers. But as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature +in love mortal in folly. + +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 kinsman. + +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 oppressed, +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 anything. + +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. + +AMIENS. +[_Sings_.] + + 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 I 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 too disputable for my +company. I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and +make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. + +AMIENS. +[_Sings_.] + + Who doth ambition shun + And loves to live i’ th’ sun, + Seeking the food he eats + And pleased 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 prepared. + +[_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE VI. Another part of 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 thee presently, +and if I bring thee not something to eat, I’ll 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. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and Lords as outlaws. + +DUKE SENIOR. +I think he be transformed 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 basked him in the sun, +And railed 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 crammed +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 judgements +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 anatomized +Even by the squandering glances of the fool. +Invest me in my motley. Give me leave +To speak my mind, and I will through and through +Cleanse the foul body of 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 weary 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 wronged him. If it do him right, +Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free, +Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies +Unclaimed of any man. But who comes here? + +Enter Orlando with sword drawn. + +ORLANDO. +Forbear, and eat no more. + +JAQUES. +Why, I have eat none yet. + +ORLANDO. +Nor shalt not till necessity be served. + +JAQUES. +Of what kind should this cock come of? + +DUKE SENIOR. +Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress? +Or else a rude despiser of good manners, +That in civility thou seem’st so empty? + +ORLANDO. +You touched my vein at first. The thorny point +Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show +Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred +And know some nurture. But forbear, I say! +He dies that touches any of this fruit +Till I and my affairs are answered. + +JAQUES. +An you will not be answered 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 looked on better days, +If ever been where bells have knolled to church, +If ever sat at any good man’s feast, +If ever from your eyelids wiped 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 knolled to church, +And sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped our eyes +Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered. +And therefore sit you down in gentleness, +And take upon command what help we have +That to your wanting may be ministered. + +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 +Limped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed, +Oppressed 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 schoolboy, 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 lined, +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 slippered pantaloon, +With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, +His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide +For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, +Turning again toward childish treble, pipes +And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, +That ends this strange eventful history, +Is second childishness and mere oblivion, +Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. + +Enter Orlando bearing 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. + + +AMIENS. (_Sings_.) + 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 remembered not. +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. + +DUKE SENIOR. +If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son, +As you have whispered faithfully you were, +And as mine eye doth his effigies witness +Most truly limned and living in your face, +Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke +That loved 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. [_To Orlando_.] Give me your hand, +And let me all your fortunes understand. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A Room in the Palace + + +Enter Duke Frederick, Lords and Oliver. + +DUKE 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 loved my brother in my life. + +DUKE 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 of Arden + +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 witnessed everywhere. +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 naught. In respect that it +is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it +is a very vile life. Now in 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 damned. + +CORIN. +Nay, I hope. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Truly, thou art damned, 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 tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would +you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed 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 damned? 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 be’st not damned for this, the devil himself will have no +shepherds. I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape. + +Enter Rosalind as Ganymede. + +CORIN. +Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother. + +ROSALIND. +[_Reads_.] + _From the east to western Inde + No jewel is like Rosalind. + Her worth being mounted on the wind, + Through all the world bears Rosalind. + All the pictures fairest lined + Are but black to Rosalind. + Let no face be kept in mind + But the fair of Rosalind._ + +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 Rosalind. + If the cat will after kind, + So be sure will Rosalind. + Winter garments must be lined, + So must slender Rosalind. + They that reap must sheaf and bind, + Then to cart with Rosalind. + Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, + Such a nut is Rosalind. + He that sweetest rose will find + Must find love’s prick, and Rosalind. +This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you infect yourself +with them? + +ROSALIND. +Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. + +ROSALIND. +I’ll graft it with you, and then I shall graft 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 as Aliena, reading a paper. + +ROSALIND. +Peace, here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside. + +CELIA. +[_Reads_.] + _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 charged + That one body should be filled + With all graces wide-enlarged. + Nature presently distilled + Helen’s cheek, but not her heart, + Cleopatra’s majesty; + Atalanta’s better part, + Sad Lucretia’s modesty. + Thus Rosalind of many parts + By heavenly synod was devised, + Of many faces, eyes, and hearts + To have the touches dearest prized. + Heaven would that she these gifts should have, + And I to live and die her slave._ + +ROSALIND. +O most gentle Jupiter, 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 hanged 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 berhymed 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 removed 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 caparisoned like a +man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay +more is a South Sea of discovery. I prithee tell me who is it quickly, +and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour +this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of +narrow-mouthed 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 tripped 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 looked 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 dropped acorn. + +ROSALIND. +It may well be called Jove’s tree when it drops forth such fruit. + +CELIA. +Give me audience, good madam. + +ROSALIND. +Proceed. + +CELIA. +There lay he, stretched 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 +furnished 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. + +Enter Orlando and Jaques. + +CELIA. +You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here? + +ROSALIND. +’Tis he! Slink by, and note him. + +[_Rosalind and Celia step aside._] + +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 be wi’ 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 christened. + +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 conned 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 drowned 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.—Celia and Rosalind come forward._] + +ROSALIND. +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 solemnized. 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 +touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed 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-shaked. 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 +ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe +untied, and everything 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 +punished 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 cured him, and this way will I take upon me +to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall +not be one spot of love in ’t. + +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. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques at a distance observing them. + +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 thatched +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-favoured; 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 promised 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 walled town is more worthier +than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable +than the bare brow of a bachelor. And by how much defence is better +than no skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. + +Enter Sir Oliver Martext. + +Here comes Sir Oliver. 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. +[_Coming forward_.] Proceed, proceed. I’ll give her. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Good even, good Master What-ye-call’t, how do you, sir? You are very +well met. God ’ild you for your last company. I am very glad to see +you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay, pray be covered. + +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 Touchstone, Audrey and Jaques._] + +MARTEXT. +’Tis no matter. Ne’er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me +out of my calling. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage + +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 a 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 laughed +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 complained 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 played +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 Phoebe. + +SILVIUS. +Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe. +Say that you love me not, but say not so +In bitterness. The common executioner, +Whose heart th’ accustomed 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. + +PHOEBE. +I would not be thy executioner; +I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. +Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye. +’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable +That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things, +Who shut their coward gates on atomies, +Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers. +Now I do frown on thee with all my heart, +And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. +Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; +Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, +Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. +Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. +Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains +Some scar of it; lean 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 Phoebe, +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. + +PHOEBE. +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-favoured 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. + +PHOEBE. +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? + +PHOEBE. +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 abused in sight as he. +Come, to our flock. + +[_Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin._] + +PHOEBE. +Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: +“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” + +SILVIUS. +Sweet Phoebe— + +PHOEBE. +Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius? + +SILVIUS. +Sweet Phoebe, pity me. + +PHOEBE. +Why, I am 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 extermined. + +PHOEBE. +Thou hast my love. Is not that neighbourly? + +SILVIUS. +I would have you. + +PHOEBE. +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 employed. + +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 scattered smile, and that I’ll live upon. + +PHOEBE. +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. + +PHOEBE. +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 mixed in his cheek. ’Twas just the difference +Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. +There be some women, Silvius, had they marked 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 remembered, scorned at me. +I marvel why I answered 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. +Phoebe, with all my heart. + +PHOEBE. +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 of Arden + + +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 gained my experience. + +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. + +Enter Orlando. + +ORLANDO. +Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! + +JAQUES. +Nay, then, God be wi’ 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 clapped +him o’ the 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 +wooed 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 gravelled for lack +of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when +they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking—God warn +us—matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. + +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 dashed out with a +Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of +the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year +though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer +night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont +and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish +chroniclers of that age found it was Hero of Sestos. But these are all +lies. Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but +not for love. + +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 winged. + +ROSALIND. +Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed 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 disposed to be merry. I will laugh like a +hyena, and that when thou are inclined 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 keyhole. 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 misused our sex in your love-prate! We must have your +doublet and hose plucked over your head and show the world what the +bird hath done to her own nest. + +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, +conceived of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that +abuses everyone’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. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Jaques and Lords, like foresters. + +JAQUES. +Which is he that killed the deer? + +FIRST 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? + +SECOND LORD. +Yes, sir. + +JAQUES. +Sing it. ’Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. + +SONG + +SECOND LORD. +[_Sings_.] + What shall he have that killed the deer? + His leather skin and horns to wear. + Then sing him home: + [_The rest shall bear this burden_.] + Take thou no scorn to wear the horn. + It was a crest ere thou wast born. + 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. Another part of 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. + +Enter Silvius. + +Look who comes here. + +SILVIUS. +My errand is to you, fair youth. +My gentle Phoebe did bid me give you this. + +[_Giving a letter._] + +I know not the contents, but, as I guess +By the stern brow and waspish action +Which she did use as she was writing of it, +It bears an angry tenor. Pardon me, +I am but as a guiltless messenger. + +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. +Phoebe did write it. + +ROSALIND. +Come, come, you are a fool, +And turned into the extremity of love. +I saw her hand. She has a leathern hand, +A freestone-coloured 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 Ethiop 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 Phoebe’s cruelty. + +ROSALIND. +She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. + +[_Reads._] + + _Art thou god to shepherd turned, + That a maiden’s heart hath burned?_ +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 thee + 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 endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee +a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to +love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou 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 sheepcote fenced 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 asked, 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 handkerchief was stained. + +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 mossed 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 wreathed itself, +Who with her head, nimble in threats, approached +The opening of his mouth. But suddenly, +Seeing Orlando, it unlinked 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 lived 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 sucked and hungry lioness? + +OLIVER. +Twice did he turn his back and purposed 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 awaked. + +CELIA. +Are you his brother? + +ROSALIND. +Was it you he rescued? + +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 bathed— +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 stripped 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 recovered 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, +Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth +That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. + +[_Rosalind faints._] + +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 of Arden + + +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. + +Enter William. + +Here comes the man you mean. + +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 covered. 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 sayst 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 poured 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’errun 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 seek you. Come away, away. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another part of 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. + +Enter Rosalind. + +ORLANDO. +You have my consent. Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I +invite the Duke and all’s contented followers. Go you and prepare +Aliena; for, look you, here comes my 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 showed +me your handkercher? + +ORLANDO. +Ay, and greater wonders than that. + +ROSALIND. +O, I know where you are. Nay, ’tis true. There was never anything so +sudden but the fight of two rams, and Caesar’s thrasonical brag of “I +came, saw and overcame.” For your brother and my sister no sooner met +but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but +they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked 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 tomorrow, 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 tomorrow 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, tomorrow 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, +conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not +damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture +cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I +know into what straits of fortune she is driven and it is not +impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her +before your eyes tomorrow, 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 tomorrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. + +Enter Silvius and Phoebe. + +Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. + +PHOEBE. +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 followed by a faithful shepherd. +Look upon him, love him; he worships you. + +PHOEBE. +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 Phoebe. + +PHOEBE. +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 Phoebe. + +PHOEBE. +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 observance, +And so am I for Phoebe. + +PHOEBE. +And so am I for Ganymede. + +ORLANDO. +And so am I for Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +And so am I for no woman. + +PHOEBE. +[_To Rosalind_.] If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + +SILVIUS. +[_To Phoebe_.] 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 Phoebe_.] I would love you if I could.—Tomorrow meet me all +together. +[_to Phoebe_.] I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I’ll be +married tomorrow. +[_to Orlando_.] I will satisfy you if ever I satisfied man, and you +shall be married tomorrow. +[_to Silvius_.] I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, +and you shall be married tomorrow. +[_to Orlando_.] As you love Rosalind, meet. +[_to Silvius_.] As you love Phoebe, 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. + +PHOEBE. +Nor I. + +ORLANDO. +Nor I. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Touchstone and Audrey. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Tomorrow is the joyful day, Audrey, tomorrow 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. + +Enter two Pages. + +Here come two of the banished Duke’s 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 + +PAGES. +[_Sing_.] + It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o’er the green cornfield 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, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + 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, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + 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, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + +TOUCHSTONE +Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, +yet the note was very untuneable. + +FIRST PAGE. +You are deceived, 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 be wi’ you, and God mend your voices. Come, Audrey. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of 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 Phoebe. + +ROSALIND. +Patience once more whiles our compact is urged. +[_To the Duke._] 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. +[_To Orlando_.] And you say you will have her when I bring her? + +ORLANDO. +That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Phoebe_.] You say you’ll marry me if I be willing? + +PHOEBE. +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? + +PHOEBE. +So is the bargain. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Silvius_.] You say that you’ll have Phoebe if she will? + +SILVIUS. +Though to have her and death were both one thing. + +ROSALIND. +I have promised 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, Phoebe, 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 tutored 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 +called 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 flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, +smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four +quarrels, and like to have fought one. + +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-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to +take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, +in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster. + +DUKE 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 called the “retort courteous”. If I sent him word again it +was not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please himself. +This is called the “quip modest”. If again it was not well cut, he +disabled my judgement. This is called the “reply churlish”. If again it +was not well cut, he would answer I spake not true. This is called the +“reproof valiant”. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. +This is called the “countercheck quarrelsome”, and so, to the “lie +circumstantial”, and the “lie direct”. + +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 measured 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 peacemaker; much virtue in “if.” + +JAQUES. +Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? He’s as good at anything, 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 in woman’s clothes, 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 Senior_.] 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. + +PHOEBE. +If sight and shape be true, +Why then, my love adieu. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Duke Senior_.] I’ll have no father, if you be not he. +[_To Orlando_.] I’ll have no husband, if you be not he. +[_To Phoebe_.] 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. +[_To Orlando and Rosalind_.] You and you no cross shall part. +[_To Celia and Oliver_.] You and you are heart in heart. +[_To Phoebe_.] You to his love must accord +Or have a woman to your lord. +[_To Audrey and Touchstone_.] 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. + +PHOEBE. +[_To Silvius_.] 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, +Addressed 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 banished brother, +And all their lands restored to them again +That were with him exiled. This to be true +I do engage my life. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Welcome, young man. +Thou offer’st fairly to thy brother’s wedding: +To one his lands withheld, and to the other +A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. +First, in this forest let us do those ends +That here were well begun and well begot; +And after, every of this happy number +That have endured 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 heaped 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 learned. +[_To Duke Senior_.] 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 victualled.—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 abandoned cave. + +[_Exit._] + +DUKE SENIOR. +Proceed, proceed! We will begin these rites, +As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights. + +[_Dance. Exeunt all but Rosalind._] + +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 furnished 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 simpering, none of you hates them—that +between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman, I +would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions +that liked me, and breaths that I defied not. And I am sure as many as +have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths will for my kind +offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +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 judgement, 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Rome. A street + Scene II. Corioles. The Senate House + Scene III. Rome. An apartment in Martius’ house + Scene IV. Before Corioles + Scene V. Within Corioles. A street + Scene VI. Near the camp of Cominius + Scene VII. The gates of Corioles + Scene VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps + Scene IX. The Roman camp + Scene X. The camp of the Volsces + + ACT II + Scene I. Rome. A public place + Scene II. Rome. The Capitol + Scene III. Rome. The Forum + + ACT III + Scene I. Rome. A street + Scene II. Rome. A room in Coriolanus’s house + Scene III. Rome. The Forum + + ACT IV + Scene I. Rome. Before a gate of the city + Scene II. Rome. A street near the gate + Scene III. A highway between Rome and Antium + Scene IV. Antium. Before Aufidius’s house + Scene V. Antium. A hall in Aufidius’s house + Scene VI. Rome. A public place + Scene VII. A camp at a short distance from Rome + + ACT V + Scene I. Rome. A public place + Scene II. An Advanced post of the Volscian camp before Rome. + Scene III. The tent of Coriolanus + Scene IV. Rome. A public place + Scene V. Rome. A street near the gate + Scene VI. Antium. A public place + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +CAIUS MARTIUS CORIOLANUS, a noble Roman +VOLUMNIA, his mother +VIRGILIA, his wife +YOUNG MARTIUS, their son +VALERIA, friend to Volumnia and Virgilia +A GENTLEWOMAN, Volumnia’s attendant + +MENENIUS AGRIPPA, Friend to Coriolanus +COMINIUS, General against the Volscians +TITUS LARTIUS, General against the Volscians +SICINIUS VELUTUS, Tribune of the People +JUNIUS BRUTUS, Tribune of the People +A ROMAN HERALD + +TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians +LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius +Conspirators with Aufidius +A CITIZEN of Antium +TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS + +Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors, Soldiers, +Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants + +SCENE: Partly in Rome, and partly in the territories of the Volscians +and Antiates. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Rome. A street + + +Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves, clubs, and other +weapons. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. + +ALL. +Speak, speak! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +You are all resolved rather to die than to famish? + +ALL. +Resolved, resolved! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +First, you know Caius Martius 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 Martius? + +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-conscienced men can be content to say it was for his +country, he did it to please his mother and to be partly proud, which +he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. + +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! + +Enter Menenius Agrippa. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Soft, who comes here? + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath always loved 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 cared for us yet. Suffer us to +famish, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury +to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against +the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily to chain up and +restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there’s +all the love they bear us. + +MENENIUS. +Either you must confess yourselves wondrous malicious +Or be accused 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 +Rebelled against the belly, thus accused 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 answered— + +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 restrained, +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. +You 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 Martius. + +Hail, noble Martius. + +MARTIUS. +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. + +MARTIUS. +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 stored. + +MARTIUS. +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 quartered 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? + +MARTIUS. +They are dissolved. Hang ’em! +They said they were an-hungry, sighed 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 answered +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? + +MARTIUS. +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 unroofed the city +Ere so prevailed with me. It will in time +Win upon power and throw forth greater themes +For insurrection’s arguing. + +MENENIUS. +This is strange. + +MARTIUS. +Go get you home, you fragments. + +Enter a Messenger hastily. + +MESSENGER. +Where’s Caius Martius? + +MARTIUS. +Here. What’s the matter? + +MESSENGER. +The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. + +MARTIUS. +I am glad on’t. Then we shall ha’ means to vent +Our musty superfluity. + +Enter Sicinius Velutus, Junius Brutus, two Tribunes; Cominius, Titus +Lartius with other Senators. + +See, our best elders. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Martius, ’tis true that you have lately told us: +The Volsces are in arms. + +MARTIUS. +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. + +MARTIUS. +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 Martius, +Attend upon Cominius to these wars. + +COMINIUS. +It is your former promise. + +MARTIUS. +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? + +TITUS LARTIUS. +No, Caius Martius, +I’ll lean upon one crutch and fight with th’ 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. + +TITUS LARTIUS. +Lead you on. +Follow Cominius. We must follow you; +Right worthy your priority. + +COMINIUS. +Noble Martius. + +FIRST SENATOR. +[_To the Citizens_.] +Hence to your homes, begone. + +MARTIUS. +Nay, let them follow. +The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither +To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers, +Your valour puts well forth. Pray follow. + +[_Exeunt. Sicinius and Brutus remain_.] + +SICINIUS. +Was ever man so proud as is this Martius? + +BRUTUS. +He has no equal. + +SICINIUS. +When we were chosen tribunes for the people— + +BRUTUS. +Marked you his lip and eyes? + +SICINIUS. +Nay, but his taunts. + +BRUTUS. +Being moved, 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’s well graced, cannot +Better be held nor more attained 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 Martius “O, if he +Had borne the business!” + +SICINIUS. +Besides, if things go well, +Opinion that so sticks on Martius shall +Of his demerits rob Cominius. + +BRUTUS. +Come. +Half all Cominius’ honours are to Martius, +Though Martius earned them not, and all his faults +To Martius 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 in singularity, he goes +Upon this present action. + +BRUTUS. +Let’s along. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Corioles. The Senate House + +Enter Tullus Aufidius with Senators of Corioles. + +FIRST SENATOR. +So, your opinion is, Aufidius, +That they of Rome are entered 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 pressed a power, but it is not known +Whether for east or west. The dearth is great. +The people mutinous; and, it is rumoured, +Cominius, Martius 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 veiled till when +They needs must show themselves, which, in the hatching, +It seemed, appeared to Rome. By the discovery +We shall be shortened 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 Corioles. +If they set down before’s, for the remove +Bring up your army. But I think you’ll find +They’ve not prepared 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 Martius 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. An apartment in Martius’ house + +Enter Volumnia and Virgilia, mother and wife to Martius. 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 plucked 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 pleased to let him seek danger where he was +like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he returned, +his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in +joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had +proved himself a man. + +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 Martius, 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 mailed hand then wiping, forth he goes +Like to a harvestman that’s tasked 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, looked 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. + +Enter Valeria with an Usher and a Gentlewoman. + +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 looked upon him o’ Wednesday half an hour together. H’as such +a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly, and +when he caught it, he let it go again, and after it again, and over and +over he comes, and up again, catched it again. Or whether his fall +enraged him or how ’twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I +warrant how he mammocked it! + +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 Corioles. 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 Corioles + +Enter Martius, Titus Lartius, with drum and colours, with Captains and +Soldiers, as before the city of Corioles. To them a Messenger. + +MARTIUS. +Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. + +LARTIUS. +My horse to yours, no. + +MARTIUS. +’Tis done. + +LARTIUS. +Agreed. + +MARTIUS. +[_To Messenger_.] 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. + +MARTIUS. +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. + +MARTIUS. +How far off lie these armies? + +MESSENGER. +Within this mile and half. + +MARTIUS. +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 Corioles. + +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 pinned 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. + +MARTIUS. +O, they are at it! + +LARTIUS. +Their noise be our instruction.—Ladders, ho! + +Enter the Army of the Volsces as through the city gates. + +MARTIUS. +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. + +[_Alarums. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. They exit, with +the Volsces following_.] + +Enter Martius cursing, with Roman soldiers. + +MARTIUS. +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 abhorred +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’s! + +[_Another alarum. The Volsces re-enter and are driven back to the gates +of Corioles, which open to admit them._] + +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. + +[_Martius follows the fleeing Volsces through the gates, and is shut +in._] + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Foolhardiness, not I. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Nor I. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +See, they have shut him in. + +[_Alarum continues._] + +ALL. +To th’ pot, I warrant him. + +Enter Titus Lartius. + +LARTIUS. +What is become of Martius? + +ALL. +Slain, sir, doubtless. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Following the fliers at the very heels, +With them he enters, who upon the sudden +Clapped 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, Martius. +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 thunderlike percussion of thy sounds +Thou mad’st thine enemies shake, as if the world +Were feverous and did tremble. + +Enter Martius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Look, sir. + +LARTIUS. +O, ’tis Martius! +Let’s fetch him off or make remain alike. + +[_They fight, and all enter the city._] + +SCENE V. Within Corioles. 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. + +Enter Martius and Titus Lartius with a Trumpet. + +MARTIUS. +See here these movers that do prize their hours +At a cracked 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! + +[_Exit the Romans with spoils._] + +[_Alarum continues still afar off._] + +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. + +MARTIUS. +Sir, praise me not. +My work hath yet not warmed 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! + +MARTIUS. +Thy friend no less +Than those she placeth highest! So farewell. + +LARTIUS. +Thou worthiest Martius! + +[_Exit Martius._] + +Go sound thy trumpet in the marketplace. +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 charged 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 Corioles have issued, +And given to Lartius and to Martius battle. +I saw our party to their trenches driven, +And then I came away. + +COMINIUS. +Though thou speakest 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 forced to wheel +Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, +Half an hour since brought my report. + +[_Exit Messenger._] + +Enter Martius, bloody. + +COMINIUS. +Who’s yonder, +That does appear as he were flayed? O gods, +He has the stamp of Martius, and I have +Before-time seen him thus. + +MARTIUS. +Come I too late? + +COMINIUS. +The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor +More than I know the sound of Martius’ tongue +From every meaner man. + +MARTIUS. +Come I too late? + +COMINIUS. +Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, +But mantled in your own. + +MARTIUS. +O, let me clip you +In arms as sound as when I wooed, in heart +As merry as when our nuptial day was done +And tapers burned to bedward! + +COMINIUS. +Flower of warriors, how is’t with Titus Lartius? + +MARTIUS. +As with a man busied about decrees, +Condemning some to death and some to exile; +Ransoming him or pitying, threat’ning the other; +Holding Corioles 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’s he? Call him hither. + +MARTIUS. +Let him alone. +He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen, +The common file—a plague! Tribunes for them!— +The mouse ne’er shunned the cat as they did budge +From rascals worse than they. + +COMINIUS. +But how prevailed you? + +MARTIUS. +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. +Martius, we have at disadvantage fought, +And did retire to win our purpose. + +MARTIUS. +How lies their battle? Know you on which side +They have placed their men of trust? + +COMINIUS. +As I guess, Martius, +Their bands i’ th’ vaward are the Antiates, +Of their best trust; o’er them Aufidius, +Their very heart of hope. + +MARTIUS. +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 advanced 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. + +MARTIUS. +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 smeared; 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 Martius. + +[_He waves his sword._] + +[_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 obeyed. Please you to march, +And I shall quickly draw out my command, +Which men are best inclined. + +COMINIUS. +March on, my fellows. +Make good this ostentation, and you shall +Divide in all with us. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. The gates of Corioles + +Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioles, going with drum and +trumpet toward Cominius and Caius Martius, 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 Martius and Aufidius at several doors. + +MARTIUS. +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. + +MARTIUS. +Let the first budger die the other’s slave, +And the gods doom him after! + +AUFIDIUS. +If I fly, Martius, +Hollo me like a hare. + +MARTIUS. +Within these three hours, Tullus, +Alone I fought in your Corioles’ walls, +And made what work I pleased. ’Tis not my blood +Wherein thou seest me masked. For thy revenge +Wrench up thy power to th’ highest. + +AUFIDIUS. +Wert thou the Hector +That was the whip of your bragged progeny, +Thou shouldst not scape me here. + +[_Here they fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of Aufidius._] + +Officious and not valiant, you have shamed me +In your condemned seconds. + +[_Martius fights till they be driven in breathless. Aufidius and +Martius exit, separately._] + +SCENE IX. The Roman camp + +Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, at one door, Cominius +with the Romans; at another door, Martius, 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 quaked, hear more; where the dull tribunes, +That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours, +Shall say against their hearts “We thank the gods +Our Rome hath such a soldier.” +Yet cam’st thou to a morsel of this feast, +Having fully dined before. + +Enter Titus Lartius with his power, from the pursuit. + +LARTIUS. +O general, +Here is the steed, we the caparison. +Hadst thou beheld— + +MARTIUS. +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; +Induced 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 vouched, +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. + +MARTIUS. +I have some wounds upon me, and they smart +To hear themselves remembered. + +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 achieved and city, +We render you the tenth, to be ta’en forth +Before the common distribution +At your only choice. + +MARTIUS. +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 “Martius, Martius!” and 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-faced soothing! When steel grows soft +Soft as the parasite’s silk, let him be made +An ovator for the wars! No more, I say. +For that I have not washed my nose that bled, +Or foiled some debile wretch—which, without note, +Here’s many else have done—you shout me forth +In acclamations hyperbolical, +As if I loved my little should be dieted +In praises sauced 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 incensed, 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 Martius +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 Corioles, call him, +With all th’ applause and clamour of the host, +Caius Martius Coriolanus! Bear +Th’ addition nobly ever! + +[_Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums._] + +ALL. +Caius Martius 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 Corioles 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 +Refused 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 Corioles +At a poor man’s house; he used me kindly. +He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; +But then Aufidius was within my view, +And wrath o’erwhelmed my pity. I request you +To give my poor host freedom. + +COMINIUS. +O, well begged! +Were he the butcher of my son, he should +Be free as is the wind.—Deliver him, Titus. + +LARTIUS. +Martius, his name? + +CORIOLANUS. +By Jupiter, forgot! +I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. +Have we no wine here? + +COMINIUS. +Go we to our tent. +The blood upon your visage dries; ’tis time +It should be looked to. Come. + +[_A flourish of cornets. 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. + +SOLDIER. +’Twill be delivered 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, Martius, +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. + +SOLDIER. +He’s the devil. + +AUFIDIUS. +Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poisoned +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 Martius. 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. + +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. + +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 Martius. + +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 Martius. + +BRUTUS. +He’s a lamb indeed, that baas like a bear. + +MENENIUS. +He’s a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell +me one thing that I shall ask you. + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +Well, sir. + +MENENIUS. +In what enormity is Martius poor in, that you two have not in +abundance? + +BRUTUS. +He’s poor in no one fault, but stored 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 censured? + +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 Martius 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 +infantlike 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 +delivered the matter well when I find the ass in compound with the +major part of your syllables. And though I must be content to bear with +those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that +tell you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, +follows it that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson +conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough, +too? + +BRUTUS. +Come, sir, come; we know you well enough. + +MENENIUS. +You know neither me, yourselves, nor anything. You are ambitious for +poor knaves’ caps and legs. You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in +hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a faucet-seller, and then +rejourn the controversy of threepence to a second day of audience. When +you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be +pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody +flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber pot, dismiss +the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All the +peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties knaves. You +are a pair of strange ones. + +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 entombed +in an ass’s packsaddle. Yet you must be saying Martius 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. +Good e’en 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. + +[_He begins to exit. Brutus and Sicinius stand 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 Martius approaches. For the love of Juno, +let’s go! + +MENENIUS. +Ha? Martius coming home? + +VOLUMNIA. +Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous approbation. + +MENENIUS. +Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee! Hoo! Martius coming home? + +VALERIA, 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 tonight. A letter for me? + +VIRGILIA. +Yes, certain, there’s a letter for you; I saw it. + +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 he 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 disciplined 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 stayed by +him, I would not have been so ’fidiused for all the chests in Corioles +and the gold that’s in them. Is the Senate possessed 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! Martius 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 Martius: before him he carries noise, and +behind him he leaves tears. +Death, that dark spirit, in’s nervy arm doth lie, +Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. + +[_A sennet_.] + +Enter Cominius the General and Titus Lartius, between them Coriolanus +crowned with an oaken garland, with Captains and Soldiers and a Herald. +Trumpets sound. + +HERALD. +Know, Rome, that all alone Martius did fight +Within Corioles’ gates, where he hath won, +With fame, a name to Caius Martius; these +In honour follows “Coriolanus.” +Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus. + +[_Sound 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, petitioned all the gods +For my prosperity. + +[_Kneels._] + +VOLUMNIA. +Nay, my good soldier, up. + +[_He stands._] + +My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, and +By deed-achieving honour newly named— +What is it? Coriolanus must I call thee? +But, O, thy wife— + +CORIOLANUS. +My gracious silence, hail. +Wouldst thou have laughed had I come coffined home, +That weep’st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, +Such eyes the widows in Corioles 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 you’re 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 Volumnia and Virgilia_.] Your hand, and yours. +Ere in our own house I do shade my head, +The good patricians must be visited, +From whom I have received 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 of 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 smothered up, leads filled, and ridges horsed +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 veiled dames +Commit the war of white and damask in +Their nicely-gauded cheeks to th’ wanton spoil +Of Phoebus’ burning kisses. Such a pother, +As if that whatsoever god who leads him +Were slyly 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 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’ marketplace 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, silenced 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 it be put upon’t, and that’s as easy +As to set dogs on sheep—will be his fire +To kindle their dry stubble, and their blaze +Shall darken him for ever. + +Enter a Messenger. + +BRUTUS. +What’s the matter? + +MESSENGER. +You are sent for to the Capitol. ’Tis thought +That Martius 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 scarves and handkerchiefs, +Upon him as he passed; 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 everyone 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 flattered the people +who ne’er loved them; and there be many that they have loved they know +not wherefore; so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon +no better a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether +they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their +disposition and, out of his noble carelessness, lets them plainly +see’t. + +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, bonnetted, 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 ear 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. The Patricians +sit. Sicinius and Brutus take their places by themselves. Coriolanus +stands. + +MENENIUS. +Having determined 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 performed +By Martius Caius 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 blest to do if he remember +A kinder value of the people than +He hath hereto prized 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 disbenched you not? + +CORIOLANUS. +No, sir. Yet oft, +When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. +You soothed 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 monstered. + +[_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 uttered 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 counterpoised. 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’erpressed 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 proved best man i’ th’ field and for his meed +Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age +Man-entered thus, he waxed like a sea, +And in the brunt of seventeen battles since +He lurched all swords of the garland. For this last, +Before and in Corioles, let me say, +I cannot speak him home. He stopped the flyers +And by his rare example made the coward +Turn terror into sport. As weeds before +A vessel under sail, so men obeyed +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 timed with dying cries. Alone he entered +The mortal gate o’ th’ city, which he painted +With shunless destiny; aidless came off +And with a sudden reinforcement struck +Corioles 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 +Requickened 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 called +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 kicked at; +And looked 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 called for. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Call Coriolanus. + +OFFICER. +He doth appear. + +Enter Coriolanus. + +MENENIUS. +The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased +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 received 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. 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’ marketplace +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 called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some +black, some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely +coloured; and truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of one +skull, they would fly east, west, north, south, and their consent of +one direct way should be at once to all the points o’ 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 +wedged up in a blockhead. 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 resolved to give your voices? But that’s no matter; the +greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, +there was never a worthier man. + +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 everyone 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._] + +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 roared 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 Menenius._] + +CORIOLANUS. +Bid them wash their faces +And keep their teeth clean. + +Enter three of the Citizens. + +So, here comes a brace. +You know the cause, sirs, 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, but 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 begged. I have your +alms. Adieu. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +But this is something odd. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +An ’twere to give again—but ’tis no matter. + +[_Exeunt two citizens._] + +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 does 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 heaped +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. + + +Enter three Citizens more. + +Here come more voices. +Your voices! For your voices I have fought; +Watched 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 THREE CITIZENS. +Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul. + +[_Exeunt citizens._] + +CORIOLANUS. +Worthy voices! + +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 discharged. +The people do admit you, and are summoned +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 his heart. + +BRUTUS. +With a proud heart he wore +His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people? + +Enter the Pebleians. + +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 mocked us when he begged 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 used us scornfully. He should have showed us +His marks of merit, wounds received 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 lessoned? 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-advised, had touched his spirit +And tried his inclination; from him plucked +Either his gracious promise, which you might, +As cause had called you up, have held him to; +Or else it would have galled 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 passed 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 sued-for tongues? + +THIRD CITIZEN. +He’s not confirmed. +We may deny him yet. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +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 scorned 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 laboured, +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, +Preoccupied 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’ Martians, from whence came +That Ancus Martius, 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, that was so surnamed, +And nobly named so, twice being 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. + +ALL. +We 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 caused +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 retired 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 called 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 passed the noble and the common? + +BRUTUS. +Cominius, no. + +CORIOLANUS. +Have I had children’s voices? + +FIRST SENATOR. +Tribunes, give way. He shall to the marketplace. + +BRUTUS. +The people are incensed 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 purposed 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 ruled. + +BRUTUS. +Call’t not a plot. +The people cry you mocked them; and, of late, +When corn was given them gratis, you repined, +Scandaled the suppliants for the people, called them +Timepleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. + +CORIOLANUS. +Why, this was known before. + +BRUTUS. +Not to them all. + +CORIOLANUS. +Have you informed 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 inquire your way, +Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, +Or never be so noble as a consul, +Nor yoke with him for tribune. + +MENENIUS. +Let’s be calm. + +COMINIUS. +The people are abused, set on. This palt’ring +Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus +Deserved this so dishonoured 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 many, let them +Regard me, as I do not flatter, and +Therein behold themselves. I say again, +In soothing them we nourish ’gainst our senate +The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, +Which we ourselves have ploughed for, sowed, and scattered +By mingling them with us, the honoured 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 leave 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 learned, +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 frowned 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’ marketplace. + +CORIOLANUS. +Whoever gave that counsel to give forth +The corn o’ th’ storehouse gratis, as ’twas used +Sometime in Greece— + +MENENIUS. +Well, well, no more of that. + +CORIOLANUS. +Though there the people had more absolute power, +I say they nourished 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 assured +They ne’er did service for’t. Being pressed to th’ war, +Even when the navel of the state was touched, +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 showed +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 multitude digest +The senate’s courtesy? Let deeds express +What’s like to be their words: “We did request it; +We are the greater poll, and in true fear +They gave us our demands.” Thus we debase +The nature of our seats and make the rabble +Call our cares fears, which will in time +Break ope the locks o’ 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 barred, 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 th’ 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! Let him be apprehended. + +Enter an Aedile. + +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. + +ALL PATRICIANS. +We’ll surety him. + +COMINIUS. +[_to Sicinius_.] Aged sir, hands off. + +CORIOLANUS. +[_to Sicinius_.] 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. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Down with him, down with him! + +SECOND SENATOR. +Weapons, weapons, weapons! + +[_They all bustle about Coriolanus._] + +Tribunes, patricians, citizens, what, ho! +Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! + +ALL. +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! + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Let’s hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak. + +SICINIUS. +You are at point to lose your liberties. +Martius would have all from you, Martius, +Whom late you have named 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? + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +True, +The people are the city. + +BRUTUS. +By the consent of all, we were established +The people’s magistrates. + +ALL 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, Martius 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! + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Yield, Martius, 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 Martius, help! +You that be noble, help him, young and old! + +ALL 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. Begone, away. +All will be naught 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. Begone, beseech you. + +COMINIUS. +Come, sir, along with us. + +CORIOLANUS. +I would they were barbarians, as they are, +Though in Rome littered, not Romans, as they are not, +Though calved i’ th’ porch o’ th’ Capitol. + +MENENIUS. +Begone! +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 called foolery when it stands +Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, +Before the tag return, whose rage doth rend +Like interrupted waters, and o’erbear +What they are used to bear? + +MENENIUS. +Pray you, begone. +I’ll try whether my old wit be in request +With those that have but little. This must be patched +With cloth of any colour. + +COMINIUS. +Nay, come away. + +[_Exeunt Coriolanus and Cominius._] + +PATRICIAN. +This man has marred 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. + +PATRICIAN. +I would they were abed! + +MENENIUS. +I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance, +Could he not speak ’em fair? + +Enter Brutus and Sicinius with 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 naught. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +He shall well know +The noble tribunes are the people’s mouths, +And we their hands. + +ALL 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? + +ALL 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 tonight. + +MENENIUS. +Now the good gods forbid +That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude +Towards her deserved children is enrolled +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 cam. + +BRUTUS. +Merely awry. When he did love his country, +It honoured him. + +MENENIUS. +The service of the foot, +Being once gangrened, 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 unscanned swiftness, will too late, +Tie leaden pounds to’s heels. Proceed by process, +Lest parties—as he is beloved—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 he could draw a sword, and is ill schooled +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 marketplace. We’ll attend you there, +Where if you bring not Martius, we’ll proceed +In our first way. + +MENENIUS. +I’ll bring him to you. +[_To 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. A room in Coriolanus’s house + +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 showed them how ye were disposed +Ere they lacked 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 counselled. +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 unsevered 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 rooted in +Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables +Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth. +Now, this no more dishonours you at all +Than to take in a town with gentle words, +Which else would put you to your fortune and +The hazard of much blood. +I would dissemble with my nature where +My fortunes and my friends at stake required +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 loss +Of what is past. + +VOLUMNIA. +I prithee now, my son, +Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand, +And thus far having stretched 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 asked, as free +As words to little purpose. + +VOLUMNIA. +Prithee now, +Go, and be ruled; 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’ marketplace; 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 unbarbed 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 Martius, they to dust should grind it +And throw’t against the wind. To th’ marketplace! +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 turned, +Which choired 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 armed knees, +Who bowed but in my stirrup, bend like his +That hath received 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 marketplace. +Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves, +Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved +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 Volumnia._] + +COMINIUS. +Away! The Tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself +To answer mildly, for they are prepared +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 favoured him. + +SICINIUS. +Have you a catalogue +Of all the voices that we have procured, +Set down by th’ poll? + +AEDILE. +I have. ’Tis ready. + +SICINIUS. +Have you collected 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 confused +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 used +Ever to conquer and to have his worth +Of contradiction. Being once chafed, he cannot +Be reined 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 other Senators. + +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’ honoured 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. + +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 charged 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 proved 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 briars, +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 passed for consul with full voice, +I am so dishonoured 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 contrived to take +From Rome all seasoned 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 clutched 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? + +ALL 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 +Served 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, +Even from this instant, banish him our city +In peril of precipitation +From off the rock Tarpeian, never more +To enter our Rome gates. I’ th’ people’s name, +I say it shall be so. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away! +He’s banished, and it shall be so. + +COMINIUS. +Hear me, my masters and my common friends— + +SICINIUS. +He’s sentenced. 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 banished +As enemy to the people and his country. +It shall be so. + +ALL 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, with other Senators._] + +AEDILE. +The people’s enemy is gone, is gone. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Our enemy is banished; he is gone. Hoo, hoo! + +[_They all shout and throw up their caps._] + +SICINIUS. +Go see him out at gates, and follow him, +As he hath followed you, with all despite. +Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard +Attend us through the city. + +ALL 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 used +To say extremities was the trier of spirits; +That common chances common men could bear; +That when the sea was calm, all boats alike +Showed mastership in floating; fortune’s blows +When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves +A noble cunning. You were used to load me +With precepts that would make invincible +The heart that conned 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 loved when I am lacked. 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 saved +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 feared and talked 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 thee +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 unbruised. 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 two Tribunes, Sicinius, Brutus with the Aedile. + +SICINIUS. +Bid them all home. He’s gone, and we’ll no further. +The nobility are vexed, 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, you’re well met. The 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 Sicinius_.] Will you be gone? + +VIRGILIA. +[_To Brutus_.] 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. +More 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 incensed 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 banished, does exceed you all. + +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._] + +MENENIUS. +Fie, fie, fie! + +[_Exit Menenius._] + +SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium + +Enter a Roman and a Volsce. + +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 +approved by your tongue. What’s the news in Rome? I have a note from +the Volscian state to find you out there. You have well saved me a +day’s journey. + +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 banished? + +ROMAN. +Banished, 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 fallen out with her husband. Your +noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer +Coriolanus being now in no request of his country. + +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. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Antium. Before Aufidius’s house + +Enter Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised 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. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Antium. A hall in Aufidius’s house + +Music plays. Enter a Servingman. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Wine, wine, wine! What service is here? I think our fellows are asleep. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter another Servingman. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +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. + +Enter the First Servingman. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +What would you have, friend? Whence are you? Here’s no place for you. +Pray go to the door. + +[_Exit._] + +CORIOLANUS. +I have deserved no better entertainment +In being Coriolanus. + +Enter Second Servingman. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +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 SERVINGMAN. +Away? Get you away. + +CORIOLANUS. +Now th’ art troublesome. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Are you so brave? I’ll have you talked with anon. + +Enter Third Servingman; the First, entering, meets him. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What fellow’s this? + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +A strange one as ever I looked on. I cannot get him out o’ th’ house. +Prithee call my master to him. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. + +CORIOLANUS. +Let me but stand. I will not hurt your hearth. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What are you? + +CORIOLANUS. +A gentleman. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +A marv’llous poor one. + +CORIOLANUS. +True, so I am. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +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 SERVINGMAN. +What, you will not?—Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has +here. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +And I shall. + +[_Exit._] + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Where dwell’st thou? + +CORIOLANUS. +Under the canopy. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Under the canopy? + +CORIOLANUS. +Ay. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Where’s that? + +CORIOLANUS. +I’ th’ city of kites and crows. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +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 SERVINGMAN. +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_.] + +[_Exit Third Servingman._] + +Enter Aufidius with the Second Servingman. + +AUFIDIUS. +Where is this fellow? + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +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. +[_Removing his muffler_.] 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 Martius, 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 devoured the rest, +And suffered me by th’ voice of slaves to be +Whooped 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 feared 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 cankered country with the spleen +Of all the under fiends. But if so be +Thou dar’st not this, and that to prove more fortunes +Thou ’rt tired, 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 Martius, Martius, +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 Martius. Let me twine +Mine arms about that body, whereagainst +My grained ash an hundred times hath broke +And scarred 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 loved the maid I married; never man +Sighed truer breath. But that I see thee here, +Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart +Than when I first my wedded mistress saw +Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell thee +We have a power on foot, and I had purpose +Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn +Or lose mine arm for’t. Thou hast beat me out +Twelve several times, and I have nightly since +Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me; +We have been down together in my sleep, +Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, +And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius, +Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that +Thou art thence banished, we would muster all +From twelve to seventy and, pouring war +Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, +Like a bold flood o’erbear ’t. O, come, go in, +And take our friendly senators by th’ hands, +Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, +Who am prepared 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 experienced, 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, Martius, that was much. Your hand. Most welcome! + +[_Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius._] + +Two of the Servingmen come forward. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Here’s a strange alteration! + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +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 SERVINGMAN. +What an arm he has! He turned me about with his finger and his thumb as +one would set up a top. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +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 SERVINGMAN. +He had so, looking as it were—Would I were hanged, but I thought there +was more in him than I could think. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +So did I, I’ll be sworn. He is simply the rarest man i’ th’ world. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +I think he is. But a greater soldier than he you wot one. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Who, my master? + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Nay, it’s no matter for that. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Worth six on him. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Nay, not so neither. But I take him to be the greater soldier. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that. For the defence of a +town our general is excellent. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Ay, and for an assault too. + +Enter the Third Servingman. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +O slaves, I can tell you news, news, you rascals! + +FIRST and SECOND SERVINGMAN. +What, what, what? Let’s partake. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lief be a condemned +man. + +FIRST and SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Wherefore? Wherefore? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Why, here’s he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Martius. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Why do you say, “thwack our general”? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +I do not say “thwack our general,” but he was always good enough for +him. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too hard for him; I have +heard him say so himself. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on’t, before +Corioles; he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +An he had been cannibally given, he might have boiled and eaten him +too. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +But, more of thy news? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +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 polled. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +And he’s as like to do’t as any man I can imagine. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +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 whilest he’s in directitude. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Directitude? What’s that? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood, +they will out of their burrows like coneys after rain, and revel all +with him. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +But when goes this forward? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Tomorrow, today, 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 SERVINGMAN. +Why then, we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing +but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Let me have war, say I. It exceeds peace as far as day does night. It’s +sprightly walking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, +lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard +children than war’s a destroyer of men. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +’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 SERVINGMAN. +Ay, and it makes men hate one another. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Reason: because they then less need one another. The wars for my money! +I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising; they are +rising. + +ALL. +In, in, in, in! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Rome. A public place + +Enter 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 we 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. + +BRUTUS. +We stood to’t in good time. + +Enter Menenius. + +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 missed +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 if +He could have temporized. + +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. + +ALL CITIZENS. +The gods preserve you both! + +SICINIUS. +Good e’en, our neighbours. + +BRUTUS. +Good e’en to you all, good e’en to you all. + +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 wished Coriolanus +Had loved 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 Martius was +A worthy officer i’ th’ 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 two several powers +Are entered in the Roman territories, +And with the deepest malice of the war +Destroy what lies before ’em. + +MENENIUS. +’Tis Aufidius, +Who, hearing of our Martius’ banishment, +Thrusts forth his horns again into the world, +Which were inshelled when Martius stood for Rome, +And durst not once peep out. + +SICINIUS. +Come, what talk you of Martius? + +BRUTUS. +Go see this rumourer whipped. 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 coming +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 delivered. + +SICINIUS. +What more fearful? + +MESSENGER. +It is spoke freely out of many mouths— +How probable I do not know—that Martius, +Joined 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. +Raised only that the weaker sort may wish +Good Martius 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 Martius +Associated with Aufidius, rages +Upon our territories, and have already +O’erborne their way, consumed 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 dishonoured 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, confined +Into an auger’s bore. + +MENENIUS. +Pray now, your news?— +You have made fair work, I fear me.—Pray, your news? +If Martius should be joined with 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 mocked 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 charged him even +As those should do that had deserved his hate +And therein showed like 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. + +TRIBUNES. +Say not we brought it. + +MENENIUS. +How? Was it we? We loved 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 deserved it. + +ALL CITIZENS. +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. +You 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 home. Be not dismayed. +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 banished 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 +Joined 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 dragonlike, 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 controlled the war; but one of these— +As he hath spices of them all—not all, +For I dare so far free him—made him feared, +So hated, and so banished. 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, Brutus (the two Tribunes), with +others. + +MENENIUS. +No, I’ll not go. You hear what he hath said +Which was sometime his general, who loved him +In a most dear particular. He called me father, +But what o’ that? Go you that banished him; +A mile before his tent, fall down, and knee +The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coyed +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 urged our old acquaintance, and the drops +That we have bled together. “Coriolanus” +He would not answer to, forbade all names. +He was a kind of nothing, titleless, +Till he had forged himself a name i’ th’ fire +Of burning Rome. + +MENENIUS. +Why, so; you have made good work! +A pair of tribunes that have wracked 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 punished. + +MENENIUS. +Very well. +Could he say less? + +COMINIUS. +I offered 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 Martius. + +MENENIUS. +Well, and say that Martius +Return me, as Cominius is returned, 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 dined. +The veins unfilled, our blood is cold, and then +We pout upon the morning, are unapt +To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffed +These pipes and these conveyances of our blood +With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls +Than in our priestlike 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 jailer to his pity. I kneeled before him; +’Twas very faintly he said “Rise”; dismissed 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. An Advanced post of the Volscian camp before Rome. + +Enter Menenius to the Watch, or 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 embraced 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 touched 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 unparalleled happily 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 stamped 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 dined, can’st 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 pushed out +your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular +ignorance given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges +with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your +daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as +you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city +is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this? No, you are +deceived. Therefore back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You +are condemned. Our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. + +MENENIUS. +Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with +estimation. + +SECOND 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. [_to Coriolanus_.] 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 begone. +Mine ears against your suits are stronger than +Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee, +Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, + +[_He gives Menenius a paper._] + +And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, +I will not hear thee speak.—This man, Aufidius, +Was my beloved in Rome; yet thou behold’st. + +AUFIDIUS. +You keep a constant temper. + +[_They exit._] + +[_The Guard and Menenius remain._] + +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, you’re so slight. He that hath a will +to die by himself fears it not from another. Let your general do his +worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with +your age! I say to you, as I was said to, away! + +[_Exit._] + +FIRST WATCH. +A noble fellow, I warrant him. + +SECOND WATCH. +The worthy fellow is our general. He is the rock, the oak not to be +wind-shaken. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus + +Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. + +CORIOLANUS. +We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow +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, stopped 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 cracked heart I have sent to Rome, +Loved 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 showed sourly to him—once more offered +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 Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Martius with attendants. + +My wife comes foremost, then the honoured mold +Wherein this trunk was framed, 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 changed +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.” + +[_They kiss._] + +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 virgined 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, + +[_He rises_.] + +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. + +[_She kneels._] + +CORIOLANUS. +What is this? +Your knees to me? To your corrected son? + +[_He raises her up._] + +Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach +Fillip the stars! Then let the mutinous winds +Strike the proud cedars ’gainst the fiery sun, +Murdering impossibility to make +What cannot be slight work. + +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 seamark standing every flaw +And saving those that eye thee. + +VOLUMNIA. +[_To young Martius_.] Your knee, sirrah. + +[_He kneels._] + +CORIOLANUS. +That’s my brave boy! + +VOLUMNIA. +Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself +Are suitors to you. + +[_Young Martius rises._] + +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 anything; +For we have nothing else to ask but that +Which you deny already. Yet we will ask, +That if you fail in our request, the blame +May hang upon your hardness. Therefore hear us. + +CORIOLANUS. +Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark, for we’ll +Hear naught 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 barr’st us +Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort +That all but we enjoy. For how can we— +Alas, how can we—for our country pray, +Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, +Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose +The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, +Our comfort in the country. We must find +An evident calamity, though we had +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 cannot 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. + +YOUNG MARTIUS. +He 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. + +[_He rises._] + +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 showed,” the Romans +“This we received,” and each in either side +Give the all-hail to thee and cry, “Be blessed +For making up this peace!” Thou know’st, great son, +The end of war’s uncertain, but this certain, +That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit +Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name +Whose repetition will be dogged with curses, +Whose chronicle thus writ: “The man was noble, +But with his last attempt he wiped it out; +Destroyed his country, and his name remains +To th’ ensuing age abhorred.” 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 +Showed thy dear mother any courtesy +When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, +Has clucked thee to the wars and safely home, +Loaden with honour. Say my request’s unjust +And spurn me back; but if it be not so, +Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee +That thou restrain’st from me the duty which +To a mother’s part belongs.—He turns away.— +Down, ladies! Let us shame him with our knees. +To his surname Coriolanus ’longs more pride +Than pity to our prayers. Down! An end. + +[_They kneel._] + +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. + +[_They rise._] + +This fellow had a Volscian to his mother, +His wife is in Corioles, and his child +Like him by chance.—Yet give us our dispatch. +I am hushed 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 prevailed, +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 moved 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’ll 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! + +[_He speaks with them aside._] + +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 Women_.] Ay, by and by; +But we’ll drink together, and you shall bear +A better witness back than words, which we, +On like conditions, will have countersealed. +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’ the 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 sentenced +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 Martius is grown from man to dragon. He has wings; +he’s more than a creeping thing. + +SICINIUS. +He loved 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 finished 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 banished +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 prevailed. +The Volscians are dislodged and Martius 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 lurked 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 prayed well today. +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 Ladies (Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria) passing +over the stage, with other Lords. + +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 banished Martius, +Repeal him with the welcome of his mother. +Cry “Welcome, ladies, welcome!” + +ALL. +Welcome, ladies, welcome! + +[_A flourish with drums and trumpets._] + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Antium. A public place + +Enter Tullus Aufidius with Attendants. + +AUFIDIUS. +Go tell the lords o’ th’ city I am here. +Deliver them this paper. + +[_He gives them a paper_.] + +Having read it, +Bid them repair to th’ marketplace, 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 entered and +Intends t’ appear before the people, hoping +To purge himself with words. Dispatch. + +[_Exeunt Attendants._] + +Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius’s faction. + +Most welcome! + +FIRST CONSPIRATOR. +How is it with our general? + +AUFIDIUS. +Even so +As with a man by his own alms empoisoned +And with his charity slain. + +SECOND CONSPIRATOR. +Most noble sir, +If you do hold the same intent wherein +You wished 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 raised him, and I pawned +Mine honour for his truth, who being so heightened, +He watered his new plants with dews of flattery, +Seducing so my friends; and to this end, +He bowed 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 spoke of. +Being banished 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; served 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 seemed his follower, not partner; and +He waged me with his countenance as if +I had been mercenary. + +FIRST CONSPIRATOR. +So he did, my lord. +The army marvelled at it, and, in the last, +When he had carried Rome and that we looked +For no less spoil than glory— + +AUFIDIUS. +There was it +For which my sinews shall be stretched 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 entered 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 pronounced shall bury +His reasons with his body. + +AUFIDIUS. +Say no more. +Here come the lords. + +Enter the Lords of the city. + +ALL LORDS. +You are most welcome home. + +AUFIDIUS. +I have not deserved it. +But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused +What I have written to you? + +ALL 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. + +Enter Coriolanus marching with Drum and Colours, the Commoners being +with him. + +AUFIDIUS. +He approaches. You shall hear him. + +CORIOLANUS. +Hail, lords! I am returned 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, +Subscribed by th’ Consuls and patricians, +Together with the seal o’ th’ Senate, what +We have compounded on. + +[_He offers the lords a paper._] + +AUFIDIUS. +Read it not, noble lords, +But tell the traitor in the highest degree +He hath abused your powers. + +CORIOLANUS. +“Traitor?” How now? + +AUFIDIUS. +Ay, traitor, Martius. + +CORIOLANUS. +Martius? + +AUFIDIUS. +Ay, Martius, Caius Martius. Dost thou think +I’ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol’n name +Coriolanus, in Corioles? +You lords and heads o’ th’ state, perfidiously +He has betrayed 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 whined and roared away your victory, +That pages blushed at him and men of heart +Looked wond’ring each at other. + +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 forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, +Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion— +Who wears my stripes impressed 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 dovecote, I +Fluttered your Volscians in Corioles, +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? + +ALL CONSPIRATORS. +Let him die for’t. + +ALL PEOPLE +Tear him to pieces! Do it presently! He killed my son! My daughter! He +killed my cousin Marcus! He killed 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! + +ALL CONSPIRATORS. +Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! + + +[_Draw the Conspirators, and kills Martius, 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, +Provoked 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 urn. + +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 Martius. 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 Imogen 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 off +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 off +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 lamb 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, 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? + +MARCELLUS 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 ’scapes not calumnious strokes: +The canker galls the infants of the spring +Too oft before their buttons be disclos’d, +And in the morn and liquid dew of youth +Contagious blastments are most imminent. +Be wary then, best safety lies in fear. +Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. + +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 judgement. +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, +Running 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 of a 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 fathoms 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 porpentine. +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. 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 desire 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, sayst 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 judgement +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 are 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 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 o’ 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 +aerie 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 judgements 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.—Prithee 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, much 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 villainous, 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 blessed are those +Whose blood and judgement 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 prithee, 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 judgements 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 mallecho; 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 judgement: and what judgement +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 prating 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 judgement, 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 hat 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 not 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 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 judgement, +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 judgement ’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 non 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 an 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, Lamord. + +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.—Prithee, +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 prithee 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. +Judgement. + +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 judgements, 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 + + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. London. A Room in the Palace. +Scene II. The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s. +Scene III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. Rochester. An Inn-Yard. +Scene II. The Road by Gads-hill. +Scene III. Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. +Scene IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. + +ACT III +Scene I. Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House. +Scene II. London. A Room in the Palace. +Scene III. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. + +ACT IV +Scene I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. +Scene II. A public Road near Coventry. +Scene III. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. +Scene IV. York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace. + +ACT V +Scene I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury. +Scene II. The Rebel Camp. +Scene III. Plain between the Camps. +Scene IV. Another Part of the Field. +Scene V. Another Part of the Field. + + + + +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, a friend to the archbishop of York. +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, +Ostler, Messengers, Servant, Travellers and Attendants. + +SCENE. England and Wales. + + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. + +Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland with +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 flow’rets 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, +Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ womb +To chase these pagans in those holy fields +Over whose acres walked those blessed feet +Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed +For our advantage on the bitter cross. +But this our purpose now is twelve month 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 the irregular and wild Glendower, +Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, +A thousand of his people butchered, +Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, +Such beastly shameless transformation, +By those Welshwomen done, as may not be +Without much shame retold or spoken of. + +KING. +It seems then that the tidings of this broil +Brake off our business for the Holy Land. + +WESTMORELAND. +This, matched 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, +Stained 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, +Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter see +On Holmedon’s plains; of prisoners Hotspur took +Mordake, Earl of Fife and eldest son +To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol, +Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. +And is not this an honourable spoil, +A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not? + +WESTMORELAND. +In faith, it is a conquest for a prince to boast of. + +KING. +Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak’st me sin +In envy that my Lord Northumberland +Should be the father to so blest a son, +A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue, +Amongst a grove the very straightest plant, +Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride; +Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, +See riot and dishonour stain the brow +Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved +That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged +In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, +And called 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 Sir John 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 clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials +the signs of leaping-houses, 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 Phœbus, he, that wand’ring knight +so fair. And I prithee, 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 sayest 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 +snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday +morning, got with swearing “Lay by” and spent with crying “Bring in”; +now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as +high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. + +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 called 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 prithee sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in +England when thou art king? And resolution thus fubbed 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 lugged bear. + +PRINCE. +Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. + +PRINCE. +What sayest 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 prithee +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 marked him +not, and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet he +talked 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 damned for never a king’s son in Christendom. + +PRINCE. +Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, 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 damned for keeping thy word with the devil. + +PRINCE. +Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. + +POINS. +But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early at Gad’s +Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and +traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visards for you all; +you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I +have bespoke supper tomorrow 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 hanged. + +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 +cam’st 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 prithee, 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 tomorrow. 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. +Yea, 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. +Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. + +POINS. +Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever +turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, +I’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 lives +the jest. + +PRINCE. +Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me +tomorrow 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, glitt’ring 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 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 and 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 he made me mad +To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet, +And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman +Of guns and drums and wounds, God save the mark! +And telling me the sovereignest thing on Earth +Was parmacety for an inward bruise, +And that it was great pity, so it was, +This villainous saltpetre should be digg’d +Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, +Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d +So cowardly, and but for these vile guns, +He would himself have been a soldier. +This bald 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 retold, +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 bare 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. + +[_Exit 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 ease my heart, +Albeit I make a hazard of my head. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile. +Here comes your uncle. + +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 in the dust, +But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer +As high in the air as this unthankful King, +As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +[_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 discontents +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 would 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 Gloucestershire. +’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, +’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh. + +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. I have done. + +WORCESTER. +Nay, if you have not, to it again, +We will 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, +The Archbishop. + +HOTSPUR. +Of York, is it 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 it. Upon my life it will do well. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Before the game is afoot thou still let’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 it 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 prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; 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 christen could be +better bit than I have been since the first cock. + +SECOND CARRIER. +Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan, and then we leak in your +chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach. + +FIRST CARRIER. +What, ostler! Come away and be hanged, 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. +God’s body! 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 deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a +very villain. Come, and be hanged. 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 prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith. + +GADSHILL. +I pray thee, lend me thine. + +SECOND CARRIER. +Ay, when? Canst tell? “Lend me thy lantern,” quoth he! Marry, I’ll see +thee hanged 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 +Mugs, we’ll call up the gentlemen. They will along with company, for +they have great charge. + +[_Exeunt Carriers._] + +GADSHILL. +What, ho! Chamberlain! + +Enter Chamberlain. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +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 layest the plot how. + +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 pray thee, 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 +knowest he is no starveling. Tut, there are other Troyans that thou +dream’st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the +profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into, +for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no +foot-land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad +mustachio purple-hued malt-worms, but with nobility and tranquillity, +burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will +strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner +than pray: and yet, zounds, 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 liquored her. We steal as in a castle, +cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, 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 removed Falstaff’s horse, and he frets +like a gummed velvet. + +PRINCE. +Stand close. + +[_They retire._] + +Enter Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! + +PRINCE. +[_Coming forward._] +Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! What a brawling dost thou keep! + +FALSTAFF. +Where’s Poins, Hal? + +PRINCE. +He is walked 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 square further afoot, 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 +years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal +have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged. 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 afoot with me, +and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon it +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 hanged! + +PRINCE. +[_Coming forward._] Peace, you fat guts, 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 my own flesh so far afoot 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 prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son. + +PRINCE. +Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler? + +FALSTAFF. +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 afoot 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 hanged. + +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. +Zounds, 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 hanged. + +PRINCE. +[_aside to Poins._] 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 the Travellers. + +FIRST TRAVELLER. +Come, neighbour, the boy shall lead our horses down the hill; we’ll +walk afoot awhile and ease our legs. + +THIEVES. +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 are 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 grandjurors, are ye? We’ll jure ye, faith. + +[_Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt_] + +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._] + +Enter the Thieves again. + +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 all 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. 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 fat rogue roared! + +[_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. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him +with his lady’s fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? Lord +Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not +besides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by +the ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward +already? 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 skim milk with so honourable an +action! Hang him, let him tell the King, we are prepared. I will set +forward tonight.— + +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 sit’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’ ransom, 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 afoot, I shall be weary, love. + +LADY PERCY. +Come, come, you paraquito, answer me +Directly unto this question that I ask. +In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, +If thou wilt not tell me all things 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 a-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 farther 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. +Today will I set forth, tomorrow 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, prithee, 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, “dyeing 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, clapped even now into my hand by an +underskinker, 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 prithee, +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 Pomegarnet, 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, sir. + +PRINCE. +How old art thou, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be— + +POINS. +[_within._] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, sir.—Pray, 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, 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 tomorrow, 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, not-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; the Drawer 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! + +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. + +Enter Francis. + +What’s o’clock, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +[_Exit Francis._] + +PRINCE. +That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet +the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs; 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 killed today?” “Give my roan horse a drench,” says he; and +answers, “Some fourteen,” an hour after; “a trifle, a trifle.” I +prithee, call in Falstaff. I’ll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall +play Dame Mortimer his wife. _Rivo!_ says the drunkard. Call in Ribs, +call in Tallow. + +Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto; followed by Francis with +wine. + +POINS. +Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? + +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 +Titan!), that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s? 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 lives not three good men +unhanged in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help +the while, a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing +psalms or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still. + +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. +Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab +thee. + +FALSTAFF. +I call thee coward? I’ll see thee damned ere I call thee coward, but I +would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are +straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back. Call +you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me +them that will face me.—Give me a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk +today. + +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 hacked like a handsaw. _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 set 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 peppered two of them. Two I am +sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, +if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my +old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram +let drive at me. + +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 afront, 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._] Prithee 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 clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, +thou whoreson, obscene greasy tallow-catch— + +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? Zounds, an I were 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. +’Sblood, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you +bull’s pizzle, you stock-fish—O, for breath to utter what is like thee! +You tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck— + +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, and 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 your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and +roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. +What a slave art thou to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say +it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou +now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? + +POINS. +Come, let’s hear, Jack, what trick hast thou now? + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear you, 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.—Hostess, clap to the doors. Watch tonight, pray tomorrow. +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. +Prithee 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. +Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hacked? + +PETO. +Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would swear truth out of +England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and +persuaded us to do the like. + +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 blushed 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 blushed extempore. Thou +hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’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. + +Enter Falstaff. + +Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature +of bombast? How long is’t ago, Jack, since thou sawest 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 Amamon the bastinado, and +made Lucifer cuckold, 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 +a-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. +A-horseback, ye cuckoo, but afoot 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 tonight; thy +father’s beard is turned white with the news. You may buy land now as +cheap as stinking mackerel. + +PRINCE. +Why then, it is like if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting +hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds. + +FALSTAFF. +By the mass, lad, thou sayest true. It is like we shall have good +trading that way. 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 tomorrow when thou comest to thy +father. If thou love me 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 asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take +purses? A question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou +hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of +pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth +the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in +drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words +only, but in woes also. And yet there 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 stuffed cloak-bag of guts, 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. But that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I +utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to +be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned. +If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be loved. +No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins, but for +sweet Jack Falstaff, 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. + +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 made 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 Peto._] + +Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. + +Now, master sheriff, what is 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 tomorrow dinner-time, +Send him to answer thee, or any man, +For anything 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 it be two o’clock. + +[_Exit Sheriff with the Carrier._] + +PRINCE. +This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth. + +PETO. +Falstaff!—Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. + +PRINCE. +Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. + +[_He searcheth his pocket, and findeth certain papers._] + +What hast thou found? + +PETO. +Nothing but papers, my lord. + +PRINCE. +Let’s see what they be. Read them. + +PETO. +[_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 halfpennyworth 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, +Peto. + +PETO. +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, 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 distemp’rature, +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 have 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 ’scapes 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. +The archdeacon hath divided it +Into three limits very equally: +England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, +By south and east is to my part assign’d: +All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, +And all the fertile land within that bound, +To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you +The remnant northward lying off from Trent. +And our indentures tripartite are drawn, +Which being sealed interchangeably, +A business that this night may execute, +Tomorrow, 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 Glendower._] 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 dammed up, +And here the smug and silver Trent shall run +In a new channel, fair and evenly. +It shall not wind with such a deep indent, +To rob me of so rich a bottom here. + +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 the 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 runs straight and even. + +HOTSPUR. +I’ll have it so, a little charge will do it. + +GLENDOWER. +I’ll not have it altered. + +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 ballad-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? + +GLENDOWER. +The moon shines fair, you may away by night. +I’ll 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 least nine hours +In reckoning up the several devils’ names +That were his lackeys: I cried “Hum,” and “Well, go to,” +But mark’d him not a word. O, he is 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 come 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-blame, +And since your coming hither have done enough +To put him quite besides 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. + +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’ll 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 is desperate here, a peevish self-willed 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 pourest 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 learnt 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 ’twixt 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, and those musicians that shall play to you +Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, +And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. + +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. +To the Welsh lady’s bed. + +LADY PERCY. +What’s that? + +HOTSPUR. +Peace, she sings. + +[_Here the lady sings a Welsh song._] + +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 you, 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 never walk’dst further than Finsbury. +Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, +A good mouth-filling oath, and leave “In sooth,” +And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, +To velvet-guards and Sunday citizens. +Come, sing. + +LADY 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 is 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 bare, 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 pickthanks and base newsmongers, +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 do 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 cap’ring 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 daily swallow’d by men’s eyes, +They surfeited with honey, and began +To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little +More than a little is by much too much. +So, when he had occasion to be seen, +He was but as the cuckoo is in June, +Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes +As, sick and blunted with community, +Afford no extraordinary gaze, +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, standest 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 Ravenspurgh, +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, +The Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, +Capitulate against us and are up. +But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? +Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, +Which art my nearest 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 favours 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, +To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf, +And I will call him to so strict account +That he shall render every glory up, +Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, +Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. +This in the name of God I promise here, +The which if He be pleased I shall perform, +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 hath the business that I come to speak of. +Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word +That Douglas and the English rebels met +The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury. +A mighty and a fearful head they are, +If promises be kept on every hand, +As ever offer’d foul play in a state. + +KING. +The Earl of Westmoreland set forth today, +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 Gloustershire; 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; went to a bawdy house not +above once in a quarter—in an hour; paid money that I borrowed—three or +four times; lived well and in good compass; and now I live out of all +order, out of all compass. + +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 ran’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 maintained 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 belly! + +FALSTAFF. +God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heartburnt. + +Enter the Hostess. + +How now, Dame Partlet the hen, have you enquired yet who picked my +pocket? + +HOSTESS. +Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John, do you think I keep thieves +in my house? I have searched, I have enquired, 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 picked. Go to, you are a woman, go. + +HOSTESS. +Who, I? No; I defy thee: God’s light, I was never called 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 picked? 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-up. ’Sblood, an he were here, I +would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so. + +Enter Prince Henry with Peto, marching. Falstaff meets him, 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. +Prithee, 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 +picked. This house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets. + +PRINCE. +What didst thou lose, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +Wilt thou believe me, Hal, three or four bonds of forty pound apiece +and a seal-ring of my grandfather’s. + +PRINCE. +A trifle, some eightpenny 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-mouthed 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 stewed 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? + +FALSTAFF. +What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on. + +HOSTESS. +I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it! I am an +honest man’s wife, and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave +to call me so. + +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 knowest, as thou art but man, I dare, but as thou art +prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion’s whelp. + +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. +O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, +there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; +it is all filled up with midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking +thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there +were anything in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy +houses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee +long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but +these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it, you will not +pocket up wrong. Art thou not ashamed! + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell, +and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou +seest I have more flesh than another man and therefore more frailty. +You confess, then, you picked 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 seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, 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 anything. + +FALSTAFF. +Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed +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, Peto, to horse, to horse, for thou and I +Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time. + +[_Exit Peto._] + +Jack, meet me tomorrow in the Temple hall +At two o’clock in the 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 we or they 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 do 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 is grievous sick. + +HOTSPUR. +Zounds, 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 bear his mind, not I, my lord. + +WORCESTER. +I prithee, 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, nor did he think it meet +To lay so dangerous and dear a trust +On any soul removed but on his own. +Yet doth he give us bold advertisement +That with our small conjunction we should on, +To see how fortune is 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, it is 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. 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 off’ring 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. +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 daffed the world aside +And bid it pass? + +VERNON. +All furnish’d, all in arms; +All plumed like estridges that with the wind +Bated 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 vaulted with such ease into his seat +As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds, +To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, +And witch the world with noble horsemanship. + +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 to 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’ tonight. + +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 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 me none but +good householders, yeomen’s sons, inquire me out contracted bachelors, +such as had been asked 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 pressed me +none but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger +than pins’ heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my +whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of +companies—slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the +glutton’s dogs licked his sores; and such as indeed were never +soldiers, but discarded unjust servingmen, 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 fazed 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 pressed the dead bodies. No eye +hath seen such scarecrows. I’ll not march through Coventry with them, +that’s flat. Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs as if +they had gyves on, for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. +There’s not a shirt and a half in all my company, and the half shirt is +two napkins tacked together and thrown over the shoulders like a +herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen +from my host at Saint Albans, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. +But that’s all one; they’ll find linen enough on every hedge. + +Enter Prince Henry and the Lord of 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 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 learned 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 encamped? + +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 tonight. + +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 tonight. + +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 tomorrow in the battle +Which of us fears. + +DOUGLAS. +Yea, or tonight. + +VERNON. +Content. + +HOTSPUR. +Tonight, 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 today, +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 Ravenspurgh; +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 mine 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 maybe 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. +Tomorrow, 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 is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. + +ARCHBISHOP. +No, Mortimer is not there. + +SIR MICHAEL. +But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, +And there is 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 bulky hill! The day looks pale +At his distemp’rature. + +PRINCE. +The southern wind +Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, +And by his hollow whistling in the leaves +Foretells a tempest and a blust’ring 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 it? Will you again unknit +This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, +And move in that obedient orb again +Where you did give a fair and natural light, +And be no more an 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? 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 show’ring 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’s bird, +Useth the sparrow—did oppress our nest, +Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk +That even our love durst 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 us 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 your 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 ’twere 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 in that word, “honour”? What is that +“honour”? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ +Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be hear it? No. ’Tis 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 and 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 the excuse of youth and heat of blood, +And an adopted name of privilege— +A hare-brain’d Hotspur, govern’d by a spleen. +All his offences live upon my head +And on his father’s. We did train him on, +And, his corruption being ta’en from us, +We as the spring of all shall pay for all. +Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know +In any case the offer of the King. + +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 now forswearing that he is forsworn. +He calls us rebels, traitors, and will scourge +With haughty arms this hateful name in us. + +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 today +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 a 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 the arrival of an hour. +And 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. + +The King enters with his power. Alarum to the battle. Then enter +Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt. + +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 today 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 upon 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, whither 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 solus. + +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 prithee +Lend me thy sword. + +FALSTAFF. +O Hal, I prithee 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 prithee, 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._] + +PRINCE. +What, is it 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 prithee, Harry, withdraw thyself, thou bleedest too much. +Lord John of Lancaster, go you with 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._] + +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, and defend thyself. + +DOUGLAS. +I fear thou art another counterfeit, +And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king. +But mine I am sure thou art, whoe’er thou be, +And thus I win thee. + +They fight; the King being in danger, 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 mak’st 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 +The insulting hand of Douglas over you, +Which would have been as speedy in your end +As all the poisonous potions in the world, +And 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. + +Enter Douglas. He fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were +dead, and exit Douglas. The Prince kills Hotspur. + +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 slaves 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 today, +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 rises up. + +FALSTAFF. +Embowell’d! If thou embowel me today, I’ll give you leave to powder me +and eat me too tomorrow. ’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. Zounds, 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 +killed 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 back._] + +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 on the ground.—Art thou alive? +Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight? +I prithee, 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, zounds, 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 us to the 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 today, +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 falls 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 valours shown upon our crests today +Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, +Even in the bosom of our adversaries. + +LANCASTER. +I thank your Grace for this high courtesy, +Which I shall give away immediately. + +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 + + + + +Contents + + INDUCTION + + ACT I + Scene I. The same. + Scene II. London. A street. + Scene III. York. The Archbishop’s palace. + + ACT II + Scene I. London. A street. + Scene II. London. Another street. + Scene III. Warkworth. Before the castle. + Scene IV. The Boar’s head Tavern in Eastcheap. + + ACT III + Scene I. Westminster. The palace. + Scene II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice Shallow’s house. + + ACT IV + Scene I. Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest. + Scene II. Another part of the forest. + Scene III. Another part of the forest. + Scene IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber. + Scene V. Another chamber. + + ACT V + Scene I. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s house. + Scene II. Westminster. The palace. + Scene III. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s orchard. + Scene IV. London. A street. + Scene V. A public place near Westminster Abbey. + + EPILOGUE + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +RUMOUR, the Presenter. +KING HENRY the Fourth. +HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards King Henry the Fifth. +THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE. +PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER. +PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER. +EARL OF WARWICK. +EARL OF WESTMORELAND. +EARL OF SURREY. +GOWER. +HARCOURT. +SIR JOHN BLUNT. +Lord CHIEF JUSTICE of the King’s Bench. +A SERVANT of the Chief Justice. +Henry Percy, Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND. +Scroop, ARCHBISHOP of York. +Lord MOWBRAY. +Lord HASTINGS. +LORD BARDOLPH. +SIR JOHN COLEVILLE. +TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland. +SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. +His Page. +BARDOLPH. +PISTOL. +POINS. +PETO. +SHALLOW and SILENCE, country justices. +DAVY, Servant to Shallow. +MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and BULLCALF, recruits. +FANG and SNARE, sheriff’s officers. + +LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. +LADY PERCY. +MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. +DOLL TEARSHEET. + +Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Musicians, Beadles, Grooms, etc. + +A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. + +SCENE: England. + + + + +INDUCTION + + +Warkworth. Before the 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 enmity +Under the smile of safety wounds the world. +And who but Rumour, who but only I, +Make fearful musters and prepared 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. The same. + +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 follow’d and so fairly won, +Came not till now to dignify the times +Since Caesar’s fortunes! + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +How is this derived? +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 render’d me these news for true. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent +On Tuesday last to listen after news. + +Enter Travers. + +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 horsed, +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 stolen +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 shakest thy head and hold’st it fear or sin +To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so. +The tongue offends not that reports his death; +And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, +Not he which says the dead is not alive. +Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news +Hath but a losing office, and his tongue +Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, +Remember’d 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 outbreathed, +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 steel’d, +Which once in him abated, all 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-weaken’d joints, +Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, +Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire +Out of his keeper’s arms, even so my limbs, +Weaken’d with grief, being now enraged 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’ enraged Northumberland! +Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature’s hand +Keep the wild flood confined! Let order die! +And let this world no longer be a stage +To feed contention in a lingering act; +But let one spirit of the first-born 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 presurmise +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 advised his flesh was capable +Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit +Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged. +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 ventured, for the gain proposed +Choked 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 powers. He is a man +Who with a double surety binds his followers. +My lord your son had only but the corpse, +But shadows and the shows of men, to fight; +For that same word, “rebellion” did divide +The action of their bodies from their souls, +And they did fight with queasiness, 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. +Supposed 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, scraped 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 wiped 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 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 tends +to laughter more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only +witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk +before thee like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If +the Prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me +off, why then I have no judgement. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art +fitter to be worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never +manned with an agate till now, but I will 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 damned like the glutton! Pray God his tongue be hotter! A +whoreson Achitophel! A rascally yea-forsooth knave, to bear a gentleman +in hand, and then stand upon security! The whoreson smooth-pates do now +wear nothing but high shoes and bunches of keys at their girdles; and +if a man is 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 looked he 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 a 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 manned, horsed, and wived. + +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 robbery? + +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 lie 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 hanged. 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 returned 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 fallen 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 fallen 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 advised 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-healed wound. Your day’s service at +Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night’s exploit on Gad’s +Hill. You may thank th’ unquiet time for your quiet o’er-posting 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, 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 I hope he that looks upon +me will take me without weighing. And yet in some respects, I grant, I +cannot go. I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these +costermongers’ times that true valour is turned bearherd; pregnancy is +made a tapster, and hath 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, I 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 halloing and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I +will not. The truth is, I am only old in judgement 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 checked 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 severed you and Prince Harry. 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 he 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 perceived 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, the Lords Hastings, Mowbray and 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 arms, +But gladly would be better satisfied +How in our means we should advance ourselves +To look with forehead bold and big enough +Upon the power and puissance of the King. + +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 judgement is, we should not step too far +Till we had his assistance by the hand; +For in a theme so bloody-faced 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 lined himself with hope, +Eating the air on 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 leap’d 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 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 him at the 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 ’gainst 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 lived, 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 accursed! +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, following. + +HOSTESS. +Master Fang, have you entered the action? + +FANG. +It is entered. + +HOSTESS. +Where’s your yeoman? Is ’t a lusty yeoman? Will he 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 entered 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 stabbed me in mine own house, and +that most beastly, in good faith. He 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 he 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. He 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 entered, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be +brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor lone +woman to bear, and I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been +fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this 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. Yonder he comes, and that arrant malmsey-nose +knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices, Master +Fang and Master Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. + +Enter Falstaff, Bardolph and Page. + +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 villain’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 +honeyseed rogue, thou art a honeyseed, 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 wo’t, wo’t thou? Thou wo’t, +wo’t ta? Do, do, thou rogue! Do, thou hempseed! + +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 o’ nights like the 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 a +singing-man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing +thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny +it? Did not 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 downstairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity +with such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam? +And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I +put thee now to thy book-oath. Deny it, if thou canst. + +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, practised 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 villany +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 remembered, 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. + +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 +waterwork, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangers and these +fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an +’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, Fang, Snare, Bardolph and Page._] + +CHIEF JUSTICE. +I have heard better news. + +FALSTAFF. +What’s the news, my lord? + +CHIEF JUSTICE. +Where lay the King tonight? + +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 attached 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 tomorrow! or to +take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast—viz. these, and +those that were thy peach-coloured ones! or to bear the inventory of +thy shirts, as, one for superfluity, and 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 +roadway 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. He had him from me Christian, and +look if the fat villain have not transformed 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. +He 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 ale-wife’s new petticoat and +so peeped 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. + +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 hanged 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. +Delivered 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 wen to be as familiar with me as my dog, and he holds +his place, for look you how he writes. + +POINS. +[_Reads_.] “John Falstaff, knight,” Every man must know that, as oft as +he has occasion to name himself: even like those that are kin to the +King, for they 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 to +the letter: “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! “I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity.” + +POINS. +He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded. + +PRINCE. +“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 tonight 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, +Today 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 suffer’d. So came I a widow, +And never shall have length of life enough +To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, +That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven +For recordation to my noble husband. + +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 two Drawers. + +FIRST DRAWER. +What the devil hast thou brought there—applejohns? Thou knowest Sir +John cannot endure an applejohn. + +SECOND DRAWER. +Mass, thou sayest true. The Prince once set a dish of applejohns 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 angered him to the heart. But he hath forgot +that. + +FIRST DRAWER. +Why then, cover, and set them down, and see if thou canst find out +Sneak’s noise. Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch. +The room where they supped is too hot, they’ll come in straight. + +SECOND DRAWER. +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. + +FIRST DRAWER. +By the mass, here will be old utis. It will be an excellent stratagem. + +SECOND DRAWER. +I’ll see if I can find out Sneak. + + [_Exit._] + +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 First Drawer_.]—[_Singing_.] “And was a worthy king.” +How now, Mistress Doll! + +HOSTESS. +Sick of a calm, yea, good faith. + +FALSTAFF. +So is all her sect; an 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 charged 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 hogshead? There’s a whole +merchant’s venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk +better stuffed in the hold. Come, I’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. + +Enter First Drawer. + +FIRST DRAWER. +Sir, Ancient Pistol’s below, and would speak with you. + +DOLL. +Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither: it is the +foul-mouthed’st 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 lived 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 our ancient swaggerer 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 Dumb, our minister, was by +then—“Neighbour Quickly,” says he, “receive those that are civil, for,” +said he “you are in an ill name.” Now he 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 swaggerers. + +FALSTAFF. +He’s no swaggerer, 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 First Drawer._] + +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 +swaggerers. + +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 damned 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 earned 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 stewed +prunes and dried cakes. A captain? God’s light, these villains will +make the word as odious as the word “occupy,” which was an excellent +good word before it was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look +to’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 +revenged of her. + +PAGE. +Pray thee go down. + +PISTOL. +I’ll see her damned first to Pluto’s damned 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 Trojant 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 downstairs. I cannot endure such a fustian +rascal. + +PISTOL. +Thrust him downstairs? Know we not Galloway nags? + +FALSTAFF. +Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling. Nay, an he do +nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here. + +BARDOLPH. +Come, get you downstairs. + +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 +Untwind 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 downstairs. + + [_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 Bardolph and Pistol._] + +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 he made a shrewd thrust at +your belly. + +Enter Bardolph. + +FALSTAFF. +Have you turned him out o’ 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 darest for thy heart. An thou dost, I’ll canvass thee +between a pair of sheets. + +Enter Music. + +PAGE. +The music is come, sir. + +FALSTAFF. +Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal bragging +slave! The rogue fled from me like quicksilver. + +DOLL. +I’ faith, and thou followedst him like a church. Thou whoreson little +tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting 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; he would have made a good pantler; he +would ha’ chipped 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 he plays at quoits well, +and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles’ ends for +flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon +joint stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears his boots very +smooth like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds no bate with telling +of discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties he has that show a +weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince 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 withered elder hath not his poll clawed 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 o’ Thursday; +shalt have a cap tomorrow. A merry song! Come, it grows late, we’ll to +bed. Thou’lt forget me when I am gone. + +DOLL. +By my troth, thou’lt set me a-weeping an thou sayest 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. + + [_Coming forward._] + +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. + +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 Gad’s Hill. 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 pantler 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 dispraised 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 pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is +Lucifer’s privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. +For the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil outbids him +too. + +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 damned 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 victuallers 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. + + [Peto _knocks at door._] + +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, +Bareheaded, sweating, knocking at the taverns, +And asking everyone 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 unpicked. +[_Knocking within_.] More knocking at the door? + +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 called on. +Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent away post, I will see you +again ere I go. + +DOLL. +I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burst—well, sweet Jack, +have a care of thyself. + +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 Doll; come. She comes blubbered. 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 frighted thee, +That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down +And steep my senses in forgetfulness? +Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, +Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, +And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, +Than in the perfumed 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 leavest 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 distemper’d, +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 chance’s mocks +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 brimful of tears, +Then check’d and rated by Northumberland, +Did speak these words, now proved 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 deceased; +The which observed, 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 received +A certain instance that Glendower is dead. +Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill, +And these unseason’d hours perforce must add +Unto your sickness. + +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, a Servant or two with them. + +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 bedfellow? 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. +He 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 called “lusty Shallow” then, cousin. + +SHALLOW. +By the mass, I was called anything, and I would have done anything +indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of +Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and Will +Squele, a Cotswold man. You had not four such swinge-bucklers in all +the Inns o’ 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, a 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 he was a crack not thus high; and the very same day +did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray’s Inn. +Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of 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! He drew a good bow, and dead! He shot a fine shoot. +John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead! +He would have clapped 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? + +SILENCE. +Here come two of Sir John Falstaff’s men, as I think. + +Enter Bardolph and one with him. + +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 backsword 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 he may be thought to be accommodated; which is +an excellent thing. + +SHALLOW. +It is very just. + +Enter Falstaff. + +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, so. Yea, marry, sir: Ralph +Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let +me see; where is Mouldy? + +MOULDY. +Here, an it please you. + +SHALLOW. +What think you, Sir John? A good-limbed 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 used. + +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 pricked 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 pricked 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 to 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’ pricked 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 pricked? + +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 called 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, good 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, Shallow and Silence._] + +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 hanged, sir, as go. And yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not +care; but rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a +desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own +part, so much. + +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. + +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 till 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 served 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. He shall charge you and discharge you with the motion +of a pewterer’s hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets on +the brewer’s bucket. And this same half-faced fellow, Shadow; give me +this man. He presents no mark to the enemy. The foeman may with as +great aim level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat, how +swiftly will this Feeble, the woman’s tailor, run off! O, give me the +spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart’s +hand, Bardolph. + +BARDOLPH. +Hold, Wart. Traverse. Thas, thas, thas. + +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 he would manage you +his piece thus. And he would about and about, and come you in and come +you in. “Rah, tah, tah,” would he say. “Bounce” would he say; and away +again would he go, and again would he come. I shall 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 tonight. 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, I would you would, Master Shallow. + +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 Bardolph, recruits, &c._] As I return, I +will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow. +Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This same +starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildness of +his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull Street, and every +third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk’s tribute. I do +remember him at Clement’s Inn, like a man made after supper of a +cheese-paring. When he was naked, he was, for all the world, like a +forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife. +He was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were +invincible. He was the very genius of famine, yet lecherous as a +monkey, and the whores called him mandrake. He came ever in the +rearward of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutched +huswives 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 he ne’er saw him but once in the +tilt-yard, and then he burst his head for crowding among the marshal’s +men. I saw it and told John 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 +beefs. 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. Gaultree Forest. + +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 received +New-dated letters from Northumberland, +Their cold intent, tenor, 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 retired, 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 countenanced 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 boisterous 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 diseased, +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 enforced 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. +Whenever 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 forged rebellion with a seal divine +And consecrate commotion’s bitter edge? + +ARCHBISHOP. +My brother general, the commonwealth, +To brother born 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 restored +To all the Duke of Norfolk’s signories, +Your noble and right well rememb’red father’s? + +MOWBRAY. +What thing, in honour, had my father lost, +That need to be revived and breathed in me? +The King that loved 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 smiled? +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 graced, 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 insinew’d to this action, +Acquitted by a true substantial form +And present execution of our wills +To us and to our purposes confined, +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 difference 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 loss +To new remembrance. For full well he knows +He cannot so precisely weed this land +As his misdoubts present occasion. +His foes are so enrooted with his friends +That, plucking to unfix an enemy, +He doth unfasten so and shake a friend. +So that this land, like an offensive wife +That hath enraged him on to offer strokes, +As he is striking, holds his infant up +And hangs resolved 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 assured, 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. + +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, +and Westmoreland; Officers, and others with them. + +LANCASTER. +You are well encounter’d here, my cousin Mowbray. +Good day to you, gentle Lord Archbishop; +And so to you, Lord Hastings, and to all. +My Lord of York, it better show’d with you +When that your flock, assembled by the bell, +Encircled you to hear with reverence +Your exposition on the holy text +Than now to see you here an iron man, +Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, +Turning the word to sword, and life to death. +That man that sits within a monarch’s heart, +And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, +Would he abuse the countenance of the king, +Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach +In shadow of such greatness! With you, Lord Bishop, +It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken +How deep you were within the books of God, +To us the speaker in his parliament, +To us th’ imagined voice of God himself, +The very opener and intelligencer +Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, +And our dull workings? O, who shall believe +But you misuse the reverence of your place, +Employ the countenance and grace of heaven +As a false favourite doth his prince’s name, +In deeds dishonourable? You have 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 misorder’d doth, in common sense, +Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form +To hold our safety up. I sent your Grace +The parcels and particulars of our grief, +The which hath been with scorn shoved 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 cured, +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. + +LANCASTER. +You are too shallow, Hastings, much too 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. + +LANCASTER. +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. + +LANCASTER. +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 tomorrow.” + +ARCHBISHOP. +Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. + +MOWBRAY. +So much the worse, if your own rule be true. + + [_Shouts within._] + +LANCASTER. +The word of peace is render’d. 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 subdued, +And neither party loser. + +LANCASTER. +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 coped withal. + +ARCHBISHOP. +Go, good Lord Hastings, +And, ere they be dismiss’d, let them march by. + + [_Exit Hastings._] + +LANCASTER. +I trust, lords, we shall lie tonight together. + +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. + +LANCASTER. +They know their duties. + +Enter Hastings. + +HASTINGS. +My lord, our army is dispersed already. +Like youthful steers unyoked, 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? + +LANCASTER. +I pawn’d thee none. +I promised 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 scattr’d stray: +God, and not we, hath safely fought today. +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 Colevile, meeting. + +FALSTAFF. +What’s your name, sir? Of what condition are you, and of what place, I +pray? + +COLEVILE. +I am a knight, sir, and my name is Colevile of the Dale. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, then, Colevile is your name, a knight is your degree, and your +place the Dale. Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your +degree, and the dungeon your place, a place deep enough; so shall you +be still Colevile of the Dale. + +COLEVILE. +Are not you Sir John Falstaff? + +FALSTAFF. +As good a man as he, sir, whoe’er I am. Do ye yield, sir, or shall I +sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are the drops of thy lovers, and +they weep for thy death. Therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do +observance to my mercy. + +COLEVILE. +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. + +LANCASTER. +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 foundered nine score and odd posts; and +here, travel-tainted as I am, have in my pure and immaculate valour, +taken Sir John Colevile of the Dale, a most furious knight and valorous +enemy. But what of that? He saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say, +with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, “I came, saw, and overcame.” + +LANCASTER. +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 booked with the rest of this day’s deeds, or, by the Lord, I +will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the +top on’t, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course if I be +enforced, 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. + +LANCASTER. +Thine’s too heavy to mount. + +FALSTAFF. +Let it shine, then. + +LANCASTER. +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. + +LANCASTER. +Is thy name Colevile? + +COLEVILE. +It is, my lord. + +LANCASTER. +A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. + +FALSTAFF. +And a famous true subject took him. + +COLEVILE. +I am, my lord, but as my betters are +That led me hither. Had they been ruled 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. + +Enter Westmoreland. + +LANCASTER. +Now, have you left pursuit? + +WESTMORELAND. +Retreat is made and execution stay’d. + +LANCASTER. +Send Colevile with his confederates +To York, to present execution. +Blunt, lead him hence, and see you guard him sure. + + [_Exeunt Blunt and others with Colevile._] + +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. + +LANCASTER. +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 puffed up with this +retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris. So +that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it +a-work; and learning a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack +commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince +Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his +father he hath, like lean, sterile and bare land, manured, husbanded +and tilled with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of +fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a +thousand sons, the first 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 tempering 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, Warwick, Thomas Duke of Clarence and Humphrey Duke of +Gloucester 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 collected, +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? + +GLOUCESTER. +I think he’s gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. + +KING. +And how accompanied? + +GLOUCESTER. +I do not know, my lord. + +KING. +Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him? + +GLOUCESTER. +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 observed, +He hath a tear for pity, and a hand +Open as day for melting charity: +Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he’s flint, +As humorous as winter, and as sudden +As flaws congealed in the spring of day. +His temper therefore must be well observed. +Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, +When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth; +But, being moody, give him time 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 today; 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 opposed 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 looked upon and learned; which once attained, +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 I 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 unsheathed, +But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. +The manner how this action hath been borne +Here at more leisure may your Highness read, +With every course in his particular. + +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +The people fear me, for they do observe +Unfather’d heirs and loathly births of nature. +The seasons change their manners, as the year +Had found some months asleep and leap’d them over. + +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +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. 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? + +GLOUCESTER. +Exceeding ill. + +PRINCE. +Heard he the good news yet? Tell it him. + +GLOUCESTER. +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 disposed 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 divorced +So many English kings. Thy due from me +Is tears and heavy sorrows of the blood, +Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, +Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously. +My due from thee is this imperial crown, +Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, +Derives itself to me. Lo, 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! + +Enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence and the rest. + +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. + +GLOUCESTER. +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 piled up +The canker’d heaps of strange-achieved gold; +For this they have been thoughtful to invest +Their sons with arts and martial exercises; +When, like the bee, tolling from every flower +The virtuous sweets, +Our thighs pack’d with wax, our mouths with honey, +We bring it to the hive; and like the bees, +Are murdered for our pains. This bitter taste +Yields his engrossments to the ending father. + +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? + +Enter Prince Henry. + +Lo where he comes. Come hither to me, Harry. +Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. + + [_Exeunt Warwick and the rest._] + +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 stolen that which after some few hours +Were thine without offence, and at my death +Thou hast seal’d up my expectation. +Thy life did manifest thou loved’st me not, +And thou wilt have me die assured 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! 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 murder’d my father, +The quarrel of a true inheritor. +But if it did infect my blood with joy, +Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride, +If any rebel or vain spirit of mine +Did with the least affection of a welcome +Give entertainment to the might of it, +Let God for ever keep it from my head +And make me as the poorest vassal is +That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! + +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 boisterous hand, +And I had many living to upbraid +My gain of it by their assistances, +Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, +Wounding supposed peace. All these bold fears +Thou 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 purchased, +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 advanced +And by whose power I well might lodge a fear +To be again displaced; 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 Lord John of Lancaster and others. + +KING. +Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. + +LANCASTER. +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! + +Enter Warwick and others. + +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 supposed 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 tonight. +What, Davy, I say! + +FALSTAFF. +You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow. + +SHALLOW. +I will not excuse you, you shall not be excused. Excuses shall not be +admitted, there is no excuse shall serve, you shall not be excused. +Why, Davy! + +Enter Davy. + +DAVY. +Here, sir. + +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 excused. + +DAVY. +Marry, sir, thus: those precepts cannot be served; and again, sir—shall +we sow the hade land 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. +He shall answer it. Some pigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged hens, +a joint of mutton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William +cook. + +DAVY. +Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? + +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 served your worship truly, sir, this eight years; and if I cannot +once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest man, I +have but a very little credit with your worship. The knave is mine +honest friend, sir; therefore I beseech your worship let him be +countenanced. + +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; and welcome, my +tall fellow [_to the Page_]. 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 he shall laugh without intervallums. O, it +is much that a lie with a slight oath and a jest with a sad brow will +do with a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall +see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up! + +SHALLOW. +[_Within_.] Sir John! + +FALSTAFF. +I come, Master Shallow, I come, Master Shallow. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Westminster. The palace. + +Enter Warwick and the Lord Chief Justice, meeting. + +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 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. + +LANCASTER. +Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good morrow. + +GLOUCESTER & CLARENCE. +Good morrow, cousin. + +LANCASTER. +We meet like men that had forgot to speak. + +WARWICK. +We do remember, but our argument +Is all too heavy to admit much talk. + +LANCASTER. +Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy! + +CHIEF JUSTICE. +Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! + +GLOUCESTER. +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. + +LANCASTER. +Though no man be assured 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 assured, +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. + +PRINCES. +We hope no otherwise from your Majesty. + +KING. +You all look strangely on me. And you most; +You are, I think, assured I love you not. + +CHIEF JUSTICE. +I am assured, if I be measured 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 the 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 judgement; +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 profaned, +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 used 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-practised wise directions. +And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you, +My father is gone wild into his grave, +For in his tomb lie my affections; +And with his spirit sadly I survive +To mock the expectation of the world, +To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out +Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down +After my seeming. The tide of blood in me +Hath proudly flow’d in vanity till now. +Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea, +Where it shall mingle with 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 remember’d, all our state: +And, God consigning to my good intents, +No prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, +God shorten Harry’s happy life one day! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s orchard. + +Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Davy, Bardolph and the Page. + +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 a 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 all, + 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. + +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 thee, 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, [_to the Page_] 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’ll 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. He will not out, he. ’Tis true bred. + +BARDOLPH. +And I’ll stick by him, sir. + +SHALLOW. +Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing! Be merry. + + [_Knocking within._] + +Look who’s at door there, ho! Who knocks? + + [_Exit Davy._] + +FALSTAFF. +[_To Silence, seeing him take off 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. + +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 he 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 foutre 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 therefor. + +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, Besonian? Speak, or die. + +SHALLOW. +Under King Harry. + +PISTOL. +Harry the Fourth, or Fifth? + +SHALLOW. +Harry the Fourth. + +PISTOL. +A foutre 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 hanged. 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 killed about her. + +DOLL. +Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie! Come on, I’ll tell thee what, thou damned +tripe-visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert +better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced 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 swinged for this, you bluebottle rogue, you filthy famished +correctioner, if you be not swinged, 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 starved 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. A public place near Westminster Abbey. + +Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. + +FIRST GROOM. +More rushes, more rushes. + +SECOND GROOM. +The trumpets have sounded twice. + +FIRST 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. 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 he 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. O, if I had had time 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, +Haled 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. 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 becomes 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 awaked, 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 tenor of our word. +Set on. + + [_Exeunt King with 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. + +Enter the Lord Chief Justice and Prince John, Officers with them. + +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._] + +LANCASTER. +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. + +LANCASTER. +The King hath call’d his parliament, my lord. + +CHIEF JUSTICE. +He hath. + +LANCASTER. +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, pleased the King. +Come, will you hence? + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +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 promised you I would be, and here I commit my body to your +mercies. Bate me some, and I will pay you some, and, as most debtors +do, promise you infinitely. + +If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to +use my legs? And yet that were but light payment, to dance out of your +debt. But a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and so +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 cloyed with fat +meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in it, +and make you merry with fair Katharine of France; where, for anything I +know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with +your hard opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the +man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will bid you good +night. + + + + +THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH + + +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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Westminster Abbey + Scene II. France. Before Orleans + Scene III. London. Before the Tower + Scene IV. Orleans + Scene V. Before Orleans + Scene VI. Orleans + + ACT II + SCENE I. Before Orleans + SCENE II. Orleans. Within the town + SCENE III. Auvergne. The Countess’s castle + SCENE IV. London. The Temple Garden + SCENE V. The Tower of London + + ACT III + SCENE I. London. The Parliament House + SCENE II. France. Before Rouen + SCENE III. The plains near Rouen + SCENE IV. Paris. The Palace + + ACT IV + SCENE I. Paris. The Palace + SCENE II. Before Bordeaux + SCENE III. Plains in Gascony + SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony + SCENE V. The English camp near Bordeaux + SCENE VI. A field of battle + SCENE VII. Another part of the field + + ACT V + SCENE I. London. The Palace + SCENE II. France. Plains in Anjou + SCENE III. Before Angiers + SCENE IV. Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou + SCENE V. London. The royal palace + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY the Sixth +DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, uncle to the King, and Protector +DUKE OF BEDFORD, uncle to the King, and Regent of France +DUKE OF EXETER, (Thomas Beaufort), great-uncle to the King +BISHOP OF WINCHESTER (Henry Beaufort), great-uncle to the King, +afterwards Cardinal +DUKE OF SOMERSET (John Beaufort) +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 FASTOLF +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 +Mortimer’s JAILERS + +CHARLES, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France +REIGNIER, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples +DUKE OF BURGUNDY +DUKE OF ALENÇON +BASTARD OF ORLEANS +Governor of Paris +MASTER GUNNER of Orleans and BOY, his son +General of the French forces in Bordeaux +A French Sergeant. +A Porter +An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle + +MARGARET, daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry +COUNTESS OF AUVERGNE +JOAN LA PUCELLE, commonly called Joan of Arc + +Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, +and Attendants. + +Fiends appearing to Joan la Pucelle + +SCENE: Partly in England and partly in France + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. 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, the Duke of Somerset with Heralds, &c. + +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 judgement-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 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, Champaigne, Rheims, Rouen, 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 lingering 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. + +[_He exits._] + +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 to them another Messenger. + +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 Alençon flieth to his side. + +[_He exits._] + +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 another Messenger. + +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? + +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 Fastolf 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 wrack 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. + +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 all Europe quake. + +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. + +[_He exits._] + +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. +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 II. France. Before Orleans + +Sound a Flourish. Enter Charles, Alençon 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. + +ALENÇON. +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 fly. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Here alarum; they are beaten back by the English, with great loss. +Re-enter Charles, Alençon 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. + +ALENÇON. +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. + +ALENÇON. +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 amazed, 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 pleased +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 promised and assured success. +In complete glory she reveal’d herself; +And, whereas I was black and swart before, +With those clear rays which she infused on me +That beauty am I blest 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 prepared. Here is my keen-edg’d sword, +Deck’d with five flower-de-luces on each side, +The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine’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 subdued. +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. + +ALENÇON. +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? + +ALENÇON. +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 over 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’s 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? + +ALENÇON. +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 immortalized. + +CHARLES. +Presently we’ll try. Come, let’s away about it. +No prophet will I trust if she prove false. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. London. Before the Tower. + +Enter the Duke of Gloucester with his Servingmen 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 SERVINGMAN. +It is the noble Duke of Gloucester. + +SECOND WARDER. +[_Within_.] Whoe’er he be, you may not be let in. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +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. +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. +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. + +SERVINGMEN. +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 Humphrey! 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 dared 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’ll 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. +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 will 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 Servingmen._] + +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 IV. Orleans. + +Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and his Boy. + +MASTER GUNNER. +Sirrah, thou know’st how Orleans is besieged, +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 ruled 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 placed +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, on the turrets, Salisbury and Talbot, 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 Duke of Bedford had a prisoner +Call’d the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles; +For him was I exchanged 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 desired. +But O, the treacherous Fastolf 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 produced 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 were spread +That they supposed 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 endured, +But we will be revenged 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 battery 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 contrived 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! +Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? +Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. +Bear hence his body; I will help to bury it. + +[_Exeunt some with the body of Gargrave._] + +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 thy 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 revenged. +Frenchmen, I’ll be a Salisbury to you. +Pucelle or puzel, dolphin or dogfish, +Your hearts I’ll stamp out with my horse’s heels +And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. +Convey we Salisbury into his tent, +And then we’ll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. + +[_Alarum. Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Before Orleans. + +Here an alarum again, and Talbot pursueth the Dauphin and driveth him; +then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her, and exit +after them. Then re-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 enter’d into Orleans, +In spite of us or aught that we could do. +O, would I were to die with Salisbury! +The shame hereof will make me hide my head. + +[_Exit Talbot. Alarum; retreat._] + +SCENE VI. Orleans. + +Flourish. Enter on the walls La Pucelle, Charles, Reignier, Alençon and +Soldiers. + +PUCELLE. +Advance our waving colours on the walls; +Rescued 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 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. + +ALENÇON. +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 I. Before Orleans. + + +Enter a Sergeant of a band, with 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. + +TALBOT. +Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy, +By whose approach the regions of Artois, +Walloon and Picardy are friends to us, +This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, +Having all day caroused 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 practice 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. + +SENTINEL. +Arm! Arm! The enemy doth make assault! + +[_Cry: “St George,” “A Talbot!”_] + +The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter several ways the +Bastard of Orleans, Alençon and Reignier, half ready and half unready. + +ALENÇON. +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. + +ALENÇON. +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. + +ALENÇON. +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 Alençon, this was your default, +That, being captain of the watch tonight, +Did look no better to that weighty charge. + +ALENÇON. +Had all your quarters been as safely kept +As that whereof I had the government, +We had not been thus shamefully surprised. + +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, scattered and dispersed, +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 II. 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. + +Dead March. Enter with the body of Salisbury. + +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 tonight. +And that hereafter ages may behold +What ruin happen’d in revenge of him, +Within their chiefest temple I’ll erect +A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr’d; +Upon the which, that everyone may read, +Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, +The treacherous manner of his mournful death +And what a terror he had been to France. + +[_Exit Funeral._] + +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 vapors of the night, +Am sure I scared 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 unto a peaceful comic sport, +When ladies crave to be encounter’d 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 over-ruled. +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, it is 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 III. Auvergne. The Countess’s 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. + +[_Exit._] + +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 desired, +By message craved, 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 the Talbot, so much fear’d abroad +That with his name the mothers still their babes? +I see report is fabulous and false. +I thought I should have seen some Hercules, +A second Hector, for his grim aspect, +And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. +Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf! +It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp +Should strike such terror to his enemies. + +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. + +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. + +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 practice 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 deceived, 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 gather’d 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 IV. 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 judgement; +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. +Unless my study and my books be false, + +[_To Somerset._] + +The argument you held was wrong in law; +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 restored, 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 ripen’d 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. +Ah, 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 braved and must perforce endure it! + +WARWICK. +This blot that they object against your house +Shall be wiped 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 today, +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, gentlemen. +Come, let us four to dinner. I dare say +This quarrel will drink blood another day. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. The Tower of London. + +Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and Jailers. + +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 gray 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 wither’d vine +That droops his sapless branches to the ground. +Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, +Unable to support this lump of clay, +Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, +As witting I no other comfort have. +But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? + +FIRST JAILER. +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 obscured, +Deprived 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 expired, +That so he might recover what was lost. + +Enter Richard Plantagenet. + +FIRST JAILER. +My lord, your loving nephew now is come. + +MORTIMER. +Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? + +PLANTAGENET. +Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, +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 despised? + +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 used 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 flowering 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, +Deposed 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 moved these warlike lords to this +Was, for that—young King Richard thus removed, +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 labored 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, derived +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 removed. +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 Jailers, bearing out the body of Mortimer._] + +Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, +Choked 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 mine ill th’ advantage of my good. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. London. The Parliament House. + + +Flourish. Enter King, Exeter, Gloucester, the Bishop of Winchester, +Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Somerset, Suffolk, and others. +Gloucester offers to put up a bill. Winchester snatches it, tears it. + +WINCHESTER. +Com’st thou with deep premeditated lines, +With written pamphlets studiously devised, +Humphrey of Gloucester? If thou canst accuse +Or aught intend’st to lay unto my charge, +Do it without invention, suddenly; +As I with sudden and extemporal speech +Purpose to answer what thou canst object. + +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 forged, 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 are 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 provoked? +No, my good lords, it is not that offends; +It is not that that hath incensed 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. + +GLOUCESTER. +Roam thither, then. + +WARWICK. +My lord, it were your duty to forbear. + +SOMERSET. +Ay, so the bishop be not overborne. +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 Mayor. + +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 Servingmen in skirmish with bloody pates. + +KING HENRY. +We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, +To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace. +Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we’ll fall to it with our teeth. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +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 SERVINGMAN. +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 slaughter’d by thy foes. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +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 stern 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 SERVINGMAN. +Content. I’ll to the surgeon’s. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +And so will I. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +And I will see what physic the tavern affords. + +[_Exeunt Servingmen, Mayor, &c._] + +WARWICK. +Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign, +Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet +We do exhibit to your Majesty. + +GLOUCESTER. +Well urged, 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 recompensed. + +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 forged love, +And will at last break out into a flame; +As festered members rot but by degree +Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, +So will this base and envious discord breed. +And now I fear that fatal prophecy +Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth +Was in the mouth of every sucking babe: +That Henry born at Monmouth should win all, +And Henry born at Windsor lose all, +Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish +His days may finish ere that hapless time. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. France. Before Rouen. + +Enter La Pucelle with four Soldiers 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, la 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. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, Reignier and forces. + +CHARLES. +Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem, +And once again we’ll sleep secure in Rouen. + +BASTARD. +Here enter’d Pucelle and her practisants; +Now she is there, how will she specify +Here is the best and safest passage in? + +REIGNIER. +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 enter’d. + +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 Talbonites. + +[_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! + +REIGNIER. +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 escaped 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, +Alençon, 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 will you do, good graybeard? 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? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; +If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. + +[_The English 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, Alençon, and the rest; +Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? + +ALENÇON. +Seignieur, no. + +TALBOT. +Seignieur, 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. +Goodbye, 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 all but Bedford and Attendants._] + +An alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolf and a Captain. + +CAPTAIN. +Whither away, Sir John Fastolf, in such haste? + +FASTOLF. +Whither away? To save myself by flight. +We are like to have the overthrow again. + +CAPTAIN. +What! Will you fly, and leave Lord Talbot? + +FASTOLF. +Ay, +All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. + +[_Exit._] + +CAPTAIN. +Cowardly knight, ill fortune follow thee! + +[_Exit._] + +Retreat. Excursions. La Pucelle, Alençon 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. Enter Talbot, Burgundy and the rest. + +TALBOT. +Lost, and recover’d 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 wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. + +TALBOT. +But yet, before we go, let’s not forget +The noble Duke of Bedford late deceased, +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 III. The plains near Rouen. + +Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, 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 ruled. + +CHARLES. +We have been 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. + +ALENÇON. +We’ll set thy statue in some holy place, +And have thee reverenced 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 sugar’d 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. + +ALENÇON. +For ever should they be expulsed from France, +And not have title 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._] + +There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread, +And all the troops of English after him. + +[_French march._] + +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! + +Enter 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 defaced +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 batter’d me like roaring cannon-shot, +And made me almost yield upon my knees. +Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen! +And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace. +My forces and my power of men are yours. +So, farewell, Talbot; I’ll no longer trust thee. + +PUCELLE. +[_Aside_.] Done like a Frenchman: turn and turn again. + +CHARLES. +Welcome, brave Duke! Thy friendship makes us fresh. + +BASTARD. +And doth beget new courage in our breasts. + +ALENÇON. +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 IV. Paris. The Palace. + +Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, Exeter, York, Warwick +and Vernon; Suffolk, Somerset, 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 I. Paris. The Palace. + + +Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of Winchester, Talbot, Exeter, York, +and Warwick; Suffolk, Somerset, 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, +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! + +Enter Sir John Fastolf. + +FASTOLF. +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 surprised 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 Fastolf._] + +And now, my Lord Protector, view the letter +Sent from our uncle, Duke of Burgundy. + +GLOUCESTER. +What means his Grace, that he hath changed 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, +Moved with compassion of my country’s wrack, +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 +Argued 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 provoked 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 ashamed +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 provoked +To willful 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 anyone 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, Alençon, and that traitorous rout. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt all but York, Warwick, Exeter and 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 imagined or supposed. +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 sees it doth presage some ill event. +’Tis much when scepters are in children’s hands; +But more when envy breeds unkind division: +There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Before Bordeaux. + +Enter Talbot with trump and drum. + +TALBOT. +Go to the gates of Bordeaux, trumpeter. +Summon their general unto the wall. + +Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others aloft. + +English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, +Servant in arms to Harry King of England; +And thus he would: Open your city gates, +Be humble to us, call my sovereign yours, +And do him homage as obedient subjects, +And I’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. +Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, +Our nation’s terror and their bloody scourge! +The period of thy tyranny approacheth. +On us thou canst not enter but by death; +For, I protest, we are well fortified +And strong enough to issue out and fight. +If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, +Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee. +On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch’d +To wall thee from the liberty of flight; +And no way canst thou turn thee for redress +But Death doth front thee with apparent spoil, +And pale Destruction meets thee in the face. +Ten thousand French have ta’en the sacrament +To rive their dangerous artillery +Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. +Lo, there thou stand’st, a breathing valiant man +Of an invincible unconquer’d spirit. +This is the latest glory of thy praise +That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; +For ere the glass, that now begins to run, +Finish the process of his sandy hour, +These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, +Shall see thee wither’d, bloody, pale, and dead. + +[_Drum afar off._] + +Hark, hark, the Dauphin’s drum, a warning bell, +Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul, +And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. + +[_Exeunt General, etc._] + +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, +Mazed 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 III. Plains in Gascony. + +Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter York with trumpet and many +soldiers + +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. + +[_Exit._] + +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 sunder’d friends greet in the hour of death. +Lucy, farewell. No more my fortune can +But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. +Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, +Long all of Somerset and his delay. + +[_Exit, with his soldiers._] + +LUCY. +Thus, while the vulture of sedition +Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, +Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss +The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, +That ever-living man of memory, +Henry the Fifth. Whiles they each other cross, +Lives, honours, lands, and all hurry to loss. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Other plains in Gascony. + +Enter Somerset with his army; a Captain 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. + +CAPTAIN. +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 lingering, looks for rescue, +You, his false hopes, the trust of England’s honour, +Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. +Let not your private discord keep away +The levied succours that should lend him aid, +While he, renowned noble gentleman, +Yield up his life unto a world of odds. +Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, +Alençon, 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 V. 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 revived +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 TALBOT. +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 TALBOT. +He that flies so will ne’er return again. + +TALBOT. +If we both stay, we both are sure to die. + +JOHN TALBOT. +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, everyone 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 preserved with infamy. + +TALBOT. +Shall all thy mother’s hopes lie in one tomb? + +JOHN TALBOT. +Ay, rather than I’ll shame my mother’s womb. + +TALBOT. +Upon my blessing, I command thee go. + +JOHN TALBOT. +To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. + +TALBOT. +Part of thy father may be saved in thee. + +JOHN TALBOT. +No part of him but will be shame in me. + +TALBOT. +Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. + +JOHN TALBOT. +Yes, your renowned name; shall flight abuse it? + +TALBOT. +Thy father’s charge shall clear thee from that stain. + +JOHN TALBOT. +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 TALBOT. +And shall my youth be guilty of such blame? +No more can I be sever’d from your side +Than can yourself yourself in twain divide. +Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; +For live I will not, if my father die. + +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 VI. A field of battle. + +Alarum. Excursions, wherein Talbot’s son is hemmed 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 rescued thee from death. + +JOHN TALBOT. +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 determined 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-faced victory. Then leaden age, +Quicken’d with youthful spleen and warlike rage, +Beat down Alençon, 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 today die not with Frenchmen’s rage, +Tomorrow 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 saved if thou wilt fly away. + +JOHN TALBOT. +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 desperate sire of Crete, +Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet. +If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side, +And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. 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 perceived me shrink and on my knee, +His bloody sword he brandish’d over me, +And like a hungry lion did commence +Rough deeds of rage and stern impatience; +But when my angry guardant stood alone, +Tendering my ruin and assail’d of none, +Dizzy-ey’d fury and great rage of heart +Suddenly made him from my side to start +Into the clustering battle of the French; +And in that sea of blood my boy did drench +His over-mounting spirit; and there died +My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. + +SERVANT. +O my dear lord, lo where your son is borne! + +Enter soldiers, with the body of young Talbot. + +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-favour’d 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 today. +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, Alençon, 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 encounter’d 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 and a French Herald. + +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 magnifiest with all these titles +Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. + +LUCY. +Is Talbot slain, the Frenchman’s only scourge, +Your kingdom’s terror and black Nemesis? +O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn’d, +That I in rage might shoot them at your faces! +O, that I could but call these dead to life! +It were enough to fright the realm of France. +Were but his picture left 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 putrify 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 I. London. The Palace. + + +Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester and Exeter. + +KING HENRY. +Have you perused 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 Winchester in Cardinal’s habit, a 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 resolved +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. +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 Legate._] + +WINCHESTER. +Stay my lord legate; you shall first receive +The sum of money which I promised +Should be deliver’d 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 II. France. Plains in Anjou. + +Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alençon, 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. + +ALENÇON. +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 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 accursed. +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 III. 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 speed 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. Burgundy and York fight hand to hand. The French fly. La +Pucelle is taken. + +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 light on Charles and thee! +And may ye both be suddenly surprised +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 com’st 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! 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? +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. +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. +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. +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. +There all is marr’d; there lies a cooling card. + +MARGARET. +He talks at random; sure, the man is mad. + +SUFFOLK. +And yet a dispensation may be had. + +MARGARET. +And yet I would that you would answer me. + +SUFFOLK. +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. +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. +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. +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. +Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French; +And then I need not crave his courtesy. + +SUFFOLK. +Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause. + +MARGARET. +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 scepter 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. + +A parley sounded. 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 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 solemnized. +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. [_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 placed 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 IV. Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou. + +Enter York, Warwick and others. + +YORK. +Bring forth that sorceress condemn’d to burn. + +Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. + +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, as please you, ’tis not so; +I did beget her, all the parish knows. +Her mother liveth yet, can testify +She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. + +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 a-field, +I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee! +Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? +O, burn her, burn her! Hanging is too good. + +[_Exit._] + +YORK. +Take her away, for she hath lived too long, +To fill the world with vicious qualities. + +PUCELLE. +First, let me tell you whom you have condemn’d: +Not one 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 effused, +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 faggots, 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 deceived; my child is none of his. +It was Alençon that enjoy’d my love. + +YORK. +Alençon, that notorious Machiavel! +It dies and if it had a thousand lives. + +PUCELLE. +O, give me leave, I have deluded you. +’Twas neither Charles nor yet the Duke I named, +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 Bishop of Winchester as Cardinal, attended. + +WINCHESTER. +Lord Regent, I do greet your Excellence +With letters of commission from the King. +For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, +Moved with remorse of these outrageous broils, +Have earnestly implored 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, Alençon, 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. + +WINCHESTER. +Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: +That, in regard King Henry gives consent, +Of mere compassion and of lenity, +To ease your country of distressful war, +And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, +You shall become true liegemen to his crown. +And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear +To pay him tribute and submit thyself, +Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, +And still enjoy the regal dignity. + +ALENÇON. +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 reverenced 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 +Used 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. +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. + +ALENÇON. +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 V. London. The royal 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 rigor 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 chaste 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 dower, my lords? Disgrace not so your king, +That he should be so abject, base, and poor, +To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. +Henry is able to enrich his queen, +And not to seek a queen to make him rich; +So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, +As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. +Marriage is a matter of more worth +Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; +Not whom we will, but whom his Grace affects, +Must be companion of his nuptial bed. +And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, +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 assured, +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 + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. London. The palace + Scene II. The Duke of Gloucester’s House + Scene III. London. The palace + Scene IV. Gloucester’s Garden + + ACT II + SCENE I. Saint Albans + SCENE II. London. The Duke of York’s Garden + SCENE III. A Hall of Justice + SCENE IV. A Street + + ACT III + SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund’s + SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund’s. A Room of State + SCENE III. A Bedchamber + + ACT IV + SCENE I. The Coast of Kent + SCENE II. Blackheath + SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath + SCENE IV. London. The Palace + SCENE V. London. The Tower + SCENE VI. London. Cannon Street + SCENE VII. London. Smithfield + SCENE VIII. Southwark + SCENE IX. Kenilworth Castle + SCENE X. Kent. Iden’s Garden + + ACT V + SCENE I. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath + SCENE II. Saint Albans + SCENE III. Fields near Saint Albans + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY THE SIXTH +MARGARET, Queen to King Henry +Humphrey, Duke of GLOUCESTER, his uncle +ELEANOR, Duchess of Gloucester +CARDINAL Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King + +DUKE OF SOMERSET +DUKE OF SUFFOLK +DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM +LORD CLIFFORD +YOUNG CLIFFORD, his son +VAUX + +Richard Plantagenet, Duke of YORK +EDWARD and RICHARD, his sons +EARL OF SALISBURY +EARL OF WARWICK + +THOMAS HORNER, an armourer +PETER THUMP, his man +JOHN HUME, a priest +JOHN SOUTHWELL, a priest +Margery JOURDAIN, a witch +ROGER BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer +SIMPCOX, an impostor +Wife to Simpcox +Mayor of Saint Albans +SIR JOHN STANLEY +Two Murderers +A LIEUTENANT +MASTER +Master’s-Mate +Walter WHITMORE +Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk + +Jack CADE, a rebel +George BEVIS +John HOLLAND +DICK the butcher +SMITH the weaver +MICHAEL, etc., followers of Cade +CLERK of Chartham +SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD +WILLIAM STAFFORD, his brother +LORD SCALES +LORD SAYE +MATTHEW GOUGH +Alexander IDEN, a Kentish gentleman + +Lords, Ladies, and Attendants, Petitioners, Aldermen, a Herald, a +Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers, Citizens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, +Soldiers, Messengers, &c. + +A Spirit + +SCENE: England. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. London. The palace + + +Flourish of trumpets, then hautboys. Enter the King, 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 Alençon, +Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend bishops, +I have performed my task and was espoused, +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 marquess gave, +The fairest queen that ever king received. + +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 MARGARET. +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 alderliefest sovereign, +Makes me the bolder to salute my King +With ruder terms, such as my wit affords +And overjoy of heart doth minister. + +KING HENRY. +Her sight did ravish, but her grace in speech, +Her words yclad with wisdom’s majesty, +Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys, +Such is the fulness of my heart’s content. +Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. + +ALL. +[_Kneeling_.] Long live Queen Margaret, England’s happiness! + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 dimmed 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 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 expired.—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 performed. + +[_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, +Received 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 conquered 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 +Delivered 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 staid in France, and starved 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 displeased 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 hoist 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 displaced, 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 feared and honoured 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 pleased +To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter. +I cannot blame them all. What is’t to them? +’Tis thine they give away, and not their own. +Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage, +And purchase friends, and give to courtesans, +Still revelling like lords till all be gone; +Whileas 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 shared 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 bargained 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 Nevilles’ 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 fallen at jars. +Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, +With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed, +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 pulled fair England down. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The Duke of Gloucester’s House + +Enter Duke Humphrey of Gloucester and his wife Eleanor. + +ELEANOR. +Why droops my lord, like over-ripened 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 fixed to the sullen earth, +Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? +What seest thou there? King Henry’s diadem, +Enchased 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 heaved 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 hour 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. + +ELEANOR. +What dreamed 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 placed 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. + +ELEANOR. +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 are crowned, +Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneeled to me +And on my head did set the diadem. + +GLOUCESTER. +Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright. +Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, +Art thou not second woman in the realm, +And the Protector’s wife, beloved 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! + +ELEANOR. +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 checked. + +GLOUCESTER. +Nay, be not angry, I am pleased again. + +Enter Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +My Lord Protector, ’tis his highness’ pleasure +You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans, +Whereas the King and Queen do mean to hawk. + +GLOUCESTER. +I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? + +ELEANOR. +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! + +ELEANOR. +What sayst thou? Majesty! I am but grace. + +HUME. +But, by the grace of God, and Hume’s advice, +Your grace’s title shall be multiplied. + +ELEANOR. +What sayst thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferred +With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, +With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? +And will they undertake to do me good? + +HUME. +This they have promised, to show your highness +A spirit raised from depth of underground, +That shall make answer to such questions +As by your Grace shall be propounded him. + +ELEANOR. +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’ wrack, +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 Peter and Petitioners. + +1 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. + +2 PETITIONER. +Marry, the Lord protect him, for he’s a good man! Jesu bless him! + +Enter Suffolk and Queen. + +1 PETITIONER. +Here he comes, methinks, and the Queen with him. I’ll be the first, +sure. + +2 PETITIONER. +Come back, fool! This is the Duke of Suffolk and not my Lord Protector. + +SUFFOLK. +How now, fellow; wouldst anything with me? + +1 PETITIONER. +I pray, my lord, pardon me, I took ye for my Lord Protector. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Reading_.] “To my Lord Protector.” Are your supplications to his +lordship? Let me see them. What is thine? + +1 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! + +2 PETITIONER. +Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. + +PETER. +[_Giving his petition_.] Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying +that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +What sayst 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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, +Is this the fashion in the court of England? +Is this the government of Britain’s isle, +And this the royalty of Albion’s king? +What, shall King Henry be a pupil still +Under the surly 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 atilt 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 MARGARET. +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 Nevilles; +Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 avenged 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 limed a bush for her +And placed 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, Gloucester, Cardinal Beaufort, +Somerset, Buckingham, Salisbury, York, 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 demeaned himself in France, +Then let him be denied 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 preferred in this. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +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 prevailed beyond the seas, +And all the peers and nobles of the realm +Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. + +CARDINAL. +The commons hast thou racked; 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 MARGARET. +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 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? + +ELEANOR. +Was’t I! Yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman. +Could I come near your beauty with my nails, +I’d set my ten commandments in your face. + +KING HENRY. +Sweet aunt, be quiet; ’twas against her will. + +ELEANOR. +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 unrevenged. + +[_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._] + +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 danced attendance on his will +Till Paris was besieged, famished, 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 accused of treason. +Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself! + +YORK. +Doth anyone 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 accused by the villain. + +PETER. +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 hanged. + +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. Gloucester’s Garden + +Enter the Witch Margery Jourdain, the two Priests, Hume, 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, Hume following. + +ELEANOR. +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 hallowed verge. + +[_Here they do the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; +Bolingbroke or Southwell reads_ “Conjuro te”, _etc. It thunders and +lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth._] + +SPIRIT. +_Adsum_. + +M. JOURDAIN. +Asnath, +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. +[_Reads_.] _What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?_ + +SPIRIT. +By water shall he die and take his end. + +BOLINGBROKE. +[_Reads_.] _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 their Guard, and +Sir Humphrey Stafford, and break in. + +YORK. +Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. +Beldam, I think we watched 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 guerdoned for these good deserts. + +ELEANOR. +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 call you this? +Away with them! Let them be clapped up close +And kept asunder.—You, madam, shall with us.— +Stafford, take her to thee. + +[_Exit Stafford._] + +[_Exeunt above, Duchess and Hume, guarded._] + +We’ll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. +All, away! + +[_Exeunt guard with Jourdain, Southwell, Bolingbroke, etc._] + +YORK. +Lord Buckingham, methinks you watched 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 attained, 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. + +[_Exit Buckingham._] + +Who’s within there, ho! + +Enter a Servingman. + +Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick +To sup with me tomorrow night. Away! + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Saint Albans + + +Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, Cardinal and Suffolk with Falconers +hallooing. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 tower 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 Protectorship. + +GLOUCESTER. +Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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. +[_Aside to Cardinal_.] Are ye advised? The east side of the grove? + +CARDINAL. +[_Aside to Gloucester_.] 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 Alban’s shrine, +Within this half hour, hath received his sight, +A man that ne’er saw in his life before. + +KING HENRY. +Now, God be praised, 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, Simpcox’s Wife 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 restored? + +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 MARGARET. +Tell me, good fellow, cam’st thou here by chance, +Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? + +SIMPCOX. +God knows, of pure devotion; being called +A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, +By good Saint Alban, who said “Simpcox, come, +Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.” + +WIFE. +Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft +Myself have heard a voice to call him so. + +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 desired 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. +Sayst 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. +Sander Simpcox, an if it please you, master. + +GLOUCESTER. +Then, Sander, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou +hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well have known all our names as +thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of +colours; but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible.—My lords, +Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his +cunning to be great that could restore this cripple to his legs again? + +SIMPCOX. +O master, that you could! + +GLOUCESTER. +My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and +things called 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 a Townsman._] + +GLOUCESTER. +Now fetch me a stool hither by and by.—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 MARGARET. +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 whipped through every market town +Till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. + +[_Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, etc._] + +CARDINAL. +Duke Humphrey has done a miracle today. + +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 practised 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. +[_Aside to Gloucester_.] And so, my Lord Protector, by this means +Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. +This news, I think, hath turned 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 vanquished all my powers, +And, vanquished as I am, I yield to thee, +Or to the meanest groom. + +KING HENRY. +O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones, +Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 loved 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 conversed 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; +Tomorrow 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 title, +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 Nevilles 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 reigned as king, +Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, +The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, +Crowned by the name of Henry the Fourth, +Seized on the realm, deposed 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 reigned. + +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, Philippa, 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 son +To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third’s fifth son. +By her I claim the kingdom; she was heir +To Roger, Earl of March, who was the son +Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippa, +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 proceeding 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 crowned, and that my sword be stained +With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; +And that’s not suddenly to be performed, +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 snared 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, Neville, 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. A Hall of Justice + +Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, Gloucester, York, Suffolk +and Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloucester, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, +Hume and Bolingbroke under guard. + +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 adjudged 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. + +ELEANOR. +Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death. + +GLOUCESTER. +Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee. +I cannot justify whom the law condemns. + +[_Exeunt 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 beloved +Than when thou wert Protector to thy king. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 e’er 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 MARGARET. +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 banished, and a limb lopped 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 MARGARET. +Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore +Left I the court to see this quarrel tried. + +KING HENRY. +I’ 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 sandbag fastened to it; and at the other door Peter, +his man, with a drum and sandbag, and Prentices drinking to him. + +1 NEIGHBOUR. +Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack; and fear not, +neighbour, you shall do well enough. + +2 NEIGHBOUR. +And here, neighbour, here’s a cup of charneco. + +3 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! + +1 PRENTICE. +Here, Peter, I drink to thee, and be not afraid. + +2 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 downright blow! + +YORK. +Dispatch! This knave’s tongue begins to double. +Sound, trumpets. Alarum to the combatants! + +[_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 prevailed 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 revealed to us +The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, +Which he had thought to have murdered wrongfully. +Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. + +[_Sound a flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A Street + +Enter Gloucester and his Servingmen 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? + +SERVINGMEN. +Ten, my lord. + +GLOUCESTER. +Ten is the hour that was appointed me +To watch the coming of my punished 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-stained 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. + +SERVINGMEN. +So please your Grace, we’ll take her from the sheriff. + +GLOUCESTER. +No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by. + +ELEANOR. +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. + +ELEANOR. +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, +Mailed up in shame, with papers on my back, +And followed 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 ruled 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 limed bushes to betray thy wings; +And fly thou how thou canst, they’ll tangle thee. +But fear not thou until thy foot be snared, +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 wiped 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 asked 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. + +ELEANOR. +What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell? + +GLOUCESTER. +Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. + +[_Exeunt Gloucester and Servingmen._] + +ELEANOR. +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 wished 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 used according to your state. + +ELEANOR. +That’s bad enough, for I am but reproach; +And shall I then be used reproachfully? + +STANLEY. +Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey’s lady; +According to that state you shall be used. + +ELEANOR. +Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare, +Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. + +SHERIFF. +It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. + +ELEANOR. +Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged. +Come, Stanley, shall we go? + +STANLEY. +Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet, +And go we to attire you for our journey. + +ELEANOR. +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. Edmund’s + + +Sound a sennet. Enter the King, the Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, 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 MARGARET. +Can you not see, or will ye not observe +The strangeness of his altered 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 admired him for submission. +But meet him now, and be it in the morn +When everyone 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 feared 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 wronged 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 brain-sick 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 MARGARET. +Ah, what’s more dangerous than this fond affiance? +Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrowed, +For he’s disposed as the hateful raven. +Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him, +For he’s inclined as is the ravenous wolves. +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 staid 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, stayed 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 robbed the soldiers of their pay, +Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. +So help me God, as I have watched 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 asked 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 defamed 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 fleeced poor passengers, +I never gave them condign punishment. +Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured +Above the felon or what trespass else. + +SUFFOLK. +My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered; +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 choked with foul ambition, +And charity chased hence by rancour’s hand; +Foul subornation is predominant, +And equity exiled 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 plucked 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 stirred 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 couched, +As if she had suborned some to swear +False allegations to o’erthrow his state? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +But I can give the loser leave to chide. + +GLOUCESTER. +Far truer spoke than meant. I lose, indeed. +Beshrew the winners, for they played 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 Gloucester, guarded._] + +KING HENRY. +My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best +Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +What, will your highness leave the parliament? + +KING HENRY. +Ay, Margaret; my heart is drowned 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 proved thee false or feared 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 strains, +Bearing it to the bloody slaughterhouse, +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 naught but wail her darling’s loss, +Even so myself bewails good Gloucester’s case +With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimmed 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.” + +[_Exeunt all but Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk and York; Somerset +remains apart._] + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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, rolled in a flowering bank, +With shining checkered 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 condemned 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 MARGARET. +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 accused 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 proved an enemy to the flock, +Before his chaps be stained with crimson blood, +As Humphrey, proved 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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +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 employed; +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 stayed 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 charactered on thy skin; +Men’s flesh preserved so whole do seldom win. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 proved far worse than his. + +YORK. +What, worse than naught? 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 performed. +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-faced fear keep with the mean-born man +And find no harbour in a royal heart. +Faster than springtime showers comes thought on thought, +And not a thought but thinks on dignity. +My brain, more busy than the labouring spider +Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. +Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, +To send me packing with an host of men; +I fear me you but warm the starved snake, +Who, cherished in your breasts, will sting your hearts. +’Twas men I lacked, and you will give them me; +I take it kindly, yet be well assured +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 seduced a headstrong Kentishman, +John Cade of Ashford, +To make commotion, as full well he can, +Under the title of John Mortimer. +In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade +Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, +And fought so long till that his thighs with darts +Were almost like a sharp-quilled porpentine; +And in the end being rescued, I have seen +Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, +Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. +Full often, like a shag-haired crafty kern, +Hath he conversed with the enemy, +And undiscovered 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, racked, and tortured, +I know no pain they can inflict upon him +Will make him say I moved 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 sowed. +For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, +And Henry put apart, the next for me. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund’s. A Room of State + +Enter two or three Murderers running over the stage, from the murder of +Duke Humphrey. + +1 MURDERER. +Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know +We have dispatched the Duke as he commanded. + +2 MURDERER. +O that it were to do! What have we done? +Didst ever hear a man so penitent? + +Enter Suffolk. + +1 MURDERER. +Here comes my lord. + +SUFFOLK. +Now, sirs, have you dispatched this thing? + +1 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? + +1 MURDERER. +’Tis, my good lord. + +SUFFOLK. +Away, be gone! + +[_Exeunt Murderers._] + +Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset +with attendants. + +KING HENRY. +Go, call our uncle to our presence straight; +Say we intend to try his grace today +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 approved in practice culpable. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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. + +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 MARGARET. +Marry, God forfend! + +CARDINAL. +God’s secret judgment! I did dream tonight +The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word. + +[_The King swoons._] + +QUEEN MARGARET. +How fares my lord? Help, lords! the King is dead. + +SOMERSET. +Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes! + +SUFFOLK. +He doth revive again. Madam, be patient. + +KING HENRY. +O heavenly God! + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 powers, +And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, +By crying comfort from a hollow breast, +Can chase away the first-conceived sound? +Hide not thy poison with such sugared 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 eyeballs 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 MARGARET. +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 judged I made the Duke away; +So shall my name with slander’s tongue be wounded +And princes’ courts be filled with my reproach. +This get I by his death. Ay me, unhappy! +To be a queen, and crowned with infamy! + +KING HENRY. +Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man! + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 wracked 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 cursed the gentle gusts +And he that loosed 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 refused to drown me, +Knowing that thou wouldst have me drowned on shore +With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness. +The splitting rocks cowered 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 received it, +And so I wished 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 called 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 commenced in burning Troy! +Am I not witched 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 murdered +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 calmed 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. + +[_Warwick exits through one door; Salisbury and Commons exit through +another._] + +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 unfeeling; +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? + +Enter Warwick and others, bearing Gloucester’s body on a bed. + +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 eyeballs further out than when he lived, +Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; +His hair upreared, his nostrils stretched with struggling, +His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasped +And tugged for life and was by strength subdued. +Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; +His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, +Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged. +It cannot be but he was murdered 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 vowed 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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where’s your knife? +Is Beaufort termed 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 MARGARET. +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 wronged her lord so much, +Thy mother took into her blameful bed +Some stern untutored churl, and noble stock +Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art, +And never of the Nevilles’ 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 murderous coward, on thy knee +Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech +And say it was thy mother that thou meant’st, +That thou thyself wast 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 armed that hath his quarrel just, +And he but naked, though locked up in steel, +Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. + +[_A noise within._] + +QUEEN MARGARET. +What noise is this? + +Enter Suffolk and Warwick with their weapons drawn. + +KING HENRY. +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 traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury +Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. + +Enter Salisbury. + +SALISBURY. +[_To the Commons, entering_.] +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 lingering death. +They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died; +They say, in him they fear your highness’ death; +And mere instinct of love and loyalty, +Free from a stubborn opposite intent, +As being thought to contradict your liking, +Makes them thus forward in his banishment. +They say, in care of your most royal person, +That if your highness should intend to sleep +And charge that no man should disturb your rest, +In pain of your dislike or pain of death, +Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, +Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, +That slyly glided towards your majesty, +It were but necessary you were waked, +Lest, being suffered in that harmful slumber, +The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal. +And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, +That they will guard you, whe’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 unpolished hinds, +Could send such message to their sovereign. +But you, my lord, were glad to be employed, +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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch! +Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemies? + +SUFFOLK. +A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them? +Could curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan, +I would invent as bitter searching terms, +As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear, +Delivered strongly through my fixed teeth, +With full as many signs of deadly hate, +As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave. +My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words; +Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; +Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract; +Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban; +And even now my burdened 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 murdering 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 MARGARET. +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 banished 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 MARGARET. +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 mightst think upon these by the seal, +Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee! +So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; +’Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by, +As one that surfeits thinking on a want. +I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, +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 condemned +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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +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 lived 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 MARGARET. +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 MARGARET. +And take my heart with thee. + +SUFFOLK. +A jewel, locked 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 MARGARET. +This way for me. + +[_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE III. A 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 Cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, +Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. +He dies and makes no sign. O God, forgive him! + +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, Suffolk, +disguised, a prisoner. The Master, a Master’s Mate, Walter Whitmore, +and 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. + +1 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 counterpoised with such a petty sum! + +1 GENTLEMAN. +I’ll give it, sir, and therefore spare my life. + +2 GENTLEMAN. +And so will I, and write home for it straight. + +WHITMORE. +[_To Suffolk_.] I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, +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 starts 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 Gaultier, being rightly sounded. + +WHITMORE. +Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not. +Never yet did base dishonour blur our name +But with our sword we wiped away the blot. +Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, +Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, +And I proclaimed 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 disguised, 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 kissed 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, kneeled down at the board, +When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? +Remember it, and let it make thee crestfallen, +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. +Yes, poll! + +SUFFOLK. +Pole! + +LIEUTENANT. +Pool! Sir Pool! Lord! +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 kissed the Queen shall sweep the ground; +And thou that smiledst 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, overgorged +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, surprised our forts, +And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. +The princely Warwick, and the Nevilles 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-faced 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. +_Pene 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? + +1 GENTLEMAN. +My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. + +SUFFOLK. +Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough, +Used 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 uncovered 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 +Murdered sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand +Stabbed Julius Caesar; savage islanders +Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. + +[_Exeunt Whitmore and others 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 1 Gentleman._] + +Enter Whitmore with Suffolk’s body and head. + +WHITMORE. +There let his head and lifeless body lie, +Until the Queen his mistress bury it. + +[_Exit._] + +1 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. + +BEVIS. +Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have been up +these two days. + +HOLLAND. +They have the more need to sleep now, then. + +BEVIS. +I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, +and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. + +HOLLAND. +So he had need, for ’tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry +world in England since gentlemen came up. + +BEVIS. +O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen. + +HOLLAND. +The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. + +BEVIS. +Nay, more, the King’s Council are no good workmen. + +HOLLAND. +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. + +BEVIS. +Thou hast hit it; for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a +hard hand. + +HOLLAND. +I see them! I see them! There’s Best’s son, the tanner of Wingham. + +BEVIS. +He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make dog’s leather of. + +HOLLAND. +And Dick the butcher. + +BEVIS. +Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity’s throat cut like a +calf. + +HOLLAND. +And Smith the weaver. + +BEVIS. +Argo, their thread of life is spun. + +HOLLAND. +Come, come, let’s fall in with them. + +Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the Weaver and a Sawyer with +infinite numbers carrying long staves. + +CADE. +We, John Cade, so termed 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 pedler’s daughter, and sold many laces. + +SMITH. +[_Aside_.] But now of late, not able to travel with her furred 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_.] He must needs; for beggary is valiant. + +CADE. +I am able to endure much. + +DICK. +[_Aside_.] No question of that; for I have seen him whipped 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-hooped pot shall have ten hoops, and I will make it felony to +drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside +shall my palfrey go to grass. And when I am king, as king I will be— + +ALL. +God save your majesty! + +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 scribbled o’er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings, but I +say ’tis the bee’s wax; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was +never mine own man since. How now? Who’s there? + +Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chartham. + +SMITH. +The clerk of Chartham. He can write and read and cast account. + +CADE. +O, monstrous! + +SMITH. +We took him setting of boys’ copies. + +CADE. +Here’s a villain! + +SMITH. +H’as 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 confessed. Away with him! He’s a villain and a traitor. + +CADE. +Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about his neck. + +[_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 encountered +with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight, is he? + +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 his Brother with Drum and soldiers. + +STAFFORD. +Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, +Marked for the gallows, lay your weapons down; +Home to your cottages, forsake this groom. +The King is merciful, if you revolt. + +BROTHER. +But angry, wrathful, and inclined 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, +Over 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. + +BROTHER. +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. + +BROTHER. +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 stolen 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. + +BROTHER. +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 Saye’s head for selling the +dukedom of Maine. + +CADE. +And good reason, for thereby is England mained and fain to go with a +staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that +that Lord Saye 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. + +BROTHER. +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 hanged 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 behaved’st thyself +as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughterhouse. 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 deservest no less. This monument of the +victory will I bear. [_putting on Sir Humphrey’s brigandine_] 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 Saye. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside_.] 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 MARGARET. +[_Aside_.] Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face +Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me, +And could it not enforce them to relent +That were unworthy to behold the same? + +KING HENRY. +Lord Saye, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. + +SAYE. +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 mourned so much for me. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 raised to put them down. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now alive, +These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased! + +KING HENRY. +Lord Saye, the traitors hate thee; +Therefore away with us to Killingworth. + +SAYE. +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. + +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 MARGARET. +[_Aside_.] My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceased. + +KING HENRY. +Farewell, my lord. Trust not the Kentish rebels. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Trust nobody, for fear you be betrayed. + +SAYE. +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? + +1 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 assayed to win the Tower. +But get you to Smithfield and gather head, +And thither I will send you Matthew Gough. +Fight for your king, your country, and your lives! +And so farewell, for I must hence again. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. London. Cannon Street + +Enter Jack Cade and 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._] + +DICK. +If this fellow be wise, he’ll never call ye Jack Cade more. I think he +hath a very fair warning. 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 Gough 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. + +HOLLAND. +[_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. + +HOLLAND. +[_Aside_.] Then we are like to have biting statutes, unless his teeth +be pulled out. + +CADE. +And henceforward all things shall be in common. + +Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +My lord, a prize, a prize! Here’s the Lord Saye, which sold the towns +in France; he that made us pay one-and-twenty fifteens, and one +shilling to the pound, the last subsidy. + +Enter George Bevis with the Lord Saye. + +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 used, and, contrary to the King, his crown, and dignity, thou hast +built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou hast men +about thee that usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such abominable +words as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed +justices of peace, to call poor men before them about matters they were +not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison, and because +they could not read, thou hast hanged them, when indeed only for that +cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a +foot-cloth, dost thou not? + +SAYE. +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. + +SAYE. +You men of Kent— + +DICK. +What say you of Kent? + +SAYE. +Nothing but this; ’tis _bona terra, mala gens_. + +CADE. +Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin. + +SAYE. +Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. +Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, +Is termed 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; +Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could never. +When have I aught exacted at your hands +Kent to maintain the King, the realm, and you? +Large gifts have I bestowed on learned clerks, +Because my book preferred me to the King. +And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, +Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, +Unless you be possessed with devilish spirits, +You cannot but forbear to murder me. +This tongue hath parleyed unto foreign kings +For your behoof— + +CADE. +Tut, when struck’st thou one blow in the field? + +SAYE. +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? + +SAYE. +These cheeks are pale for watching for your good. + +CADE. +Give him a box o’ th’ ear, and that will make ’em red again. + +SAYE. +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? + +SAYE. +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. + +SAYE. +Tell me, wherein have I offended most? +Have I affected wealth or honour? Speak. +Are my chests filled up with extorted gold? +Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? +Whom have I injured, 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 i’ 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. + +SAYE. +Ah, countrymen, if when you make your prayers, +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 Saye._] + +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! + +Enter one with the heads. + +CADE. +But is not this braver? Let them kiss one another, for they loved well +when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they consult about the +giving up of some more towns 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 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. +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 offered 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 hanged with your pardons about +your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke through London gates, that +you should leave me at the White Hart in 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. Kenilworth Castle + +Sound trumpets. Enter King, Queen and Somerset on the terrace, aloft. + +KING HENRY. +Was ever king that joyed 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 longed 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 surprised? +Or is he but retired 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 redeemed your lives +And showed 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 distressed, +Like to a ship that, having scaped a tempest, +Is straightway calmed and boarded with a pirate. +But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed, +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 dismissed 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, o’er a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, +to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not +amiss to cool a man’s stomach this hot weather. And I think this word +“sallet” was born to do me good; for many a time, but for a sallet, my +brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill; and many a time, when I +have been dry and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a +quart pot to drink in; and now the word “sallet” must serve me to feed +on. + +Enter Iden and his men. + +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 broached, and beard +thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days, yet come +thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a +doornail, 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 famished 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 digged 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-boned clown in chines of +beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou mayst +be turned to hobnails. + +[_Here they fight and 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 fleur-de-luce of France. + +Enter Buckingham. + +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 powers. +Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; +Meet me tomorrow in Saint George’s field, +You shall have pay and everything you wish. + +[_Exeunt Soldiers._] + +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 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 called? 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 henceforth attend on us. + +IDEN. +May Iden live to merit such a bounty, +And never live but true unto his liege! + +[_Rises._] + +Enter Queen and Somerset. + +KING HENRY. +See, Buckingham, Somerset comes with the Queen. +Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 they will have me go to ward, +They’ll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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. + +See where they come; I’ll warrant they’ll make it good. + +Enter old Clifford and his Son. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +And here comes Clifford to deny their bail. + +CLIFFORD. +Health and all happiness to my lord the King. + +[_Rises._] + +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 MARGARET. +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 bearherd in their chains, +If thou dar’st bring them to the baiting-place. + +RICHARD. +Oft have I seen a hot o’erweening cur +Run back and bite because he was withheld, +Who, being suffered with the bear’s fell paw, +Hath clapped 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 deathbed play the ruffian, +And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? +O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? +If it be banished 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 title 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 murderous deed, to rob a man, +To force a spotless virgin’s chastity, +To reave the orphan of his patrimony, +To wring the widow from her customed right, +And have no other reason for this wrong +But that he was bound by a solemn oath? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 resolved 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 resolved to bear a greater storm +Than any thou canst conjure up today; +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 Neville’s crest, +The rampant bear chained 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 bearherd 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 tonight. + +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 + +The sign of the Castle Inn is displayed. Alarums to the battle. Enter +Warwick. + +WARWICK. +Clifford of Cumberland, ’tis Warwick calls; +An 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 afoot? + +YORK. +The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed, +But match to match I have encountered him +And made a prey for carrion kites and crows +Even of the bonny beast he loved 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 today, +It grieves my soul to leave thee unassailed. + +[_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 dead father_.] 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 ordained, 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 turned 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. + +[_He takes him up on his back._] + +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, bearing off his father._] + +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 MARGARET. +Away, my lord! You are slow, for shame, away! + +KING HENRY. +Can we outrun the heavens? Good Margaret, stay. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +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 loved +And where this breach now in our fortunes made +May readily be stopped. + +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 today 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. + +Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought today. + +SALISBURY. +By th’ mass, so did we all. I thank you, Richard. +God knows how long it is I have to live, +And it hath pleased him that three times today +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 hand, lords, ’twas a glorious day. +Saint Albans battle won by famous York +Shall be eternized in all age to come. +Sound drums and trumpets, and to London all; +And more such days as these to us befall! + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. London. The Parliament House + Scene II. Sandal Castle + Scene III. Plains near Sandal Castle + Scene IV. The Same + + ACT II + Scene I. A plain near Mortimer’s Cross in Herefordshire + Scene II. Before York + Scene III. A field of battle between Towton and Saxton, in Yorkshire + Scene IV. Another Part of the Field + Scene V. Another Part of the Field + Scene VI. Another Part of the Field + + ACT III + Scene I. A Forest in the North of England + Scene II. The Palace + Scene III. France. The King’s Palace + + ACT IV + Scene I. London. The Palace + Scene II. A Plain in Warwickshire + Scene III. Edward’s Camp near Warwick + Scene IV. London. The Palace + Scene V. A park near Middleham Castle in Yorkshire + Scene VI. London. The Tower + Scene VII. Before York + Scene VIII. London. The Palace + + ACT V + Scene I. Coventry + Scene II. A Field of Battle near Barnet + Scene III. Another Part of the Field + Scene IV. Plains near Tewkesbury + Scene V. Another part of the Field + Scene VI. London. The Tower + Scene VII. London. The Palace + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY the Sixth +QUEEN MARGARET +PRINCE EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son +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 +GEORGE, afterwards Duke of Clarence, his son +RICHARD, afterwards Duke of Gloucester, his son +EDMUND, Earl of Rutland, his son +DUKE OF NORFOLK +MARQUESS 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 +LADY GREY, afterwards Queen Elizabeth to Edward IV +EARL RIVERS, brother to Lady Grey +HENRY, Earl of Richmond, a youth +SIR WILLIAM STANLEY +SIR JOHN MONTGOMERY +SIR JOHN SOMERVILLE +KING LEWIS the Eleventh, King of France +BONA, sister to the French Queen +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 + +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, all wearing the white rose. + +WARWICK. +I wonder how the King escaped our hands. + +YORK. +While we pursued the horsemen of the north, +He slyly stole away and left his men; +Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, +Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, +Cheered up the drooping army; and himself, +Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast, +Charged 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. + +[_Showing his bloody sword._] + +MONTAGUE. +And, brother, here’s the Earl of Wiltshire’s blood, + +[_To York, showing his._] + +Whom I encountered as the battles joined. + +RICHARD. +Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. + +[_Throwing down the Duke of Somerset’s head._] + +YORK. +Richard hath best deserved 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. + +WARWICK. +And when the King comes, offer him no violence, +Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. + +[_They retire._] + +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. +Armed as we are, let’s stay within this house. + +WARWICK. +The bloody parliament shall this be called, +Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, +And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice +Hath made us bywords 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. + +[_Warwick leads York to the throne, who seats himself._] + +Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northumberland, Westmoreland, +Exeter and the rest, all wearing the red rose. + +KING HENRY. +My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, +Even in the chair of state! Belike he means, +Backed 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 vowed revenge +On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +If I be not, heavens be revenged 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 lived. +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. + +[_They advance to the Duke._] + +Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, +And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; +I am thy sovereign. + +YORK. +I am thine. + +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, 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 chased you from the field +And slew your fathers, and with colours spread +Marched 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 seized 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 crowned 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, +Resigned 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 unconstrained, +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 deposed. + +WARWICK. +Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Thou art deceived. ’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 lifetime 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 injured both thyself and 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 abandoned and despised! + +[_Exeunt Westmoreland, Northumberland and Clifford._] + +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 reconciled. + +EXETER. +Accursed 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 York and his Sons, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague and their +Soldiers._] + +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. + +[_Going._] + +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 proved so unnatural a father. +Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? +Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, +Or felt that pain which I did for him once, +Or nourished 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 EDWARD. +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 enforced me. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Enforced thee! Art thou King, and wilt be forced? +I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch, +Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me, +And given unto the house of York such head +As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. +To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, +What is it but to make thy sepulchre +And creep into it far before thy time? +Warwick is Chancellor and the lord of Calais; +Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; +The Duke is made Protector of the realm; +And yet shalt thou be safe? Such safety finds +The trembling lamb environed with wolves. +Had I been there, which am a silly woman, +The soldiers should have tossed 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 repealed +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 murdered by his enemies. + +PRINCE EDWARD. +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! +Revenged 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. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Sandal Castle + +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 dyed +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 employed, 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 powerful 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 +Whenas the enemy hath been ten to one. +Why should I not now have the like success? + +[_Alarum. Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Plains near Sandal Castle + +Alarums. 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, dragged 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 revenged on men, and let me live. + +CLIFFORD. +In vain thou speak’st, poor boy; my father’s blood +Hath stopped 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 digged up thy forefathers’ graves +And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, +It could not slake mine ire nor ease my heart. +The sight of any of the house of York +Is as a fury to torment my soul; +And till I root out their accursed line +And leave not one alive, I live in hell. +Therefore— + +[_Lifting his hand._] + +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. + +[_Clifford 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, +Congealed with this, do make me wipe off both. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. The Same + +Alarum. Enter Richard, 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 pursued by hunger-starved wolves. +My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them; +But this I know, they have demeaned 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 encountered 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 charged again; but, out, alas! +We budged 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 numbered that makes up my life; +Here must I stay, and here my life must end. + +Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, the young Prince Edward +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 showed unto my father. +Now Phaëthon 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 buckle 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 is taken prisoner._] + +YORK. +So triumph thieves upon their conquered booty; +So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatched. + +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 revelled 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 stained 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; +Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. +What, hath thy fiery heart so parched 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 would’st 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 crowned so soon and broke his solemn oath? +As I bethink me, you should not be king +Till our King Henry had shook hands with Death. +And will you pale your head in Henry’s glory, +And rob his temples of the diadem, +Now in his life, against your holy oath? +O, ’tis a fault too too unpardonable. +Off with the crown, and, with the crown, his head; +And whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. + +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 vizard-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 derived, +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 admired; +The contrary doth make thee wondered 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 wrapped 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 passion moves me so +That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. + +YORK. +That face of his the hungry cannibals +Would not have touched, would not have stained 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 dipped’st 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 and Richard and their power. + +EDWARD. +I wonder how our princely father scaped, +Or whether he be scaped 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 scaped, 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 resolved +Where our right valiant father is become. +I saw him in the battle range about, +And watched 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, encompassed round with dogs, +Who having pinched a few and made them cry, +The rest stand all aloof and bark at him. +So fared our father with his enemies; +So fled his enemies my warlike father. +Methinks ’tis pride 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, +Trimmed 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 severed in a pale clear-shining sky. +See, see, they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, +As if they vowed 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 entered Troy. +But Hercules himself must yield to odds; +And many strokes, though with a little axe, +Hews down and fell the hardest-timbered oak. +By many hands your father was subdued, +But only slaughtered by the ireful arm +Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen, +Who crowned the gracious duke in high despite, +Laughed 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 viewed. + +EDWARD. +Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, +Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. +O Clifford, boisterous Clifford, thou hast slain +The flower of Europe for his chivalry; +And treacherously hast thou vanquished him, +For hand to hand he would have vanquished 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 burthen, +For selfsame 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, Marquess 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 poniards 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 drowned 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 breathed 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, +Mustered my soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, +And very well appointed, as I thought, +Marched 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 joined, and both sides fiercely fought. +But, whether ’twas the coldness of the King, +Who looked full gently on his warlike Queen, +That robbed 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 cheered 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 famed 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 proclaimed +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 and Northumberland with drums 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 encompassed with your crown. +Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? + +KING HENRY. +Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wrack! +To see this sight, it irks my very soul. +Withhold revenge, dear God! ’Tis not my fault, +Nor wittingly have I infringed 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, blest 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 used with fearful flight, +Make war with him that climbed 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 played 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 promised 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 EDWARD. +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 EDWARD. +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, perjured 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 caused 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 killed 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 sayst thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Why, how now, long-tongued 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-swoln 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 privileged to speak. + +CLIFFORD. +My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here +Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. + +RICHARD. +Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword. +By Him that made us all, I am resolved +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 today +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 EDWARD. +If that be right which Warwick says is right, +There is no wrong, but everything 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, +Marked 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 called 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 Agamemnon’s brother wronged +By that false woman as this king by thee. +His father revelled in the heart of France, +And tamed the King, and made the Dauphin stoop; +And had he matched according to his state, +He might have kept that glory to this day; +But when he took a beggar to his bed +And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day, +Even then that sunshine brewed a shower for him +That washed his father’s fortunes forth of France +And heaped sedition on his crown at home. +For what hath broached this tumult but thy pride? +Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; +And we, in pity of the gentle king, +Had slipped 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 bathed 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 + +Alarums. Excursions. Enter Warwick. + +WARWICK. +Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, +I lay me down a little while to breathe; +For strokes received, and many blows repaid, +Have robbed 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 loss, 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, +Broached 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 stained 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 played 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 closed 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 environed 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. Warwick comes; 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 + +Enter King Henry. + +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 +Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; +Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea +Forced 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 make 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 ean; +So many years ere I shall shear the fleece. +So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, +Passed 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 embroidered 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 killed his father, bringing in the dead +body. + +SON. +Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. +This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, +May be possessed with some store of crowns; +And I, that haply take them from him now, +May yet ere night yield both my life and them +To some man else, as this dead man doth me. +Who’s this? O God! It is my father’s face, +Whom in this conflict I unwares have killed. +O heavy times, begetting such events! +From London by the King was I pressed forth; +My father, being the Earl of Warwick’s man, +Came on the part of York, pressed by his master; +And I, who at his hands received 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 flowed 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’ercharged with grief. + +Enter a Father who has killed his son, with the body in his arms. + +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; it is mine only son! +Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, +Throw up thine eye! See, see what showers arise, +Blown with the windy tempest of my heart +Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! +O, pity, God, this miserable age! +What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, +Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, +This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! +O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, +And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! + +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 wither. + +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 bemoaned his son? + +KING HENRY. +Was ever king so grieved 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 EDWARD. +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 grasped 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 glued many friends to thee; +And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melts, +Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York. +The common people swarm like summer flies; +And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? +And who shines now but Henry’s enemies? +O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent +That Phaëthon should check thy fiery steeds, +Thy burning car never had scorched the earth! +And, Henry, hadst thou swayed 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 deserved 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 stabbed 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, filled with a fretting gust, +Command an argosy to stem 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 marked 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. + +EDWARD. +See who it is; 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 lopped the branch +In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, +But set his murdering knife unto the root +From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, +I mean our princely father, Duke of York. + +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 threatening sound, +And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. + +[_Soldiers bring the body forward._] + +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 but two hours’ life, +That I in all despite might rail at him, +This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood +Stifle the villain whose unstaunched thirst +York and young Rutland could not satisfy. + +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 scattered 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 Forest in the North of England + + +Enter two Keepers with crossbows in their hands. + +1 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. + +2 KEEPER. +I’ll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. + +1 KEEPER. +That cannot be; the noise of thy crossbow +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. + +2 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 stolen, even of pure love, +To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. +No, Harry, Harry, ’tis no land of thine; +Thy place is filled, thy sceptre wrung from thee, +Thy balm washed 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? + +1 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. + +2 KEEPER. +Why linger we? Let us lay hands upon him. + +1 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 deposed; +He smiles and says his Edward is installed; +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. + +2 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? + +2 KEEPER. +Ay, but thou talk’st as if thou wert a king. + +KING HENRY. +Why, so I am, in mind; and that’s enough. + +2 KEEPER. +But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? + +KING HENRY. +My crown is in my heart, not on my head; +Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, +Not to be seen. My crown is called content; +A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. + +2 KEEPER. +Well, if you be a king crowned 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 deposed; +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? + +2 KEEPER. +No, never such an oath; nor will not now. + +KING HENRY. +Where did you dwell when I was King of England? + +2 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? + +1 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. + +1 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. + +1 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 obeyed, +And what God will, that let your king perform; +And what he will, I humbly yield unto. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The Palace + +Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester), George (Duke of +Clarence) and Lady Grey. + +KING EDWARD. +Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Albans field +This lady’s husband, Sir John Grey, was slain, +His land then seized 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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] Yea, is it so? +I see the lady hath a thing to grant +Before the King will grant her humble suit. + +GEORGE. +[_Aside to Richard_.] He knows the game; how true he keeps the wind! + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] 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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] 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. + +GEORGE. +[_Aside to Richard_.] I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] God forbid that, for he’ll take vantages. + +KING EDWARD. +How many children hast thou, widow? Tell me. + +GEORGE. +[_Aside to Richard_.] I think he means to beg a child of her. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] Nay, whip me then; he’ll rather give her two. + +LADY GREY. +Three, my most gracious lord. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] You shall have four if you’ll be ruled 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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] Ay, good leave have you; for you will have leave +Till youth take leave and leave you to the crutch. + +[_Richard and George stand aside._] + +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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. + +GEORGE. +[_Aside to Richard_.] 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 performed, 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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] 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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. + +GEORGE. +[_Aside to Richard_.] 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. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside to George_.] The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. + +GEORGE. +[_Aside to Richard_.] When he was made a shriver, ’twas for shift. + +KING EDWARD. +Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. + +Richard and George come forward. + +RICHARD. +The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. + +KING EDWARD. +You’d think it strange if I should marry her. + +GEORGE. +To whom, my lord? + +KING EDWARD. +Why, Clarence, to myself. + +RICHARD. +That would be ten days’ wonder at the least. + +GEORGE. +That’s a day longer than a wonder lasts. + +RICHARD. +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 conveyed 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 Richard._] + +RICHARD. +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 unlooked-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 withered 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 unlicked bear-whelp +That carries no impression like the dam. +And am I then a man to be beloved? +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 misshaped 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 while 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 slyly than Ulysses could, +And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. +I can add colours to the chameleon, +Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, +And set the murderous Machiavel to school. +Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? +Tut, were it farther off, I’ll pluck it down. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. France. The King’s Palace + +Flourish. Enter Lewis, the French King, his sister the Lady Bona, his +Admiral called Bourbon, Prince Edward, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of +Oxford. Lewis sits, and riseth up again. + +KING 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 awhile to serve +Where kings command. I was, I must confess, +Great Albion’s queen in former golden days; +But now mischance hath trod my title down +And with dishonour laid me on the ground, +Where I must take like seat unto my fortune +And to my humble seat conform myself. + +KING 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 drowned in cares. + +KING LEWIS. +Whate’er it be, be thou still like thyself, +And sit thee by our side. Yield not thy neck + +[_Seats her by him._] + +To Fortune’s yoke, but let thy dauntless mind +Still ride in triumph over all mischance. +Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; +It shall be eased 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 banished man +And forced 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 seized, our soldiers put to flight, +And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. + +KING 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. + +KING 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. + +KING LEWIS. +What’s he approacheth boldly to our presence? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Our Earl of Warwick, Edward’s greatest friend. + +KING LEWIS. +Welcome, brave Warwick. What brings thee to France? + +[_He descends. Queen Margaret rises._] + +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 entering at his heedful ears, +Hath placed 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 awhile, +Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. + +WARWICK. +Injurious Margaret! + +PRINCE EDWARD. +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 bewray 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 mellowed 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. + +KING 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! + +KING 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. + +KING LEWIS. +But is he gracious in the people’s eye? + +WARWICK. +The more that Henry was unfortunate. + +KING 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 fixed in virtue’s ground, +The leaves and fruit maintained with beauty’s sun, +Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, +Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. + +KING 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. + +KING 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 counterpoised. +Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness +That Bona shall be wife to the English king. + +PRINCE EDWARD. +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. + +KING 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 released +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 ease, +Where, having nothing, nothing can he lose. +And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, +You have a father able to maintain you, +And better ’twere you troubled him than France. + +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 selfsame feather. + +[_Post blowing a horn within._] + +KING 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, Marquess 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 EDWARD. +Nay, mark how Lewis stamps as he were nettled. +I hope all’s for the best. + +KING LEWIS. +Warwick, what are thy news? And yours, fair Queen? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys. + +WARWICK. +Mine, full of sorrow and heart’s discontent. + +KING 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 guerdoned 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 turned 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 revenged +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. + +KING LEWIS. +And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret’s. +Therefore, at last I firmly am resolved +You shall have aid. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Let me give humble thanks for all at once. + +KING LEWIS. +Then, England’s messenger, return in post +And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, +That Lewis of France is sending over maskers +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._] + +KING 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 EDWARD. +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._] + +KING LEWIS. +Why 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 raised 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 Richard (Duke of Gloucester), George (Duke of Clarence), Somerset +and Montague. + +RICHARD. +Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you +Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? +Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? + +GEORGE. +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 Elizabeth; +Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings and others. Four stand on one side, and +four on the other. + +RICHARD. +And his well-chosen bride. + +GEORGE. +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? + +GEORGE. +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. + +RICHARD. +And shall have your will, because our King. +Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. + +KING EDWARD. +Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? + +RICHARD. +Not I. +No, God forbid that I should wish them severed +Whom God hath joined 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. + +GEORGE. +Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis +Becomes your enemy for mocking him +About the marriage of the Lady Bona. + +RICHARD. +And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, +Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. + +KING EDWARD. +What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased +By such invention as I can devise? + +MONTAGUE. +Yet to have joined with France in such alliance +Would more have strengthened 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 backed with France. + +HASTINGS. +’Tis better using France than trusting France. +Let us be backed 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. + +GEORGE. +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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +GEORGE. +Or else you would not have bestowed 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. + +GEORGE. +In choosing for yourself you showed 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 pleased 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. + +RICHARD. +[_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? + +POST. +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? + +POST. +At my depart these were his very words: +“Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, +That Lewis of France is sending over maskers +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? + +POST. +These were her words, uttered 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. + +POST. +“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? + +POST. +He, more incensed against your Majesty +Than all the rest, discharged 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 forewarned. +They shall have wars and pay for their presumption. +But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? + +POST. +Ay, gracious sovereign, they are so linked in friendship +That young Prince Edward marries Warwick’s daughter. + +GEORGE. +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 George and Somerset follows._] + +RICHARD. +[_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 armed against the worst can happen, +And haste is needful in this desperate case. +Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf +Go levy men and make prepare for war; +They are already, or quickly will be, landed. +Myself in person will straight follow you. + +[_Exeunt 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? + +RICHARD. +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 power. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Plain in Warwickshire + +Enter Warwick and Oxford in England, with French Soldiers. + +WARWICK. +Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; +The common people by numbers swarm to us. + +Enter George (Duke of Clarence) and Somerset. + +But see where Somerset and Clarence comes. +Speak suddenly, my lords: are we all friends? + +GEORGE. +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 pawned 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 encamped, +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 covered 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. + +1 WATCHMAN. +Come on, my masters, each man take his stand. +The King by this is set him down to sleep. + +2 WATCHMAN. +What, will he not to bed? + +1 WATCHMAN. +Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow +Never to lie and take his natural rest +Till Warwick or himself be quite suppressed. + +2 WATCHMAN. +Tomorrow, then, belike shall be the day, +If Warwick be so near as men report. + +3 WATCHMAN. +But say, I pray, what nobleman is that +That with the King here resteth in his tent? + +1 WATCHMAN. +’Tis the Lord Hastings, the King’s chiefest friend. + +3 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? + +2 WATCHMAN. +’Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. + +3 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. + +1 WATCHMAN. +Unless our halberds did shut up his passage. + +2 WATCHMAN. +Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent +But to defend his person from night-foes? + +Enter Warwick, George (Duke of 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. + +1 WATCHMAN. +Who goes there? + +2 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, enter Warwick, Somerset, and the +rest, bringing the King out in his gown, sitting in a chair. Richard +(Duke of 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 altered. +When you disgraced 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 conveyed +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. + +[_They begin to lead him out forcibly._] + +KING EDWARD. +What fates impose, that men must needs abide; +It boots not to resist both wind and tide. + +[_Exit King Edward, led out; Somerset with him._] + +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 pitched 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 betrayed by falsehood of his guard +Or by his foe surprised 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 informed 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 Richard (Duke of Gloucester), Lord Hastings, Sir William Stanley +and others. + +RICHARD. +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 advertised 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? + +RICHARD. +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 shipped from thence to Flanders. + +RICHARD. +Well guessed, believe me, for that was my meaning. + +KING EDWARD. +Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. + +RICHARD. +But wherefore stay we? ’Tis no time to talk. + +KING EDWARD. +Huntsman, what sayst thou? Wilt thou go along? + +HUNTSMAN. +Better do so than tarry and be hanged. + +RICHARD. +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 + +Enter King Henry, George (Duke of Clarence), Warwick, Somerset, young +Richmond, Oxford, Montague, and Lieutenant of the Tower. + +KING HENRY. +Master Lieutenant, now that God and friends +Have shaken Edward from the regal seat +And turned 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 sovereigns; +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 sett’st me free, +And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; +He was the author, thou the instrument. +Therefore, that I may conquer Fortune’s spite, +By living low where Fortune cannot hurt me, +And that the people of this blessed land +May not be punished 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 famed 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. + +GEORGE. +No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, +To whom the heavens in thy nativity +Adjudged 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? + +GEORGE. +That he consents, if Warwick yield consent, +For on thy fortune I repose myself. + +WARWICK. +Why, then, though loath, yet I must 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 pronounced a traitor +And all his lands and goods be confiscate. + +GEORGE. +What else? And that succession be determined. + +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 eclipsed. + +GEORGE. +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. If secret powers + +[_Lays his hand on his head._] + +Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, +This pretty lad will prove our country’s bliss. +His looks are full of peaceful majesty, +His head by nature framed 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 conveyed 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 rescued 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 before ’t be long. +As Henry’s late presaging prophecy +Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, +So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts +What may befall him, to his harm and ours. +Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, +Forthwith we’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, Richard (Duke of 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 passed and now repassed the seas, +And brought desired help from Burgundy. +What then remains, we being thus arrived +From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, +But that we enter as into our dukedom? + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +[_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 opened. + +[_He descends._] + +RICHARD. +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 entered, +I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade +Both him and all his brothers unto reason. + +Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen below. + +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. + +RICHARD. +Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, +Our trusty friend unless I be deceived. + +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 recovered. + +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? + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 proclaimed. +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, etc._ + +MONTGOMERY. +And whoso’er gainsays King Edward’s right, +By this I challenge him to single fight. + +[_Throws down his gauntlet._] + +ALL. +Long live Edward the Fourth! + +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 thee +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, George (Duke of +Clarence), Oxford and Exeter. + +WARWICK. +What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, +With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, +Hath passed 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. + +GEORGE. +A little fire is quickly trodden out, +Which, being suffered, 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 inclined to hear what thou command’st. +And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, +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. + +GEORGE. +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. +And thus [_kissing Henry’s hand_] 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 King Henry 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 stopped 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 allayed their swelling griefs, +My mercy dried their water-flowing tears. +I have not been desirous of their wealth +Nor much oppressed them with great subsidies, +Nor forward of revenge, though they much erred. +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 York! A York!”_] + +EXETER. +Hark, hark, my lord, what shouts are these? + +Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and Soldiers. + +KING EDWARD. +Seize on the shame-faced 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 hoped-for hay. + +RICHARD. +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? + +1 MESSENGER. +By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. + +WARWICK. +How far off is our brother Montague? +Where is the post that came from Montague? + +2 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, unlooked-for friends. + +SOMERVILLE. +They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. + +March. Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard (Duke of Gloucester) and +Soldiers. + +KING EDWARD. +Go, trumpet, to the walls and sound a parle. + +RICHARD. +See how the surly Warwick mans the wall. + +WARWICK. +O, unbid spite! Is sportful Edward come? +Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, +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 plucked thee down, +Call Warwick patron and be penitent, +And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, +But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, +The king was slily fingered 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. + +RICHARD. +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._] + +RICHARD. +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._] + +RICHARD. +Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason +Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. + +KING EDWARD. +The harder matched, 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._] + +RICHARD. +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 George (Duke of 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. + +[_Richard and George whisper._] + +Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt if Warwick call. + +GEORGE. +Father of Warwick, know you what this means? + +[_Taking the red rose from his hat and throws the rose at Warwick._] + +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 Jephthah’s when he sacrificed 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 beloved, +Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. + +RICHARD. +Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like. + +WARWICK. +O passing traitor, perjured and unjust! + +KING EDWARD. +What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight? +Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? + +WARWICK. +Alas! I am not cooped 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. March. Warwick and his company follows._] + +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 feared 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 overpeered Jove’s spreading tree, +And kept low shrubs from winter’s pow’rful wind. +These eyes, that now are dimmed with death’s black veil, +Have been as piercing as the midday sun, +To search the secret treasons of the world; +The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood, +Were likened oft to kingly sepulchres, +For who lived King but I could dig his grave? +And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? +Lo, now my glory smeared in dust and blood! +My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, +Even now forsake me; and of all my lands +Is nothing left me but my body’s length. +Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? +And live we how we can, yet die we must. + +Enter Oxford and Somerset. + +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 awhile. +Thou lov’st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, +Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood +That glues my lips and will not let me speak. +Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. + +SOMERSET. +Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breathed his last, +And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, +And said “Commend me to my valiant brother.” +And more he would have said, and more he spoke, +Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, +That mought not be distinguished; 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. + +[_He dies._] + +OXFORD. +Away, away, to meet the Queen’s great power! + +[_Here they bear away his body. Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another Part of the Field + +Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph, with Richard, George and the +rest. + +KING EDWARD. +Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, +And we are graced 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 raised in Gallia have arrived our coast +And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. + +GEORGE. +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. + +RICHARD. +The Queen is valued thirty thousand strong, +And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her. +If she have time to breathe, be well assured +Her faction will be full as strong as ours. + +KING EDWARD. +We are advertised by our loving friends +That they do hold their course toward Tewkesbury. +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 near Tewkesbury + +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 swallowed 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 saved? +Ah, what a shame, ah, what a fault were this! +Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? +And Montague our topmast; what of him? +Our slaughtered 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 allowed 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 wrack. +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 hoped-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 EDWARD. +Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit +Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, +Infuse his breast with magnanimity +And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. +I speak not this as doubting any here; +For did I but suspect a fearful man, +He should have leave to go away betimes, +Lest in our need he might infect another +And make him of 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 live +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 mocked and wondered at. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Thanks, gentle Somerset. Sweet Oxford, thanks. + +PRINCE EDWARD. +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 deceived; 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 King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers. + +KING EDWARD. +Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood +Which by the heaven’s 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 usurped, +His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, +His statutes cancelled, 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 both armies_] + +SCENE V. Another part of the Field + +Flourish. Enter King Edward, Richard, George and Soldiers; with Queen +Margaret, Oxford and Somerset as 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? + +RICHARD. +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 turned me to? + +PRINCE EDWARD. +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 selfsame words to thee +Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Ah, thy father had been so resolved! + +RICHARD. +That you might still have worn the petticoat +And ne’er have stol’n the breech from Lancaster. + +PRINCE EDWARD. +Let Aesop fable in a winter’s night; +His currish riddle sorts not with this place. + +RICHARD. +By heaven, brat, I’ll plague you for that word. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. + +RICHARD. +For God’s sake, take away this captive scold. + +PRINCE EDWARD. +Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather. + +KING EDWARD. +Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue. + +GEORGE. +Untutored lad, thou art too malapert. + +PRINCE EDWARD. +I know my duty; you are all undutiful. +Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured 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._] + +RICHARD. +Sprawl’st thou? Take that to end thy agony. + +[_Stabs him._] + +GEORGE. +And there’s for twitting me with perjury. + +[_Stabs him._] + +QUEEN MARGARET. +O, kill me too! + +RICHARD. +Marry, and shall. + +[_Offers to kill her._] + +KING EDWARD. +Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much. + +RICHARD. +Why should she live to fill the world with words? + +KING EDWARD. +What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery. + +RICHARD. +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. + +GEORGE. +What? What? + +RICHARD. +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 stabbed 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 cropped! +You have no children, butchers; if you had, +The thought of them would have stirred 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. + +GEORGE. +By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. + +GEORGE. +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, Richard, +Hard-favoured Richard? Richard, where art thou? +Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; +Petitioners for blood thou ne’er putt’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! + +[_She is taken out._] + +KING EDWARD. +Where’s Richard gone? + +GEORGE. +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 Richard, with the Lieutenant on the walls. + +RICHARD. +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”. + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +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 limed, was caught, and killed. + +RICHARD. +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 drowned. + +KING HENRY. +I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; +Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; +The sun that seared 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? + +RICHARD. +Think’st thou I am an executioner? + +KING HENRY. +A persecutor I am sure thou art. +If murdering innocents be executing, +Why, then thou art an executioner. + +RICHARD. +Thy son I killed for his presumption. + +KING HENRY. +Hadst thou been killed when first thou didst presume, +Thou hadst not lived 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 shrieked at thy birth, an evil sign; +The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; +Dogs howled, and hideous tempest shook down trees; +The raven rooked her on the chimney’s top, +And chatt’ring pies in dismal discord sung; +Thy mother felt more than a mother’s pain, +And yet brought forth less than a mother’s hope, +To wit, an indigested and 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— + +RICHARD. +I’ll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech. + +[_Stabs him._] + +For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained. + +KING HENRY. +Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. +O God, forgive my sins, and pardon thee! + +[_Dies._] + +RICHARD. +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 usurped our right? +The midwife wondered, 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 shaped my body so, +Let hell make crooked 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, George, Richard, +Hastings, Nurse, carrying infant Prince Edward, and Attendants. + +KING EDWARD. +Once more we sit in England’s royal throne, +Repurchased with the blood of enemies. +What valiant foemen, like to autumn’s corn, +Have we mowed down in tops of all their pride! +Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renowned +For hardy and undoubted champions; +Two Cliffords, as the father and the son; +And two Northumberlands; two braver men +Ne’er spurred their coursers at the trumpet’s sound; +With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, +That in their chains fettered the kingly lion +And made the forest tremble when they roared. +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 watched the winter’s night, +Went all afoot in summer’s scalding heat, +That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace; +And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside_.] I’ll blast his harvest, if your head were laid; +For yet I am not looked on in the world. +This shoulder was ordained 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. + +GEORGE. +The duty that I owe unto your Majesty +I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks. + +RICHARD. +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 kissed 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. + +GEORGE. +What will your Grace have done with Margaret? +Reignier, her father, to the King of France +Hath pawned 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Prologue. + Scene I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace + Scene II. The same. The council-chamber + Scene III. An ante-chamber in the palace + Scene IV. A Hall in York Place + + ACT II + Scene I. Westminster. A street + Scene II. An ante-chamber in the palace + Scene III. An ante-chamber of the Queen’s apartments + Scene IV. A hall in Blackfriars + + ACT III + Scene I. London. The Queen’s apartments + Scene II. Ante-chamber to the King’s apartment + + ACT IV + Scene I. A street in Westminster + Scene II. Kimbolton + + ACT V + Scene I. A gallery in the palace + Scene II. Lobby before the council-chamber + Scene III. The palace yard + Scene IV. The palace + Epilogue + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + +DUKE OF NORFOLK +DUKE OF SUFFOLK + +CARDINAL WOLSEY +SECRETARIES to Wolsey +CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey +CARDINAL CAMPEIUS +GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester +PAGE to Gardiner + +QUEEN KATHERINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced +GRIFFITH, gentleman usher to Queen Katherine +PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katherine +Queen’s GENTLEMAN USHER +CAPUTIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V + +DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM +LORD ABERGAVENNY, Buckingham’s son-in-law +EARL OF SURREY, Buckingham’s son-in-law +SIR NICHOLAS VAUX +SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham +BRANDON +SERGEANT-at-Arms +Three Gentlemen + +ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen +An OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen +LORD CHAMBERLAIN +LORD SANDYS (called also SIR WILLIAM SANDYS) +SIR THOMAS LOVELL +SIR HENRY GUILDFORD + +BISHOP OF LINCOLN +CRANMER, archbishop of Canterbury +LORD CHANCELLOR +GARTER King-of-Arms +SIR ANTHONY DENNY +DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King +Door-KEEPER of the Council-chamber +PORTER, and his Man +A CRIER +PROLOGUE +EPILOGUE + +Spirits, Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women attending +upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other Attendants + +SCENE: London; Westminster; Kimbolton + + + + +Enter Prologue. + + +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 deceived. 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 followed 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. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace. + + +Enter the Duke of Norfolk at one door; at the other, the Duke of +Buckingham and the Lord Abergavenny. + +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 +Stayed 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 throned ones could have weighed +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. Today the French, +All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods, +Shone down the English; and tomorrow, they +Made Britain India: every man that stood +Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were +As cherubins, all gilt. The madams too, +Not used 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 challenged +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 believed. + +BUCKINGHAM. +O, you go far. + +NORFOLK. +As I belong to worship and affect +In honour honesty, the tract of everything +Would by a good discourser lose some life, +Which action’s self was tongue to. All was royal; +To the disposing of it nought rebelled; +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 ordered 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 propped by ancestry, whose grace +Chalks successors their way, nor called upon +For high feats done to th’ crown; neither allied +To eminent assistants, but spider-like, +Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note +The force of his own merit makes his way +A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys +A place next to the King. + +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 sickened 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 followed, was +A thing inspired 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 flawed the league, and hath attached +Our merchants’ goods at Bordeaux. + +ABERGAVENNY. +Is it therefore +Th’ ambassador is silenced? + +NORFOLK. +Marry, is’t. + +ABERGAVENNY. +A proper title of a peace, and purchased +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 Cardinal Wolsey and his train._] + +BUCKINGHAM. +This butcher’s cur is venom-mouthed, 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 chafed? +Ask God for temp’rance. That’s the appliance only +Which your disease requires. + +BUCKINGHAM. +I read in ’s looks +Matter against me, and his eye reviled +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 allowed 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 advised. +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 advised. +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 gall I name not, but +From sincere motions—by intelligence, +And proofs as clear as founts in July when +We see each grain of gravel, I do know +To be corrupt and treasonous. + +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 ravenous +As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief +As able to perform’t, his mind and place +Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally— +Only to show his pomp as well in 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’ rinsing. + +NORFOLK. +Faith, and so it did. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Pray give me favour, sir. This cunning Cardinal +The articles o’ th’ combination drew +As himself pleased; and they were ratified +As he cried “Thus let be,” to as much end +As give a crutch to the dead. But our Count-Cardinal +Has done this, and ’tis well, for worthy Wolsey, +Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows— +Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy +To the old dam treason—Charles the Emperor, +Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt— +For ’twas indeed his colour, but he came +To whisper Wolsey—here makes visitation. +His fears were that the interview betwixt +England and France might through their amity +Breed him some prejudice, for from this league +Peeped harms that menaced him. He privily +Deals with our Cardinal, and, as I trow— +Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor +Paid ere he promised, whereby his suit was granted +Ere it was asked. But when the way was made +And paved with gold, the Emperor thus desired +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 heaven +Be done in this and all things. I obey. +O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well. + +BRANDON. +Nay, he must bear you company. +[_To Abergavenny_.] The King +Is pleased 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 obeyed. + +BRANDON. +Here is warrant from +The King t’ attach Lord Montague, 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 showed him gold. My life is spanned 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._] + +SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber. + +Cornets. Enter King Henry, leaning on the Cardinal’s shoulder, the +Nobles, and Sir Thomas Lovell; 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-charged confederacy, and give thanks +To you that choked it. Let be called 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 Queen Katherine, +ushered by the Duke of Norfolk and the Duke of Suffolk. She kneels. The +King riseth from his state, takes her up and kisses her. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor. + +KING. +Arise, and take place by us. + +[_He placeth her by him._] + +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 KATHERINE. +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 KATHERINE. +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 flawed 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 off +The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, +Unfit for other life, compelled by hunger +And lack of other means, in desperate manner +Daring the 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 blamed 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 KATHERINE. +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 the hearing, and to bear ’em, +The back is sacrifice to the load. They say +They are devised 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 KATHERINE. +I am much too venturous +In tempting of your patience, but am boldened +Under your promised 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 named 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 passed me but +By learned approbation of the judges. If I am +Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know +My faculties nor person, yet will be +The chronicles of my doing, let me say +’Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake +That virtue must go through. We must not stint +Our necessary actions in the fear +To cope malicious censurers, which ever, +As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow +That is new-trimmed, but benefit no further +Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, +By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is +Not ours or not allowed; 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 mocked or carped 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 feared. 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’ t’ timber, +And though we leave it with a root, thus hacked, +The air will drink the sap. To every county +Where this is questioned send our letters with +Free pardon to each man that has denied +The force of this commission. Pray, look to’t; +I put it to your care. + +WOLSEY. +[_Aside to his 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 noised +That through our intercession this revokement +And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you +Further in the proceeding. + +[_Exit Secretary._] + +Enter Surveyor. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham +Is run in your displeasure. + +KING. +It grieves many. +The gentleman is learned 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 disposed, 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 enrolled ’mongst wonders, and when we, +Almost with ravished 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 besmeared 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 Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced +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 KATHERINE. +My learned 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 Laurence Poultney, did of me demand +What was the speech among the Londoners +Concerning the French journey. I replied, +Men fear 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 ensued: ‘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 KATHERINE. +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 deceived, and that ’twas dangerous +For him to ruminate on this so far until +It forged him some design, which, being believed, +It was much like to do. He answered, “Tush, +It can do me no damage,” adding further +That had the King in his last sickness failed, +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 reproved the Duke +About Sir William Bulmer— + +KING. +I remember +Of such a time, being my sworn servant, +The Duke retained 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 played +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 KATHERINE. +God mend all. + +KING. +There’s something more would out of thee. What sayst? + +SURVEYOR. +After “the Duke his father,” with “the knife,” +He stretched 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 used, he would outgo +His father by as much as a performance +Does an irresolute purpose. + +KING. +There’s his period, +To sheathe his knife in us. He is attached. +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._] + +SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace. + +Enter 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 followed. + +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 reigned among ’em. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Death! My lord, +Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to’t, +That, sure, they’ve 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 clapped upon the court gate. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +What is’t for? + +LOVELL. +The reformation of our travelled gallants +That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +I’m 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 blistered 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, oui_ away +The lag end of their lewdness and be laughed 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 of ’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 stump. + +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._] + +SCENE IV. A Hall 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, you’re tardy. +The very thought of this fair company +Clapped 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 placed 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. +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 you’re 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 and takes his state. + +WOLSEY. +You’re welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady +Or gentleman that is not freely merry +Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome; +And to you all, good health. + +[_Drinks._] + +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 discharged._] + +WOLSEY. +What’s that? + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Look out there, some of ye. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +WOLSEY. +What warlike voice, +And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not. +By all the laws of war you’re privileged. + +Enter Servant. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +How now, what is’t? + +SERVANT. +A noble troop of strangers, +For so they seem. They’ve 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 removed._] + +You have now a broken banquet, but we’ll mend it. +A good digestion to you all; and once more +I shower a welcome on ye. Welcome all! + +Hautboys. Enter King and others as masquers, habited like shepherds, +ushered 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 prayed +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. + +[_The masquers choose ladies. The King chooses Anne Bullen._] + +KING. +The fairest hand I ever touched! 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. + +[_Whispers with the Masquers._] + +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. +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. Sweetheart, +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, every 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 I. Westminster. A street. + + +Enter two Gentlemen at several doors. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Whither away so fast? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +O, God save ye. +Even 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 happened. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +You may guess quickly what. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Is he found guilty? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Yes, truly is he, and condemned upon’t. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I am sorry for’t. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +So are a number more. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +But pray, how passed 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 +Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions +Of divers witnesses, which the Duke desired +To have brought _viva voce_ to his face; +At which appeared 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 accused 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 himself? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +When he was brought again to th’ bar to hear +His knell rung out, his judgement, he was stirred +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 showed 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 removed, +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. Tipstaves 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. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Stay there, sir, +And see the noble ruined 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 received a traitor’s judgement, +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 loved 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, i’ 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 beloved 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’ waterside 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 for’t. +My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, +Who first raised head against usurping Richard, +Flying for succour to his servant Banister, +Being distressed, was by that wretch betrayed, +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, +Restored 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 loved 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 Duke 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 Katherine? + +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, possessed him with a scruple +That will undo her. To confirm this too, +Cardinal Campeius is arrived, 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 purposed. + +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._] + +SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace. + +Enter 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 furnished. 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 served before a +subject, if not before the King; which stopped our mouths, sir._ +I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them. +He will have all, I think. + +Enter 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 employed? + +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 cracked 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 all +From princes into pages. All men’s honours +Lie like one lump before him, to be fashioned +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, they’re 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. +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. +[A_side 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 judgement, +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 wished for. + +CAMPEIUS. +Your Grace must needs deserve all strangers’ loves, +You are so noble. To your Highness’ hand +I tender my commission, by whose virtue, +The court of Rome commanding, you, my Lord +Cardinal of York, are joined 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 loved her +So dear in heart not to deny her that +A woman of less place might ask by law: +Scholars allowed 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. + +Enter 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 raised me. + +KING. +Come hither, Gardiner. + +[_The King and Gardiner walk and whisper._] + +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 grieved 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 griped 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 furnished. 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._] + +SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the Queen’s apartments. + +Enter Anne Bullen and an Old Lady. + +ANNE. +Not for that neither. Here’s the pang that pinches: +His Highness having lived 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 thousandfold 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 perked 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 bowed would hire me, +Old as I am, to queen it. But I pray you, +What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs +To bear that load of title? + +ANNE. +No, in truth. + +OLD 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 Caernarfonshire, although there longed +No more to th’ crown but that. Lo, who comes here? + +Enter 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 heavenly blessings +Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, +Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note’s +Ta’en of your many virtues, the King’s Majesty +Commends his good opinion of you, and +Does purpose honour to you no less flowing +Than Marchioness of Pembroke, to which title +A thousand pound a year annual support +Out of his grace he adds. + +ANNE. +I do not know +What kind of my obedience I should tender. +More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers +Are not words duly 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 perused 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 honoured 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 compelled fortune!—have your mouth filled 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 more thousands; honour’s train +Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time +I know your back will bear a duchess. Say, +Are you not stronger than you were? + +ANNE. +Good lady, +Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, +And leave me out on’t. Would I had no being +If this salute my blood a jot. It faints me +To think what follows. +The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful +In our long absence. Pray do not deliver +What here you’ve heard to her. + +OLD LADY. +What do you think me? + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. 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 a silver cross; then a +Gentleman Usher bare-headed, 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; two Noblemen with +the sword and mace. 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 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 allowed; +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, come into the court. + +KING. +Here. + +SCRIBE. +Say, “Katherine Queen of England, come into the court.” + +CRIER. +Katherine Queen of England, come into the court. + +[_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 KATHERINE. +Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, +And to bestow your pity on me; for +I am a most poor woman and a stranger, +Born out of your dominions, having here +No judge indifferent nor no more assurance +Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, +In what have I offended you? What cause +Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure +That thus you should proceed to put me off +And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness +I have been to you a true and humble wife, +At all times to your will conformable, +Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, +Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry +As I saw it inclined. 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 derived your anger did I +Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice +He was from thence discharged? Sir, call to mind +That I have been your wife in this obedience +Upward of twenty years, and have been blessed +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 unmatched wit and judgement. Ferdinand, +My father, King of Spain, was reckoned one +The wisest prince that there had reigned by many +A year before. It is not to be questioned +That they had gathered a wise council to them +Of every realm, that did debate this business, +Who deemed our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly +Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may +Be by my friends in Spain advised, whose counsel +I will implore. If not, i’ th’ name of God, +Your pleasure be fulfilled. + +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 produced and heard. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Lord Cardinal, +To you I speak. + +WOLSEY. +Your pleasure, madam. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Sir, +I am about to weep; but, thinking that +We are a queen, or long have dreamed so, certain +The daughter of a king, my drops of tears +I’ll turn to sparks of fire. + +WOLSEY. +Be patient yet. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +I will, when you are humble; nay, before, +Or God will punish me. I do believe, +Induced 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 displayed th’ effects +Of disposition gentle and of wisdom +O’ertopping woman’s power. 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 KATHERINE. +My lord, my lord, +I am a simple woman, much too weak +T’ oppose your cunning. You’re meek and humble-mouthed; +You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, +With meekness and humility; but your heart +Is crammed with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. +You have, by fortune and his Highness’ favours, +Gone slightly o’er low steps, and now are mounted +Where powers are your retainers, and your words, +Domestics to you, serve your will as ’t please +Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, +You tender more your person’s honour than +Your high profession spiritual; that again +I do refuse you for my judge; and here, +Before you all, appeal unto the Pope, +To bring my whole cause ’fore his Holiness, +And to be judged 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. +Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court. + +GENTLEMAN USHER. +Madam, you are called back. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +What need you note it? Pray you keep your way. +When you are called, 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 naught 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 robbed and bound, +There must I be unloosed, 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. You’re excused. +But will you be more justified? You ever +Have wished the sleeping of this business, never desired +It to be stirred, but oft have hindered, 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 moved 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 received a tenderness, +Scruple, and prick on certain speeches uttered +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, entered me, +Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble +The region of my breast; which forced such way +That many mazed considerings did throng +And pressed 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 conceived a male child by me, should +Do no more offices of life to’t than +The grave does to th’ dead; for her male issue +Or died where they were made, or shortly after +This world had aired them. Hence I took a thought +This was a judgement 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 weighed 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 learned. First I began in private +With you, my Lord of Lincoln. You remember +How under my oppression I did reek +When I first moved you. + +LINCOLN. +Very well, my liege. + +KING. +I have spoke long. Be pleased 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 moved 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 mortal state to come with her, +Katherine, our Queen, before the primest creature +That’s paragoned 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 learned and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, +Prithee return. With thy approach, I know, +My comfort comes along.—Break up the court! +I say, set on. + +[_Exeunt in manner as they entered._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. London. The Queen’s apartments. + + +Enter Queen and her Women, as at work. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows sad with troubles. +Sing, and disperse ’em, if thou canst. Leave working. + +WOMAN +[_sings song._] + +Orpheus with his lute made trees +And the mountain tops that freeze + Bow themselves when he did sing. +To his music plants and flowers +Ever sprung, as sun and showers + There had made a lasting spring. + + +Everything that heard him play, +Even the billows of the sea, + Hung their heads and then lay by. +In sweet music is such art, +Killing care and grief of heart + Fall asleep or, hearing, die. + +Enter a Gentleman. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +How now? + +GENTLEMAN. +An’t please your Grace, the two great Cardinals +Wait in the presence. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Would they speak with me? + +GENTLEMAN. +They willed me say so, madam. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Pray their Graces +To come near. + +[_Exit Gentleman._] + +What can be their business +With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? +I do not like their coming. Now I think on’t, +They should be good men, their affairs as righteous. +But all hoods make not monks. + +Enter the two Cardinals, Wolsey and Campeius. + +WOLSEY. +Peace to your Highness. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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 KATHERINE. +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 every tongue, every eye saw ’em, +Envy and base opinion set against ’em, +I know my life so even. If your business +Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, +Out with it boldly. Truth loves open dealing. + +WOLSEY. +_Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima_— + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +O, good my lord, no Latin. +I am not such a truant since my coming +As not to know the language I have lived in. +A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious. +Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you, +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 absolved 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 honoured 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 KATHERINE. +[_Aside_.] To betray me. +My lords, I thank you both for your good wills. +Ye speak like honest men; pray God ye prove so. +But how to make ye suddenly an answer +In such a point of weight, so near mine honour— +More near my life, I fear—with my weak wit, +And to such men of gravity and learning, +In truth I know not. I was set at work +Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking +Either for such men or such business. +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 KATHERINE. +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 much 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 KATHERINE. +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 disgraced. + +WOLSEY. +He tells you rightly. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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 KATHERINE. +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, laughed at, scorned? +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 KATHERINE. +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 anything but churchmen’s habits— +Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? +Alas, ’has banished 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 KATHERINE. +Have I lived thus long—let me speak myself, +Since virtue finds no friends—a wife, a true one— +A woman, I dare say without vainglory, +Never yet branded with suspicion— +Have I with all my full affections +Still met the King, loved him next heav’n, obeyed 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 dreamed 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 KATHERINE. +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 KATHERINE. +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? +Shipwrecked upon a kingdom where no pity, +No friends, no hope, no kindred weep for me, +Almost no grave allowed me, like the lily +That once was mistress of the field and flourished, +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: peacemakers, 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 KATHERINE. +Do what ye will, my lords, and pray forgive me +If I have used 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._] + +SCENE II. Ante-chamber to the King’s apartment. + +Enter the Duke of Norfolk, Duke of Suffolk, Lord Surrey and 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 more 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 revenged on him. + +SUFFOLK. +Which of the peers +Have uncontemned 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’ the King, wherein was read +How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness +To stay the judgement 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. +All 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 memorized. + +SURREY. +But will the King +Digest this letter of the Cardinal’s? +The Lord forbid! + +NORFOLK. +Marry, amen! + +SUFFOLK. +No, no. +There be more wasps that buzz about his nose +Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius +Is stolen 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 returned 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 published, and +Her coronation. Katherine no more +Shall be called 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. +Looked he o’ th’ inside of the paper? + +CROMWELL. +Presently +He did unseal them, and the first he viewed, +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 a while. + +[_Exit Cromwell._] + +[_Aside_.] It shall be to the Duchess of Alençon, +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. +Maybe 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-ruled King. Again, there is sprung up +An heretic, an arch-one, Cranmer, one +Hath crawled into the favour of the King +And is his oracle. + +NORFOLK. +He is vexed at something. + +Enter King, reading 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 required; 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 fixed 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. + +[_King takes his seat; 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 loved 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 +Employed you where high profits might come home, +But pared 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, +Showered 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 filed 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 +Heaped upon me, poor undeserver, I +Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, +My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty, +Which ever has and ever shall be growing, +Till death, that winter, kill it. + +KING. +Fairly answered. +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 opened bounty to you, +My heart dropped love, my power rained 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 laboured +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. + +[_Giving him papers._] + +Read o’er this, +And after, this; and then to breakfast with +What appetite you have. + +[_Exit 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 reaped it? +He parted frowning from me, as if ruin +Leaped from his eyes. So looks the chafed lion +Upon the daring huntsman that has galled 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 touched 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. + +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 everything 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, robbed 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, +Weighed 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, +Absolved 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 loved many words, lord, I should tell you +You have as little honesty as honour, +That in the way of loyalty and truth +Toward the King, my ever royal master, +Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be, +And all that love his follies. + +SURREY. +By my soul, +Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel +My sword i’ th’ lifeblood 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 the 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 despised nobility, our issues, +Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, +Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles +Collected from his life. I’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 maimed 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 inscribed, 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 caused +Your holy hat to be stamped 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 legative 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: today he puts forth +The tender leaves of hopes; tomorrow 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 ventured, +Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, +This many summers in a sea of glory, +But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride +At length broke under me and now has left me, +Weary and old with service, to the mercy +Of a rude stream that must for ever hide me. +Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! +I feel my heart new opened. O, how 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, amazed +At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder +A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, +I am fallen 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 cured me, +I humbly thank his Grace, and from these shoulders, +These ruined 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 returned with welcome, +Installed 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 viewed in open as his Queen, +Going to chapel, and the voice is now +Only about her coronation. + +WOLSEY. +There was the weight that pulled 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 fallen 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 forced 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 missed it. +Mark but my fall and that that ruined 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 served my God with half the zeal +I served 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 I. A street in Westminster. + + +Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +You’re 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 offered 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 Katherine, +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 off +From Ampthill where the Princess lay; to which +She was often cited by them, but appeared not; +And, to be short, for not appearance and +The King’s late scruple, by the main assent +Of all these learned men she was divorced, +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. + +_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. Marquess 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 S’s. +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 +S’s. +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 I know. +Who’s that that bears the sceptre? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Marquess 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. +[_Sees the Queen_.] Heaven bless thee! +Thou hast the sweetest face I ever looked 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. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +And sometimes falling ones. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +No more of that. + +[_Exit the last of the procession._] + +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 wedged 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 prepared place in the choir, fell off +A distance from her, while her Grace sat down +To rest a while, 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 followed? + +THIRD GENTLEMAN. +At length her Grace rose, and with modest paces +Came to the altar, where she kneeled and saintlike +Cast her fair eyes to heaven and prayed devoutly; +Then rose again and bowed 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 performed, the choir, +With all the choicest music of the kingdom, +Together sung _Te Deum_. So she parted, +And with the same full state paced 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 altered 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. +Stokesley and Gardiner, the one of Winchester, +Newly preferred 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._] + +SCENE II. Kimbolton. + +Enter Katherine Dowager, sick, led between Griffith, her gentleman +usher, and Patience, her woman. + +GRIFFITH. +How does your Grace? + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +O Griffith, sick to death. +My legs like loaden branches bow to th’ earth, +Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair. + +[_She sits._] + +So. Now, methinks, I feel a little ease. +Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou ledst me, +That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, +Was dead? + +GRIFFITH. +Yes, madam, but I think your Grace, +Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to’t. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died. +If well, he stepped 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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Alas, poor man! + +GRIFFITH. +At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, +Lodged in the abbey, where the reverend abbot, +With all his covent, honourably received 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 +Pursued 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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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? + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Yes, good Griffith; +I were malicious else. + +GRIFFITH. +This Cardinal, +Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly +Was fashioned 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 loved 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 raised in you, +Ipswich and Oxford, one of which fell with him, +Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; +The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, +So excellent in art, and still so rising, +That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. +His overthrow heaped 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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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 named 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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone, +And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? + +GRIFFITH. +Madam, we are here. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +It is not you I call for. +Saw ye none enter since I slept? + +GRIFFITH. +None, madam. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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 promised 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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Bid the music leave, +They are harsh and heavy to me. + +[_Music ceases._] + +PATIENCE. +Do you note +How much her Grace is altered 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— + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Admit him entrance, Griffith. But this fellow +Let me ne’er see again. + +[_Exit Messenger._] + +Enter Lord Caputius. + +If my sight fail not, +You should be lord ambassador from the Emperor, +My royal nephew, and your name Caputius. + +CAPUTIUS. +Madam, the same. Your servant. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +O my lord, +The times and titles now are altered strangely +With me since first you knew me. But I pray you, +What is your pleasure with me? + +CAPUTIUS. +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. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +O my good lord, that comfort comes too late; +’Tis like a pardon after execution. +That gentle physic given in time had cured me, +But now I am past all comforts here but prayers. +How does his Highness? + +CAPUTIUS. +Madam, in good health. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +So may he ever do, and ever flourish, +When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name +Banished the kingdom. Patience, is that letter +I caused you write yet sent away? + +PATIENCE. +No, madam. + +[_Giving it to Katherine._] + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver +This to my lord the King. + +CAPUTIUS. +Most willing, madam. + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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 loved 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 followed 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 pleased 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. + +CAPUTIUS. +By heaven, I will, +Or let me lose the fashion of a man! + +QUEEN KATHERINE. +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 blessed 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 used 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 unqueened, yet like +A queen and daughter to a king inter me. +I can no more. + +[_Exeunt leading Katherine._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. 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? + +PAGE. +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 feared +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 grubbed up now. + +LOVELL. +Methinks I could +Cry the 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. You’re 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 remarked 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 more 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 ventured +To speak my mind of him. And indeed this day, +Sir—I may tell it you, I think—I have +Incensed 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 +Tomorrow 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 King and Suffolk. + +KING. +Charles, I will play no more tonight. +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 returned her thanks +In the great’st humbleness, and desired your Highness +Most heartily to pray for her. + +KING. +What sayst 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 prayers 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. + +Enter Cranmer and Denny. + +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, give me your hand. +Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, +And am right sorry to repeat what follows. +I have, and most unwillingly, of late +Heard many grievous—I do say, my lord, +Grievous—complaints of you, which, being considered, +Have moved us and our Council that you shall +This morning come before us, where I know, +You cannot with such freedom purge yourself +But that, till further trial in those charges +Which will require your answer, you must take +Your patience to you and be well contented +To make your house our Tower. You a brother of us, +It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness +Would come against you. + +CRANMER. +[_Kneeling_.] 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 halidom, +What manner of man are you? My lord, I looked +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 endurance, 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 opposed, and with a malice +Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, +I mean in perjured witness, than your master, +Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived +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. + +LOVELL. +[_Within_.] Come back! What mean you? + +Enter Old Lady; Lovell follows. + +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 delivered? +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. + +LOVELL. +Sir? + +KING. +Give her an hundred marks. I’ll to the Queen. + +[_Exit King._] + +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._] + +SCENE II. 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 prayed me +To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho! +Who waits there? + +Enter Keeper. + +Sure you know me? + +KEEPER. +Yes, my lord, +But yet I cannot help you. + +CRANMER. +Why? + +KEEPER. +Your Grace must wait till you be called 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 passed 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 fulfilled, and I attend with patience. + +Enter the King and Butts at a 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 o’ 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._] + +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 hand, 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. + +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’m 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 misdemeaned 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 informed—with new opinions, +Divers and dangerous, which are heresies +And, not reformed, 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 laboured, +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, you are a little, +By your good favour, too sharp. Men so noble, +However faulty, yet should find respect +For what they have been. ’Tis a cruelty +To load a falling man. + +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 conveyed 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 heaven! 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 vexed? + +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 King, frowning on them; 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 judgement 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 purposed +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, I +Am, for his love and service, so to him. +Make me no more ado, but all embrace him. +Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury, +I have a suit which you must not deny me: +That is, 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 Marquess 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 is your friend for ever.” +Come, lords, we trifle time away. I long +To have this young one made a Christian. +As I have made ye one, lords, one remain. +So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The palace yard. + +Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. + +PORTER. +You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take the court for +Parish Garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. + +ONE. +[_Within_.] Good master porter, I belong to th’ larder. + +PORTER. +Belong to th’ gallows, and be hanged, 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? + +PORTER’S 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 hanged? + +PORTER’S 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. + +PORTER’S MAN. +I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, +To mow ’em down before me; but if I spared 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! + +ONE. +[_Within_.] Do you hear, master porter? + +PORTER. +I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.— +Keep the door close, sirrah. + +PORTER’S 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. + +PORTER’S 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 railed upon me till her +pinked porringer fell off her head for kindling such a combustion in +the state. I missed 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, delivered such a shower 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 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? You’ve 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 all +By th’ heels, and suddenly, and on your heads +Clap round fines for neglect. You’re lazy knaves, +And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when +Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound! +They’re 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! + +PORTER’S 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._] + +SCENE IV. The palace. + +Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, +Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his marshal’s staff, Duke of Suffolk, two +Noblemen bearing great standing bowls for the christening gifts; then +four Noblemen bearing a canopy, 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, you’ve 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 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 loved and feared. 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 fixed. 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 the 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 pleased me +That when I am in heaven I shall desire +To see what this child does and praise my Maker. +I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor, +And you, good brethren, I am much beholding. +I have received much honour by your presence, +And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords. +Ye 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._] + +Epilogue + +Enter Epilogue. + +EPILOGUE. +’Tis ten to one this play can never please +All that are here. Some come to take their ease, +And sleep an act or two—but those, we fear, +We’ve frighted with our trumpets; so, ’tis clear, +They’ll say ’tis naught—others, to hear the city +Abused extremely and to cry “That’s witty!”— +Which we have not done neither—that I fear +All the expected good we’re like to hear +For this play at this time is only in +The merciful construction of good women, +For such a one we showed ’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. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace. + + ACT II + Scene I. France. Before the walls of Angiers. + + ACT III + Scene I. France. The French King’s tent. + Scene II. The same. Plains near Angiers + Scene III. The same. + Scene IV. The same. The French King’s tent. + + ACT IV + Scene I. Northampton. A Room in the Castle. + Scene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace. + Scene III. The same. Before the castle. + + ACT V + Scene I. Northampton. A Room in the Palace. + Scene II. Near Saint Edmundsbury. The French Camp. + Scene III. The same. The Field of Battle. + Scene IV. The same. Another part of the same. + Scene V. The same. The French camp. + Scene VI. An open place in the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey. + Scene VII. The orchard of Swinstead Abbey. + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING JOHN. +PRINCE HENRY, son to King John; afterwards KING HENRY III. +ARTHUR, Duke of Brittany, nephew to King John. +EARL OF PEMBROKE. +EARL OF ESSEX. +EARL OF SALISBURY. +ROBERT BIGOT, Earl of Norfolk. +HUBERT DE BURGH, Chamberlain to the King. +ROBERT FAULCONBRIDGE, son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge. +The BASTARD, PHILIP FAULCONBRIDGE, his half-brother, bastard son to +King Richard I. +JAMES GURNEY, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. +PETER OF POMFRET, a prophet + +KING PHILIP II., King of France. +LOUIS, the Dauphin; son to King Philip II. +DUKE OF AUSTRIA, also called Limoges. +MELUN, a French lord. +CHATILLION, Ambassador from France to King John. +CARDINAL PANDULPH, the Pope’s legate. + +QUEEN ELEANOR, Mother to King John and Widow of King Henry II. +CONSTANCE, Mother to Arthur. +BLANCHE OF SPAIN, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and Niece to +King John. +LADY FAULCONBRIDGE, Mother to the Bastard and Robert Faulconbridge. + +Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, +Executioners, Messengers and other Attendants. + +SCENE: Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. + + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I. Northampton. A Room of State in the Palace. + +Enter King John, Queen Eleanor, Pembroke, Essex, Salisbury and others +with Chatillion. + +KING JOHN. +Now, say, Chatillion, what would France with us? + +CHATILLION. +Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France +In my behaviour to the majesty, +The borrow’d majesty, of England here. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +A strange beginning: “borrow’d majesty”! + +KING JOHN. +Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. + +CHATILLION. +Philip of France, in right and true behalf +Of thy deceased brother Geoffrey’s son, +Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim +To this fair island and the territories, +To Ireland, Poitiers, 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? + +CHATILLION. +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. + +CHATILLION. +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, Chatillion. + +[_Exeunt Chatillion and Pembroke._] + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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, who whispers to Essex. + +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 Cœur-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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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, he 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! + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +He hath a trick of Cœur-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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +Whether hadst thou rather be: a Faulconbridge +And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land, +Or the reputed son of Cœur-de-lion, +Lord of thy presence and no land besides? + +BASTARD. +Madam, and 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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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 five pence and ’tis dear. +Madam, I’ll follow you unto the death. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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! + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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 … 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 Cœur-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 I. France. Before the walls of Angiers. + +Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Austria and Forces; on the other, +Philip King of France, Louis, Constance, Arthur and Forces. + +LOUIS. +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 Cœur-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. + +LOUIS. +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 Chatillion 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 Chatillion. + +KING PHILIP. +A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish, +Our messenger Chatillion is arriv’d. +What England says, say briefly, gentle lord; +We coldly pause for thee; Chatillion, speak. + +CHATILLION. +Then turn your forces from this paltry siege +And stir them up against a mightier task. +England, impatient of your just demands, +Hath put himself in arms. The adverse winds, +Whose leisure I have stay’d, have given him time +To land his legions all as soon as I; +His marches are expedient to this town, +His forces strong, his soldiers confident. +With him along is come the mother-queen, +An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife; +With her her niece, the Lady Blanche 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. + +[_Drums beat within._] + +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, Eleanor, Blanche, the Bastard, Pembroke, Lords and +Forces. + +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 underwrought 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 Geoffrey’s face; +These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: +This little abstract doth contain that large +Which died in Geoffrey, and the hand of time +Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. +That Geoffrey was thy elder brother born, +And this his son; England was Geoffrey’s right, +And this is Geoffrey’s. In the name of God, +How comes it then that thou art call’d a king, +When living blood doth in these temples beat, +Which owe the crown that thou o’ermasterest? + +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +Who is it thou dost call usurper, France? + +CONSTANCE. +Let me make answer: thy usurping son. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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 Geoffrey +Than thou and John in manners; being as like +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, and if thou wert his mother. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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 he 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. + +BLANCHE. +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. +Louis, determine what we shall do straight. + +LOUIS. +Women and fools, break off your conference. + +KING PHILIP. +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 Brittany, 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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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! + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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 cankered 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 +Confronts 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 threatened cheeks, +Behold, the French, amaz’d, vouchsafe a parle; +And now, instead of bullets wrapp’d in fire, +To make a shaking fever in your walls, +They shoot but calm words folded up in smoke, +To make a faithless error in your ears, +Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, +And let us in, your king, whose labour’d spirits +Forwearied in this action of swift speed, +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? + +FIRST 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. + +FIRST 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 swinged the dragon, and e’er since +Sits on ’s horseback 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 severally._] + +Here, after excursions, enter a Herald of France with Trumpets, to the +gates. + +FRENCH HERALD. +You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, +And let young Arthur, Duke of Brittany, in, +Who by the hand of France this day hath made +Much work for tears in many an English mother, +Whose sons lie scatter’d on the bleeding ground. +Many a widow’s husband grovelling lies, +Coldly embracing the discolour’d earth; +And victory, with little loss, doth play +Upon the dancing banners of the French, +Who are at hand, triumphantly display’d, +To enter conquerors, and to proclaim +Arthur of Brittany 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, +Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: +Open your gates and give the victors way. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Heralds, from off our towers, we might behold, +From first to last, the onset and retire +Of both your armies; whose equality +By our best eyes cannot be censured: +Blood hath bought blood, and blows have 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 on one side King John, Eleanor, Blanche, the Bastard and Forces; +on the other, King Philip, Louis, Austria and Forces. + +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 towers +When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! +O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; +The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; +And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, +In undetermin’d differences of kings. +Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? +Cry havoc, kings! Back to the stained field, +You equal 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? + +FIRST 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. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +A greater power than we denies all this; +And till it be undoubted, we do lock +Our former scruple in our strong-barr’d gates: +Kings of our fear, 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 powers +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. +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! + +FIRST 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. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanche, +Is niece to England. Look upon the years +Of Louis the Dauphin and that lovely maid. +If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, +Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche? +If zealous love should go in search of virtue, +Where should he find it purer than in Blanche? +If love ambitious sought a match of birth, +Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche? +Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, +Is the young Dauphin every way complete. +If not complete of, say he is not she; +And she again wants nothing, to name want, +If want it be not that she is not he: +He is the half part of a blessed man, +Left to be finished by such a she; +And she a fair divided excellence, +Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. +O, two such silver currents, when they join +Do glorify the banks that bound them in; +And two such shores to two such streams made one, +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Why answer not the double majesties +This friendly treaty of our threaten’d 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, Poitiers, +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. + +LOUIS. +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 Blanche._] + +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. + +BLANCHE. +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? + +BLANCHE. +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? + +LOUIS. +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, +Poitiers, 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. + +LOUIS. +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 Brittany, +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. The Citizens retire from the walls._] + +BASTARD. +Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! +John, to stop Arthur’s title 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 I. France. The French King’s tent. + +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 Louis have Blanche, and Blanche 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. +Louis marry Blanche? 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; +She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John, +And with her golden hand hath pluck’d on France +To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, +And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. +France is a bawd to Fortune and King John, +That strumpet Fortune, that usurping John! +Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? +Envenom him with words, or get thee gone, +And leave those woes alone which I alone +Am bound to underbear. + +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. Here I and sorrows sit; +Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. + +[_Seats herself on the ground._] + +Enter King John, King Philip, Louis, Blanche, Eleanor, 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 holy day. + +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 wrack; +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 Limoges, 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. + +KING PHILIP. +Here comes the holy legate of the Pope. + +Enter Pandulph. + +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 earthy 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 God 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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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? + +LOUIS. +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. + +BLANCHE. +That’s the curse of Rome. + +CONSTANCE. +O Louis, stand fast! The devil tempts thee here +In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. + +BLANCHE. +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 sett’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 falsehood cures, as fire cools fire +Within the scorched veins of one new-burn’d. +It is religion that doth make vows kept, +But thou hast sworn against religion +By what thou swear’st against the thing thou swear’st, +And mak’st an oath the surety for thy truth +Against an oath. The truth thou art unsure +To swear, swears only not to be forsworn, +Else what a mockery should it be to swear? +But thou dost swear only to be forsworn, +And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. +Therefore thy latter vows against thy first +Is in thyself rebellion to thyself; +And better conquest never canst thou make +Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts +Against these giddy loose suggestions, +Upon which better part our prayers come in, +If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then know +The peril of our curses light on thee, +So heavy as thou shalt not shake them 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? + +LOUIS. +Father, to arms! + +BLANCHE. +Upon thy wedding-day? +Against the blood that thou hast married? +What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter’d men? +Shall braying trumpets and loud churlish drums, +Clamours of hell, be 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! + +BLANCHE. +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, Louis, thine honour! + +LOUIS. +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! + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +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. + +BLANCHE. +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. + +LOUIS. +Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. + +BLANCHE. +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 II. The same. 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 rescu’d her; +Her highness is in safety, fear you not. +But on, my liege; for very little pains +Will bring this labour to an happy end. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. + +Alarums, Excursions, Retreat. Enter King John, Eleanor, Arthur, the +Bastard, Hubert and Lords. + +KING JOHN. +[_To Eleanor_] 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; imprison’d angels +Set at liberty. The fat ribs of peace +Must by the hungry now be fed upon. +Use our commission in his utmost force. + +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +Farewell, gentle cousin. + +KING JOHN. +Coz, farewell. + +[_Exit Bastard._] + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. + +[_She takes Arthur aside._] + +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 tune. +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 gauds +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 ears, and make reply +Without a tongue, using conceit alone, +Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; +Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, +I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. +But, ah, I will not! Yet I love thee well; +And, by my troth, I think thou lov’st me well. + +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. + +QUEEN ELEANOR. +My blessing go with thee! + +KING JOHN. +For England, cousin, go. +Hubert shall be your man, attend on you +With all true duty. On toward Calais, ho! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The same. The French King’s tent. + +Enter King Philip, Louis, Pandulph and Attendants. + +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? + +LOUIS. +What 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 Geoffrey’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, + +[_She unbinds 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 all the world! +My widow-comfort, and my sorrows’ cure! + +[_Exit._] + +KING PHILIP. +I fear some outrage, and I’ll follow her. + +[_Exit._] + +LOUIS. +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? + +LOUIS. +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? + +LOUIS. +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. + +LOUIS. +But what shall I gain by young Arthur’s fall? + +PANDULPH. +You, in the right of Lady Blanche your wife, +May then make all the claim that Arthur did. + +LOUIS. +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. + +LOUIS. +Maybe 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 call +To train ten thousand English to their side, +Or as a little snow, tumbled about, +Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, +Go with me to the King. ’Tis wonderful +What may be wrought out of their discontent, +Now that their souls are topful of offence. +For England go. I will whet on the King. + +LOUIS. +Strong reasons makes strong actions. Let us go. +If you say ay, the King will not say no. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. Northampton. A Room in the Castle. + +Enter Hubert and two 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. + +FIRST 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 title +To be more prince, as may be. You are sad. + +HUBERT. +Indeed, I have been merrier. + +ARTHUR. +Mercy on me! +Methinks nobody 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 Geoffrey’s son? +No, indeed, is’t 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 today. +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 handkercher 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 lien 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. + +Enter Executioners with cords, irons, &c. + +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 angerly. +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. + +FIRST 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 undeserv’d extremes. See else yourself. +There is no malice in this burning coal; +The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out +And strew’d repentant ashes on his head. + +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 disguised. + +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 II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace. + +Enter King John, crowned, Pembroke, Salisbury and other Lords. The King +takes his State. + +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 the excuse, +As patches set upon a little breach +Discredit more in hiding of the fault +Than did the fault before it was so patch’d. + +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. + +Hubert, what news with you? + +[_Taking him apart._] + +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 tonight. + +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 power +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 powers 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 afeard 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 travaill’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 OF POMFRET. +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 tonight +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. + +[_Exit Bastard._] + +KING JOHN. +Spoke like a sprightful noble gentleman! +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! + +Enter Hubert. + +HUBERT. +My lord, they say five moons were seen tonight— +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 murder’d 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 purpos’d, +Or turn’d an eye of doubt upon my face, +As bid me tell my tale in express words, +Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, +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 brav’d, +Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers. +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 enter’d yet +The dreadful motion of a murderous thought; +And you have slander’d nature in my form, +Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, +Is yet the cover of a fairer mind +Than to be butcher of an innocent child. + +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 III. The same. 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. +Tomorrow 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 today 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’s else. + +SALISBURY. +This is the prison. What is he lies here? + +[_Seeing Arthur._] + +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 slaughterhouse; +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 unow’d 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 I. Northampton. A Room in the Palace. + +Enter King John, Pandulph with the crown, and Attendants. + +KING JOHN. +Thus have I yielded up into your hand +The circle of my glory. + +PANDULPH. +[_Giving King John 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 mistemper’d 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 robb’d 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 cocker’d silken wanton, brave our fields, +And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, +Mocking the air with colours idly spread, +And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms! +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 II. Near Saint Edmundsbury. The French Camp. + +Enter, in arms, Louis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke, Bigot and soldiers. + +LOUIS. +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! + +LOUIS. +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 shower, 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 Louis himself.—So, nobles, shall you all, +That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. +And even there, methinks, an angel spake. + +Enter Pandulph. + +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 foster’d up at hand, +It may lie gently at the foot of peace +And be no further harmful than in show. + +LOUIS. +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 win this easy match play’d for a crown? +And shall I now give o’er the yielded set? +No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. + +PANDULPH. +You look but on the outside of this work. + +LOUIS. +Outside or inside, I will not return +Till my attempt so much be glorified +As to my ample hope was promised +Before I drew this gallant head of war, +And cull’d these fiery spirits from the world, +To outlook conquest and to win renown +Even in the jaws of danger and of death. + +[_Trumpet sounds._] + +What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? + +Enter the Bastard, attended. + +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 towers +To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.— +And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, +You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb +Of your dear mother England, blush for shame! +For your own ladies and pale-visag’d maids +Like Amazons come tripping after drums, +Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, +Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts +To fierce and bloody inclination. + +LOUIS. +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. + +LOUIS. +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. + +LOUIS. +Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. + +BASTARD. +And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. 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 wrack’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 IV. The same. Another part of the same. + +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, and led by Soldiers. + +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 more 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 Louis do win the day, +He is forsworn if e’er those eyes of yours +Behold another day break in the east. +But even this night, whose black contagious breath +Already smokes about the burning crest +Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, +Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, +Paying the fine of rated treachery +Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, +If Louis by your assistance win the day. +Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; +The love of him, and this respect besides, +For that my grandsire was an Englishman, +Awakes my conscience to confess all this. +In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence +From forth the noise and rumour of the field, +Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts +In peace, and part this body and my soul +With contemplation and devout desires. + +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 our great King John. +My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; +For I do see the cruel pangs of death +Right in thine eye.—Away, my friends! New flight, +And happy newness, that intends old right. + +[_Exeunt, leading off Melun._] + +SCENE V. The same. The French camp. + +Enter Louis and his train. + +LOUIS. +The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, +But stay’d, and made the western welkin blush, +When the 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? + +LOUIS. +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. + +LOUIS. +Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart! +I did not think to be so sad tonight +As this hath made me. Who was he that said +King John did fly an hour or two before +The stumbling night did part our weary powers? + +MESSENGER. +Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. + +LOUIS. +Well, keep good quarter and good care tonight. +The day shall not be up so soon as I, +To try the fair adventure of tomorrow. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. An open place in the neighborhood of Swinstead Abbey. + +Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. + +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 VII. The orchard of 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. + +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 burn’d, +And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail +Are turned to one thread, one little hair. +My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, +Which holds but till thy news be uttered; +And then all this thou seest is but a clod +And 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 power, +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 powers? 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 judgement 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 judgement, 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._] Prithee 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. +Prithee, 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 prithee 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’d have thee beaten for being +old before thy time. + +LEAR. +How’s that? + +FOOL. +Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. + +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. +Prithee, 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 prithee, 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. +Prithee 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. +Prithee, 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. +Prithee, 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 prithee, 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 prithee 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 prithee 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. +Prithee, 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 prithee 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. The King of Navarre’s park + Scene II. The park + + ACT II + Scene I. The King of Navarre’s park. A pavilion and tents at a distance + + ACT III + Scene I. The King of Navarre’s park + + ACT IV + Scene I. The King of Navarre’s park + Scene II. The same + Scene III. The same + + ACT V + Scene I. The King of Navarre’s park + Scene II. The same. Before the Princess’s pavilion + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING of Navarre, also known as Ferdinand + +BEROWNE, Lord attending on the King +LONGAVILLE, Lord attending on the King +DUMAINE, Lord attending on the King + +The PRINCESS of France + +ROSALINE, Lady attending on the Princess +MARIA, Lady attending on the Princess +KATHARINE, Lady attending on the Princess +BOYET, Lord attending on the Princess + +Don Adriano de ARMADO, a fantastical Spaniard +MOTH, Page to Armado +JAQUENETTA, a country wench +COSTARD, a Clown +DULL, a Constable +HOLOFERNES, a Schoolmaster +Sir NATHANIEL, a Curate +A FORESTER +MARCADÉ, a messenger from France + +Lords, Blackamoors, Officers and Others, Attendants on the King and +Princess. + +SCENE: Navarre + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park + + +Enter Ferdinand, King of Navarre, Berowne, Longaville and Dumaine. + +KING. +Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, +Live registered 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, Dumaine and Longaville, +Have sworn for three years’ term to live with me, +My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes +That are recorded in this schedule here. +Your oaths are passed, and now subscribe your names, +That his own hand may strike his honour down +That violates the smallest branch herein. +If you are armed to do as sworn to do, +Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. + +LONGAVILLE. +I am resolved. ’Tis but a three years’ fast. +The mind shall banquet, though the body pine. +Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits +Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. + +[_He signs._] + +DUMAINE. +My loving lord, Dumaine is mortified. +The grosser manner of these world’s delights +He throws upon the gross world’s baser slaves. +To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die, +With all these living in philosophy. + +[_He signs._] + +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 passed 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 barred, 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 purchased, 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-searched with saucy looks; +Small have continual plodders ever won, + Save base authority from others’ books. +These earthly godfathers of heaven’s lights, + That give a name to every fixed star, +Have no more profit of their shining nights + Than those that walk and wot not what they are. +Too much to know is to know naught but fame, +And every godfather can give a name. + +KING. +How well he’s read, to reason against reading. + +DUMAINE. +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. + +DUMAINE. +How follows that? + +BEROWNE. +Fit in his place and time. + +DUMAINE. +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 you 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 sworn + 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 +devised 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 overshot. +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 mastered, 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, +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. + +[_He signs._] + +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 Arm… Arm… 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 long 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 laughing? + +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 fostering 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 +walked upon. It is ycleped thy park. Then for the place, where? Where, +I mean, I did encounter that obscene and most preposterous event that +draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here thou +viewest, 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. +[_Reads_.] _That unlettered small-knowing soul—_ + +COSTARD. +Me? + +KING. +[_Reads_.] _That shallow vassal—_ + +COSTARD. +Still me? + +KING. +[_Reads_.] _Which, as I remember, hight Costard—_ + +COSTARD. +O me! + +KING. +[_Reads_.] _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. +[_Reads_.] _With a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy +more sweet understanding, a woman. Him, I, as my ever-esteemed duty +pricks me on, have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by +thy sweet Grace’s officer, Antony Dull, a man of good repute, carriage, +bearing, and estimation._ + +DULL. +Me, an’t shall please you; I am Antony Dull. + +KING. +[_Reads_.] _For Jaquenetta, so is the weaker vessel called which I +apprehended with the aforesaid swain, I keep her as a vessel of thy +law’s fury, and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to +trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heartburning heat of +duty, + Don Adriano de Armado._ + +BEROWNE. +This is not so well as I looked for, but the best that ever I heard. + +KING. +Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this? + +COSTARD. +Sir, I confess the wench. + +KING. +Did you hear the proclamation? + +COSTARD. +I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. + +KING. +It was proclaimed a year’s imprisonment to be taken with a wench. + +COSTARD. +I was taken with none, sir. I was taken with a damsel. + +KING. +Well, it was proclaimed “damsel”. + +COSTARD. +This was no damsel neither, sir; she was a virgin. + +KING. +It is so varied too, for it was proclaimed “virgin”. + +COSTARD. +If it were, I deny her virginity. I was taken with a maid. + +KING. +This maid will not serve your turn, sir. + +COSTARD. +This maid will serve my turn, sir. + +KING. +Sir, I will pronounce your sentence: you shall fast a week with bran +and water. + +COSTARD. +I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. + +KING. +And Don Armado shall be your keeper. +My Lord 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 Dumaine._] + +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 selfsame 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. +What, 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 answered, sir. + +ARMADO. +I love not to be crossed. + +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 reckoning. 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’s 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-devised curtsy. I think scorn to sigh; methinks I should +outswear 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 masked under such colours. + +ARMADO. +Define, define, well-educated infant. + +MOTH. +My father’s wit and 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 whipped: and yet a better love than my master. + +ARMADO. +Sing, boy. My spirit grows heavy in love. + +MOTH. +And that’s great marvel, loving a light wench. + +ARMADO. +I say, sing. + +MOTH. +Forbear till this company be past. + +Enter Costard the Clown, Dull the Constable and Jaquenetta a Wench. + +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 he must fast three +days a week. For this damsel, I must keep her at the park. She is +allowed for the dey-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. + +[_Exeunt Dull and 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 I. The King of Navarre’s park. A pavilion and tents at a distance + + +Enter the Princess of France, with three attending Ladies: Rosaline, +Maria, Katharine and three Lords: Boyet, and two others. + +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. +Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, +Needs not the painted flourish of your praise. +Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, +Not uttered 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-visaged suitors, his high will. + +BOYET. +Proud of employment, willingly I go. + +PRINCESS. +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? + +LORD. +Lord Longaville is one. + +PRINCESS. +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, he is esteemed, +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 matched 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. +Some merry mocking lord, belike. Is’t so? + +MARIA. +They say so most that most his humours know. + +PRINCESS. +Such short-lived wits do wither as they grow. +Who are the rest? + +KATHARINE. +The young Dumaine, a well-accomplished 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 Alençon’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. +God bless my ladies! Are they all in love, +That every one her own hath garnished +With such bedecking ornaments of praise? + +LORD. +Here comes Boyet. + +Enter Boyet. + +PRINCESS. +Now, what admittance, lord? + +BOYET. +Navarre had notice of your fair approach, +And he and his competitors in oath +Were all addressed to meet you, gentle lady, +Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learned: +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. + +Enter King of Navarre, Longaville, Dumaine, Berowne and Attendants. + +Here comes Navarre. + +KING. +Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. + +PRINCESS. +“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. +I will be welcome then. Conduct me thither. + +KING. +Hear me, dear lady. I have sworn an oath. + +PRINCESS. +Our Lady help my lord! He’ll be forsworn. + +KING. +Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. + +PRINCESS. +Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. + +KING. +Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. + +PRINCESS. +Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, +Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. +I hear your Grace hath sworn out housekeeping. +’Tis deadly sin to keep that 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. + +[_She gives him a paper._] + +KING. +Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. + +PRINCESS. +You will the sooner that I were away, +For you’ll prove perjured if you make me stay. + +[_The King reads the paper._] + +BEROWNE. +[_To Rosaline_.] Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? + +ROSALINE. +Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? + +BEROWNE. +I know you did. + +ROSALINE. +How needless was it then +To ask the question! + +BEROWNE. +You must not be so quick. + +ROSALINE. +’Tis long of you that spur me with such questions. + +BEROWNE. +Your wit’s too hot, it speeds too fast, ’twill tire. + +ROSALINE. +Not till it leave the rider in the mire. + +BEROWNE. +What time o’ day? + +ROSALINE. +The hour that fools should ask. + +BEROWNE. +Now fair befall your mask. + +ROSALINE. +Fair fall the face it covers. + +BEROWNE. +And send you many lovers! + +ROSALINE. +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, +Received 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. +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. +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. +Tomorrow you shall have a sight of them. + +KING. +It shall suffice me; at which interview +All liberal reason I will yield unto. +Meantime receive such welcome at my hand +As honour, without breach of honour, may +Make tender of to thy true worthiness. +You may not come, fair Princess, in my gates, +But here without you shall be so received +As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, +Though so denied fair harbour in my house. +Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell. +Tomorrow shall we visit you again. + +PRINCESS. +Sweet health and fair desires consort your Grace. + +KING. +Thy own wish wish I thee in every place. + +[_Exeunt the King, Longaville and Dumaine._] + +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. +_Non point_, with my knife. + +BEROWNE. +Now, God save thy life. + +ROSALINE. +And yours from long living. + +BEROWNE. +I cannot stay thanksgiving. + +[_He exits._] + +Enter Dumaine. + +DUMAINE. +Sir, I pray you, a word. What lady is that same? + +BOYET. +The heir of Alençon, Katharine her name. + +DUMAINE. +A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare you well. + +[_He exits._] + +Enter Longaville. + +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._] + +Enter Berowne. + +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._] + +MARIA. +That last is Berowne, the merry madcap lord. +Not a word with him but a jest. + +BOYET. +And every jest but a word. + +PRINCESS. +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. + +[_He tries 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. +Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. +This civil war of wits were much better used +On Navarre and his bookmen, 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. +With what? + +BOYET. +With that which we lovers entitle “affected”. + +PRINCESS. +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 locked in his eye, +As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; +Who, tend’ring their own worth from where they were glassed, +Did point you to buy them, along as you passed. +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. +Come, to our pavilion. Boyet is disposed. + +BOYET. +But to speak that in words which his eye hath disclosed. +I only have made a mouth of his eye +By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. + +ROSALINE. +Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest skilfully. + +MARIA. +He is Cupid’s grandfather, and learns news of him. + +ROSALINE. +Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim. + +BOYET. +Do you hear, my mad wenches? + +MARIA. +No. + +BOYET. +What, then, do you see? + +ROSALINE. +Ay, our way to be gone. + +BOYET. +You are too hard for me. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. The King of Navarre’s park + + +Enter Armado the Braggart and Moth his Boy. + +ARMADO. +Warble, child, make passionate my sense of hearing. + +MOTH. +[_Singing_.] +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 +snuffed up love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse-like o’er the +shop of your eyes, with your arms crossed on your thin-belly doublet +like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket like a man after +the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and +away. These are compliments, 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 sympathized: 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 fired 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, voluble 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 returned. + +Enter Moth and Costard. + +MOTH. +A wonder, master! Here’s a costard broken in a shin. + +ARMADO. +Some enigma, some riddle. Come, thy _l’envoi_ begin. + +COSTARD. +No egma, no riddle, no _l’envoi_, no salve in the mail, sir. O, sir, +plantain, a plain plantain! No _l’envoi_, no _l’envoi_, 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’envoi_, and the word +_l’envoi_ for a _salve?_ + +MOTH. +Do the wise think them other? Is not _l’envoi_ 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’envoi_. + +MOTH. +I will add the _l’envoi_. 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 stayed the odds by adding four. +Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my _l’envoi_. + 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’envoi_, 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’envoi_—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 called you for the _l’envoi_. + +COSTARD. +True, and I for a plantain. Thus came your argument in. Then the boy’s +fat _l’envoi_, 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’envoi_. + 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’envoi_, 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: [_Giving him a letter_.] bear this +significant to the country maid Jaquenetta. [_Giving money_.] 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. + +[_Exit Moth._] + +COSTARD. +My sweet ounce of man’s flesh, my incony Jew! +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 tomorrow 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 sealed-up counsel. + +[_Gives him money._] + +There’s thy guerdon. Go. + +COSTARD. +Gardon, O sweet gardon! Better than remuneration, a ’levenpence +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 Signior 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 watched that it may still go right! +Nay, to be perjured, 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 King of Navarre’s park + + +Enter the Princess, a Forester, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet and +other Lords. + +PRINCESS. +Was that the King that spurred his horse so hard +Against the steep uprising of the hill? + +BOYET. +I know not, but I think it was not he. + +PRINCESS. +Whoe’er he was, he showed a mounting mind. +Well, lords, today 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. +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. +What, what? First praise me, and again say no? +O short-lived pride! Not fair? Alack for woe! + +FORESTER. +Yes, madam, fair. + +PRINCESS. +Nay, never paint me now. +Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. +Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: + +[_She gives him money._] + +Fair payment for foul words is more than due. + +FORESTER. +Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. + +PRINCESS. +See, see, my beauty will be saved 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. +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. +Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. + +COSTARD. +Which is the greatest lady, the highest? + +PRINCESS. +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. +What’s your will, sir? What’s your will? + +COSTARD. +I have a letter from Monsieur Berowne to one Lady Rosaline. + +PRINCESS. +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. +We will read it, I swear. +Break the neck of the wax, and everyone 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, see, and overcame. He came, one; see, +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 enriched. On whose side? The +beggar’s. The catastrophe is a nuptial. On whose side? The King’s? No, +on both in one, or one in both. I am the King, for so stands the +comparison; thou the beggar, for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I +command thy love? I may. Shall I 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. +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. +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. +Thou, fellow, a word. +Who gave thee this letter? + +COSTARD. +I told you: my lord. + +PRINCESS. +To whom shouldst thou give it? + +COSTARD. +From my lord to my lady. + +PRINCESS. +From which lord to which lady? + +COSTARD. +From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine, +To a lady of France that he called Rosaline. + +PRINCESS. +Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, away. +Here, sweet, put up this: ’twill be thine another day. + +[_Exeunt all but Boyet, Rosaline, Maria and Costard._] + +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 +Guinevere of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. + +ROSALINE. + 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._] + +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, o’ the 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 he will swear! +And his page o’ t’other side, that handful of wit! +Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit. + +[_Shout within._] + +Sola, sola! + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The same + +Enter Dull, Holofernes, the Pedant and Nathaniel. + +NATHANIEL. +Very reverend 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 “auld grey doe”, ’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 “auld grey doe”, ’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 of 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 bookmen. 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 pollution holds in the exchange, for the moon is never +but a month old; and I say beside that ’twas a pricket that the +Princess killed. + +HOLOFERNES. +Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the +deer? And, to humour the ignorant, call I the deer the Princess killed +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 pierced and pricked a pretty pleasing pricket; +Some say a sore; but not a sore till now made sore with shooting. +The dogs did yell, put “l” 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, +nourished in the womb of _pia mater_, and delivered upon the mellowing +of occasion. But the gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I +am thankful for it. + +NATHANIEL. +Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may my parishioners, for their +sons are well tutored by 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_ pierce one. And if one should be pierced, which +is the one? + +COSTARD. +Marry, Master schoolmaster, he that is likest to a hogshead. + +HOLOFERNES. +Of piercing a hogshead! A good lustre or 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. + +[_Giving a letter to Nathaniel._] + +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. +[_He sings_.] + 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 sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue._ + +HOLOFERNES. +You find not the apostrophus, and so miss the accent. Let me supervise +the canzonet. [_He takes the letter_.] 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 today 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 same + +Enter Berowne with a paper in his hand, alone. + +BEROWNE. +The King, he is hunting the deer; I am coursing myself. They have +pitched a toil; I am toiling in a pitch, pitch that defiles. Defile! A +foul word! Well, set thee down, sorrow, for so they say the fool said, +and so say I, and I the fool. Well proved, wit! By the Lord, this love +is as mad as Ajax. It kills sheep, it kills me, I a sheep. Well proved +again, 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! + +[_He stands aside._] + +Enter the King with a paper. + +KING. +Ay me! + +BEROWNE. +[_Aside_.] Shot, by heaven! Proceed, sweet Cupid, thou hast thumped him +with thy birdbolt 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._] + +What, Longaville, and reading! Listen, ear. + +Enter Longaville with a paper. + +BEROWNE. +[_Aside_.] 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 perjured 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 shop. + +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 gained, 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. + +LONGAVILLE. +By whom shall I send this?—Company! Stay. + +[_He steps aside._] + +Enter Dumaine with a paper. + +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. +Dumaine transformed! Four woodcocks in a dish! + +DUMAINE. +O most divine Kate! + +BEROWNE. +O most profane coxcomb! + +DUMAINE. +By heaven, the wonder in a mortal eye! + +BEROWNE. +By earth, she is but corporal. There you lie. + +DUMAINE. +Her amber hairs for foul hath amber quoted. + +BEROWNE. +An amber-coloured raven was well noted. + +DUMAINE. +As upright as the cedar. + +BEROWNE. +Stoop, I say. +Her shoulder is with child. + +DUMAINE. +As fair as day. + +BEROWNE. +Ay, as some days, but then no sun must shine. + +DUMAINE. +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? + +DUMAINE. +I would forget her; but a fever she +Reigns in my blood, and will remembered be. + +BEROWNE. +A fever in your blood? Why, then incision +Would let her out in saucers. Sweet misprision! + +DUMAINE. +Once more I’ll read the ode that I have writ. + +BEROWNE. +Once more I’ll mark how love can vary wit. + +DUMAINE. +[_Dumaine reads his sonnet_.] + _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, + Wished 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 perjured note, +For none offend where all alike do dote. + +LONGAVILLE. +[_Comes forward_.] Dumaine, thy love is far from charity, +That in love’s grief desir’st society. +You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, +To be o’erheard and taken napping so. + +KING. +[_Comes forward_.] 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 marked you both, and for you both did blush. +I heard your guilty rhymes, observed 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 Dumaine_.] 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. +[_Comes forward_.] +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 perjured, ’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 foolery have I seen, +Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! +O me, with what strict patience have I sat, +To see a king transformed to a gnat! +To see great Hercules whipping a gig, +And profound Solomon to tune a jig, +And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, +And critic Timon laugh at idle toys. +Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, good Dumaine? +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 to me, but I betrayed by 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, with a letter, 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. + +DUMAINE. +[_Picking up the pieces_.] +It is Berowne’s writing, and here is his name. + +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 lacked 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. + +DUMAINE. +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 Ind, +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 inspired 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 culled 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 withered 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 word 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 decked, +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. + +DUMAINE. +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. + +DUMAINE. +Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. + +BEROWNE. +Your mistresses dare never come in rain, +For fear their colours should be washed away. + +KING. +’Twere good yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, +I’ll find a fairer face not washed today. + +BEROWNE. +I’ll prove her fair, or talk till doomsday here. + +KING. +No devil will fright thee then so much as she. + +DUMAINE. +I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. + +LONGAVILLE. +[_Showing his shoe_.] +Look, here’s thy love, my foot and her face see. + +BEROWNE. +O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes, +Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. + +DUMAINE. +O vile! Then, as she goes, what upward lies +The street should see as she walked over head. + +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. + +DUMAINE. +Ay, marry, there; some flattery for this evil. + +LONGAVILLE. +O, some authority how to proceed. +Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. + +DUMAINE. +Some salve for perjury. + +BEROWNE. +O, ’tis more than need. +Have at you, then, affection’s men-at-arms. +Consider what you first did swear unto: +To fast, to study, and to see no woman— +Flat treason ’gainst the kingly state of youth. +Say, can you fast? Your stomachs are too young, +And abstinence engenders maladies. +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 enriched 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 stopped. +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 tempered 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! But be first advised +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, masques, 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!_ Sowed cockle reaped 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 King of Navarre’s 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” _sine_ “b”, 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 “abominable”. 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 scratched; ’twill serve. + +Enter Armado, Moth and Costard. + +NATHANIEL. +_Videsne quis venit?_ + +HOLOFERNES. +_Video, et gaudeo._ + +ARMADO. +_Chirrah!_ + +HOLOFERNES. +_Quare_ “chirrah”, not “sirrah”? + +ARMADO. +Men of peace, well encountered. + +HOLOFERNES. +Most military sir, salutation. + +MOTH. +[_Aside to Costard_.] They have been at a great feast of languages and +stolen the scraps. + +COSTARD. +O, they have lived long on the almsbasket of words. I marvel thy master +hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art 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 lettered? + +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. +Offered 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 _unum +cita_. A gig of a cuckold’s horn. + +COSTARD. +An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy +gingerbread. Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, +thou 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 culled, 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 rendered 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; and 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 same. Before the Princess’s pavilion + +Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria. + +PRINCESS. +Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, +If fairings come thus plentifully in. +A lady walled about with diamonds! +Look you what I have from the loving King. + +ROSALINE. +Madam, came nothing else along with that? + +PRINCESS. +Nothing but this? Yes, as much love in rhyme +As would be crammed 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 years a boy. + +KATHARINE. +Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. + +ROSALINE. +You’ll ne’er be friends with him. He killed 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 ha’ 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. +Well bandied both; a set of wit well played. +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 numbering too, +I were the fairest goddess on the ground. +I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. +O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter. + +PRINCESS. +Anything like? + +ROSALINE. +Much in the letters, nothing in the praise. + +PRINCESS. +Beauteous as ink: a good conclusion. + +KATHARINE. +Fair as a text B in a copy-book. + +ROSALINE. +’Ware pencils, how! Let me not die your debtor, +My red dominical, my golden letter. +O, that your face were not so full of O’s! + +PRINCESS. +A pox of that jest! And beshrew all shrews. +But, Katharine, what was sent to you from fair Dumaine? + +KATHARINE. +Madam, this glove. + +PRINCESS. +Did he not send you twain? + +KATHARINE. +Yes, madam, and moreover, +Some thousand verses of a faithful lover. +A huge translation of hypocrisy, +Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. + +MARIA. +This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville. +The letter is too long by half a mile. + +PRINCESS. +I think no less. Dost thou not wish in heart +The chain were longer and the letter short? + +MARIA. +Ay, or I would these hands might never part. + +PRINCESS. +We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. + +ROSALINE. +They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. +That same 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 pair-taunt-like would I o’ersway his state, +That he should be my fool, and I his fate. + +PRINCESS. +None are so surely caught, when they are catched, +As wit turned fool. Folly, in wisdom hatched, +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. +Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. + +BOYET. +O, I am stabbed with laughter! Where’s her Grace? + +PRINCESS. +Thy news, Boyet? + +BOYET. +Prepare, madam, prepare! +Arm, wenches, arm! Encounters mounted are +Against your peace. Love doth approach disguised, +Armed in arguments. You’ll be surprised. +Muster your wits, stand in your own defence, +Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. + +PRINCESS. +Saint Denis 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 purposed rest, +Toward that shade I might behold addressed +The King and his companions. Warily +I stole into a neighbour thicket by, +And overheard what you shall overhear: +That, by and by, disguised they will be here. +Their herald is a pretty knavish page +That well by heart hath conned 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 feared her had she been a devil.” +With that all laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, +Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. +One rubbed his elbow thus, and fleered, 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 capered, and cried “All goes well!” +The fourth turned on the toe, and down he fell. +With that they all did tumble on the ground, +With such a zealous laughter, so profound, +That in this spleen ridiculous appears, +To check their folly, passion’s solemn tears. + +PRINCESS. +But what, but what, come they to visit us? + +BOYET. +They do, they do, and are apparelled 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. +And will they so? The gallants shall be tasked; +For, ladies, we will every one be masked, +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, deceived by these removes. + +ROSALINE. +Come on, then, wear the favours most in sight. + +KATHARINE. +But in this changing, what is your intent? + +PRINCESS. +The effect of my intent is to cross theirs. +They do it but in mocking merriment, +And mock for mock is only my intent. +Their several counsels they unbosom shall +To loves mistook, and so be mocked withal +Upon the next occasion that we meet, +With visages displayed to talk and greet. + +ROSALINE. +But shall we dance, if they desire us to’t? + +PRINCESS. +No, to the death we will not move a foot, +Nor to their penned speech render we no grace, +But while ’tis spoke each turn away her face. + +BOYET. +Why, that contempt will kill the speaker’s heart, +And quite divorce his memory from his part. + +PRINCESS. +Therefore I do it, and I make no doubt +The rest will ne’er come in, if he be out. +There’s no such sport as sport by sport o’erthrown, +To make theirs ours and ours none but our own. +So shall we stay, mocking intended game, +And they, well mocked, depart away with shame. + +[_Sound trumpet, within._] + +BOYET. +The trumpet sounds. Be masked; the maskers come. + +[_The Ladies mask._] + +Enter Blackamoors with music, Moth, with a speech, the King, Berowne, +Longaville and Dumaine disguised. + +MOTH. +_All hail, the richest beauties on the earth!_ + +BOYET. +Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. + +MOTH. +_A holy parcel of the fairest dames_ + +[_The Ladies turn their backs to him._] + +_That ever turned their_—backs—_to mortal views!_ + +BEROWNE. +_Their eyes_, villain, _their eyes._ + +MOTH. +_That ever turned 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 measured many miles +To tread a measure with her on this grass. + +BOYET. +They say that they have measured many a mile +To tread a measure with you on this grass. + +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 easily told. + +BOYET. +If to come hither you have measured 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 numbered 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 account. +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 bidd’st me beg; this begging is not strange. + +ROSALINE. +Play, music, then! Nay, you must do it soon. + +[_Music plays._] + +Not yet? No dance! Thus change I like the moon. + +KING. +Will you not dance? How come you thus 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 pleased with that. + +[_They converse apart._] + +BEROWNE. +White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. + +PRINCESS. +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. +Seventh sweet, adieu. +Since you can cog, I’ll play no more with you. + +BEROWNE. +One word in secret. + +PRINCESS. +Let it not be sweet. + +BEROWNE. +Thou griev’st my gall. + +PRINCESS. +Gall! Bitter. + +BEROWNE. +Therefore meet. + +[_They converse apart._] + +DUMAINE. +Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? + +MARIA. +Name it. + +DUMAINE. +Fair lady— + +MARIA. +Say you so? Fair lord! +Take that for your “fair lady”. + +DUMAINE. +Please it you, +As much in private, and I’ll bid adieu. + +[_They converse apart._] + +KATHARINE. +What, was your visor made without a tongue? + +LONGAVILLE. +I know the reason, lady, why you ask. + +KATHARINE. +O, for your reason! Quickly, sir, I long. + +LONGAVILLE. +You have a double tongue within your mask, +And would afford my speechless visor half. + +KATHARINE. +“Veal”, quoth the Dutchman. Is not veal a 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. +Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. +Are these the breed of wits so wondered at? + +BOYET. +Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puffed out. + +ROSALINE. +Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, fat. + +PRINCESS. +O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! +Will they not, think you, hang themselves tonight? +Or ever but in vizors show their faces? +This pert Berowne was out of countenance quite. + +ROSALINE. +They were all in lamentable cases. +The King was weeping-ripe for a good word. + +PRINCESS. +Berowne did swear himself out of all suit. + +MARIA. +Dumaine was at my service, and his sword. +“_Non point_,” quoth I; my servant straight was mute. + +KATHARINE. +Lord Longaville said I came o’er his heart; +And trow you what he called me? + +PRINCESS. +Qualm, perhaps. + +KATHARINE. +Yes, in good faith. + +PRINCESS. +Go, sickness as thou art! + +ROSALINE. +Well, better wits have worn plain statute-caps. +But will you hear? The King is my love sworn. + +PRINCESS. +And quick Berowne hath plighted faith to me. + +KATHARINE. +And Longaville was for my service born. + +MARIA. +Dumaine is mine as sure as bark on tree. + +BOYET. +Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear. +Immediately they will again be here +In their own shapes, for it can never be +They will digest this harsh indignity. + +PRINCESS. +Will they return? + +BOYET. +They will, they will, God knows, +And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows. +Therefore, change favours and, when they repair, +Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. + +PRINCESS. +How “blow”? How “blow”? Speak to be understood. + +BOYET. +Fair ladies masked are roses in their bud. +Dismasked, their damask sweet commixture shown, +Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. + +PRINCESS. +Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do +If they return in their own shapes to woo? + +ROSALINE. +Good madam, if by me you’ll be advised, +Let’s mock them still, as well known as disguised. +Let us complain to them what fools were here, +Disguised like Muscovites in shapeless gear; +And wonder what they were, and to what end +Their shallow shows and prologue vilely penned, +And their rough carriage so ridiculous, +Should be presented at our tent to us. + +BOYET. +Ladies, withdraw. The gallants are at hand. + +PRINCESS. +Whip to our tents, as roes run o’er the land. + +[_Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine and Maria._] + +Enter the King, Berowne, Longaville and Dumaine as themselves. + +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 peas +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. +He can carve too, and lisp. Why, this is he +That kissed 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 flower that smiles on everyone, +To show his teeth as white as whale’s 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! + +Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine with Boyet. + +BEROWNE. +See where it comes! Behaviour, what wert thou +Till this man showed thee, and what art thou now? + +KING. +All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day. + +PRINCESS. +“Fair” in “all hail” is foul, as I conceive. + +KING. +Construe my speeches better, if you may. + +PRINCESS. +Then wish me better. I will give you leave. + +KING. +We came to visit you, and purpose now +To lead you to our court. Vouchsafe it then. + +PRINCESS. +This field shall hold me, and so hold your vow. +Nor God nor I delights in perjured men. + +KING. +Rebuke me not for that which you provoke. +The virtue of your eye must break my oath. + +PRINCESS. +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 lived in desolation here, +Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. + +PRINCESS. +Not so, my lord. It is not so, I swear. +We have had pastimes here and pleasant game. +A mess of Russians left us but of late. + +KING. +How, madam? Russians? + +PRINCESS. +Ay, in truth, my lord. +Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. + +ROSALINE. +Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord. +My lady, to the manner of the days, +In courtesy gives undeserving praise. +We four indeed confronted were with four +In Russian habit. Here they stayed an hour +And talked 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. My 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 visors was it that you wore? + +BEROWNE. +Where, when, what visor? Why demand you this? + +ROSALINE. +There, then, that visor; that superfluous case +That hid the worse and showed the better face. + +KING. +We are descried. They’ll mock us now downright. + +DUMAINE. +Let us confess and turn it to a jest. + +PRINCESS. +Amazed, my lord? Why looks your Highness sad? + +ROSALINE. +Help! Hold his brows! He’ll swoon. Why look you pale? +Seasick, 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 penned, +Nor to the motion of a school-boy’s tongue, +Nor never come in visor to my friend, +Nor woo in rhyme like a blind harper’s song. +Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, +Three-piled 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 expressed +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. +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. +The fairest is confession. +Were not you here but even now, disguised? + +KING. +Madam, I was. + +PRINCESS. +And were you well advised? + +KING. +I was, fair madam. + +PRINCESS. +When you then were here, +What did you whisper in your lady’s ear? + +KING. +That more than all the world I did respect her. + +PRINCESS. +When she shall challenge this, you will reject her. + +KING. +Upon mine honour, no. + +PRINCESS. +Peace, peace, forbear! +Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. + +KING. +Despise me when I break this oath of mine. + +PRINCESS. +I will; and therefore keep it. Rosaline, +What did the Russian whisper in your ear? + +ROSALINE. +Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear +As precious eyesight, and did value me +Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, +That he would wed me, or else die my lover. + +PRINCESS. +God give thee joy of him! The noble lord +Most honourably doth uphold his word. + +KING. +What mean you, madam? By my life, my troth, +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. +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 disposed, +Told our intents before; which once disclosed, +The ladies did change favours, and then we, +Following the signs, wooed but the sign of she. +Now, to our perjury to add more terror, +We are again forsworn in will and error. +Much upon this ’tis. [_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 allowed; +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 reckoning, 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. +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 +Die 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, the Braggart. + +ARMADO. +Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath as will +utter a brace of words. + +[_Armado and King talk apart._] + +PRINCESS. +Doth this man serve God? + +BEROWNE. +Why ask you? + +PRINCESS. +He 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._] + +KING. +Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies. He presents Hector of +Troy; the swain, Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; +Armado’s page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas 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 as Pompey. + +COSTARD. +_I Pompey am_— + +BEROWNE. +You lie, you are not he. + +COSTARD. +_I Pompey am_— + +BOYET. +With leopard’s head on knee. + +BEROWNE. +Well said, old mocker. I must needs be friends with thee. + +COSTARD. +_I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the Big._ + +DUMAINE. +The “Great”. + +COSTARD. +It is “Great”, sir; _Pompey surnamed the Great, +That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat. +And travelling along this coast, I here 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. +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 Nathaniel, the Curate, for Alexander. + +NATHANIEL. +_When in the world I lived, 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. +The conqueror is dismayed. Proceed, good Alexander. + +NATHANIEL. +_When in the world I lived, 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 scraped out of the painted cloth for this. Your +lion, that holds his pole-axe sitting on a close-stool, will be given +to Ajax. He will be the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard to speak? +Run away for shame, Alisander. [_Nathaniel retires_.] There, an’t shall +please you, a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon +dashed. 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. +Stand aside, good Pompey. + +Enter Holofernes, the Pedant, as Judas, and Moth, the Boy, as Hercules. + +HOLOFERNES. +_Great Hercules is presented by this imp, +Whose club killed Cerberus, that three-headed_ canus, +_And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, +Thus did he strangle serpents in his_ manus. +Quoniam _he seemeth in minority_, +Ergo _I come with this apology._ +Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. + +[_Moth retires._] + +_Judas I am._— + +DUMAINE. +A Judas! + +HOLOFERNES. +Not Iscariot, sir. +_Judas I am, ycleped Maccabaeus._ + +DUMAINE. +Judas Maccabaeus clipped is plain Judas. + +BEROWNE. +A kissing traitor. How art thou proved Judas? + +HOLOFERNES. +_Judas I am_— + +DUMAINE. +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. + +DUMAINE. +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 Caesar’s falchion. + +DUMAINE. +The carved-bone face on a flask. + +BEROWNE. +Saint George’s half-cheek in a brooch. + +DUMAINE. +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 outfaced 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? + +DUMAINE. +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. + +[_Exit Holofernes._] + +PRINCESS. +Alas, poor Maccabaeus, how hath he been baited! + +Enter Armado, the Braggart, as Hector. + +BEROWNE. +Hide thy head, Achilles. Here comes Hector in arms. + +DUMAINE. +Though my mocks come home by me, I will now be merry. + +KING. +Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. + +BOYET. +But is this Hector? + +DUMAINE. +I think Hector was not so clean-timbered. + +LONGAVILLE. +His leg is too big for Hector’s. + +DUMAINE. +More calf, certain. + +BOYET. +No, he is best endued in the small. + +BEROWNE. +This cannot be Hector. + +DUMAINE. +He’s a god or a painter, for he makes faces. + +ARMADO. +_The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, +Gave Hector a gift_— + +DUMAINE. +A gilt nutmeg. + +BEROWNE. +A lemon. + +LONGAVILLE. +Stuck with cloves. + +DUMAINE. +No, cloven. + +ARMADO. +Peace! +_The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, + Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; +A man so breathed that certain he would fight, yea, + From morn till night, out of his pavilion. +I am that flower_— + +DUMAINE. +That mint. + +LONGAVILLE. +That columbine. + +ARMADO. +Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. + +LONGAVILLE. +I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector. + +DUMAINE. +Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound. + +ARMADO. +The sweet war-man is dead and rotten. Sweet chucks, beat not the bones +of the buried. When he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with +my device. [_To the Princess_.] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense +of hearing. + +PRINCESS. +Speak, brave Hector; we are much delighted. + +ARMADO. +I do adore thy sweet Grace’s slipper. + +BOYET. +Loves her by the foot. + +DUMAINE. +He may not by the yard. + +ARMADO. +_This Hector far surmounted Hannibal. +The party is gone_— + +COSTARD. +Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. + +ARMADO. +What meanest thou? + +COSTARD. +Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the 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 whipped for Jaquenetta that is quick by him, and +hanged for Pompey that is dead by him. + +DUMAINE. +Most rare Pompey! + +BOYET. +Renowned Pompey! + +BEROWNE. +Greater than “Great”! Great, great, great Pompey! Pompey the Huge! + +DUMAINE. +Hector trembles. + +BEROWNE. +Pompey is moved. More Ates, more Ates! Stir them on, stir them on! + +DUMAINE. +Hector will challenge him. + +BEROWNE. +Ay, if he 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. + +DUMAINE. +Room for the incensed Worthies! + +COSTARD. +I’ll do it in my shirt. + +DUMAINE. +Most resolute Pompey! + +MOTH. +Master, let me take you a 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. + +DUMAINE. +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 +he wears next his heart for a favour. + +Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcadé. + +MARCADÉ. +God save you, madam. + +PRINCESS. +Welcome, Marcadé, +But that thou interruptest our merriment. + +MARCADÉ. +I am sorry, madam, for the news I bring +Is heavy in my tongue. The King your father— + +PRINCESS. +Dead, for my life! + +MARCADÉ. +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. +Boyet, prepare. I will away tonight. + +KING. +Madam, not so. I do beseech you stay. + +PRINCESS. +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 obtained. + +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 jostle it +From what it purposed; since to wail friends lost +Is not by much so wholesome-profitable +As to rejoice at friends but newly found. + +PRINCESS. +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, +Played 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 seemed ridiculous— +As love is full of unbefitting strains, +All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, +Formed 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 misbecomed 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. +We have received 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. + +DUMAINE. +Our letters, madam, showed 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. +A time, methinks, too short +To make a world-without-end bargain in. +No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjured 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 instance, 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 entitled 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. + +[_They converse apart_] + +DUMAINE. +And 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. + +DUMAINE. +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-faced wooers say. +Come when the King doth to my lady come; +Then, if I have much love, I’ll give you some. + +DUMAINE. +I’ll serve thee true and faithfully till then. + +KATHARINE. +Yet swear not, lest ye be forsworn again. + +[_They converse apart_] + +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. + +[_They converse apart_] + +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, +Deafed 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. +[_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 and a day, +And then ’twill end. + +BEROWNE. +That’s too long for a play. + +Enter Armado, the Braggart. + +ARMADO. +Sweet Majesty, vouchsafe me— + +PRINCESS. +Was not that Hector? + +DUMAINE. +The worthy knight of Troy. + +ARMADO. +I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave. I am a votary; I have +vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three 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. + +The Song + +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 nipped, and ways be foul, + Then nightly sings the staring owl: +“Tu-whit, Tu-whoo!” 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-whit, Tu-whoo!” 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._] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF 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 Attendants._] + +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? + +ROSS. +Ay, and brought off the field. Your cause of sorrow +Must not be measur’d by his worth, for then +It hath no end. + +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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. An apartment in the Duke’s palace + Scene II. A street + Scene III. A monastery + Scene IV. A nunnery + + ACT II + Scene I. A hall in Angelo’s house + Scene II. Another room in the same + Scene III. A room in a prison + Scene IV. A room in Angelo’s house + + ACT III + Scene I. A room in the prison + Scene II. The street before the prisons + + ACT IV + Scene I. A room in Mariana’s house + Scene II. A room in the prison + Scene III. Another room in the same + Scene IV. A room in Angelo’s house + Scene V. Fields without the town + Scene VI. Street near the city gate + + ACT V + Scene I. A public place near the city gate + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +Vincentio, DUKE of Vienna +ESCALUS, an ancient Lord +PROVOST +ELBOW, a simple constable +ABHORSON, an executioner +A JUSTICE +VARRIUS, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke + +ANGELO, Deputy to the Duke +MARIANA, betrothed to Angelo +BOY, singer +SERVANT, to Angelo +MESSENGER, from Angelo + +ISABELLA, Sister to Claudio +FRANCISCA, a nun + +CLAUDIO, a young Gentleman +JULIET, betrothed to Claudio +LUCIO, a fantastic +Two GENTLEMEN + +FRIAR THOMAS +FRIAR PETER + +Mistress Overdone, a BAWD +POMPEY, Servant to Mistress Overdone +FROTH, a foolish gentleman +BARNARDINE, a dissolute prisoner + +Lords, Officers, Servants, Citizens and Attendants + +SCENE: Vienna + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. An apartment in 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, you’re as pregnant in +As art and practice hath enriched any +That we remember. There is our commission, +From which we would not have you warp.—Call hither, +I say, bid come before us, Angelo. + +[_Exit an Attendant._] + +What figure of us think you he will bear? +For you must know we have with special soul +Elected him our absence to supply; +Lent him our terror, drest him with our love, +And given his deputation all the organs +Of our own power. What think you of it? + +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 touched +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 stamped upon it. + +DUKE. +No more evasion. +We have with a leavened 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 unquestioned +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 power 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 scraped one out of the table. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +“Thou shalt not steal”? + +LUCIO. +Ay, that he razed. + +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-piled piece, +I warrant thee. I had as lief be a list of an English kersey as be +piled, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly +now? + +LUCIO. +I think thou dost, and indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech. +I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, +whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. + +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, a Bawd. + +LUCIO. +Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes! I have purchased 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? + +BAWD. +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? + +BAWD. +Marry, sir, that’s Claudio, Signior Claudio. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Claudio to prison? ’Tis not so. + +BAWD. +Nay, but I know ’tis so. I saw him arrested, saw him carried away; and, +which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off. + +LUCIO. +But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of +this? + +BAWD. +I am too sure of it. And it is for getting Madam Julietta with child. + +LUCIO. +Believe me, this may be. He promised 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._] + +BAWD. +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. + +BAWD. +Well, what has he done? + +POMPEY. +A woman. + +BAWD. +But what’s his offence? + +POMPEY. +Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. + +BAWD. +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? + +BAWD. +What proclamation, man? + +POMPEY. +All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down. + +BAWD. +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. + +BAWD. +But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down? + +POMPEY. +To the ground, mistress. + +BAWD. +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. + +Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet and Officers. + +BAWD. +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 Bawd and Pompey._] + +CLAUDIO. +Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the 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 demi-god Authority +Make us pay down for our offence by weight. +The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will; +On whom it will not, so; yet still ’tis just. + +Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. + +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 looked 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 dower +Remaining in the coffer of her friends, +From whom we thought it meet to hide our love +Till time had made them for us. But it chances +The stealth of our most mutual entertainment +With character too gross is writ on Juliet. + +LUCIO. +With child, perhaps? + +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 unscoured 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 moves 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 THOMAS. +May your Grace speak of it? + +DUKE. +My holy sir, none better knows than you +How I have ever loved the life removed, +And held in idle price to haunt assemblies +Where youth, and cost, a witless bravery keeps. +I have delivered to Lord Angelo, +A man of stricture and firm abstinence, +My absolute power and place here in Vienna, +And he supposes me travelled to Poland; +For so I have strewed it in the common ear, +And so it is received. Now, pious sir, +You will demand of me why I do this? + +FRIAR THOMAS. +Gladly, my lord. + +DUKE. +We have strict statutes and most biting laws, +The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, +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 mocked than feared: 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 THOMAS. +It rested in your Grace +To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased; +And it in you more dreadful would have seemed +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 imposed 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 +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, a Nun. + +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 vowed, 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. +’Tis 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 talked 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 embraced; +As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time +That from the seedness the bare fallow brings +To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb +Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. + +ISABELLA. +Someone 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 picked 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 censured him already; +And, as I hear, the Provost hath a warrant +For’s execution. + +ISABELLA. +Alas, what poor ability’s in me +To do him good? + +LUCIO. +Assay the power 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, Servants, and a Justice. + +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 cohered with place, or place with wishing, +Or that the resolute acting of your blood +Could have attained th’ effect of your own purpose, +Whether you had not sometime in your life +Erred in this point which now you censure him, +And pulled 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 judgement pattern out my death, +And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. + +Enter Provost. + +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 tomorrow morning. +Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared, +For that’s the utmost of his pilgrimage. + +[_Exit Provost._] + +ESCALUS. +Well, heaven forgive him; and forgive us all. +Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall. +Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none, +And some condemned for a fault alone. + +Enter Elbow 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, plucked 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 accused 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. +[_To Angelo_.] Do you hear how he misplaces? + +POMPEY. +Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your honour’s +reverence, for stewed prunes; sir, we had but two in the house, which +at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit dish, a dish of +some threepence; 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 +threepence again— + +FROTH. +No, indeed. + +POMPEY. +Very well. You being then, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of +the foresaid prunes— + +FROTH. +Ay, so I did indeed. + +POMPEY. +Why, very well. I telling you then, if you be remembered, that such a +one and such a one were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they +kept very good diet, as I told you— + +FROTH. +All this is true. + +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 supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. +Good, then, if his face be the worst thing about him, how could Master +Froth do the constable’s wife any harm? 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, wicked 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 battery +on thee. + +ESCALUS. +If he took you a box o’ th’ ear, you might have your action of slander +too. + +ELBOW. +Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is’t your worship’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. +[_To Froth_.] 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. [_To Pompey_.] 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. 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 whipped. 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 whipped 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 +sometime. 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’s no remedy. +Come, sir. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another room in the same. + +Enter Provost and a Servant. + +SERVANT. +He’s hearing of a cause. He will come straight. +I’ll tell him of you. + +PROVOST. +Pray you do. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +I’ll know +His pleasure, may be he will relent. Alas, +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 tomorrow? + +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, judgement 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 spared. + +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. + +Enter Servant. + +SERVANT. +Here is the sister of the man condemned +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 removed; +Let her have needful but not lavish means; +There shall be order for it. + +Enter Lucio and Isabella. + +PROVOST. +[_Offering to retire_.] Save your honour! + +ANGELO. +Stay a little while. [_To Isabella_.] You 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 condemned to die; +I do beseech you, let it be his fault, +And not my brother. + +PROVOST. +Heaven give thee moving graces. + +ANGELO. +Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? +Why, every fault’s condemned ere it be done. +Mine were the very cipher of a function +To find 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! + +[_Going._] + +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 touched with that remorse +As mine is to him? + +ANGELO. +He’s sentenced, ’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 slipped 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. +[_Aside_.] 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 judgement, 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, condemns your brother. +Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, +It should be thus with him. He must die tomorrow. + +ISABELLA. +Tomorrow? O, that’s sudden! Spare him, spare him! +He’s not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens +We kill the fowl of season. Shall we serve heaven +With less respect than we do minister +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. +Ay, well said. + +ANGELO. +The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept. +Those many had not dared to do that evil +If the first that did th’ edict infringe +Had answered 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 conceived, +And so in progress to be hatched and born, +Are now to have no successive degrees, +But, where 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 dismissed offence would after gall, +And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, +Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; +Your brother dies tomorrow; 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. +That’s well said. + +ISABELLA. +Could great men thunder +As Jove himself does, Jove would ne’er be quiet, +For every pelting petty officer +Would use his heaven for thunder. +Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven, +Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt +Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, +Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud man, +Dressed in a little brief authority, +Most ignorant of what he’s most assured, +His glassy essence, like an angry ape +Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven +As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, +Would all themselves laugh mortal. + +LUCIO. +O, to him, to him, wench! He will relent; +He’s coming. I perceive ’t. + +PROVOST. +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. +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. +Art advised 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. +She speaks, and ’tis such sense +That my sense breeds with it. [_Going_.] +Fare you well. + +ISABELLA. +Gentle my lord, turn back. + +ANGELO. +I will bethink me. Come again tomorrow. + +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. +You had marred all else. + +ISABELLA. +Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, +Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor +As fancy values them, but with true prayers, +That shall be up at heaven and enter there +Ere sunrise, prayers from preserved souls, +From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate +To nothing temporal. + +ANGELO. +Well; come to me tomorrow. + +LUCIO. +[_Aside 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 tomorrow +Shall I attend your lordship? + +ANGELO. +At any time ’fore noon. + +ISABELLA. +Save your honour. + +[_Exeunt Isabella, Lucio and Provost._] + +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 flower, +Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be +That modesty may more betray our sense +Than woman’s lightness? Having waste ground enough, +Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary +And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie! +What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? +Dost thou desire her foully for those things +That make her good? O, let her brother live. +Thieves for their robbery have authority +When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her, +That I desire to hear her speak again +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 smiled and wondered how. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A room in a prison. + +Enter 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 blessed 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 blistered her report. She is with child, +And he that got it, sentenced: a young man +More fit to do another such offence +Than die for this. + +DUKE. +When must he die? + +PROVOST. +As I do think, tomorrow. +[_To Juliet_.] I have provided for you; stay a while +And you shall be conducted. + +DUKE. +Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? + +JULIET. +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 wronged you? + +JULIET. +Yes, as I love the woman that wronged 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 tomorrow, +And I am going with instruction to him. +Grace go with you! _Benedicite!_ + +[_Exit._] + +JULIET. +Must die tomorrow? O, injurious love +That respites me a life, whose very comfort +Is still a dying horror! + +PROVOST. +’Tis pity of him. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A room in Angelo’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. + +[_Knock within._] + +How now, who’s there? + +Enter Servant. + +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-wished king +Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness +Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love +Must needs appear offence. + +Enter Isabella. + +How now, fair maid? + +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 a while. 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 stolen +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 stained? + +ISABELLA. +Sir, believe this: +I had rather give my body than my soul. + +ANGELO. +I talk not of your soul. Our compelled 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. +Pleased 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, crafty; 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 enshield beauty ten times louder +Than beauty could, displayed. But mark me; +To be received plain, I’ll speak more gross. +Your brother is to die. + +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 desired 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 slandered so? + +ISABELLA. +Ignominy in ransom and free pardon +Are of two houses. Lawful mercy +Is nothing kin to foul redemption. + +ANGELO. +You seemed of late to make the law a tyrant, +And rather proved the sliding of your brother +A merriment than a vice. + +ISABELLA. +O, pardon me, my lord. It oft falls out, +To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean. +I something do excuse the thing I hate +For his advantage that I dearly love. + +ANGELO. +We are all frail. + +ISABELLA. +Else let my brother die, +If not a feodary but only he +Owe and succeed by 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 expressed +By all external warrants, show it now +By putting on the destined 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 believed, +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 outstretched throat I’ll tell the world aloud +What man thou art. + +ANGELO. +Who will believe thee, Isabel? +My unsoiled 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 tomorrow, +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 abhorred 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. A room in the prison. + + +Enter Duke, 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 live, and am prepared 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 runn’st toward him still. Thou art not noble; +For all th’ accommodations that thou bear’st +Are nursed 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 more 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 concealed. + +[_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; +Tomorrow 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 determined 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 flowery tenderness? If I must die, +I will encounter darkness as a bride +And hug it in mine arms. + +ISABELLA. +There spake my brother! There my father’s grave +Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die. +Thou art too noble to conserve a life +In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, +Whose settled visage and deliberate word +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 it thee, from this rank offence, +So to offend him still. This night’s the time +That I should do what I abhor to name, +Or else thou diest tomorrow. + +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 tomorrow. + +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 fined? 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 regions of thick-ribbed ice; +To be imprisoned 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 played my father fair, +For such a warped slip of wilderness +Ne’er issued from his blood. Take my defiance, +Die, perish! Might but my bending down +Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed. +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. + +[_Going._] + +CLAUDIO. +O, hear me, Isabella. + +Enter Duke as a Friar. + +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 a while. + +DUKE. +[_To Claudio aside_.] Son, I have overheard what hath passed between +you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only +he hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise his judgement 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. Tomorrow 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._] + +Enter Provost. + +Provost, a word with you. + +PROVOST. +What’s your will, father? + +DUKE. +That, now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me a while with the +maid; my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my +company. + +PROVOST. +In good time. + +[_Exit Provost._] + +DUKE. +The hand that hath made you fair hath made 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 conveyed to my +understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I +should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, +and to save your brother? + +ISABELLA. +I am now going to resolve him. I had rather my brother die by the law +than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good +Duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he 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 oath, and the +nuptial appointed. Between which time of the contract and limit of the +solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that +perished 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, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for +his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but +relents not. + +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. + +[_Exit Isabella._] + +SCENE II. The street before the prison. + +Enter Elbow, Pompey and Officers. + +ELBOW. +Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell +men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and +white bastard. + +DUKE. +O heavens, what stuff is here? + +POMPEY. +’Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put +down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him +warm; and furred with fox on lambskins 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, +Free from our faults, as 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 +clutched? What reply, ha? What say’st thou to this tune, matter, and +method? Is’t not drowned 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 powdered bawd; an unshunned 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 spawned him; some, that he was begot between two +stockfishes. But it is certain that when he makes water, his urine is +congealed ice; that I know to be true. And he is a motion ungenerative; +that’s infallible. + +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 hanged a man for the getting a +hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand. He had +some feeling of the sport; he knew the service, and that instructed him +to mercy. + +DUKE. +I never heard the absent Duke much detected for women; he was not +inclined that way. + +LUCIO. +O, sir, you are deceived. + +DUKE. +’Tis not possible. + +LUCIO. +Who, not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a +ducat in her clack-dish. The Duke had crotchets in him. He would be +drunk too, that let me inform you. + +DUKE. +You do him wrong, surely. + +LUCIO. +Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the Duke; and I believe I +know the cause of his withdrawing. + +DUKE. +What, I prithee, might be the cause? + +LUCIO. +No, pardon. ’Tis a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips. +But this I can let you understand: the greater file of the subject held +the Duke to be wise. + +DUKE. +Wise? Why, no question but he was. + +LUCIO. +A very superficial, ignorant, 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 darkened in your malice. + +LUCIO. +Sir, I know him, and I love him. + +DUKE. +Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love. + +LUCIO. +Come, sir, I know what I know. + +DUKE. +I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if +ever the Duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to +make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have +courage to maintain it. I am bound to call upon you, and I pray you +your name? + +LUCIO. +Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to the Duke. + +DUKE. +He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. + +LUCIO. +I fear you not. + +DUKE. +O, you hope the Duke will return no more; or you imagine me too +unhurtful an opposite. But indeed, I can do you little harm. You’ll +forswear this again. + +LUCIO. +I’ll be hanged first! Thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of +this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die tomorrow 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 returned again. This ungenitured 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 returned! 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 now past it; yet, and, I say to thee, he would mouth with +a beggar though she smelt brown bread and garlic. Say that I said so. +Farewell. + +[_Exit._] + +DUKE. +No might nor greatness in mortality +Can censure ’scape. Back-wounding calumny +The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong +Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? +But who comes here? + +Enter Escalus, Provost and Officers with Mistress Overdone, a Bawd. + +ESCALUS. +Go, away with her to prison. + +BAWD. +Good my lord, be good to me. Your honour is accounted a merciful man, +good my lord. + +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. + +BAWD. +My lord, this is one Lucio’s information against me. Mistress Kate +Keepdown was with child by him in the Duke’s time; he promised her +marriage. His child is a year and a quarter old come Philip and Jacob. +I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me. + +ESCALUS. +That fellow is a fellow of much license. Let him be called before us. +Away with her to prison. Go to, no more words. + +[_Exeunt Officers with Bawd._] + +Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio must die +tomorrow. Let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable +preparation. If my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with +him. + +PROVOST. +So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for 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 undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to +make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships +accursed. Much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news +is old enough, yet it is every day’s news. I pray you, sir, of what +disposition was the Duke? + +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 +professed to make him rejoice. A gentleman of all temperance. But leave +we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous, and let +me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to +understand that you have lent him visitation. + +DUKE. +He professes to have received no 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 resolved to die. + +ESCALUS. +You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt +of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the +extremest shore of my modesty, but my brother justice have I found so +severe that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice. + +DUKE. +If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall +become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced +himself. + +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 practice on the times, +To draw with idle spiders’ strings +Most ponderous and substantial things! +Craft against vice I must apply. +With Angelo tonight 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. A room in Mariana’s house. + + +Enter Mariana and a Boy singing. + + SONG +_ Take, O take those lips away, + That so sweetly were forsworn, + And those eyes, the break of day, + Lights that do mislead the morn. + But my kisses bring again, + Bring again; + Seals of love, but sealed in vain, + Sealed in vain._ + +Enter Duke as a Friar. + +MARIANA. +Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away; +Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice +Hath often stilled 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 displeased, but pleased 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 inquired for me here today? Much upon +this time have I promised here to meet. + +MARIANA. +You have not been inquired after. I have sat here all day. + +Enter Isabella. + +DUKE. +I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I shall crave +your forbearance a little. Maybe I will call upon you anon for some +advantage to yourself. + +MARIANA. +I am always bound to you. + +[_Exit._] + +DUKE. +Very well met, and welcome. +What is the news from this good deputy? + +ISABELLA. +He hath a garden circummured with brick, +Whose western side is with a vineyard backed; +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 on 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 possessed 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. + +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. + +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. A room in 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 off a woman’s head. + +PROVOST. +Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. +Tomorrow 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 +instruction 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 tomorrow 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 +hanged, 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. + +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 tomorrow 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 tomorrow +Thou must be made immortal. Where’s Barnardine? + +CLAUDIO. +As fast locked 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. Knock within._] + +By and by!— +I hope it is some pardon or reprieve +For the most gentle Claudio. + +Enter Duke. + +Welcome, father. + +DUKE. +The best and wholesom’st spirits of the night +Envelop you, good Provost! Who called 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 paralleled +Even with the stroke and line of his great justice. +He doth with holy abstinence subdue +That in himself which he spurs on his power +To qualify in others. Were he mealed with that +Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; +But this being so, he’s just. + +[_Knocking within. Provost goes to the door._] + +Now are they come. +This is a gentle provost. Seldom when +The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. + +[_Knocking within_.] + +How now? What noise? That spirit’s possessed with haste +That wounds th’ unsisting postern with these strokes. + +Provost returns. + +PROVOST. +There he must stay until the officer +Arise to let him in. He is called up. + +DUKE. +Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, +But he must die tomorrow? + +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 +Professed 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, purchased 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 used 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 nursed up and bred; one that is a prisoner +nine years old. + +DUKE. +How came it that the absent Duke had not either delivered him to his +liberty, or executed him? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so. + +PROVOST. +His friends still wrought reprieves for him; and indeed, his fact till +now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. + +DUKE. +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 touched? + +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 awaked him, as if to carry +him to execution, and showed him a seeming warrant for it. It hath not +moved him at all. + +DUKE. +More of him anon. There is written in your brow, Provost, honesty and +constancy; if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me. But in +the boldness of my cunning I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom +here you have warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than +Angelo who hath sentenced him. To make you understand this in a +manifested effect, I crave but four days’ respite, for the which you +are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. + +PROVOST. +Pray, sir, in what? + +DUKE. +In the delaying death. + +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 bared +before his death. You know the course is common. If anything fall to +you upon this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I +profess, I will plead against it with my life. + +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 amazed; but this +shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another room in the same. + +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 Three-pile the mercer, for +some four suits of peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a +beggar. Then have we here young Dizie, and young Master Deep-vow, and +Master Copperspur, and Master Starve-lackey, the rapier and dagger man, +and young Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthright +the tilter, and brave Master Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild +Half-can that stabbed 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 hanged, 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. + +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 today 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 today. + +[_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 unprepared, 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 inclined, +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 +Prefixed 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 yonder 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-balanced form. +We shall proceed with Angelo. + +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 released 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 tomorrow;—nay, dry your eyes. +One of our convent, and his confessor, +Gives me this instance. Already he hath carried +Notice to Escalus and Angelo, +Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, +There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom +In that good path that I would wish it go, +And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, +Grace of the Duke, revenges to your heart, +And general honour. + +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 tonight. 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 is the Provost? + +DUKE. +Not within, sir. + +LUCIO. +O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red. +Thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran. I +dare not for my head fill my belly. One fruitful meal would set me +to’t. But they say the Duke will be here tomorrow. By my troth, Isabel, +I loved thy brother. If the old fantastical duke of dark corners had +been at home, he had lived. + +[_Exit Isabella._] + +DUKE. +Sir, the Duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports; but the +best is, he lives not in them. + +LUCIO. +Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so well as I do. He’s a better woodman +than thou 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. A room in Angelo’s house. + +Enter Angelo and Escalus. + +ESCALUS. +Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched 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 entering, 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 proclaimed. +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. + +[_Exit._] + +ANGELO. +Good night. +This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant +And dull to all proceedings. A deflowered maid; +And by an eminent body that enforced +The law against it! But that her tender shame +Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, +How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no, +For my authority bears so credent bulk +That no particular scandal once can touch +But it confounds the breather. He should have lived, +Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, +Might in the times to come have ta’en revenge +By so receiving a dishonoured life +With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived. +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. +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 Valencius, Rowland, and to Crassus, +And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate. +But send me Flavius first. + +FRIAR PETER. +It shall be speeded well. + +[_Exit Friar Peter._] + +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. 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 advised to do it, +He says, to veil full purpose. + +MARIANA. +Be ruled 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. + +FRIAR PETER. +Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, +Where you may have such vantage on the Duke +He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded. +The generous and gravest citizens +Have hent the gates, and very near upon +The Duke is entering. Therefore hence, away. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. A public place near 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 and 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 rasure of oblivion. Give me your hand +And let the subject see, to make them know +That outward courtesies would fain proclaim +Favours that keep within.—Come, Escalus, +You must walk by us on our other hand. +And good supporters are you. + +Enter Friar Peter and Isabella. + +FRIAR PETER. +Now is your time. Speak loud, and kneel before him. + +ISABELLA. +Justice, O royal Duke! Vail your regard +Upon a wronged—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 believed, +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 reckoning. + +DUKE. +Away with her. Poor soul, +She speaks this in th’ infirmity of sense. + +ISABELLA. +O Prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ’st +There is another comfort than this world, +That thou neglect me not with that opinion +That I am touched 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, +Condemned upon the act of fornication +To lose his head; condemned 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 desired 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 wished 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 it. + +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 prayed and kneeled, +How he refelled 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 suborned 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 weighed thy brother by himself, +And not have cut him off. Someone 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 wronged, 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. + +[_Exeunt Officer with Isabella._] + +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 swinged 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. + +FRIAR PETER. +Blessed be your royal Grace! +I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard +Your royal ear abused. First hath this woman +Most wrongfully accused your substitute, +Who is as free from touch or soil with her +As she from one ungot. + +DUKE. +We did believe no less. +Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? + +FRIAR PETER. +I know him for a man divine and holy, +Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, +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. + +FRIAR PETER. +Well, he in time may come to clear himself; +But at this instant he is sick, my lord, +Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, +Being come to knowledge that there was 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 accused, +Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, +Till she herself confess it. + +DUKE. +Good friar, let’s hear it. +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 more 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 vowed contract, +Was fast belocked in thine. This is the body +That took away the match from Isabel +And did supply thee at thy garden-house +In her imagined 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 affianced 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 touched. 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 sealed in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, +Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains +To find out this abuse, whence ’tis derived. +There is another friar that set them on; +Let him be sent for. + +FRIAR PETER. +Would he were here, my lord; for he indeed +Hath set the women on to this complaint. +Your Provost knows the place where he abides, +And he may fetch him. + +DUKE. +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 determined 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 ashamed. + +Enter at several doors Duke as a friar, Provost and Isabella with +Officers. + +ESCALUS. +I will go darkly to work with her. + +LUCIO. +That’s the way; for women are light at midnight. + +ESCALUS. +[_To Isabella_.] 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 +confessed you did. + +DUKE. +’Tis false. + +ESCALUS. +How! Know you where you are? + +DUKE. +Respect to your great place; and let the devil +Be sometime honoured 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 suborned 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 touse 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 countenanced that the strong statutes +Stand like the forfeits in a barber’s shop, +As much in mock as mark. + +ESCALUS. +Slander to the 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, goodman Baldpate. +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 talked withal. Away with him to prison! +Where is the provost? Away with him to prison! Lay bolts enough upon +him. Let him speak no more. Away with those giglets too, and with the +other confederate companion! + +[_The Provost lays hands on the Duke._] + +DUKE. +Stay, sir, stay a while. + +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 hanged an hour! Will’t +not off? + +[_Pulls off the friar’s hood and discovers the Duke._] + +DUKE. +Thou art the first knave that e’er 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 power divine, +Hath looked 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 amazed at his dishonour +Than at the strangeness of it. + +DUKE. +Come hither, Isabel. +Your friar is now your prince. As I was then +Advertising and holy to your business, +Not changing heart with habit, I am still +Attorneyed at your service. + +ISABELLA. +O, give me pardon, +That I, your vassal, have employed and pained +Your unknown sovereignty. + +DUKE. +You are pardoned, 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 obscured myself, +Labouring to save his life, and would not rather +Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power +Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, +It was the swift celerity of his death, +Which I did think with slower foot came on, +That brained 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. + +Enter Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peter and Provost. + +DUKE. +For this new-married man approaching here, +Whose salt imagination yet hath wronged +Your well-defended honour, you must pardon +For Mariana’s sake. But as he adjudged 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 stooped 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 mocked 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 with all +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. +[_Kneeling_.] Gentle my liege— + +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 are moulded out of faults, +And, for the most, become much more the better +For being a little bad. So may my husband. +O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? + +DUKE. +He dies for Claudio’s death. + +ISABELLA. +[_Kneeling_.] Most bounteous sir, +Look, if it please you, on this man condemned +As if my brother lived. I partly think +A due sincerity governed his deeds +Till he did look on me. Since it is so, +Let him not die. My brother had but justice, +In that he did the thing for which he died. +For Angelo, +His act did not o’ertake his bad intent, +And must be buried but as an intent +That perished 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 reserved 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 appeared, +Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood +And lack of tempered judgement 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. + +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 condemned; +But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all, +And pray thee take this mercy to provide +For better times to come. Friar, advise him; +I leave him to your hand.—What muffled fellow’s that? + +PROVOST. +This is another prisoner that I saved, +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 pardoned; 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 deserved of you +That you extol me thus? + +LUCIO. +Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick. If you will hang +me for it, you may, but I had rather it would please you I might be +whipped. + +DUKE. +Whipped first, sir, and hanged after. +Proclaim it, Provost, round about the city, +If any woman wronged 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 finished, +Let him be whipped and hanged. + +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 wronged, look you restore. +Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo. +I have confessed 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 Arragon 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 not 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 Thisbe 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Windsor. Before Page’s house + Scene II. The same + Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn + Scene IV. A room in Doctor Caius’s house + + ACT II + Scene I. Before Page’s house + Scene II. A room in the Garter Inn + Scene III. A field near Windsor + + ACT III + Scene I. A field near Frogmore + Scene II. A street in Windsor + Scene III. A room in Ford’s house + Scene IV. A room in Page’s house + Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn + + ACT IV + Scene I. The street + Scene II. A room in Ford’s house + Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn + Scene IV. A room in Ford’s house + Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn + Scene VI. Another room in the Garter Inn + + ACT V + Scene I. A room in the Garter Inn + Scene II. Windsor Park + Scene III. The street in Windsor + Scene IV. Windsor Park + Scene V. Another part of the Park + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +HOST of the Garter Inn +SIR JOHN FALSTAFF +ROBIN, page to Falstaff +BARDOLPH, follower of Falstaff +PISTOL, follower of Falstaff +NYM, follower of Falstaff + +Robert SHALLOW, a country justice +Abraham SLENDER, cousin to Shallow +Peter SIMPLE, servant to Slender +FENTON, a young gentleman + +George PAGE, a Gentleman dwelling at Windsor +MISTRESS PAGE, his wife +MISTRESS ANNE PAGE, her daughter, in love with Fenton +WILLIAM PAGE, a boy, son to Page + +Frank FORD, a Gentleman dwelling at Windsor +MISTRESS FORD, his wife +JOHN, Servant to Ford +ROBERT, Servant to Ford + +SIR HUGH EVANS, a Welsh parson +DOCTOR CAIUS, a French physician +MISTRESS QUICKLY, servant to Doctor Caius +John RUGBY, servant to Doctor Caius + +SERVANTS to Page, &c. + +SCENE: Windsor and the neighbourhood + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. 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, ho! Got pless your house here! + +PAGE. +[_Within_.] Who’s there? + +EVANS. +Here is Got’s plessing, and your friend, and Justice Shallow, and here +young Master Slender, that peradventures shall tell you another tale, +if matters grow to your likings. + +Enter Page. + +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 +wished your venison better; it was ill killed. 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 judged, 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 wronged 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 wronged me, indeed he hath, at a word, he hath. Believe me. +Robert Shallow, esquire, saith he is wronged. + +PAGE. +Here comes Sir John. + +Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym and Pistol. + +FALSTAFF. +Now, Master Shallow, you’ll complain of me to the King? + +SHALLOW. +Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and broke open my +lodge. + +FALSTAFF. +But not kissed your keeper’s daughter! + +SHALLOW. +Tut, a pin! This shall be answered. + +FALSTAFF. +I will answer it straight: I have done all this. That is now answered. + +SHALLOW. +The Council shall know this. + +FALSTAFF. +’Twere better for you if it were known in counsel: you’ll be laughed +at. + +EVANS. +_Pauca verba_, Sir John; 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 picked my pocket. + +BARDOLPH. +You Banbury cheese! + +SLENDER. +Ay, it is no matter. + +PISTOL. +How now, Mephostophilus? + +SLENDER. +Ay, it is no matter. + +NYM. +Slice, I say! _Pauca, pauca_, slice, that’s my humour. + +SLENDER. +Where’s Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin? + +EVANS. +Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand; there is three umpires in +this matter, as I 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 notebook, 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 a-piece of +Yed 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. +[_Points at Nym_.] By these gloves, then, ’twas he. + +NYM. +Be avised, 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, cashiered; and so conclusions +passed 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 denied, gentlemen; you hear it. + +Enter Mistress Ford, Mistress Page and her daughter Anne Page with +wine. + +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 Slender._] + +SLENDER. +I had rather than forty shillings I had my book of _Songs and Sonnets_ +here. + +Enter Simple. + +How now, Simple, where have you been? I must wait on myself, must I? +You have not the _Book of Riddles_ about you, have you? + +SIMPLE. +_Book of Riddles?_ Why, did you not lend it to Alice Shortcake upon +Allhallowmas last, a fortnight afore Michaelmas? + +Enter Shallow and Sir Hugh Evans. + +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 hanged, la! + +SHALLOW. +Here comes fair Mistress Anne. + +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 Sir Hugh 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. [_To Simple_.] 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 bruised my shin th’ other day +with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence—three veneys +for a dish of stewed prunes—and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell +of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so? Be there bears i’ the +town? + +ANNE. +I think there are, sir; I heard them talked of. + +SLENDER. +I love the sport well, but I shall as soon quarrel at it as any man in +England. You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not? + +ANNE. +Ay, indeed, sir. + +SLENDER. +That’s meat and drink to me now. I have seen Sackerson loose twenty +times, and have taken him by the chain. But, I warrant you, the women +have so cried and shrieked at it that it passed. But women, indeed, +cannot abide ’em; they are very ill-favoured rough things. + +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 II. The same + +Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. + +EVANS. +Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius’ house which is the way. And +there dwells one Mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, +or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer and his +wringer. + +SIMPLE. +Well, sir. + +EVANS. +Nay, it is petter yet. Give her this letter. For it is a ’oman that +altogether’s acquaintance with Mistress Anne Page; and the letter is to +desire and require her to solicit your master’s desires to Mistress +Anne Page. I pray you be gone. I will make an end of my dinner; there’s +pippins and cheese to come. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, 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.—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 withered servingman a fresh tapster. Go, adieu. + +BARDOLPH. +It is a life that I have desired. 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 tinderbox. 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 +Englished rightly, is “I am Sir John Falstaff’s.” + +PISTOL. +He hath studied her will 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, examined 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 o’ th’ hoof, seek shelter, pack! +Falstaff will learn the humour of this age: +French thrift, you rogues—myself and skirted page. + +[_Exeunt Falstaff and Robin._] + +PISTOL +Let vultures gripe thy guts! For gourd and fullam holds, +And high and low beguile the rich and poor. +Tester I’ll have in pouch when thou shalt lack, +Base Phrygian Turk! + +NYM. +I have operations 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 Ford. + +PISTOL. +And I to Page 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 Ford 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 IV. A room in Doctor Caius’s house + +Enter Mistress Quickly and Simple. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +What, John Rugby! + +Enter 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +And Master Slender’s your master? + +SIMPLE. +Ay, forsooth. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Does he not wear a great round beard, like a glover’s paring-knife? + +SIMPLE. +No, forsooth, he hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow +beard, a Cain-coloured beard. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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— + +Enter Rugby. + +RUGBY +Out, alas! Here comes my master. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +We shall all be shent. Run in here, good young man, go into this +closet. He will not stay long. + +[_Simple steps into the closet._] + +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. + +[_Exit Rugby._] + +[_Sings_.] _And down, down, adown-a, etc._ + +Enter Doctor Caius. + +CAIUS +Vat is you sing? I do not like dese toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in +my closet _une boîtine verte_, a box, a green-a box. Do intend vat I +speak? A green-a box. + +MISTRESS 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 à la cour—la +grande affaire._ + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Is it this, sir? + +CAIUS. +_Oui, mette-le au mon_ pocket. _Dépêche_, quickly—Vere is dat knave +Rugby? + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +What, John Rugby, John! + +Enter Rugby. + +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’ay j’oublié?_ Dere is some +simples in my closet dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. + +MISTRESS 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! + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Good master, be content. + +CAIUS. +Wherefore shall I be content-a? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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— + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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, _baille_ me some paper.—Tarry you a +little-a while. + +[_Writes._] + +MISTRESS 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 Mistress Quickly_.] ’Tis a great charge to come under one +body’s hand. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +[_Aside to Simple_.] Are you avised o’ that? You shall find it a great +charge, and to be up early and down late; but notwithstanding—to tell +you in your ear, I would have no words of it—my master himself is in +love with Mistress Anne Page; but notwithstanding that, I know Anne’s +mind. That’s neither here nor there. + +CAIUS. +You jack’nape, give-a dis letter to Sir Hugh. By gar, it is a +shallenge. I will cut his troat in de park, and I will teach a scurvy +jackanape 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._] + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. [_To Mistress Quickly_.] 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._] + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Who’s there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray you. + +Enter Fenton. + +FENTON +How now, good woman? How dost thou? + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +The better, that it pleases your good worship to ask. + +FENTON. +What news? How does pretty Mistress Anne? + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS 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 today. Hold, there’s money for thee. Let me have +thy voice in my behalf. If thou seest her before me, commend me. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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 I. Before Page’s house + + +Enter Mistress Page reading a letter. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and +am I now a subject for them? Let me see. +[_Reads_.] _Ask me no reason why I love you, for though Love use Reason +for his precisian, he admits him 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 picked—with the +devil’s name!—out of my conversation, that he dares in this manner +assay me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my company! What should I say +to him? I was then frugal of my mirth. Heaven forgive me! Why, I’ll +exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down of men. How shall +I be revenged on him? For revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are +made of puddings. + +Enter Mistress Ford. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Mistress Page! Trust me, I was going to your house. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Nay, I’ll ne’er believe that. I have to show to the contrary. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Faith, but you do, in my mind. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Well, I do, then. Yet I say I could show you to the contrary. O, +Mistress Page, give me some counsel. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +What’s the matter, woman? + +MISTRESS FORD. +O woman, if it were not for one trifling respect, I could come to such +honour! + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Hang the trifle, woman; take the honour. What is it? Dispense with +trifles. What is it? + +MISTRESS FORD. +If I would but go to hell for an eternal moment or so, I could be +knighted. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +What? Thou liest! Sir Alice Ford! These knights will hack, and so thou +shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry. + +MISTRESS 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; praised women’s +modesty; and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all +uncomeliness that I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to +the truth of his words. But they do no more adhere and keep place +together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of “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? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why, this is the very same—the very hand, the very words. What doth he +think of us? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +“Boarding” call you it? I’ll be sure to keep him above deck. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +So will I. If he come under my hatches, I’ll never to sea again. Let’s +be revenged on him. Let’s appoint him a meeting, give him a show of +comfort in his suit, and lead him on with a fine-baited delay, till he +hath pawned his horses to mine host of the Garter. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +You are the happier woman. + +MISTRESS 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 humoured letter to +her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves +your wife; there’s the short and the long. My name is Corporal Nym. I +speak, and I avouch ’tis true. My name is Nym, and Falstaff loves your +wife. Adieu. I love not the humour of bread and cheese. Adieu. + +[_Exit Nym._] + +PAGE +[_Aside_.] “The humour of it,” quoth ’a! Here’s a fellow frights +English out of his wits. + +FORD. +[_Aside_.] I will seek out Falstaff. + +PAGE. +[_Aside_.] I never heard such a drawling, affecting rogue. + +FORD. +[_Aside_.] If I do find it—well. + +PAGE. +[_Aside_.] I will not believe such a Cataian, though the priest o’ the +town commended him for a true man. + +FORD. +[_Aside_.] ’Twas a good sensible fellow—well. + +Mistress Page and Mistress Ford come forward. + +PAGE. +How now, Meg? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Whither go you, George? Hark you. + +MISTRESS FORD. +How now, sweet Frank, why art thou melancholy? + +FORD. +I melancholy? I am not melancholy. Get you home, go. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.—Will you go, Mistress +Page? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Have with you. You’ll come to dinner, George? +[_Aside to Mistress Ford_.] Look who comes yonder. She shall be our +messenger to this paltry knight. + +MISTRESS FORD. +[_Aside to Mistress Page_.] Trust me, I thought on her. She’ll fit it. + +Enter Mistress Quickly. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +You are come to see my daughter Anne? + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Ay, forsooth. And, I pray, how does good Mistress Anne? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Go in with us and see. We’d 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.—Cavaliero 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, Cavaliero 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’ the Garter, a word with you. + +HOST. +What say’st thou, my bully rook? + +[_Ford and the Host talk apart._] + +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. + +[_Shallow and Page talk apart. Ford and the Host come forward._] + +HOST +Hast thou no suit against my knight, my guest cavaliero? + +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, myn-heers? + +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 Host, Shallow and Page._] + +FORD +Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on his wife’s +frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so easily. She was in his +company at Page’s house, and what they made there I know not. Well, I +will look 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 II. A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter Falstaff and Pistol. + +FALSTAFF. +I will not lend thee a penny. + +PISTOL. +Why then, the world’s mine oyster, +Which I with sword will open. + +FALSTAFF. +Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should lay my countenance to +pawn; I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for you +and your coach-fellow Nym, or else you had looked through the grate +like a gemini of baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to 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. Ay, ay, 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 wouldst thou more of man? + +Enter Robin. + +ROBIN +Sir, here’s a woman would speak with you. + +FALSTAFF. +Let her approach. + +Enter Mistress Quickly. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Give your worship good morrow. + +FALSTAFF. +Good morrow, goodwife. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Not so, an’t please your worship. + +FALSTAFF. +Good maid, then. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +I’ll be sworn, as my mother was, the first hour I was born. + +FALSTAFF. +I do believe the swearer. What with me? + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two? + +FALSTAFF. +Two thousand, fair woman; and I’ll vouchsafe thee the hearing. + +MISTRESS 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— + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Are they so? God bless them, and make them His servants! + +FALSTAFF. +Well, Mistress Ford, what of her? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Marry, she hath received your letter, for the which she thanks you a +thousand times; and she gives you to notify that her husband will be +absence from his house between ten and eleven. + +FALSTAFF. +Ten and eleven? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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 anything; 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.—This news distracts me. + +[_Exeunt Mistress Quickly and Robin._] + +PISTOL. +This punk is one of Cupid’s carriers; +Clap on more sails, pursue; up with your fights; +Give fire! She is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! + +[_Exit Pistol._] + +FALSTAFF. +Sayst 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 with a cup of sack. + +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 morning’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’erflow such liquor. Ah, ha, +Mistress Ford and Mistress Page, have I encompassed you? Go to, _via!_ + +Enter Bardolph with Ford disguised as Brook. + +FORD +God 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 emboldened me to this unseasoned 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 it is to be such an +offender. + +FALSTAFF. +Very well, sir, proceed. + +FORD. +There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband’s name is Ford. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, sir. + +FORD. +I have long loved her, and, I protest to you, bestowed much on her, +followed her with a doting observance, engrossed opportunities to meet +her, fee’d every slight occasion that could but niggardly give me sight +of her, not only bought many presents to give her, but have given +largely to many to know what she would have given. Briefly, I have +pursued her as love hath pursued me, which hath been on the wing of all +occasions. But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind or in my +means, meed, I am sure, I have received none, unless experience be a +jewel. That I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath taught +me to say this: +Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues, +Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. + +FALSTAFF. +Have you received no promise of satisfaction at her hands? + +FORD. +Never. + +FALSTAFF. +Have you importuned her to such a purpose? + +FORD. +Never. + +FALSTAFF. +Of what quality was your love, then? + +FORD. +Like a fair house built on another man’s ground, so that I have lost my +edifice by mistaking the place where I 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 allowed for your many warlike, 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 looked against. Now, could I come to her with any +detection in my hand, my desires had instance and argument to commend +themselves. I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, her +reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand other her defences, which +now are too too strongly embattled against me. What say you to’t, Sir +John? + +FALSTAFF. +Master Brook, I will first make bold with your money; next, give me +your hand; and last, as 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 blessed in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford, sir? + +FALSTAFF. +Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him not. Yet I wrong him to call +him poor. They say the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money, for +the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will use her as the key +of the cuckoldly rogue’s coffer, and there’s my harvest-home. + +FORD. +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 Falstaff._] + +FORD. +What a damned epicurean rascal is this! My heart is ready to crack with +impatience. Who says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath sent to +him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. Would any man have thought +this? See the hell of having a false woman: my bed shall be abused, my +coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at; and I shall not only receive +this villanous wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable terms, +and by him that does me this wrong. Terms, names! Amaimon sounds well; +Lucifer, well; 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 praised for my jealousy! Eleven +o’clock the hour. I will prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged 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 III. A field near Windsor + +Enter Doctor Caius and Rugby. + +CAIUS. +Jack Rugby! + +RUGBY. +Sir? + +CAIUS. +Vat is de clock, Jack? + +RUGBY. +’Tis past the hour, sir, that Sir Hugh promised to meet. + +CAIUS. +By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come. He has pray his Pible +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 Page, Shallow, Slender and Host. + +HOST +God bless thee, bully doctor! + +SHALLOW. +God 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 vorld. 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 showed yourself a wise +physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and patient +churchman. You must go with me, Master Doctor. + +HOST. +Pardon, guest justice.—A word, Monsieur Mockwater. + +CAIUS. +Mockvater? 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, Master guest, and Master Page, and eke +Cavaliero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore. + +PAGE +[_Aside to Host_.] Sir Hugh is there, is he? + +HOST. +[_Aside to Page_.] 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 to Host_.] 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 jackanape 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 farm-house a-feasting, and thou shalt woo +her. Cried game! Said I well? + +CAIUS. +By gar, me tank you for dat. By gar, I love you; and I shall procure-a +you de good guest: de earl, de knight, de lords, de 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 I. A field near Frogmore + + +Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. + +EVANS. +I pray you now, good Master Slender’s servingman, and friend Simple by +your name, which way have you looked for Master Caius, that calls +himself doctor of physic? + +SIMPLE. +Marry, sir, the Petty-ward, the Park-ward, every way; old Windsor way, +and every way but the town way. + +EVANS. +I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way. + +SIMPLE. +I will, Sir. + +[_Exit Simple._] + +EVANS +Pless my soul, how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind! I shall +be glad if he have deceived me. How melancholies I am! I will knog his +urinals about his knave’s costard when I have good 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 rivers, to whose falls +Melodious birds sing madrigals._ + +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. + +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. +God save you, good Sir Hugh! + +EVANS. +God 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 Hibbocrates 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_.] By Jeshu, I will knog your urinal about your knave’s +cogscomb. + +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 no-verbs. [_To Caius_.] Give me thy hand, +terrestrial; so. [_To Evans_.] Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of +art, I have deceived you both. I have directed you to wrong places. +Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the +issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, lads of peace, +follow, follow, follow. + +[_Exit Host._] + +SHALLOW. +Afore God, a mad host! Follow, gentlemen, follow. + +SLENDER. +[_Aside_.] O, sweet Anne Page! + +[_Exeunt Shallow, Slender and Page._] + +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 II. A street in Windsor + +Enter Mistress Page following Robin. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Be sure of that—two other husbands. + +FORD. +Where had you this pretty weathercock? + +MISTRESS 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! + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +By your leave, sir, I am sick till I see her. + +[_Exeunt Mistress 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 point-blank twelve score. He pieces +out his wife’s inclination, he gives her folly motion and advantage. +And now she’s going to my wife, and Falstaff’s boy with her. A man may +hear this shower sing in the wind. And Falstaff’s boy with her! Good +plots they are laid, and our revolted wives share damnation 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 praised for this than mocked, for it is as positive as the +earth is firm that Falstaff is there. I will go. + +Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh Evans, Caius and Rugby. + +SHALLOW, PAGE, etc. +Well met, Master Ford. + +FORD. +Trust me, a good knot. I have good cheer at home, and I pray you all go +with me. + +SHALLOW. +I must excuse myself, Master Ford. + +SLENDER. +And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with Mistress Anne, and I +would not break with her for more money than I’ll speak of. + +SHALLOW. +We have lingered about a match between Anne Page and my cousin Slender, +and this day we shall have our answer. + +SLENDER. +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 III. A room in Ford’s house + +Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. + +MISTRESS FORD. +What, John! What, Robert! + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Quickly, quickly! Is the buck-basket— + +MISTRESS FORD. +I warrant.—What, Robin, I say! + +Enter John and Robert with a great buck-basket. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Come, come, come. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Here, set it down. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Give your men the charge; we must be brief. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +You will do it? + +MISTRESS FORD. +I ha’ told them over and over, they lack no direction.—Be gone, and +come when you are called. + +[_Exeunt John and Robert._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Here comes little Robin. + +Enter Robin. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +You little Jack-a-Lent, have you been true to us? + +ROBIN. +Ay, I’ll be sworn. My master knows not of your being here, and hath +threatened to put me into everlasting liberty if I tell you of it; for +he swears he’ll turn me away. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Do so.—Go tell thy master I am alone. + +[_Exit Robin._] + +Mistress Page, remember you your cue. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +I warrant thee. If I do not act it, hiss me. + +[_Exit Mistress Page._] + +MISTRESS FORD. +Go to, then. We’ll use this unwholesome humidity, this gross watery +pumpion; we’ll teach him to know turtles from jays. + +Enter Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +“Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel?” Why, now let me die, for I +have lived long enough. This is the period of my ambition. O this +blessed hour! + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +A plain kerchief, Sir John. My brows become nothing else, nor that well +neither. + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, thou art a traitor 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Believe me, there’s no such thing in me. + +FALSTAFF. +What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee there’s something +extraordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog and say thou art this and +that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn buds that come like women +in men’s apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple-time. I cannot. +But I love thee, none but thee; and thou deservest it. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Well, heaven knows how I love you, and you shall one day find it. + +FALSTAFF. +Keep in that mind, I’ll deserve it. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not be in that mind. + +Enter Robin. + +ROBIN. +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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Pray you, do so; she’s a very tattling woman. + +[_Falstaff hides himself behind the arras._] + +Enter Mistress Page. + +What’s the matter? How now? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +O Mistress Ford, what have you done? You’re shamed, you’re overthrown, +you’re undone for ever! + +MISTRESS FORD. +What’s the matter, good Mistress Page? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +O well-a-day, Mistress Ford, having an honest man to your husband, to +give him such cause of suspicion! + +MISTRESS FORD. +What cause of suspicion? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +What cause of suspicion? Out upon you! How am I mistook in you! + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why, alas, what’s the matter? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +’Tis not so, I hope. + +MISTRESS 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 amazed, call all your senses to you; defend your +reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for ever. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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 deceived me! Look, here is a +basket. If he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and +throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking. Or—it is +whiting-time—send him by your two men to Datchet Mead. + +MISTRESS FORD. +He’s too big to go in there. What shall I do? + +FALSTAFF. +[_Comes out of hiding_.] 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +What, Sir John Falstaff? Are these your letters, knight? + +FALSTAFF. +I love thee, and none but thee. Help me away. Let me creep in here. +I’ll never— + +[_He goes into the basket; they cover him with dirty clothes._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Help to cover your master, boy.—Call your men, Mistress Ford.—You +dissembling knight! + +[_Exit Robin._] + +MISTRESS FORD. +What, John! Robert! John! + +Enter John and Robert. + +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? + +JOHN and ROBERT. +To the laundress, forsooth. + +MISTRESS 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 John and Robert with the basket._] + +Gentlemen, I have dreamed tonight; 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. [_Locks 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 Ford._] + +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 Page, Evans and Caius._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Is there not a double excellency in this? + +MISTRESS FORD. +I know not which pleases me better, that my husband is deceived, or Sir +John. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +What a taking was he in when your husband asked who was in the basket! + +MISTRESS FORD. +I am half afraid he will have need of washing, so throwing him into the +water will do him a benefit. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would all of the same strain were in the +same distress. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +We will do it. Let him be sent for tomorrow eight o’clock to have +amends. + +Enter Ford, Page, Caius and Sir Hugh Evans. + +FORD +I cannot find him. Maybe the knave bragged of that he could not +compass. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +[_Aside to Mistress Ford_.] Heard you that? + +MISTRESS FORD. +You use me well, Master Ford, do you? + +FORD. +Ay, I do so. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Heaven make you better than your thoughts! + +FORD. +Amen! + +MISTRESS PAGE. +You do yourself mighty wrong, Master Ford. + +FORD. +Ay, ay; I must bear it. + +EVANS. +If there be anypody 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 nobodies. + +PAGE. +Fie, fie, Master Ford, are you not ashamed? 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 promised you a dinner. Come, come, walk in the park. I pray you +pardon me; I will hereafter make known to you why I have done this. +Come, wife, come, Mistress Page, I pray you pardon me. Pray heartily, +pardon me. + +PAGE. +Let’s go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, we’ll mock him. I do invite you +tomorrow 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. +Anything. + +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. + +[_Exeunt all but Evans and Caius._] + +EVANS. +I pray you now, remembrance tomorrow 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 IV. A room in 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 galled with my expense, +I seek to heal it only by his wealth. +Besides these, other bars he lays before me: +My riots past, my wild societies— +And tells me ’tis a thing impossible +I should love thee but as a property. + +ANNE. +Maybe he tells you true. + +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 wooed 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 talk 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 dismayed. + +SLENDER. +No, she shall not dismay me. I care not for that, but that I am afeard. + +MISTRESS 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-favoured faults +Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +And how does good Master Fenton? Pray you, a word with you. + +[_They talk aside._] + +SHALLOW. +[_To Slender_.] 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 long-tail, under the degree of a squire. + +SHALLOW. +He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure. + +ANNE. +Good Master Shallow, let him woo for 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 disposed of. + +FENTON. +Nay, Master Page, be not impatient. + +MISTRESS 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._] + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +I mean it not; I seek you a better husband. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +That’s my master, Master Doctor. + +ANNE. +Alas, I had rather be set quick i’ th’ earth, +And bowled to death with turnips. + +MISTRESS 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 Mistress Page and Anne._] + +MISTRESS 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 tonight +Give my sweet Nan this ring. There’s for thy pains. + +MISTRESS 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 promised 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 V. A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +Bardolph, I say! + +Enter Bardolph. + +BARDOLPH. +Here, sir. + +FALSTAFF. +Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in ’t. + +[_Exit Bardolph._] + +Have I lived to be carried in a basket like a barrow of butcher’s +offal, and to be thrown in the Thames? Well, if I be served such +another trick, I’ll have my brains ta’en out and buttered, and give +them to a dog for a New Year’s gift. ’Sblood, the rogues slighted me +into the river with as little remorse as they would have drowned a +blind bitch’s puppies, fifteen i’ the litter; and you may know by my +size that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as +deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was +shelvy and shallow—a death that I abhor, for the water swells a man, +and what a thing should I have been when I had been swelled! I should +have been a mountain of mummy. + +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 swallowed snowballs for pills to cool the reins. Call +her in. + +BARDOLPH. +Come in, woman. + +Enter Mistress Quickly. + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +I will tell her. + +FALSTAFF. +Do so. Between nine and ten, sayst thou? + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Eight and nine, sir. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, be gone. I will not miss her. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Peace be with you, sir. + +[_Exit Mistress Quickly._] + +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 +God bless you, sir. + +FALSTAFF. +Now, Master Brook, you come to know what hath passed between me and +Ford’s wife? + +FORD. +That indeed, Sir John, is my business. + +FALSTAFF. +Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was at her house the hour she +appointed me. + +FORD. +And how 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 embraced, kissed, protested, and, as it +were, spoke the prologue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of +his companions, thither provoked and instigated by his distemper, and, +forsooth, to search his house for his 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 conveyed me into a buck-basket. + +FORD. +A buck-basket! + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, a buck-basket! Rammed me in with foul shirts and smocks, +socks, foul 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 suffered to bring this +woman to evil for your good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple +of Ford’s knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their mistress to +carry me in the name of foul clothes to Datchet Lane. They took me on +their shoulders, met the jealous knave their master in the door, who +asked them once or twice what they had in their basket. I quaked for +fear lest the lunatic knave would have searched it; but Fate, ordaining +he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well, on went he for a search, +and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, Master Brook. I +suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, an intolerable +fright to be detected with a jealous rotten bell-wether; next, to be +compassed like a good bilbo in the circumference of a peck, hilt to +point, heel to head; and then, to be stopped in, like a strong +distillation, with stinking clothes that fretted in their own grease. +Think of that, a man of my kidney, think of that—that am as subject to +heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and thaw. It was a +miracle to ’scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath, when I +was more than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be thrown +into the Thames and cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a +horseshoe! Think of that—hissing hot—think of that, Master Brook. + +FORD. +In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you have suffered all +this. My suit, then, is desperate. You’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 Falstaff._] + +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 half-penny purse, nor into a pepperbox. +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. The street + + +Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Quickly and William. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Is he at Master Ford’s already, think’st thou? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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 today? + +EVANS. +No, Master Slender is let the boys leave to play. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Blessing of his heart! + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Come on, sirrah. Hold up your head. Answer your master, be not afraid. + +EVANS. +William, how many numbers is in nouns? + +WILLIAM. +Two. + +MISTRESS 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_. + +MISTRESS 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, haeg, hog_, pray you, mark: _genitivo, huius_. Well, +what is your accusative case? + +WILLIAM. +_Accusativo, hinc_. + +EVANS. +I pray you, have your remembrance, child. _Accusativo, hung, hang, +hog_. + +MISTRESS 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_. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +And that’s a good root. + +EVANS. +’Oman, forbear. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Peace. + +EVANS. +What is your genitive case plural, William? + +WILLIAM. +Genitive case? + +EVANS. +Ay. + +WILLIAM. +Genitive: _horum, harum, horum_. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Vengeance of Jenny’s case, fie on her! Never name her, child, if she be +a whore. + +EVANS. +For shame, ’oman. + +MISTRESS 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 “whore +’m”!—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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +[_To Quickly_.] 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 _quis_, your _quaes_, and +your _quods_, you must be preeches. Go your ways and play, go. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +He is a better scholar than I thought he was. + +EVANS. +He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, Mistress Page. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Adieu, good Sir Hugh. + +[_Exit Sir Hugh Evans._] + +Get you home, boy. Come, we stay too long. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A room in 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, compliment, and ceremony of it. But are you sure of your +husband now? + +MISTRESS FORD. +He’s a-birding, sweet Sir John. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +[_Within_.] What ho, gossip Ford, what ho! + +MISTRESS FORD. +Step into the chamber, Sir John. + +[_Exit Falstaff._] + +Enter Mistress Page. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +How now, sweetheart, who’s at home besides yourself? + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why, none but mine own people. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Indeed? + +MISTRESS FORD. +No, certainly. +[_Aside to her_.] Speak louder. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Truly, I am so glad you have nobody here. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Why, woman, your husband is in his old lunes again. He so takes on +yonder with my husband, so rails against all married mankind, so curses +all Eve’s daughters, of what complexion soever, and so buffets himself +on the forehead, crying “Peer out, peer out!” that any madness I ever +yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility, and patience, to this his +distemper he is in now. I am glad the fat knight is not here. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why, does he talk of him? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Of none but him, and swears he was carried out, the last time he +searched for him, in a basket; protests to my husband he is now here; +and hath drawn him and the rest of their company from their sport, to +make another experiment of his suspicion. But I am glad the knight is +not here. Now he shall see his own foolery. + +MISTRESS FORD. +How near is he, Mistress Page? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Hard by, at street end. He will be here anon. + +MISTRESS FORD. +I am undone! The knight is here. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Why, then, you are utterly shamed, and he’s but a dead man. What a +woman are you! Away with him, away with him! Better shame than murder. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Which way should he go? How should I bestow him? Shall I put him into +the basket again? + +Enter Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +No, I’ll come no more i’ the basket. May I not go out ere he come? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Creep into the kiln-hole. + +FALSTAFF. +Where is it? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +If you go out in your own semblance, you die, Sir John—unless you go +out disguised. + +MISTRESS FORD. +How might we disguise him? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +My maid’s aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +On my word, it will serve him. She’s as big as he is. And there’s her +thrummed hat, and her muffler too.—Run up, Sir John. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Go, go, sweet Sir John. Mistress Page and I will look some linen for +your head. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Quick, quick! We’ll come dress you straight; put on the gown the while. + +[_Exit Falstaff._] + +MISTRESS FORD. +I would my husband would meet him in this shape. He cannot abide the +old woman of Brentford; he swears she’s a witch, forbade her my house, +and hath threatened to beat her. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Heaven guide him to thy husband’s cudgel and the devil guide his cudgel +afterwards! + +MISTRESS FORD. +But is my husband coming? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Ay, in good sadness is he, and talks of the basket too, howsoever he +hath had intelligence. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Nay, but he’ll be here presently. Let’s go dress him like the witch of +Brentford. + +MISTRESS FORD. +I’ll first direct my men what they shall do with the basket. Go up, +I’ll bring linen for him straight. + +[_Exit Mistress Ford._] + +MISTRESS 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._] + +Enter Mistress Ford with John and Robert. + +MISTRESS 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 Mistress Ford._] + +JOHN. +Come, come, take it up. + +ROBERT. +Pray heaven it be not full of knight again. + +JOHN. +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 gin, a pack, a +conspiracy against me. Now shall the devil be shamed.—What, wife, I +say! Come, come forth! Behold what honest clothes you send forth to +bleaching! + +PAGE. +Why, this passes, Master Ford! You are not to go loose any longer; you +must be pinioned. + +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. + +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? + +MISTRESS FORD. +Heaven be my witness you do, if you suspect me in any dishonesty. + +FORD. +Well said, brazen-face, hold it out.—Come forth, sirrah. + +[_Pulls clothes out of the basket._] + +PAGE. +This passes. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Are you not ashamed? 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why, man, why? + +FORD. +Master Page, as I am a man, there was one conveyed out of my house +yesterday in this basket. Why may not he be there again? In my house I +am sure he is. My intelligence is true, my jealousy is +reasonable.—Pluck me out all the linen. + +MISTRESS 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 searched a hollow walnut for +his wife’s leman.” Satisfy me once more, once more search with me. + +[_Exeunt John and Robert with the basket._] + +MISTRESS FORD. +What, ho, Mistress Page! Come you and the old woman down; my husband +will come into the chamber. + +FORD. +Old woman? What old woman’s that? + +MISTRESS FORD. +Why, it is my maid’s aunt of Brentford. + +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 the figure, and such daubery as this +is, beyond our element. We know nothing.—Come down, you witch, you hag, +you! Come down, I say! + +MISTRESS FORD. +Nay, good sweet husband!—Good gentlemen, let him not strike the old +woman. + +Enter Falstaff disguised as an old woman, led by Mistress Page. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Come, Mother Prat; come, give me your hand. + +FORD. +I’ll prat her. [_Beats him_.] Out of my door, you witch, you rag, you +baggage, you polecat, you runnion! Out, out! I’ll conjure you, I’ll +fortune-tell you. + +[_Exit Falstaff._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Are you not ashamed? I think you have killed the poor woman. + +MISTRESS 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 her 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 Ford, Page, Caius, Evans and Shallow._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Nay, by th’ mass, that he did not; he beat him most unpitifully, +methought. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +I’ll have the cudgel hallowed and hung o’er the altar. It hath done +meritorious service. + +MISTRESS FORD. +What think you? May we, with the warrant of womanhood and the witness +of a good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +The spirit of wantonness is sure scared out of him. If the devil have +him not in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, +in the way of waste, attempt us again. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Shall we tell our husbands how we have served him? + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +I’ll warrant they’ll have him publicly shamed, and methinks there would +be no period to the jest should he not be publicly shamed. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Come, to the forge with it, then shape it. I would not have things +cool. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter Host and Bardolph. + +BARDOLPH. +Sir, the Germans desire to have three of your horses. The Duke himself +will be tomorrow 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 turned away my other +guests. They must come off, I’ll sauce them. Come. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A room in Ford’s house + +Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, Mistress Ford and Sir Hugh Evans. + +EVANS. +’Tis one of the best discretions of a ’oman as ever I did look upon. + +PAGE. +And did he send you both these letters at an instant? + +MISTRESS 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 punished; he shall have no +desires. + +PAGE. +So think I too. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Devise but how you’ll use him when he comes, +And let us two devise to bring him thither. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter, +Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, +Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, +Walk round about an oak, with great ragged 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 +Received and did deliver to our age, +This tale of Herne 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? + +MISTRESS FORD. +Marry, this is our device, +That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, +Disguised like Herne, 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? + +MISTRESS 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, oafs 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +And till he tell the truth, +Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound +And burn him with their tapers. + +MISTRESS 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 practised well to this, or they’ll ne’er do ’t. + +EVANS. +I will teach the children their behaviours, and I will be like a +jackanapes also, to burn the knight with my taber. + +FORD. +That will be excellent. I’ll go buy them vizards. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Go, Mistress Ford. +Send quickly to Sir John to know his mind. + +[_Exit Mistress 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 moneyed, and his friends +Potent at court. He, none but he, shall have her, +Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE V. A room in the Garter Inn + +Enter Host and Simple. + +HOST. +What wouldst thou have, boor? What, thick-skin? Speak, breathe, +discuss; brief, short, quick, snap. + +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 call. 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 robbed. 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 honourable. 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 Brentford? + +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 through +the streets, to know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled 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 beguiled Master Slender of +his chain cozened 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 learned 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 cozened all the +hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses and money. I +tell you for good will, look you. You are wise, and full of gibes and +vlouting-stocks, and ’tis not convenient you should be cozened. Fare +you well. + +[_Exit Evans._] + +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 Doctor Caius._] + +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 cozened, for I have been cozened and +beaten too. If it should come to the ear of the court how I have been +transformed, and how my transformation hath been washed and cudgelled, +they would melt me out of my fat drop by drop, and liquor fishermen’s +boots with me. I warrant they would whip me with their fine wits till I +were as crestfallen as a dried pear. I never prospered since I forswore +myself at primero. Well, if my wind were but long enough, I would +repent. + +Enter Mistress Quickly. + +Now, whence come you? + +MISTRESS 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 suffered more for their sakes, more than the +villainous inconstancy of man’s disposition is able to bear. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant, speciously one of them. +Mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot +see a white spot about her. + +FALSTAFF. +What tellst 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 +Brentford. But that my admirable dexterity of wit, my counterfeiting +the action of an old woman, delivered me, the knave constable had set +me i’ the stocks, i’ the common stocks, for a witch. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber, you shall hear how things +go, and, I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will say +somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together! Sure, +one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so crossed. + +FALSTAFF. +Come up into my chamber. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Another room in the Garter 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 thee +A hundred pound in gold more than your loss. + +HOST. +I will hear you, Master Fenton, and I will, at the least, keep your +counsel. + +FENTON. +From time to time I have acquainted you +With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page, +Who mutually hath answered my affection, +So far forth as herself might be her chooser, +Even to my wish. I have a letter from her +Of such contents as you will wonder at, +The mirth whereof so larded with my matter +That neither singly can be manifested +Without the show of both, wherein fat Falstaff +Hath a great scene; the image of the jest +I’ll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host: +Tonight at Herne’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 masked and vizarded— +That quaint in green she shall be loose enrobed, +With ribbons pendant flaring ’bout her head; +And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, +To pinch her by the hand, and on that token +The maid hath given consent to go with him. + +HOST. +Which means she to deceive, father or mother? + +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 I. A room in 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! + +MISTRESS 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 Mistress Quickly._] + +Enter Ford. + +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 governed frenzy. I will tell you he beat me +grievously, in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Master +Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver’s beam, because I know also +life is a shuttle. I am in haste. Go along with me; I’ll tell you all, +Master Brook. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and whipped 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 tonight I will be revenged, +and I will deliver his wife into your hand. Follow. Strange things in +hand, Master Brook! Follow. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Windsor Park + +Enter Page, Shallow and Slender. + +PAGE. +Come, come. We’ll couch i’ the 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 III. The street in Windsor + +Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Ford and Doctor Caius. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +MISTRESS FORD. +Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies, and the Welsh devil Hugh? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne’s oak, with obscured +lights, which, at the very instant of Falstaff’s and our meeting, they +will at once display to the night. + +MISTRESS FORD. +That cannot choose but amaze him. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; if he be amazed, he will every +way be mocked. + +MISTRESS FORD. +We’ll betray him finely. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Against such lewdsters and their lechery, +Those that betray them do no treachery. + +MISTRESS FORD. +The hour draws on. To the oak, to the oak! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Windsor Park + +Enter Sir Hugh Evans disguised, and children 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 V. Another part of the Park + +Enter Falstaff wearing a buck’s head. + +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’ the 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. + +MISTRESS 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. + +[_He embraces her._] + +MISTRESS FORD. +Mistress Page is come with me, sweetheart. + +FALSTAFF. +Divide me like a bribed buck, each a haunch. I will keep my sides to +myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I +bequeath your husbands. Am I a woodman, ha? Speak I like Herne the +hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution. +As I am a true spirit, welcome! + +[_A noise of horns within._] + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Alas, what noise? + +MISTRESS FORD. +Heaven forgive our sins! + +FALSTAFF. +What should this be? + +MISTRESS FORD and MISTRESS PAGE. +Away, away! + +[_They run off._] + +FALSTAFF. +I think the devil will not have me damned, lest the oil that’s in me +should set hell on fire; he would never else cross me thus. + +Enter Mistress Quickly as the Queen of Fairies, Sir Hugh Evans as a +Satyr, Pistol as Hobgoblin, Anne Page and children as Fairies, carrying +tapers. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +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. + +PISTOL. +Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys! +Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap, +Where fires thou find’st unraked 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 Bead? Go you, and where you find a maid +That ere she sleep has thrice her prayers said, +Rein 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. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +About, about! +Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out. +Strew good luck, oafs, on every sacred room, +That it may stand till the perpetual doom +In state as wholesome as in state ’tis fit, +Worthy the owner and the owner it. +The several chairs of order look you scour +With juice of balm and every precious flower. +Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, +With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! +And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, +Like to the Garter’s compass, in a ring. +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, flowers purple, blue and white, +Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, +Buckled below fair knighthood’s bending knee. +Fairies use flowers for their charactery. +Away, disperse! But 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! + +PISTOL. +Vile worm, thou wast o’erlooked even in thy birth. + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +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. + +PISTOL. +A trial, come. + +EVANS. +Come, will this wood take fire? + +[_They put the tapers to his fingers, and he starts._] + +FALSTAFF. +O, o, o! + +MISTRESS QUICKLY. +Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! +About him, fairies, sing a scornful rhyme, +And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. + +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 starlight and moonshine be out. + +[_During the song they pinch him, and Doctor Caius comes one way and +steals away a boy in green; and Slender another way takes a boy in +white; Fenton comes in and steals away Anne Page. A noise of hunting is +heard within and all the fairies run away. Falstaff pulls off his +buck’s head, and rises up._] + +Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page and Mistress Ford. + +PAGE. +Nay, do not fly. I think we have watched you now. +Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +I pray you, come, hold up the jest no higher.— +Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor wives? +See you these, husband? + +[_She points to the horns._] + +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. + +MISTRESS 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 +received 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’erreaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat +too? Shall I have a cox-comb of frieze? ’Tis time I were choked 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 lived to stand at the taunt of one that +makes fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of lust and +late-walking through the realm. + +MISTRESS 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? + +MISTRESS PAGE. +A puffed man? + +PAGE. +Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails? + +FORD. +And one that is as slanderous as Satan? + +PAGE. +And as poor as Job? + +FORD. +And as wicked as his wife? + +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 cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander. Over and +above that you have suffered, I think to repay that money will be a +biting affliction. + +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. + +MISTRESS 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 dispatched? + +SLENDER. +Dispatched? I’ll make the best in Gloucestershire know on’t. Would I +were hanged, 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’ the church, I would have swinged +him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne +Page, would I might never stir! And ’tis a postmaster’s boy. + +PAGE. +Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. + +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. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Good George, be not angry. I knew of your purpose, turned my daughter +into green, and indeed she is now with the doctor at the deanery, and +there married. + +Enter Doctor Caius. + +CAIUS +Vere is Mistress Page? By gar, I am cozened, I ha’ married _un garçon_, +a boy; _un paysan_, by gar, a boy. It is not Anne Page. By gar, I am +cozened. + +MISTRESS PAGE. +Why, did you take her in green? + +CAIUS. +Ay, by gar, and ’tis a boy. By gar, I’ll raise all Windsor. + +FORD +This is strange. Who hath got the right Anne? + +Enter Fenton and Anne Page. + +PAGE. +My heart misgives me. Here comes Master Fenton.—How now, Master Fenton! + +ANNE. +Pardon, good father. Good my mother, pardon. + +PAGE. +Now, mistress, how chance you went not with Master Slender? + +MISTRESS 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 amazed, 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 glanced. + +PAGE. +Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! +What cannot be eschewed must be embraced. + +FALSTAFF. +When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chased. + +MISTRESS 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 tonight 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 music._] + +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 lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, +Presenteth Moonshine, for, if you will know, +By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn +To meet at Ninus’ tomb, there, there to woo. +This grisly beast (which Lion 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 wooss 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 cannot 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.] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF 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 and 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 gods 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 courses. + +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._] + + + + +THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD THE SECOND + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. London. A Room in the palace. + Scene II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster’s palace. + Scene III. Open Space, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c., attending. + Scene IV. London. A Room in the King’s Castle. + +ACT II + Scene I. London. An Apartment in Ely House. + Scene II. The Same. A Room in the Castle. + Scene III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire. + Scene IV. A camp in Wales. + +ACT III + Scene I. Bristol. Bolingbroke’s camp. + Scene II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. + Scene III. Wales. Before Flint Castle. + Scene IV. Langley. The Duke of York’s garden. + +ACT IV + Scene I. Westminster Hall. + +ACT V + Scene I. London. A street leading to the Tower. + Scene II. The same. A room in the Duke of York’s palace. + Scene III. Windsor. A room in the Castle. + Scene IV. Another room in the Castle. + Scene V. Pomfret. The dungeon of the Castle. + Scene VI. Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle. + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +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 +LORD BERKELEY +BUSHY - Servant to King Richard +BAGOT - Servant to King Richard +GREEN - Servant to King Richard +EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND +HARRY PERCY, surnamed Hotspur, his son +LORD ROSS +LORD WILLOUGHBY +LORD FITZWATER +BISHOP OF CARLISLE +ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER +LORD MARSHAL +SIR PIERCE OF EXTON +SIR STEPHEN SCROOP +Captain of a band of Welshmen + +QUEEN TO KING RICHARD +DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER +DUCHESS OF YORK +Lady attending on the Queen + +Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, +Groom, and other Attendants + +SCENE: Dispersedly in England and Wales. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. London. A Room in the palace. + + + Enter King 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 +Aimed 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-stomached 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 cooled for this. +Yet can I not of such tame patience boast +As to be hushed and naught at all 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 returned +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 +Wherever 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 received eight thousand nobles +In name of lendings for your highness’ soldiers, +The which he hath detained 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 surveyed 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, +Sluiced 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 sayst 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 ears. +Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom’s heir, +As he is but my father’s brother’s son, +Now, by my sceptre’s awe I make a vow +Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood +Should nothing privilege him nor partialize +The unstooping firmness of my upright soul. +He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou. +Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. + +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 +Disbursed I duly to his highness’ soldiers; +The other part reserved 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 received the sacrament +I did confess it and exactly begged +Your Grace’s pardon, and I hope I had it. +This is my fault. As for the rest appealed, +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 chambered in his bosom. +In haste whereof most heartily I pray +Your highness to assign our trial day. + +KING RICHARD. +Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled 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 disgraced, impeached, and baffled here, +Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear, +The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood +Which breathed 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-barred-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 outdared 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 cannot atone you, we shall see +Justice design the victor’s chivalry. +Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms +Be ready to direct these home alarms. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster’s palace. + + Enter 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 cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt, +Is hacked 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 metal, that self mould, that fashioned 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 slaughtered, +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 caused 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 unfurnished walls, +Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? +And what hear there for welcome but my groans? +Therefore commend me; let him not come there +To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere. +Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die! +The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Open Space, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a Throne. +Heralds, &c., attending. + + Enter the Lord Marshal and the Duke of Aumerle. + +MARSHAL. +My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed? + +AUMERLE. +Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in. + +MARSHAL. +The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, +Stays but the summons of the appelant’s trumpet. + +AUMERLE. +Why then, the champions are prepared and stay +For nothing but his Majesty’s approach. + + Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his Throne; Gaunt, Bushy, + Bagot, Green and others, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, + and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter Mowbray in armour, + defendant, preceded by 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. + + [_He takes his seat._] + + Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, appellant, in armour, preceded by + 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’s 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. [_Descends from his throne_.] +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 today thou shed, +Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. + +BOLINGBROKE. +O, let no noble eye profane a tear +For me, if I be gored 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! + + [_He takes his seat._] + +MOWBRAY. [_Rising_.] +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 uncontrolled 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. + + [_The King and the Lords return to their seats._] + +MARSHAL. +Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, +Receive thy lance; and God defend the right. + +BOLINGBROKE. [_Rising_.] +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._] + +[_To the Combatants_.] Draw near, +And list what with our council we have done. +For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled +With that dear blood which it hath fostered; +And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect +Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours’ swords; +And for we think the eagle-winged pride +Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, +With rival-hating envy, set on you +To wake our peace, which in our country’s cradle +Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep, +Which so roused up with boist’rous untuned 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 enriched 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 unlooked 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 cased up +Or, being open, put into his hands +That knows no touch to tune the harmony. +Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue, +Doubly portcullised 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 country’s light, +To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. + + [_Retiring._] + +KING RICHARD. +Return again, and take an oath with thee. +Lay on our royal sword your banished 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 wandered in the air, +Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh, +As now our flesh is banished 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 banished as from hence! +But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; +And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue. +Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; +Save back to England, all the world’s my way. + + [_Exit._] + +KING RICHARD. +Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes +I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect +Hath from the number of his banished years +Plucked 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 canst 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 banished 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 urged 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 destroyed. +Alas, I looked 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 Richard and 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 return’st 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 borne. +Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, +And not the King exiled 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 strewed, +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 it bites but lanceth not the sore. + +GAUNT. +Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way. +Had I thy youth 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 banished, yet a true-born Englishman. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. London. A Room in the King’s Castle + + Enter King Richard, Green and Bagot at one door; 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 highway, and there I left him. + +KING RICHARD. +And say, what store of parting tears were shed? + +AUMERLE. +Faith, none for me, except the northeast wind, +Which then blew bitterly against our faces, +Awaked 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 seemed buried in my sorrow’s grave. +Marry, would the word “farewell” have lengthened 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, +Observed 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 yield 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 enforced 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 posthaste +To entreat your Majesty to visit him. + +KING RICHARD. +Where lies he? + +BUSHY. +At Ely House. + +KING RICHARD. +Now put it, God, in his 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. An Apartment in Ely House. + + +Gaunt on a couch; the Duke of York and Others standing by him. + +GAUNT. +Will the King come, that I may breathe my last +In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? + +YORK. +Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath, +For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. + +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 listened more +Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose. +More are men’s ends marked 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 stopped with other flattering sounds, +As praises, of whose state 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 buzzed 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 inspired, +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 sceptered 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, +Feared 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 leased 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 Richard and Queen; Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross and + Willoughby. + +YORK. +The King is come. Deal mildly with his youth, +For young hot colts, being raged, 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 watched; +Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all 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, +Committ’st thy anointed body to the cure +Of those physicians that first wounded thee. +A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, +Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; +And yet, encaged in so small a verge, +The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. +O, had thy grandsire with a prophet’s eye +Seen how his son’s son should destroy his sons, +From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, +Deposing thee before thou wert possessed, +Which art possessed 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 tapped out, and drunkenly caroused. +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 off 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 possessed. + +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 raged more fierce, +In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, +Than was that young and princely gentleman. +His face thou hast, for even so looked he, +Accomplished with the number of thy hours; +But when he frowned, it was against the French +And not against his friends. His noble hand +Did win what he did spend, and spent not that +Which his triumphant father’s hand had won. +His hands were guilty of no kindred’s blood, +But bloody with the enemies of his kin. +O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, +Or else he never would compare between. + +KING RICHARD. +Why, uncle, what’s the matter? + +YORK. +O my liege. +Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased +Not to be pardoned, am content withal. +Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands +The royalties and rights of banished 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 tomorrow then ensue today; +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 offered 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. Tomorrow 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 loved us well. +Come on, our queen. Tomorrow must we part; +Be merry, for our time of stay is short. + + [_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 all, +That will the King severely prosecute +’Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. + +ROSS. +The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes, +And quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fined +For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts. + +WILLOUGHBY. +And daily new exactions are devised, +As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what. +But what, i’ God’s name, doth become of this? + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Wars hath not wasted it, for warred he hath not, +But basely yielded upon compromise +That which his ancestors achieved 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 banished 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 wrack that we must suffer; +And unavoided is the danger now +For suffering so the causes of our wrack. + +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, received 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 Coint, +All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittany +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 blemished 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 II. The Same. A Room in the Castle. + + Enter Queen, Bushy and Bagot. + +BUSHY. +Madam, your Majesty is too much sad. +You promised, 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 something 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 gazed upon, +Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry, +Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty, +Looking awry upon your lord’s departure, +Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail, +Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows +Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen, +More than your lord’s departure weep not. More 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 thought, in 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 derived +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 shipped for Ireland. + +QUEEN. +Why hop’st thou so? ’Tis better hope he is, +For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope. +Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped? + +GREEN. +That he, our hope, might have retired his power, +And driven into despair an enemy’s hope +Who strongly hath set footing in this land. +The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself, +And with uplifted arms is safe arrived +At Ravenspurgh. + +QUEEN. +Now God in heaven forbid! + +GREEN. +Ah, madam, ’tis too true; and that is worse, +The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry Percy, +The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, +With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. + +BUSHY. +Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland +And all the rest revolted faction traitors? + +GREEN. +We have, whereupon the Earl of Worcester +Hath broken his staff, resigned 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-delivered mother, +Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined. + +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 flattered 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: +Today, 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 provoked him to it, +The King had cut off my head with my brother’s. +What, are there no posts dispatched 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. +Th’ one is my sovereign, whom both my oath +And duty bids defend; th’ other again +Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged, +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 Castle. +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 condemned. + +BAGOT. +If judgment lie in them, then so do we, +Because we ever have been near the King. + +GREEN. +Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle. +The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. + +BUSHY. +Thither will I with you, for little office +Will the hateful commons perform for us, +Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. +Will you go along with us? + +BAGOT. +No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty. +Farewell. If heart’s presages be not vain, +We three here part that ne’er shall meet again. + +BUSHY. +That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. + +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 III. The Wolds in Gloucestershire. + + Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland with 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 Cotshall will be found +In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, +Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled +The tediousness and process of my travel. +But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have +The present benefit which I possess; +And hope to joy is little less in joy +Than hope enjoyed. 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 learned 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 dispersed +The household of the King. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +What was his reason? +He was not so resolved 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, +Manned 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 banished traitor. All my treasury +Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched, +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 rase 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 banished and forbidden legs +Dared once to touch a dust of England’s ground? +But then more why: why have they dared to march +So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, +Frighting her pale-faced 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 thee +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 banished man, and here art come, +Before the expiration of thy time, +In braving arms against thy sovereign. + +BOLINGBROKE. +As I was banished, I was banished 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 condemned +A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties +Plucked 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 distrained and sold, +And these, and all, are all amiss employed. +What would you have me do? I am a subject, +And challenge law. Attorneys are denied me, +And therefore personally I lay my claim +To my inheritance of free descent. + +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 laboured 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 Bristol Castle, which they say is held +By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, +The caterpillars of the commonwealth, +Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. + +YORK. +It may be I will go with you; but yet I’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 IV. A camp in Wales. + + Enter Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain. + +CAPTAIN. +My Lord of Salisbury, we have stayed 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 withered, +And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; +The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth, +And lean-looked 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 assured 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. +Thy 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. Bristol. Bolingbroke’s camp. + + + Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, + Ross; Officers behind, with 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 stained 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 stooped my neck under your injuries +And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds, +Eating the bitter bread of banishment, +Whilst you have fed upon my signories, +Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods, +From my own windows torn my household coat, +Rased 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 dispatched. + + [_Exeunt Northumberland and Others, with Bushy and Green._] + +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 dispatched +With letters of your love to her at large. + +BOLINGBROKE. +Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away, +To fight with Glendower and his complices. +A while to work, and after holiday. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. + + Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, the Bishop of + Carlisle, Aumerle and soldiers. + +KING RICHARD. +Barkloughly Castle call 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 embraced +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 plucked from off their backs, +Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? +So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, +Who all this while hath revelled 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 pressed +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! +Today, today, 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, dispersed, 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 Sir Stephen Scroop. + +SCROOP. +More health and happiness betide my liege +Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him. + +KING RICHARD. +Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. +The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. +Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, ’twas my care, +And what loss is it to be rid of care? +Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? +Greater he shall not be. If he serve God, +We’ll serve Him too, and be his fellow so. +Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend. +They break their faith to God as well as us. +Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay. +The worst is death, and death will have his day. + +SCROOP. +Glad am I that your highness is so armed +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 dissolved 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. +Whitebeards have armed 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 ill. +Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot? +What is become of Bushy? Where is Green? +That they have let the dangerous enemy +Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? +If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. +I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. + +SCROOP. +Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. + +KING RICHARD. +O villains, vipers, damned without redemption! +Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! +Snakes, in my heart-blood warmed, 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! + +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, graved in the hollow ground. + +AUMERLE. +Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? + +SCROOP. +Ay, all of them at Bristol 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 all are Bolingbroke’s, +And nothing can we call our own but death +And that small model of the barren earth +Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. +For God’s sake let us sit upon the ground +And tell sad stories of the death of kings— +How some have been deposed, some slain in war, +Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, +Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed, +All murdered. 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 feared, and kill with looks, +Infusing him with self and vain conceit, +As if this flesh which walls about our life +Were brass impregnable; and, humoured 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. Enquire 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 overblown; +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 joined 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 III. Wales. Before Flint Castle. + + Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and Forces; Northumberland + and Others. + +BOLINGBROKE. +So that by this intelligence we learn +The Welshmen are dispersed, 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 o’er our heads. + +BOLINGBROKE. +I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself +Against their will. But who comes here? + + Enter Harry Percy. + +Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield? + +PERCY. +The castle royally is manned, 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 ruined 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 repealed +And lands restored again be freely granted. +If not, I’ll use the advantage of my power +And lay the summer’s dust with showers of blood +Rained 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. +Let’s march without the noise of threat’ning drum, +That from this castle’s tottered battlements +Our fair appointments may be well perused. +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. + + A parley sounded, and answered by a trumpet within. 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 amazed, 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 dismissed us from our stewardship; +For well we know no hand of blood and bone +Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, +Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. +And though you think that all, as you have done, +Have torn their souls by turning them from us, +And we are barren and bereft of friends, +Yet know: my master, God omnipotent, +Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf +Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike +Your children yet unborn and unbegot, +That lift your vassal hands against my head +And threat the glory of my precious crown. +Tell Bolingbroke—for 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 rushed 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 and 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 accomplished without contradiction. +With all the gracious utterance thou hast, +Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. + + [_Northumberland returns to Bolingbroke._] + +[_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 deposed? +The King shall be contented. Must he lose +The name of King? I’ 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 figured 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 highway, +Some way of common trade, where subjects’ feet +May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head; +For on my heart they tread now whilst I live, +And, buried once, why not upon my head? +Aumerle, thou weep’st, my tender-hearted cousin! +We’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 digged 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 Phaëthon, +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 King Richard and his attendants. + +BOLINGBROKE. +Stand all apart, +And show fair duty to his Majesty. [_Kneeling_.] +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 unpleased eye see your courtesy. +Up, cousin, up. Your heart is up, I know, +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 IV. Langley. The Duke of York’s garden. + + Enter the Queen and two Ladies. + +QUEEN. +What sport shall we devise here in this garden +To drive away the heavy thought of care? + +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. +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 everyone doth so +Against a change; woe is forerun with woe. + + [_Queen and Ladies retire._] + + Enter a Gardener and two Servants. + +GARDENER. +Go, bind thou up young 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 like an executioner +Cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays +That look too lofty in our commonwealth. +All must be even in our government. +You thus employed, 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 choked up, +Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined, +Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs +Swarming with caterpillars? + +GARDENER. +Hold thy peace. +He that hath suffered this disordered spring +Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf. +The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, +That seemed in eating him to hold him up, +Are plucked 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 seized the wasteful King. O, what pity is it +That he had not so trimmed and dressed 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 lived 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. +Depressed he is already, and deposed +’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 pressed 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 thee +To make a second fall of cursed man? +Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed? +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 I +To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. +King Richard, he is in the mighty hold +Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weighed. +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 everyone 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 I. Westminster Hall. + + + The Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne; the Lords + temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, + Surrey, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, the + Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster and attendants. + +BOLINGBROKE. +Call forth Bagot. + + Enter Officers with Bagot. + + +Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind, +What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death, +Who wrought it with the King, and who performed +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 delivered. +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 soiled +With the attainder of his slanderous lips. +There is my gage, the manual seal of death +That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest, +And will maintain what thou hast said is false +In thy heart-blood, though being all too base +To stain the temper of my knightly sword. + +BOLINGBROKE. +Bagot, forbear. Thou shalt not take it up. + +AUMERLE. +Excepting one, I would he were the best +In all this presence that hath moved 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 damned to hell for this. + +HARRY 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. +And if I do not, may my hands rot off +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 full as many lies +As may be holloaed in thy treacherous ear +From sun to sun. There is my honour’s pawn. +Engage it to the trial if thou dar’st. + +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 lie +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 banished 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 repealed to try his honour. + +BOLINGBROKE. +These differences shall all rest under gage +Till Norfolk be repealed. Repealed he shall be, +And, though mine enemy, restored again +To all his lands and signories. When he is returned, +Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. + +CARLISLE. +That honourable day shall ne’er be seen. +Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought +For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, +Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross +Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; +And, toiled with works of war, retired 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 thee +From plume-plucked 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, of that name the fourth! + +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 judged 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 judged by subject and inferior breath, +And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, +That in a Christian climate souls refined +Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! +I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, +Stirred 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 called +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 looked for at your helping hands. + + Enter York with King Richard and Officers bearing the Crown, &c. + +KING RICHARD. +Alack, why am I sent for to a king +Before I have shook off the regal thoughts +Wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learned +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 full 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 grieved, +And thou with all pleased that hast all achieved. +Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit, +And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit! +God save King Henry, unkinged Richard says, +And send him many years of sunshine days! +What more remains? + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +[_Offering a paper_.] 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 deposed. + +KING RICHARD. +Must I do so? And must I ravel out +My weaved-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, +Marked with a blot, damned 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 delivered 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 title, +No, not that name was given me at the font, +But ’tis usurped. 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 faced so many follies, +That was at last outfaced 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, cracked in an hundred shivers. +Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, +How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face. + +BOLINGBROKE. +The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed +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 tortured 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 and Guard._] + +BOLINGBROKE. +On Wednesday next we solemnly set down +Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves. + + [_Exeunt all but the Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster 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 I. London. A street leading to the Tower. + + + Enter the Queen and ladies. + +QUEEN. +This way the King will come. This is the way +To Julius Caesar’s ill-erected tower, +To whose flint bosom my condemned lord +Is doomed 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-favoured grief be lodged 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 awaked, the truth of what we are +Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet, +To grim Necessity, and he and I +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 +Transformed and weakened! Hath Bolingbroke +Deposed 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’erpowered; 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 tak’st, +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 changed. +You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. +And, madam, there is order ta’en for you: +With all swift speed you must away to France. + +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 knowst the way +To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, +Being ne’er so little urged, 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 divorced! 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. + + [_They kiss._] + +QUEEN. +Give me mine own again; ’twere no good part +To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. + + [_They kiss again._] + +So, now I have mine own again, be gone, +That I may strive to kill it with a groan. + +KING RICHARD. +We make woe wanton with this fond delay: +Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A room in the Duke of York’s palace. + + Enter York and his Duchess. + +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 seemed 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 passed along. + +DUCHESS. +Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst? + +YORK. +As in a theatre the eyes of men +After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, +Are idly bent on him that enters next, +Thinking his prattle to be tedious, +Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes +Did 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, steeled +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. + + Enter Aumerle. + +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 Rutland now. +I am in Parliament pledge for his truth +And lasting fealty to the new-made king. + +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 cropped before you come to prime. +What news from Oxford? Do these jousts 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 hangs 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 entered 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. + + [_Snatches it 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, what is it, my lord? + +YORK. +Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse. +Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, +I will appeach the villain. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +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. + + Re-enter Servant with boots. + +DUCHESS. +Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed. +[_To Servant_.] +Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +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 groaned 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 pardoned thee. Away, be gone! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Windsor. A room in the Castle. + + Enter Bolingbroke as King, Harry Percy and other Lords. + +KING HENRY. +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, +While 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. + +KING HENRY. +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. + +KING HENRY. +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. + +AUMERLE. +Where is the King? + +KING HENRY. +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. + +KING HENRY. +Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. + + [_Exeunt Harry Percy and Lords._] + +What is the matter with our cousin now? + +AUMERLE. +[_Kneels_.] For ever may my knees grow to the earth, +My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, +Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. + +KING HENRY. +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. + +KING HENRY. +Have thy desire. + + [_Aumerle locks the door._] + +YORK. +[_Within_.] My liege, beware! Look to thyself! +Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. + +KING HENRY. +[_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. + + [_King Henry unlocks the door; and afterwards, relocks it._] + + Enter York. + +KING HENRY. +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 passed. +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. + +KING HENRY. +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 defiled 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 shamed 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_.] What ho, my liege! For God’s sake, let me in! + +KING HENRY. +What shrill-voiced 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 begged before. + +KING HENRY. +Our scene is altered from a serious thing, +And now changed to “The Beggar and the King.” +My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. +I know she’s come to pray for your foul sin. + + Enter Duchess. + +YORK. +If thou do pardon whosoever pray, +More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. +This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound; +This let alone will all the rest confound. + +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. [_Kneels_.] Hear me, gentle liege. + +KING HENRY. +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 outpray his; then let them have +That mercy which true prayer ought to have. + +KING HENRY. +Good aunt, stand up. + +DUCHESS. +Nay, 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 longed 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. + +KING HENRY. +Good aunt, stand up. + +DUCHESS. +I do not sue to stand. +Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. + +KING HENRY. +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. + +KING HENRY. +With all my heart +I pardon him. + +DUCHESS. +A god on earth thou art. + +KING HENRY. +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 prayed, and prove you true. + +DUCHESS. +Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Another room in the Castle. + + Enter 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 urged it twice together, did he not? + +SERVANT. +He did. + +EXTON. +And speaking it, he wishtly looked 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 V. Pomfret. The dungeon of the Castle. + + Enter Richard. + +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 intermixed +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 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 endured 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 kinged again, and by and by +Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke, +And straight am nothing. But whate’er I be, +Nor I nor any man that but man is +With nothing shall be pleased till he be eased +With being nothing. +Music do I hear? [_Music_.] +Ha, ha! keep time! How sour sweet music is +When time is broke and no proportion kept! +So is it in the music of men’s lives. +And here have I the daintiness of ear +To check time broke in a disordered 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 o’ the clock. +This music mads me! Let it sound no more; +For though it have holp madmen to their wits, +In me it seems it will make wise men mad. +Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me, +For ’tis a sign of love; and love to Richard +Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. + + Enter a Groom of the stable. + +GROOM. +Hail, royal Prince! + +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 erned 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 dressed. + +RICHARD. +Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, +How went he under him? + +GROOM. +So proudly as if he disdained the ground. + +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 awed by man, +Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse, +And yet I bear a burden like an ass, +Spurred, galled and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke. + + Enter Keeper with a dish. + +KEEPER. [_To the Groom_.] +Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay. + +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? + +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. + +RICHARD. +The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! +Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. + + [_Strikes the Keeper._] + +KEEPER. +Help, help, help! + + Enter Exton and Servants, armed. + +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 stained 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 spilled. 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 VI. Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle. + + Flourish. Enter King Henry and York with Lords and Attendants. + +KING HENRY. +Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear +Is that the rebels have consumed with fire +Our town of Cicester 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. + +KING HENRY. +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. + +KING HENRY. +Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot. +Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. + + Enter Harry 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. + +KING HENRY. +Carlisle, this is your doom: +Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, +More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life. +So as thou liv’st in peace, die free from strife; +For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, +High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. + + Enter Exton with attendants, bearing a coffin. + +EXTON. +Great king, within this coffin I present +Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies +The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, +Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. + +KING HENRY. +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. + +KING HENRY. +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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. London. A street + Scene II. London. Another street + Scene III. London. A Room in the Palace + Scene IV. London. A Room in the Tower + + ACT II + Scene I. London. A Room in the palace + Scene II. Another Room in the palace + Scene III. London. A street + Scene IV. London. A Room in the Palace + + ACT III + Scene I. London. A street + Scene II. Before Lord Hastings’ house + Scene III. Pomfret. Before the Castle + Scene IV. London. A Room in the Tower + Scene V. London. The Tower Walls + Scene VI. London. A street + Scene VII. London. Court of Baynard’s Castle + + ACT IV + Scene I. London. Before the Tower + Scene II. London. A Room of State in the Palace + Scene III. London. Another Room in the Palace + Scene IV. London. Before the Palace + Scene V. A Room in Lord Stanley’s house + + ACT V + Scene I. Salisbury. An open place + Scene II. Plain near Tamworth + Scene III. Bosworth Field + Scene IV. Another part of the Field + Scene V. Another part of the Field + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + + +RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III. +LADY ANNE, widow to Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.; +afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester + +KING EDWARD THE FOURTH, brother to Richard +QUEEN ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV. +Sons to the king: +EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards KING EDWARD V. +RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK + +GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE, brother to Edward and Richard +BOY, son to Clarence +GIRL, daughter to Clarence + +DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV., Clarence, and Gloucester +QUEEN MARGARET, widow to King Henry VI. +DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM +LORD HASTINGS, the Lord Chamberlain +LORD STANLEY, the Earl of Derby +EARL RIVERS, brother to Queen Elizabeth +LORD GREY, son of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage +MARQUESS OF DORSET, son of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage +SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN + +SIR WILLIAM CATESBY +SIR RICHARD RATCLIFFE +LORD LOVELL +DUKE OF NORFOLK +EARL OF SURREY + +HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII. +EARL OF OXFORD +SIR JAMES BLUNT +SIR WALTER HERBERT +SIR WILLIAM BRANDON +CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest +THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK +CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY +John Morton, BISHOP OF ELY +SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower +SIR JAMES TYRREL +Another Priest +LORD MAYOR OF LONDON +SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE + +Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, +Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c. + +SCENE: England + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. London. A street + + +Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, alone. + +RICHARD. +Now is the winter of our discontent +Made glorious summer by this son of York; +And all the clouds that loured 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 changed to merry meetings, +Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. +Grim-visaged war hath smoothed 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 shaped for sportive tricks, +Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; +I, that am rudely stamped, and want love’s majesty +To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; +I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, +Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, +Deformed, unfinished, 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 mewed 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 the Tower. + +RICHARD. +Upon what cause? + +CLARENCE. +Because my name is George. + +RICHARD. +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-christened 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 moved his Highness to commit me now. + +RICHARD. +Why, this it is when men are ruled 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 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 to her for his delivery? + +RICHARD. +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 dubbed 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. + +RICHARD. +Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury, +You may partake of anything we say. +We speak no treason, man. We say the King +Is wise and virtuous, and his noble Queen +Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous. +We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot, +A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; +And 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. + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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._] + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain. +Well are you welcome to the open air. +How hath your lordship brooked 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. + +RICHARD. +No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too, +For they that were your enemies are his, +And have prevailed as much on him as you. + +HASTINGS. +More pity that the eagles should be mewed, +Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed. +O, he hath kept an evil diet long, +And overmuch consumed his royal person. +’Tis very grievous to be thought upon. +Where is he, in his bed? + +HASTINGS. +He is. + +RICHARD. +Go you before, and I will follow you. + +[_Exit Hastings._] + +He cannot live, I hope, and must not die +Till George be packed with post-horse up to heaven. +I’ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence +With lies well steeled 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 killed 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 II. London. Another street + +Enter the corse of King Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guard it, +Lady Anne, being the mourner, Tressel and Berkeley and other Gentlemen. + +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, +Stabbed by the selfsame 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 venomed 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. + +[_They take up the bier._] + +Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester. + +RICHARD. +Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. + +ANNE. +What black magician conjures up this fiend +To stop devoted charitable deeds? + +RICHARD. +Villains, set down the corse or, by Saint Paul, +I’ll make a corse of him that disobeys! + +GENTLEMAN. +My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. + +RICHARD. +Unmannered 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. + +[_They set down the bier._] + +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 begone. + +RICHARD. +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, +Filled 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 congealed 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 heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, +Or earth gape open wide and eat him quick, +As thou dost swallow up this good King’s blood, +Which his hell-governed arm hath butchered. + +RICHARD. +Lady, you know no rules of charity, +Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. + +ANNE. +Villain, thou know’st nor law of God nor man. +No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. + +RICHARD. +But I know none, and therefore am no beast. + +ANNE. +O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! + +RICHARD. +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, diffused infection of a man, +Of these known evils but to give me leave, +By circumstance, to accuse thy cursed self. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Say that I slew them not? + +ANNE. +Then say they were not slain. +But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. + +RICHARD. +I did not kill your husband. + +ANNE. +Why then he is alive. + +RICHARD. +Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hand. + +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. + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +I grant ye. + +ANNE. +Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too +Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed. +O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. + +RICHARD. +The better for the King of Heaven that hath him. + +ANNE. +He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. + +ANNE. +Some dungeon. + +RICHARD. +Your bed-chamber. + +ANNE. +Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! + +RICHARD. +So will it, madam, till I lie with you. + +ANNE. +I hope so. + +RICHARD. +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 accursed effect. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack; +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. + +RICHARD. +Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. + +ANNE. +I would I were, to be revenged on thee. + +RICHARD. +It is a quarrel most unnatural, +To be revenged on him that loveth thee. + +ANNE. +It is a quarrel just and reasonable, +To be revenged on him that killed my husband. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +He lives that loves thee better than he could. + +ANNE. +Name him. + +RICHARD. +Plantagenet. + +ANNE. +Why, that was he. + +RICHARD. +The selfsame name, but one of better nature. + +ANNE. +Where is he? + +RICHARD. +Here. + +[_She spits at him._] + +Why dost thou spit at me? + +ANNE. +Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. + +ANNE. +Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead! + +RICHARD. +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, +Shamed 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-faced 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 bedashed 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 proposed 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 kneels and 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 stabbed 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. + +RICHARD. +Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. + +ANNE. +I have already. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +’Tis figured in my tongue. + +ANNE. +I fear me both are false. + +RICHARD. +Then never was man true. + +ANNE. +Well, well, put up your sword. + +RICHARD. +Say then my peace is made. + +ANNE. +That shalt thou know hereafter. + +RICHARD. +But shall I live in hope? + +ANNE. +All men, I hope, live so. + +RICHARD. +Vouchsafe to wear this ring. + +ANNE. +To take is not to give. + +[_He places the ring on her hand._] + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +That it may please you leave these sad designs +To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, +And presently repair to Crosby Place; +Where, after I have solemnly interred +At Chertsey monastery this noble King, +And wet his grave with my repentant tears, +I will with all expedient duty see you. +For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, +Grant me this boon. + +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. + +RICHARD. +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 Lady Anne, Tressel and Berkeley._] + +RICHARD. +Sirs, take up the corse. + +GENTLEMAN. +Towards Chertsey, noble lord? + +RICHARD. +No, to White Friars; there attend my coming. + +[_Exeunt Halberds and Gentlemen with corse._] + +Was ever woman in this humour wooed? +Was ever woman in this humour won? +I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long. +What, I that killed her husband and his father, +To take her in her heart’s extremest hate, +With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, +The bleeding witness of her hatred by, +Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, +And I no friends to back my suit 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, +Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewksbury? +A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, +Framed 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 cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince, +And made her widow to a woeful bed? +On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety? +On me, that halt and am misshapen thus? +My dukedom to a beggarly denier, +I do mistake my person all this while! +Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, +Myself to be a marvellous proper man. +I’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 III. London. A Room in the Palace + +Enter Queen Elizabeth, the Marquess of Dorset, Lord Rivers and Lord +Grey. + +RIVERS. +Have patience, madam. There’s no doubt his Majesty +Will soon recover his accustomed 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 blessed 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. + +RIVERS. +Is it concluded he shall be Protector? + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +It is determined, not concluded yet; +But so it must be, if the King miscarry. + +Enter Buckingham and Stanley, Earl of Derby. + +GREY. +Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Good time of day unto your royal Grace. + +STANLEY. +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, assured +I hate not you for her proud arrogance. + +STANLEY. +I do beseech you, either not believe +The envious slanders of her false accusers, +Or if she be accused on true report, +Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds +From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Saw you the King today, my Lord of Derby? + +STANLEY. +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 Richard, Duke of Gloucester and Hastings. + +RICHARD. +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 abused +With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? + +GREY. +To who in all this presence speaks your Grace? + +RICHARD. +To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. +When have I injured thee? When done thee wrong? +Or thee? Or thee? Or any of your faction? +A plague upon you all! His royal Grace, +Whom God preserve better than you would wish, +Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while +But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. +The King, on his own royal disposition, +And not provoked 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 +Of your ill will, and thereby to remove it. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Meantime, God grants that we have need of you. +Our brother is imprisoned by your means, +Myself disgraced, 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 raised me to this careful height +From that contented hap which I enjoyed, +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. + +RICHARD. +You may deny that you were not the mean +Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment. + +RIVERS. +She may, my lord; for— + +RICHARD. +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? + +RICHARD. +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 endured. +I had rather be a country servant-maid +Than a great queen with this condition, +To be so baited, scorned, and stormed at. + +Enter old Queen Margaret behind. + +Small joy have I in being England’s queen. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside._] And lessened be that small, God, I beseech Him! +Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. + +RICHARD. +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’ Tower. +’Tis time to speak. My pains are quite forgot. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside._] Out, devil! I do remember them too well: +Thou killed’st my husband Henry in the Tower, +And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. + +RICHARD. +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 spilt mine own. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside._] Ay, and much better blood than his or thine. + +RICHARD. +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. +[_Aside._] A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art. + +RICHARD. +Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, +Ay, and forswore himself—which Jesu pardon!— + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside._] Which God revenge! + +RICHARD. +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. +[_Aside._] 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 followed then our lord, our sovereign king. +So should we you, if you should be our king. + +RICHARD. +If I should be! I had rather be a pedler. +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. +[_Aside._] As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof, +For I am she, and altogether joyless. +I can no longer hold me patient. + +[_Coming forward._] + +Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out +In sharing that which you have pilled 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 deposed, you quake like rebels. +Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away. + +RICHARD. +Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +But repetition of what thou hast marred. +That will I make before I let thee go. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 +Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland— +His curses then, from bitterness of soul +Denounced against thee, are all fall’n upon thee, +And God, not we, hath plagued 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 mayst thou live to wail thy children’s death, +And see another, as I see thee now, +Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine; +Long die thy happy days before thy death, +And, after many lengthened 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 stabbed with bloody daggers. God, I pray Him, +That none of you may live his natural age, +But by some unlooked accident cut off. + +RICHARD. +Have done thy charm, thou hateful withered 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 begnaw 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-marked, abortive, rooting hog, +Thou that wast sealed 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— + +RICHARD. +Margaret. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Richard! + +RICHARD. +Ha? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +I call thee not. + +RICHARD. +I cry thee mercy then, for I did think +That thou hadst called me all these bitter names. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Why, so I did, but looked for no reply. +O, let me make the period to my curse! + +RICHARD. +’Tis done by me, and ends in “Margaret”. + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Thus have you breathed 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-backed 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 moved mine. + +RIVERS. +Were you well served, 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 Marquess, 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. + +RICHARD. +Good counsel, marry. Learn it, learn it, Marquess. + +DORSET. +It touches you, my lord, as much as me. + +RICHARD. +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 butchered. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 on end to hear her curses. + +RIVERS. +And so doth mine. I muse why she’s at liberty. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 franked 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. + +RICHARD. +So do I ever—(_Speaks to himself_) being well advised; +For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. + +Enter Catesby. + +CATESBY. +Madam, his Majesty doth call 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 Richard._] + +RICHARD. +I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. +The secret mischiefs that I set abroach +I lay unto the grievous charge of others. +Clarence, whom I indeed have cast in 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 revenged 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 villany +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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +SECOND MURDERER. +Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate. +Talkers are no good doers. Be assured +We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. + +RICHARD. +Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears. +I like you, lads. About your business straight. +Go, go, dispatch. + +BOTH MURDERERS. +We will, my noble lord. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Tower + +Enter Clarence and Keeper. + +KEEPER. +Why looks your Grace so heavily today? + +CLARENCE. +O, I have passed 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 embarked to cross to Burgundy; +And in my company my brother Gloucester, +Who from my cabin tempted me to walk +Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England, +And cited up a thousand heavy times, +During the wars of York and Lancaster, +That had befall’n us. As we paced 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 wracks; +A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon; +Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, +Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, +All scattered 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 wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, +And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered 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 +Stopped in my soul, and would not let it forth +To find the empty, vast, and wand’ring air, +But smothered it within my panting bulk, +Who almost burst to belch it in the sea. + +KEEPER. +Awaked you not in this sore agony? + +CLARENCE. +No, no, my dream was lengthened after life. +O, then began the tempest to my soul. +I passed, 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 vanished. Then came wand’ring by +A shadow like an angel, with bright hair +Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked out aloud +“Clarence is come—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, +That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury! +Seize on him, Furies! Take him unto torment!” +With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends +Environed me, and howled in mine ears +Such hideous cries that with the very noise +I trembling waked, 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 avenged 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 reposes himself on a chair._] + +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 titles 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? + +SECOND MURDERER. +I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. + +BRAKENBURY. +What, so brief? + +FIRST MURDERER. +’Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission, and +talk no more. + +[_Brakenbury reads the commission._] + +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 of the meaning. +There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys. +I’ll to the King and signify to him +That thus I have resigned to you my charge. + +FIRST MURDERER. +You may, sir; ’tis a point of wisdom. Fare you well. + +[_Exeunt Brakenbury and the 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 Judgement Day. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him sleeping. + +SECOND MURDERER. +The urging of that word “judgement” 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 damned 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 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. +So, 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 +shamefaced 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 turned 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 thee sigh. + +FIRST MURDERER. +I am strong-framed; 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 throw 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 reconciled 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 pronounced +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 table of his law commanded +That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then +Spurn at His edict and fulfil a man’s? +Take heed, for He holds vengeance in His hand +To hurl upon their heads that break His law. + +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 +Unrippedst the bowels of thy sovereign’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 powerful 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 hired 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 deceived. 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 +Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm, +And charged 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 lessoned 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 hugged 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? Ay, you would beg, +Were you in my distress. +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; +A begging prince what beggar pities not? + +SECOND MURDERER. +Look behind you, my lord. + +FIRST MURDERER. +Take that, and that! [_Stabs him._] 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 dispatched. +How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands +Of this most grievous murder. + +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 saved 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 I. London. A Room in the palace + + +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. +Rivers and Hastings, take each other’s hand; +Dissemble not your hatred. Swear your love. + +RIVERS. +By heaven, my soul is purged 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 Marquess. + +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. +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. + +[_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 Ratcliffe and the Duke. + +Enter Ratcliffe and Richard. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord, +Among this princely heap, if any here +By false intelligence or wrong surmise +Hold me a foe, +If I unwittingly, or in my rage, +Have aught committed that is hardly borne +By any in this presence, I desire +To reconcile me to his friendly peace. +’Tis death to me to be at enmity; +I hate it, and desire all good men’s love. +First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, +Which I will purchase with my duteous service; +Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, +If ever any grudge were lodged between us; +Of you and you, Lord Rivers and of Dorset, +That all without desert have frowned 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 tonight. +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. + +RICHARD. +Why, madam, have I offered 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 reversed. + +RICHARD. +But he, poor man, by your first order died, +And that a winged Mercury did bear; +Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, +That came too lag to see him buried. +God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, +Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, +Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, +And yet go current from suspicion! + +Enter Stanley Earl of Derby. + +STANLEY. +A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! + +KING EDWARD. +I prithee, peace. My soul is full of sorrow. + +STANLEY. +I will not rise unless your Highness hear me. + +KING EDWARD. +Then say at once what is it thou requests. + +STANLEY. +The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life +Who slew today 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, +Kneeled at my feet, and bid me be advised? +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 plucked, and not a man of you +Had so much grace to put it in my mind. +But when your carters or your waiting vassals +Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced +The precious image of our dear Redeemer, +You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon, +And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. +But for my brother not a man would speak, +Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself +For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all +Have been 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._] + +RICHARD. +This is the fruit of rashness. Marked you not +How that the guilty kindred of the Queen +Looked 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 II. Another Room in the palace + +Enter the old Duchess of York with the two Children of Clarence. + +BOY. +Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? + +DUCHESS. +No, boy. + +GIRL. +Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, +And cry “O Clarence, my unhappy son”? + +BOY. +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. + +BOY. +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. + +GIRL. +And so will I. + +DUCHESS. +Peace, children, peace. The King doth love you well. +Incapable and shallow innocents, +You cannot guess who caused your father’s death. + +BOY. +Grandam, we can, for my good uncle Gloucester +Told me, the King, provoked to it by the Queen, +Devised impeachments to imprison him; +And when my uncle told me so, he wept, +And pitied me, and kindly kissed my cheek; +Bade me rely on him as on my father, +And he would love me dearly as his child. + +DUCHESS. +Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape, +And with a virtuous visard hide deep vice! +He is my son, ay, and therein my shame; +Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. + +BOY. +Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? + +DUCHESS. +Ay, boy. + +BOY. +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 lived by looking on his images; +But now two mirrors of his princely semblance +Are cracked 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 snatched my husband from mine arms +And plucked 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. + +BOY. +Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father’s death. +How can we aid you with our kindred tears? + +GIRL. +Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned. +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 governed 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 parcelled, 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 distressed, +Pour all your tears. I am your sorrow’s nurse, +And I will pamper it with lamentation. + +DORSET. +Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeased +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 crowned; in him your comfort lives. +Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave, +And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne. + +Enter Richard, Buckingham, Stanley Earl of Derby, Hastings and +Ratcliffe. + +RICHARD. +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. + +[_Kneels._] + +DUCHESS. +God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, +Love, charity, obedience, and true duty. + +RICHARD. +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-swoll’n hates, +But lately splintered, knit, and joined together, +Must gently be preserved, cherished, and kept. +Me seemeth good that with some little train, +Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fet +Hither to London, to be crowned our King. + +RIVERS. +Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? + +BUCKINGHAM. +Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude +The new-healed wound of malice should break out, +Which would be so much the more dangerous +By how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 all. +Yet since it is but green, it should be put +To no apparent likelihood of breach, +Which haply by much company might be urged. +Therefore I say with noble Buckingham +That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince. + +HASTINGS. +And so say I. + +RICHARD. +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 Richard._] + +BUCKINGHAM. +My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, +For God’s sake, let not us two stay at home. +For by the way I’ll sort occasion, +As index to the story we late talked of, +To part the Queen’s proud kindred from the Prince. + +RICHARD. +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 III. 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 governed 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 crowned 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 enriched +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 ruled, 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 full of fear. +You cannot reason almost with a man +That looks not heavily and full 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 IV. London. A Room in 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 tonight. +Tomorrow 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 talked 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 flowers 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 remembered, +I could have given my uncle’s Grace a flout +To touch his growth nearer than he touched 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. + +DUCHESS. +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 disclosed. +Why or for what the nobles were committed +Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord. + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Ah me! I see the ruin of my house. +The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind; +Insulting tyranny begins to jut +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 tossed +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 earth 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 I. London. A street + + +The trumpets sound. Enter young Prince Edward, Richard, Buckingham, +Cardinal Bourchier, Catesby and others. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your chamber. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years +Hath not yet dived 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 sugared words +But looked 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. + +RICHARD. +My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you. + +Enter Lord Mayor with Attendants. + +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 deserved the place +And those who have the wit to claim the place. +This prince hath neither claimed it nor deserved 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? + +RICHARD. +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 registered, +Methinks the truth should live from age to age, +As ’twere retailed to all posterity, +Even to the general all-ending day. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside_.] So wise so young, they say, do never live long. + +PRINCE. +What say you, uncle? + +RICHARD. +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 lived a king. + +RICHARD. +[_Aside_.] Short summers lightly have a forward spring. + +Enter young Duke of York, Hastings 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 call 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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +He hath, my lord. + +YORK. +And therefore is he idle? + +RICHARD. +O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. + +YORK. +Then he is more beholding to you than I. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +A greater gift than that I’ll give my cousin. + +YORK. +A greater gift? O, that’s the sword to it. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +It is too heavy for your Grace to wear. + +YORK. +I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. + +RICHARD. +What, would you have my weapon, little lord? + +YORK. +I would, that I might thank you as you call me. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +My lord, wil’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. + +RICHARD. +Why, what should you fear? + +YORK. +Marry, my uncle Clarence’ angry ghost. +My grandam told me he was murdered there. + +PRINCE. +I fear no uncles dead. + +RICHARD. +Nor none that live, I hope. + +PRINCE. +An if they live, I hope I need not fear. +But come, my lord. With a heavy heart, +Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. + +[_A Sennet. Exeunt Prince Edward, York, Hastings, Dorset and all but +Richard, 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? + +RICHARD. +No doubt, no doubt. O, ’tis a parlous boy, +Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable. +He is all the mother’s, from the top to toe. + +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 urged 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 tomorrow 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 tomorrow hold divided councils, +Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed. + +RICHARD. +Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, Catesby, +His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries +Tomorrow 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. + +RICHARD. +Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? + +CATESBY. +You shall, my lord. + +RICHARD. +At Crosby Place, 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? + +RICHARD. +Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do. +And look when I am king, claim thou of me +The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables +Whereof the King my brother was possessed. + +BUCKINGHAM. +I’ll claim that promise at your Grace’s hand. + +RICHARD. +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 II. Before Lord Hastings’ 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 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 determined 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 mockery of unquiet slumbers. +To fly the boar before the boar pursues +Were to incense the boar to follow us, +And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. +Go, bid thy master rise and come to me, +And we will both together to the Tower, +Where he shall see the boar will use us kindly. + +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 misplaced. +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 unprepared 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 know’st, 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 deserved it. + +Enter Stanley Earl of Derby. + +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 you do 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 supposed 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? +Today the lords you talked of are beheaded. + +STANLEY. +They, for their truth, might better wear their heads +Than some that have accused them wear their hats. +But come, my lord, let’s away. + +Enter a Pursuivant. + +HASTINGS. +Go on before; I’ll talk with this good fellow. + +[_Exeunt Stanley and Catesby._] + +How now, sirrah? 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 enemies 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, fellow. 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. + +Enter Buckingham. + +PRIEST. +I’ll wait upon your lordship. + +[_Exit Priest._] + +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 III. Pomfret. Before the Castle + +Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe, with Halberds, carrying the nobles Rivers, +Grey and Vaughan to death at Pomfret. + +RIVERS. +Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell thee this: +Today 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 bloodsuckers. + +VAUGHAN +You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter. + +RATCLIFFE +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 hacked 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 exclaimed on Hastings, you, and I, +For standing by when Richard stabbed her son. + +RIVERS. +Then cursed she Richard, then cursed she Buckingham, +Then cursed 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. + +RATCLIFFE. +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 IV. London. A Room in the Tower + +Enter Buckingham, Stanley Earl of Derby, Hastings, the Bishop of Ely, +Norfolk, Ratcliffe, Lovell with others, 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 that royal time? + +STANLEY. +It is, and wants but nomination. + +ELY. +Tomorrow, then, I judge a happy day. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Who knows the Lord Protector’s mind herein? +Who is most inward with the noble Duke? + +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 delivered +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 Richard. + +ELY. +In happy time, here comes the Duke himself. + +RICHARD. +My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow. +I have been long a sleeper; but I trust +My absence doth neglect no great design +Which by my presence might have been concluded. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, +William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part— +I mean your voice for crowning of the King. + +RICHARD. +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. + +ELY. +Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. + +[_Exit._] + +RICHARD. +Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. + +[_They move 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 Richard and Buckingham._] + +STANLEY. +We have not yet set down this day of triumph. +Tomorrow, in my judgement, is too sudden, +For I myself am not so well provided +As else I would be, were the day prolonged. + +Enter Bishop of Ely. + +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. + +STANLEY. +What of his heart perceive you in his face +By any livelihood he showed today? + +HASTINGS. +Marry, that with no man here he is offended, +For were he, he had shown it in his looks. + +Enter Richard and Buckingham. + +RICHARD. +I pray you all, tell me what they deserve +That do conspire my death with devilish plots +Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevailed +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. + +RICHARD. +Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. +Look how I am bewitched! Behold, mine arm +Is like a blasted sapling withered 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— + +RICHARD. +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. +Lovell and Ratcliffe, look that it be done. +The rest that love me, rise and follow me. + +[_Exeunt all but Lovell and Ratcliffe with the Lord Hastings._] + +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 his helm, +And I did scorn it and disdain to fly. +Three times today my foot-cloth horse did stumble, +And started when he looked 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 +Today at Pomfret bloodily were butchered, +And I myself secure in grace and favour. +O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse +Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head. + +RATCLIFFE. +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. + +LOVELL. +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 looked upon. +Come, lead me to the block. Bear him my head. +They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. London. The Tower Walls + +Enter Richard and Buckingham in rotten armour, marvellous ill-favoured. + +RICHARD. +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 anytime to grace my stratagems. +But what, is Catesby gone? + +RICHARD. +He is; and, see, he brings the Mayor along. + +Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Lord Mayor— + +RICHARD. +Look to the drawbridge there! + +BUCKINGHAM. +Hark, a drum. + +RICHARD. +Catesby, o’erlook the walls. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent— + +RICHARD. +Look back! Defend thee, here are enemies. + +BUCKINGHAM. +God and our innocence defend and guard us! + +Enter Lovell and Ratcliffe with Hastings’ head. + +RICHARD. +Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliffe and Lovell. + +LOVELL. +Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, +The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. + +RICHARD. +So dear I loved the man that I must weep. +I took him for the plainest harmless creature +That breathed upon the earth a Christian; +Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded +The history of all her secret thoughts. +So smooth he daubed his vice with show of virtue +That, his apparent open guilt omitted— +I mean his conversation with Shore’s wife— +He lived from all attainder of suspects. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Well, well, he was the covert’st sheltered traitor +That ever lived.— +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? + +RICHARD. +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, +Enforced us to this execution? + +MAYOR. +Now, fair befall you! He deserved his death, +And your good Graces both have well proceeded, +To warn false traitors from the like attempts. + +BUCKINGHAM. +I never looked for better at his hands +After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. +Yet had we not determined 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, we would have had you heard +The traitor speak, and timorously confess +The manner and the purpose of his treasons, +That you might well have signified the same +Unto the citizens, who haply may +Misconster us in him, and wail his death. + +MAYOR. +But, my good lord, your Grace’s word shall serve +As well as I had seen and heard him speak; +And do not doubt, right noble princes both, +But I’ll acquaint our duteous citizens +With all your just proceedings in this case. + +RICHARD. +And to that end we wished your lordship here, +T’ avoid the censures of the carping world. + +BUCKINGHAM. +But 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._] + +RICHARD. +Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. +The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all 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 stretched 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. + +RICHARD. +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._] + +RICHARD. +Go, Lovell, with all speed to Doctor Shaa. +[_To Ratcliffe_.] Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both +Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle. + +[_Exeunt Ratcliffe and Lovell._] + +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 VI. London. A street + +Enter a Scrivener. + +SCRIVENER. +Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings, +Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, +That it may be today 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 lived, +Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. +Here’s a good world the while! Who is so gross +That cannot see this palpable device? +Yet who so bold but says he sees it not? +Bad is the world, and all will come to naught +When such ill dealing must be seen in thought. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE VII. London. Court of Baynard’s Castle + +Enter Richard and Buckingham at several doors. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +Touched 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 +Untouched 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!” + +RICHARD. +And did they so? + +BUCKINGHAM. +No, so God help me, they spake not a word, +But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, +Stared each on other, and looked deadly pale. +Which when I saw, I reprehended them, +And asked the Mayor what meant this wilful silence. +His answer was, the people were not used +To be spoke to but by the Recorder. +Then he was urged to tell my tale again: +“Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferred” +But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. +When he had done, some followers of mine own, +At lower end of the hall, hurled 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. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 Richard._] + +Enter the Lord Mayor 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 tomorrow or next day. +He is within, with two right reverend fathers, +Divinely bent to meditation; +And in no worldly suits would he be moved +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 courtesans, +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. + +Enter Catesby. + +Now, Catesby, what says his Grace? + +CATESBY. +He wonders to what end you have assembled +Such troops of citizens to come to him, +His Grace not being warned 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 Richard aloft, between two Bishops. Catesby reenters. + +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. + +RICHARD. +My lord, there needs no such apology. +I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, +Who, earnest in the service of my God, +Deferred 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 ungoverned isle. + +RICHARD. +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. + +RICHARD. +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 sceptered 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 blemished 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 defaced with scars of infamy, +Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, +And almost shouldered 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. + +RICHARD. +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 seasoned with your faithful love to me, +Then, on the other side, I checked 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 smothered. +But, God be thanked, 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, mellowed 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 betrothed +To Bona, sister to the King of France. +These both put off, a poor petitioner, +A care-crazed 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, +Seduced the pitch and height of his degree +To base declension and loathed 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 proffered 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 proffered love. + +CATESBY. +O, make them joyful; grant their lawful suit. + +RICHARD. +Alas, why would you heap those cares on me? +I am unfit for state and majesty. +I do beseech you, take it not amiss; +I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you. + +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 equally 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. + +[_Exeunt Buckingham, the Mayor and citizens._] + +CATESBY. +Call him again, sweet Prince; accept their suit. +If you deny them, all the land will rue it. + +RICHARD. +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. + +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-faced 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. + +RICHARD. +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. +Tomorrow may it please you to be crowned? + +RICHARD. +Even when you please, for you will have it so. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Tomorrow, then, we will attend your Grace; +And so most joyfully we take our leave. + +RICHARD. +[_To the Bishops_.] Come, let us to our holy work again. +Farewell, my cousin, farewell, gentle friends. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. London. Before the Tower + + +Enter Queen Elizabeth, the Duchess of York and Marquess of Dorset, at +one door; Anne Duchess of Gloucester with 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 wandering to the Tower, +On pure heart’s love, to greet the tender Prince. +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 charged 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 dog 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 hatched 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 followed Henry’s corse, +When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands +Which issued from my other angel husband, +And that dear saint which then I weeping followed; +O, when, I say, I looked on Richard’s face, +This was my wish: “Be thou,” quoth I, “accursed +For making me, so young, so old a widow; +And when thou wedd’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 proved 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 awaked. +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 wracked 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 immured within your walls— +Rough cradle for such little pretty one, +Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow +For tender princes, use my babies well. +So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. London. A Room of State in the Palace + +The trumpets sound a sennet. Enter Richard in pomp, Buckingham, +Catesby, Ratcliffe, Lovell, 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 trumpets._] + +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 performed. +What sayst 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_.] The King is angry. See, he gnaws his lip. + +KING RICHARD. +[_Aside_.] I will converse with iron-witted fools +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._] + +[_Aside_.] The deep-revolving witty Buckingham +No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels. +Hath he so long held out with me, untired, +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 Marquess Dorset, as I hear, is fled +To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. + +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. + +Enter 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. +Tyrell, 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._] + +Enter Buckingham. + +BUCKINGHAM. +My lord, I have considered 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 pawned: +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 showed me the castle +And called it Rougemount, 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 promised me. + +KING RICHARD. +Well, but what’s 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 today. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Why then, resolve me whether you will or no. + +KING RICHARD. +Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. + +[_Exit followed by all save 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 III. London. Another Room in 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 fleshed 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 kissed each other. +A book of prayers on their pillow lay, +Which once,” quoth Forrest, “almost changed my mind. +But, O, the devil—” There the villain stopped; +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 matched in marriage; +The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom, +And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. +Now, for I know the Breton 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 Ratcliffe. + +RATCLIFFE. +My lord! + +KING RICHARD. +Good or bad news, that thou com’st in so bluntly? + +RATCLIFFE. +Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond, +And Buckingham, backed 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 learned that fearful commenting +Is leaden servitor to dull delay; +Delay leads impotent and snail-paced 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 IV. 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 lurked +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 Duchess of York and Queen Elizabeth. + +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 fixed in doom perpetual, +Hover about me with your airy wings +And hear your mother’s lamentation. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside_.] Hover about her; say that right for right +Hath dimmed your infant morn to aged night. + +DUCHESS. +So many miseries have crazed my voice +That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. +Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? + +QUEEN MARGARET. +[_Aside_.] 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. +[_Aside_.] 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 usurped, +Brief abstract and record of tedious days, +Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth, +[_Sitting_.] 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. +[_Sitting_.] Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we? + +QUEEN MARGARET. + +[_Coming forward._] + +If ancient sorrow be most reverend, +Give mine the benefit of seigniory, +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 killed him; +I had a husband, till a Richard killed him. +Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killed him; +Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed 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 killed 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 excellent grand tyrant of the earth, +That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls; +That foul defacer of God’s handiwork +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 killed my Edward; +The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; +Young York, he is but boot, because both they +Matched not the high perfection of my loss. +Thy Clarence he is dead that stabbed my Edward; +And the beholders of this frantic play, +Th’ adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, +Untimely smothered in their dusky graves. +Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer, +Only reserved 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 conveyed from hence. +Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, +That I may live to 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-backed toad! + +QUEEN MARGARET. +I called thee then, vain flourish of my fortune; +I called thee then, poor shadow, painted queen, +The presentation of but what I was, +The flattering index of a direful pageant; +One heaved a-high to be hurled down below, +A mother only mocked 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 are 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 all 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 sued to, one that humbly sues; +For Queen, a very caitiff crowned with care; +For she that scorned at me, now scorned of me; +For she being feared of all, now fearing one; +For she commanding all, obeyed of none. +Thus hath the course of justice wheeled 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 burdened 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 skilled in curses, stay awhile, +And teach me how to curse mine enemies. + +QUEEN MARGARET. +Forbear to sleep the night, 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. +Bettering 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 full of words? + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Windy attorneys to their clients’ woes, +Airy succeeders of intestate joys, +Poor breathing orators of miseries, +Let them have scope, though what they do impart +Help nothing else, yet do they ease 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 smothered. + +[_A trumpet sounds._] + +The trumpet sounds. Be copious in exclaims. + +Enter King Richard and his Train, including Catesby, marching. + +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. +Hid’st thou that forehead with a golden crown +Where should be branded, if that right were right, +The slaughter of the Prince that owed 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 stayed 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 confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, +More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred. +What comfortable hour canst thou name +That ever graced me with thy company? + +KING RICHARD. +Faith, none but Humphrey Hower, that called 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 more 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 called 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 unscarred 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 births 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 destined to a fairer death, +If grace had blessed 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 cozened +Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. +Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, +Thy head, all 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 still use of grief makes wild grief tame, +My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys +Till that my nails were anchored 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 harmed! + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +What good is covered with the face of heaven, +To be discovered, that can do me good? + +KING RICHARD. +Th’ 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 sorrows 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, steeped in Rutland’s blood— +A handkerchief, which, say to her, did drain +The purple sap from her sweet brothers’ 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 killed 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 doting title of a mother; +They are as children but one step below, +Even of your mettle, of your very blood; +Of all one pain, save for a night of groans +Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. +Your children were vexation to your youth, +But mine shall be a comfort to your age. +The loss you have is but a son being King, +And by that loss your daughter is made Queen. +I cannot make you what amends I would; +Therefore accept such kindness as I can. +Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul +Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, +This fair alliance quickly shall call home +To high promotions and great dignity. +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 +Repaired 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, transformed 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 Princess +With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys, +And when this arm of mine hath chastised +The petty rebel, dull-brained 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 vail 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 heart-strings break. + +KING RICHARD. +Now, by my George, my Garter, and my crown— + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Profaned, dishonoured, and the third usurped. + +KING RICHARD. +I swear— + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +By nothing, for this is no oath. +Thy George, profaned, hath lost his lordly honour; +Thy Garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue; +Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory. +If something thou wouldst swear to be believed, +Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged. + +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 that dishonoured. + +KING RICHARD. +Then, by myself— + +QUEEN ELIZABETH. +Thyself is self-misused. + +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 feared to break an oath by Him, +Th’ imperial metal circling now thy head +Had graced the tender temples of my child, +And both the Princes had been breathing here, +Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, +Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. +What canst thou swear by now? + +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 wronged by thee. +The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughtered, +Ungoverned youth, to wail it in their age; +The parents live whose children thou hast butchered, +Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. +Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast +Misused ere used, by times ill-used 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 found 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 Ratcliffe. + +How now, what news? + +RATCLIFFE. +Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast +Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores +Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, +Unarmed, and unresolved 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. +Ratcliffe, 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. +Ratcliffe, come hither. Post to Salisbury. +When thou com’st thither— +[_To Catesby._] Dull, unmindful 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._] + +RATCLIFFE. +What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? + +KING RICHARD. +Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go? + +RATCLIFFE. +Your Highness told me I should post before. + +KING RICHARD. +My mind is changed. + +Enter Stanley Earl of Derby. + +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 mayst 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-livered runagate, what doth he there? + +STANLEY. +I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. + +KING RICHARD. +Well, as you guess? + +STANLEY. +Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, +He makes for England, here to claim the crown. + +KING RICHARD. +Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed? +Is the King dead? The empire unpossessed? +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 more 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 dispersed and scattered, +And he himself wandered 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 proclaimed +Reward to him that brings the traitor in? + +THIRD MESSENGER. +Such proclamation hath been made, my lord. + +Enter another Messenger. + +FOURTH MESSENGER. +Sir Thomas Lovell and Lord Marquess Dorset, +’Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. +But this good comfort bring I to your Highness: +The Breton navy is dispersed 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 answered him they came from Buckingham +Upon his party. He, mistrusting them, +Hoised sail, and made his course again for Brittany. + +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. + +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. +Someone take order Buckingham be brought +To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. A Room in Lord Stanley’s house + +Enter Stanley Earl of Derby 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 franked 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’rfordwest 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 I. Salisbury. An open place + + +Enter Sheriff and Halberds, 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. + +BUCKINGHAM. +Why, then All-Souls’ day is my body’s doomsday. +This is the day which, in King Edward’s time, +I wished might fall on me when I was found +False to his children and his wife’s allies. +This is the day wherein I wished to fall +By the false faith of him whom most I trusted. +This, this All-Souls’ day to my fearful soul +Is the determined respite of my wrongs. +That high All-Seer which I dallied with +Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head +And given in earnest what I begged 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. + +[_Exit with Officers._] + +SCENE II. Plain near Tamworth + +Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with drum and +colours. + +RICHMOND. +Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, +Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, +Thus far into the bowels of the land +Have we marched on without impediment; +And here receive we from our father Stanley +Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. +The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, +That spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines, +Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough +In your embowelled 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 that 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 III. Bosworth Field + +Enter King Richard in arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliffe and the Earl of +Surrey with 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 tonight. +But where tomorrow? 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, tomorrow is a busy day. + +[_The tent is now ready. Exeunt._] + +Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, Herbert, Blunt, and others +who pitch Richmond’s tent. + +RICHMOND. +The weary sun hath made a golden set, +And by the bright track of his fiery car +Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow. +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 goodnight 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 quartered, do you know? + +BLUNT. +Unless I have mista’en his colours much, +Which well I am assured 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 tonight. + +RICHMOND. +Good night, good Captain Blunt. + +[_Exit Blunt._] + +Come, gentlemen, +Let us consult upon tomorrow’s business; +Into my tent. The dew is raw and cold. + +[_Richmond, Brandon Herbert, and Oxford withdraw into the tent. The +others exeunt._] + +Enter to his tent, King Richard, Ratcliffe, Norfolk and Catesby with +Soldiers. + +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 tonight. 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 tomorrow, 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 tomorrow. +Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. +Ratcliffe! + +RATCLIFFE. +My lord? + +KING RICHARD. +Saw’st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? + +RATCLIFFE. +Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself, +Much about cockshut 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? + +RATCLIFFE. +It is, my lord. + +KING RICHARD. +Bid my guard watch; leave me. +Ratcliffe, about the mid of night come to my tent +And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. + +[_Exit Ratcliffe. Richard withdraws into his tent; attendant soldiers +guard it_.] + +Enter Stanley Earl of Derby to Richmond in his tent. + +STANLEY. +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? + +STANLEY. +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-sundered 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 tomorrow +When I should mount with wings of victory. +Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. + +[_All but Richmond leave his tent._] + +[_Kneels_.] 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 +Th’ 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 Harry the Sixth. + +GHOST OF EDWARD. +[_To King Richard._] Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow. +Think how thou stabbed’st me in my prime of youth +At Tewksbury; despair therefore, and die! +[_To Richmond._] Be cheerful, Richmond, for the wronged souls +Of butchered princes fight in thy behalf. +King Henry’s issue, Richmond, comforts thee. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth. + +GHOST OF HENRY. +[_To King 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! + +[_Exit._] + +Enter the Ghost of Clarence. + +GHOST OF CLARENCE. +[_To King Richard._] Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, +I, that was washed to death with fulsome wine, +Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death. +Tomorrow 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. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Grey and Vaughan. + +GHOST OF RIVERS. +[_To King Richard._] Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, +Rivers that died at Pomfret. Despair and die! + +GHOST OF GREY. +[_To King Richard._] Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair! + +GHOST OF VAUGHAN. +[_To King Richard._] Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear +Let fall thy lance. Despair and die! + +ALL THREE. +[_To Richmond._] Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard’s bosom +Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Enter the Ghost of Hastings. + +GHOST OF HASTINGS. +[_To King 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. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes. + +GHOSTS OF PRINCES. +[_To King 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. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Enter the Ghost of Lady Anne, his wife. + +GHOST OF ANNE. +[_To King Richard._] Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, +That never slept a quiet hour with thee, +Now fills thy sleep with perturbations. +Tomorrow 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. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter the Ghost of Buckingham. + +GHOST OF BUCKINGHAM. +[_To King Richard._] The first was I that helped 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 dismayed. +God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side; +And Richard fall in height of all his pride. + +[_Exit._] + +[_King Richard starts up 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 highest degree; +Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree; +All several sins, all used 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 murdered +Came to my tent, and everyone did threat +Tomorrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard. + +Enter Ratcliffe. + +RATCLIFFE. +My lord! + +KING RICHARD. +Zounds! Who’s there? + +RATCLIFFE. +Ratcliffe, 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 Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream! +What think’st thou, will our friends prove all true? + +RATCLIFFE. +No doubt, my lord. + +KING RICHARD. +O Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear! + +RATCLIFFE. +Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. + +KING RICHARD. +By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight +Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard +Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers +Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. +’Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me. +Under our tents I’ll play the eavesdropper, +To see if any mean to shrink from me. + +[_Exeunt Richard and Ratcliffe._] + +Enter the Lords to Richmond 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 entered in a drowsy head +Have I since your departure had, my lords. +Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murdered +Came to my tent and cried on victory. +I promise you, my heart is very jocund +In the remembrance of so fair a dream. +How far into the morning is it, lords? + +LORDS. +Upon the stroke of four. + +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-reared 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 raised in blood, and one in blood established; +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 fat 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._] + +Enter King Richard, Ratcliffe and Soldiers. + +KING RICHARD. +What said Northumberland as touching Richmond? + +RATCLIFFE. +That he was never trained up in arms. + +KING RICHARD. +He said the truth. And what said Surrey then? + +RATCLIFFE. +He smiled, and said, “The better for our purpose.” + +KING RICHARD. +He was in the right, and so indeed it is. + +[_The clock striketh._] + +Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. +Who saw the sun today? + +RATCLIFFE. +Not I, my lord. + +KING RICHARD. +Then he disdains to shine, for by the book +He should have braved the east an hour ago. +A black day will it be to somebody. +Ratcliffe! + +RATCLIFFE. +My lord? + +KING RICHARD. +The sun will not be seen today! +The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. +I would these dewy tears were from the ground. +Not shine today? 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. + +[_He sheweth him a paper._] + +This found I on my tent this morning. + +KING RICHARD. +[_Reads_.] “Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold. +For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.” +A thing devised by the enemy. +Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge. +Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls; +Conscience is but a word that cowards use, +Devised 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 inferred? +Remember whom you are to cope withal, +A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, +A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants, +Whom their o’er-cloyed country vomits forth +To desperate adventures and assured destruction. +You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; +You having lands, and blessed with beauteous wives, +They would restrain the one, distain the other. +And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, +Long kept in Brittany at our mother’s cost? +A milksop, 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 overweening rags of France, +These famished beggars, weary of their lives, +Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, +For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves. +If we be conquered, let men conquer us, +And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers +Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped, +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 past 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 IV. Another part of the Field + +Alarum. Excursions. Enter Norfolk and Soldiers; 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! + +[_Exeunt Norfolk and Soldiers._] + +Alarum. 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 today instead of him. +A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the Field + +Alarum. Enter King Richard and Richmond. They fight. Richard is slain. +Then retreat being sounded. Richmond exits, and Richard’s body is +carried off. Flourish. Enter Richmond, Stanley Earl of Derby, bearing +the crown, with other Lords and Soldiers. + +RICHMOND. +God and your arms be praised, victorious friends! +The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. + +STANLEY. +Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee! +Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty +From the dead temples of this bloody wretch +Have I plucked 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? + +STANLEY. +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? + +STANLEY. +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 frowned upon their enmity. +What traitor hears me and says not Amen? +England hath long been mad, and scarred herself: +The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood; +The father rashly slaughtered his own son; +The son, compelled, 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 smoothed-faced 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 stopped, 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, I 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 woos +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. +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. +The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night, +Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; +And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels +From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s fiery wheels +Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, +The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry, +I must 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; now 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. +Howling 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 villainous 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 borne 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 he 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 Petruchio, 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 Petruchio, 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 Petruchio 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 Petruchio 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 bowsprit, 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 garners never empty; +Vines with clust’ring bunches growing; +Plants with goodly burden bowing; +Spring come to you at the farthest +In the very end of harvest! +Scarcity and want shall shun you; +Ceres’ blessing so is on you._ + +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. + + [_Solemn 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Athens. A hall in Timon’s house + Scene II. The Same. A room of state in Timon’s house + + ACT II + Scene I. Athens. A room in a senator’s house + Scene II. The same. A hall in Timon’s house + + ACT III + Scene I. Athens. A room in Lucullus’ house + Scene II. A public place + Scene III. The same. A room in Sempronius’ house + Scene IV. A hall in Timon’s house + Scene V. The same. The senate house + Scene VI. A room of state in Timon’s house + + ACT IV + Scene I. Without the walls of Athens + Scene II. Athens. A room in Timon’s house + Scene III. Woods and caves near the sea-shore + + ACT V + Scene I. The woods. Before Timon’s cave + Scene III. The same + Scene III. Before the walls of Athens + Scene IV. The woods. Timon’s cave, and a rude tomb seen + Scene V. Before the walls of Athens + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +TIMON, a noble Athenian +FLAVIUS, steward to Timon +FLAMINIUS, servant to Timon +LUCILIUS, servant to Timon +SERVILIUS, servant to Timon + +APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher +ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain +PHRYNIA, mistress to Alcibiades +TIMANDRA, mistress to Alcibiades + +LUCIUS, friend of Timon +LUCULLUS, friend of Timon +SEMPRONIUS, friend of Timon +VENTIDIUS, friend of Timon + +CAPHIS, servant of Timon’s creditors +SERVANT of Isidore +Two SERVANTS of Varro +TITUS, servant of Timon’s creditors +HORTENSIUS, servant of Timon’s creditors +LUCIUS, servant of Timon’s creditors +PHILOTUS, servant of Timon’s creditors + +LORDS and SENATORS of Athens +Three STRANGERS, one called HOSTILIUS +An OLD ATHENIAN +POET +PAINTER +JEWELLER +MERCHANT +A FOOL +A PAGE + +CUPID and Amazons in the Masque + +BANDITTI + +Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, Messengers and Attendants + +SCENE. Athens, and the neighbouring woods + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Athens. A hall in Timon’s house + + +Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller and Merchant at several doors. + +POET. +Good day, sir. + +PAINTER. +I am glad you’re 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 conjured 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 fixed. + +MERCHANT. +A most incomparable man, breathed, 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 praised 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 slipped idly from me. +Our poesy is as a gum which oozes +From whence ’tis nourished. The fire i’ th’ flint +Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame +Provokes itself and, like the current, flies +Each bound it chases. 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’ll say of it, +It tutors nature. Artificial strife +Lives in these touches livelier than life. + +Enter certain Senators, who pass over the stage. + +PAINTER. +How this lord is followed! + +POET. +The senators of Athens, happy men! + +PAINTER. +Look, more! + +POET. +You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. +I have in this rough work shaped out a man +Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug +With amplest entertainment. My free drift +Halts not particularly, but moves itself +In a wide sea of wax. No levelled 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-faced 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 +Feigned Fortune to be throned. The base o’ th’ mount +Is ranked 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 fixed, +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 conceived to scope. +This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, +With one man beckoned from the rest below, +Bowing his head against the steepy mount +To climb his happiness, would be well expressed +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 laboured 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 Lord Timon, addressing himself courteously to +every suitor. He is accompanied by a Messenger; Lucilius and other +servants follow. + +TIMON. +Imprisoned 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 off +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 enfranchised, 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 named 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 inclined to thrift, +And my estate deserves an heir more raised +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. +[_To Lucilius_.] 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 endowed, +If she be mated with an equal husband? + +OLD ATHENIAN. +Three talents on the present; in future, all. + +TIMON. +This gentleman of mine hath served 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 pencilled 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 you. + +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 extolled, +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 mocked. + +MERCHANT. +No, my good lord, he speaks the common tongue, +Which all men speak with him. + +Enter Apemantus. + +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 called 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’lt 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. +You’re 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 feigned him a +worthy fellow. + +POET. +That’s not feigned, 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 thanked you; when dinner’s done, +Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. + +Enter Alcibiades with his company. + +Most welcome, sir. + +[_They bow to each other._] + +APEMANTUS. +[_Aside_.] 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 saved 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 omitt’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 governed man. + +SECOND LORD. +Long may he live in fortunes. Shall we in? + +FIRST LORD. +I’ll keep you company. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The Same. A room of state in Timon’s house + +Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in, Flavius and +others attending; and then enter Lord Timon, the Senators, the +Athenian Lords, Alcibiades, and Ventidius, which Timon redeemded from +prison. Then comes, dropping after all, Apemantus, discontentedly, like +himself. + +VENTIDIUS. +Most honoured Timon, +It hath pleased 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 derived 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 devised 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 confessed it. + +APEMANTUS. +Ho, ho, confessed it? Hanged 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, thou’rt a churl, ye’ve 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 it 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. Thou’rt an Athenian, therefore, welcome. I +myself would have no power; prithee; let my meat make thee silent. + +APEMANTUS. +I scorn thy meat, ’twould 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 draft, 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 wind-pipe’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’ the mire. +This and my food are equals, there’s no odds. +Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. + +_Apemantus’ grace_ + + + Immortal gods, I crave no pelf, + I pray for no man but myself. + Grant I may never prove so fond + To trust man on his oath or bond, + Or a harlot for her weeping, + Or a dog that seems a-sleeping, + Or a keeper with my freedom, + Or my friends if I should need ’em. + Amen. So fall to’t. + Rich men sin, and I eat root. + +[_He 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 a 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 +wished 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 moved me much. + +APEMANTUS. +Much! + +[_A tucket sounds._] + +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. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +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. There +Taste, touch, all, pleased 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! + +FIRST LORD. +You see, my lord, how ample you’re beloved. + +Music. Enter 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 madwomen. +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 friend’s gift? +I should fear those that dance before me now +Would one day stamp upon me. ’T has been done. +Men shut their doors against a setting sun. + +[_The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon, and to show +their loves each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women, +a lofty strain or two to the 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 entertained 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 crossed 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! + +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 your honour, Lord Lucius, +Out of his free love, hath presented to you +Four milk-white horses, trapped in silver. + +TIMON. +I shall accept them fairly; let the presents +Be worthily entertained. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +Enter a third Servant. + +How now? What news? + +THIRD SERVANT. +Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats +your company tomorrow to hunt with him and has sent your honour two +brace of greyhounds. + +TIMON. +I’ll hunt with him; and let them be received, +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 every word. He is so kind that he now +Pays interest for ’t; his land’s put to their books. +Well, would I were gently put out of office +Before I were forced 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 liked 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 pitched field. + +ALCIBIADES. +Ay, defiled land, my lord. + +FIRST LORD. +We are so virtuously bound— + +TIMON. +And so am I to you. + +SECOND LORD. +So infinitely endeared— + +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 bribed 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 vainglories? + +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. Athens. A room in a senator’s house + + +Enter a Senator with papers. + +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 more +Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon— +Ask nothing, give it him—it foals me straight, +And able horses. No porter at his gate, +But rather one that smiles and still invites +All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason +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 ceased +With slight denial, nor then silenced 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 tossed and turned 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. Come. + +CAPHIS. +I will, sir. + +SENATOR. +Go. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. A hall in Timon’s house + +Enter Flavius 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 discharged! + +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 awaked 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 Timon’s train._] + +[_To Flavius_.] Come hither. Pray you, +How goes the world, that I am thus encountered +With clamorous demands of debt, broken 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 entertained. + +[_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; thou’rt not on him yet. + +CAPHIS. +Where’s the fool now? + +APEMANTUS. +He last asked 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 hanged. This is +to Lord Timon, this to Alcibiades. Go, thou wast born a bastard, and +thou’lt die a bawd. + +PAGE. +Thou wast whelped a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog’s death. Answer +not; I am gone. + +[_Exit Page._] + +APEMANTUS. +E’en so thou outrunn’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 served us! + +APEMANTUS. +So would I—as good a trick as ever hangman served 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’s 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 more than’s artificial one. He is very +often like a knight; and generally, in all shapes that man goes up and +down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. + +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. + +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 proposed. + +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, prayed you +To hold your hand more close. I did endure +Not seldom nor no slight checks, when I have +Prompted you in the ebb of your estate +And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, +Though you hear now, too late, yet now’s a time. +The greatest of your having lacks a half +To pay your present debts. + +TIMON. +Let all my land be sold. + +FLAVIUS. +’Tis all engaged, 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 reckoning? + +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 oppressed +With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept +With drunken spilth of wine, when every room +Hath blazed with lights and brayed with minstrelsy, +I have retired 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 Timon’s? +What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon’s? +Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! +Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, +The breath is gone whereof this praise is made. +Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, +These flies are couched. + +TIMON. +Come, sermon me no further. +No villainous bounty yet hath passed 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 crowned, +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 a third Servant. + +SERVANTS. +My lord, my lord. + +TIMON. +I will dispatch you severally. [_To Servilius_.] You to Lord Lucius; +[_To Flaminius_.] to Lord Lucullus you, I hunted with his honour today; +[_To the third Servant_.] 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 +Deserved 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 wished—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 caked, ’tis cold, it seldom flows; +’Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; +And nature, as it grows again toward earth, +Is fashioned for the journey, dull and heavy. +Go to Ventidius. Prithee, be not sad, +Thou art true and honest, ingenuously I speak, +No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately +Buried his father, by whose death he’s stepped +Into a great estate. When he was poor, +Imprisoned and in scarcity of friends, +I cleared him with five talents. Greet him from me, +Bid him suppose some good necessity +Touches his friend, which craves to be remembered +With those five talents. That had, give’t these fellows +To whom ’tis instant due. Ne’er speak, or think +That Timon’s fortunes ’mong his friends can sink. + +[_Exit._] + +FLAVIUS. +I would I could not think it. +That thought is bounty’s foe; +Being free itself, it thinks all others so. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Athens. A room in Lucullus’ house + + +Flaminius waiting to speak with Lucullus from his master. + +Enter a 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 tonight.—Flaminius, honest +Flaminius, you are very respectively welcome, sir. Fill me some wine. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +And how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted 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. + +LUCULLUS. +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’ dined 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. + +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 lived? Fly, damned baseness, +To him that worships thee. + +[_Throws 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 turned 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, urged extremely +for’t, and showed what necessity belonged 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 ashamed on’t. +Denied that honourable man? There was very little honour showed 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. +[_To Lucius_.] My honoured 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, thinkest 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 meantime 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 +happened that I should purchase the day before for a little part, and +undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now before the gods, I am not +able to do—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 it 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 returned 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. The same. A room in Sempronius’ house + +Enter a Third Servant of Timon’s with Sempronius, another of Timon’s +friends. + +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 redeemed from prison. All these +Owe their estates unto him. + +SERVANT. +My lord, +They have all been touched 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, +Thrive, give him over. Must I take th’ cure upon me? +Has much disgraced 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 wooed 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 crossed 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 employed +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 Servants meeting Titus and Hortensius and then +Lucius, all Servants of Timon’s creditors, to wait for his coming out. + +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. +Ay, and I think +One business does command us all; +For mine is money. + +TITUS. +So is theirs and ours. + +Enter Philotus. + +LUCIUS. +And, sir, Philotus too! + +PHILOTUS. +Good day at once. + +LUCIUS. +Welcome, good brother. +What do you think the hour? + +PHILOTUS. +Labouring for nine. + +LUCIUS. +So much? + +PHILOTUS. +Is not my lord seen yet? + +LUCIUS. +Not yet. + +PHILOTUS. +I wonder on’t, he was wont to shine at seven. + +LUCIUS. +Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with him. +You must consider that a prodigal course +Is like the sun’s, but not like his recoverable. +I fear ’tis deepest winter in Lord Timon’s purse: +That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet +Find little. + +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. +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. +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 equalled. + +Enter Flaminius. + +TITUS. +One of Lord Timon’s men. + +LUCIUS. +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 too diligent. + +[_Exit Flaminius._] + +Enter Flavius in a cloak, muffled. + +LUCIUS. +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 you 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 preferred 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’ interest into their gluttonous 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. +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 cashiered 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. +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. + +TIMON. +What, are my doors opposed against my passage? +Have I been ever free, and must my house +Be my retentive enemy, my jail? +The place which I have feasted, does it now, +Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? + +LUCIUS. +Put in now, Titus. + +TITUS. +My lord, here is my bill. + +LUCIUS. +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. +Alas, my lord— + +TIMON. +Cut my heart in sums! + +TITUS. +Mine, fifty talents. + +TIMON. +Tell out my blood. + +LUCIUS. +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 called desperate ones, for a madman owes ’em. + +[_Exeunt._] + +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? + +FLAVIUS. +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 same. 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 ’em. + +ALCIBIADES. +Honour, health, and compassion to the senate! + +FIRST SENATOR. +Now, captain? + +ALCIBIADES. +I am a 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 stepped 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 touched to death, +He did oppose his foe; +And with such sober and unnoted passion +He did behave his anger, ere ’twas spent, +As if he had but proved 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 laboured +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 felon +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 inferred 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 honour, 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 banished. +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 room of state in Timon’s house + +Music. Enter divers Friends at several doors. + +FIRST FRIEND. +The good time of day to you, sir. + +SECOND FRIEND. +I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this +other day. + +FIRST FRIEND. +Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encountered. I hope it is not +so low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. + +SECOND FRIEND. +It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. + +FIRST FRIEND. +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 conjured me beyond +them, and I must needs appear. + +SECOND FRIEND. +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 FRIEND. +I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go. + +SECOND FRIEND. +Every man here’s so. What would he have borrowed you? + +FIRST FRIEND. +A thousand pieces. + +SECOND FRIEND. +A thousand pieces! + +FIRST FRIEND. +What of you? + +SECOND FRIEND. +He sent to me, sir—here he comes. + +Enter Timon and Attendants. + +TIMON. +With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you? + +FIRST FRIEND. +Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. + +SECOND FRIEND. +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 FRIEND. +I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I returned you +an empty messenger. + +TIMON. +O, sir, let it not trouble you. + +SECOND FRIEND. +My noble lord— + +TIMON. +Ah, my good friend, what cheer? + +SECOND FRIEND. +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 FRIEND. +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 FRIEND. +All covered dishes! + +FIRST FRIEND. +Royal cheer, I warrant you. + +THIRD FRIEND. +Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. + +FIRST FRIEND. +How do you? What’s the news? + +THIRD FRIEND. +Alcibiades is banished. Hear you of it? + +FIRST AND SECOND FRIENDS. +Alcibiades banished? + +THIRD FRIEND. +’Tis so, be sure of it. + +FIRST FRIEND. +How, how? + +SECOND FRIEND. +I pray you, upon what? + +TIMON. +My worthy friends, will you draw near? + +THIRD FRIEND. +I’ll tell you more anon. Here’s a noble feast toward. + +SECOND FRIEND. +This is the old man still. + +THIRD FRIEND. +Will’t hold, will’t hold? + +SECOND FRIEND. +It does, but time will—and so— + +THIRD FRIEND. +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 praised, but reserve still to give, lest your +deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to +another; for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake +the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it. Let +no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains. If there sit +twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be as they are. The rest +of your 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 prove to be full of lukewarm 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 +Your reeking villainy. + +[_Throws water in their faces._] + +Live loathed, 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-jacks! +Of man and beast the infinite malady +Crust you quite o’er! [_They stand_.] What, dost thou go? +Soft! Take thy physic first; thou too, and thou! +Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. + +[_He attacks them and forces 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._] + +Enter Timon’s Friends, the Senators with other Lords. + +FIRST FRIEND. +How now, my lords? + +SECOND FRIEND. +Know you the quality of Lord Timon’s fury? + +THIRD FRIEND. +Push! Did you see my cap? + +FOURTH FRIEND. +I have lost my gown. + +FIRST FRIEND. +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 FRIEND. +Did you see my cap? + +SECOND FRIEND. +Here ’tis. + +FOURTH FRIEND. +Here lies my gown. + +FIRST FRIEND. +Let’s make no stay. + +SECOND FRIEND. +Lord Timon’s mad. + +THIRD FRIEND. +I feel’t upon my bones. + +FOURTH FRIEND. +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 lined 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!— +Th’ 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. A room in 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 picked; and his poor self, +A dedicated beggar to the air, +With his disease of all-shunned poverty, +Walks, like contempt, alone.—More of our fellows. + +Enter other Servants. + +FLAVIUS. +All broken implements of a ruined 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. Leaked 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. + +[_Offering them money._] + +Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more. +Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. + +[_They 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 mocked 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 varnished 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, blessed to be most accursed, +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 inquire 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. Woods and caves near the sea-shore + +Enter Timon in the woods. + +TIMON. +O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth +Rotten humidity, below thy sister’s orb +Infect the air! Twinned 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 grece of fortune +Is smoothed by that below. The learned pate +Ducks to the golden fool. All’s obliquy. +There’s nothing level in our cursed natures +But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorred +All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! +His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains. +Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots! + +[_Digs in the earth._] + +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’ accursed, +Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves +And give them title, knee, and approbation +With senators on the bench. This is it +That makes the wappened widow wed again; +She whom the spittle-house and ulcerous sores +Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices +To th’ April day again. Come, damned 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? Thou’rt quick, +But yet I’ll bury thee. Thou’lt 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 unlearned 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 a 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 +Voiced 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-cheeked youth +To the tub-fast and the diet. + +TIMANDRA. +Hang thee, monster! + +ALCIBIADES. +Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits +Are drowned 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 grieved +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. +Warr’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 conquered! + +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-viced city hang his poison +In the sick air. Let not thy sword skip one. +Pity not honoured 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 pronounced thy throat shall cut, +And mince it sans remorse. Swear against objects; +Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes, +Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, +Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, +Shall pierce a jot. There’s gold to pay thy soldiers. +Make large confusion and, thy fury spent, +Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. + +ALCIBIADES. +Hast thou gold yet? I’ll take the gold thou giv’st 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 hanged, +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 curled-pate ruffians bald, +And let the unscarred 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! [_He digs_.] Common mother, thou, +Whose womb unmeasurable and infinite breast +Teems and feeds all; whose selfsame mettle +Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puffed, +Engenders the black toad and adder blue, +The gilded newt and eyeless venomed worm, +With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven +Whereon Hyperion’s quickening fire doth shine: +Yield him who all thy human sons doth hate, +From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! +Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, +Let it no more bring out ingrateful man. +Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; +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 diseased 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; had’st 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 mossed trees, +That have outlived 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 exposed, +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 crowned 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 shouldst 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 clasped, 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 plunged thyself +In general riot, melted down thy youth +In different beds of lust and never learned +The icy precepts of respect, but followed +The sugared 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 flattered 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. + +[_Eats a root._] + +APEMANTUS. +Here, I will mend thy feast. + +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 botched. +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 mocked thee for +too much curiosity; in thy rags thou know’st none, but art despised 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 thou’dst 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 beloved? + +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 accused by the ass; if thou wert the ass, +thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou lived’st but as a +breakfast to the wolf; if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would +afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. +Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make +thine own self the conquest of thy fury; wert thou a bear, thou wouldst +be killed by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by +the leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert germane 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. +[_To 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, loved, and delicate wooer, +Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow +That lies on Dian’s lap; thou visible god, +That solder’st close impossibilities +And mak’st them kiss, that speak’st with every tongue +To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts, +Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue +Set them into confounding odds, that beasts +May have the world in empire! + +APEMANTUS. +Would ’twere so! +But not till I am dead. I’ll say thou’st gold; +Thou wilt be thronged to shortly. + +TIMON. +Thronged to? + +APEMANTUS. +Ay. + +TIMON. +Thy back, I prithee. + +APEMANTUS. +Live and love thy misery. + +TIMON. +Long live so, and so die! I am quit. + +APEMANTUS. +More things like men. Eat, Timon, and abhor them. + +[_Exit Apemantus._] + +Enter 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 noised 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 professed, 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 +More 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 general excrement. Each thing’s a thief. +The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power +Has unchecked 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 no less for this I give you, +And gold confound you howsoe’er! Amen. + +THIRD BANDIT. +Has almost charmed 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 Banditti._] + +Enter Flavius. + +FLAVIUS. +O you gods! +Is yond despised and ruinous man my lord? +Full of decay and failing? O monument +And wonder of good deeds evilly bestowed! +What an alteration of honour has desperate 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 wished to love his enemies! +Grant I may ever love, and rather woo +Those that would mischief me than those that do! +He 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 thou’rt 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, +Ne’er 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, +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 placed too late. +You should have feared 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 honoured 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 conditioned: thou shalt build from men; +Hate all, curse all, show charity to none, +But let the famished 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’rt 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. +What’s to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he is +so full of gold? + +PAINTER. +Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him. +He likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. ’Tis +said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. + +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 supposed distress of his. It will show honestly in us and is +very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a +just and true report that goes of his having. + +POET. +What have you now to present unto him? + +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-cornered night, +Find what thou want’st by free and offered light. +Come. + +TIMON. +[_Aside_.] I’ll meet you at the turn. What a god’s gold, +That he is worshipped in a baser temple +Than where swine feed! +’Tis thou that rigg’st the bark and plough’st the foam, +Settlest admired reverence in a slave. +To thee be worship, and thy saints for aye +Be crowned with plagues, that thee alone obey! +Fit I meet them. + +[_He comes forward._] + +POET. +Hail, worthy Timon! + +PAINTER. +Our late noble master! + +TIMON. +Have I once lived to see two honest men? + +POET. +Sir, +Having often of your open bounty tasted, +Hearing you were retired, 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 travailed in the great shower 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. +Ye’re honest men. Ye’ve heard that I have gold, +I am sure you have. Speak truth, you’re honest men. + +PAINTER. +So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore +Came not my friend nor I. + +TIMON. +Good honest men! [_To Painter_.] Thou draw’st a counterfeit +Best in all Athens. Thou’rt indeed the best, +Thou counterfeit’st most lively. + +PAINTER. +So so, my lord. + +TIMON. +E’en so, sir, as I say. [_To the 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-natured 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 assured +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 one_.] If where thou art, two villians shall not be, +Come not near him. [_To the other_.] 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 one_.] You have work for me, there’s payment, hence! +[_To the other_.] You are an alchemist; make gold of that. +Out, rascal dogs! + +[_Timon drives them out and then retires to his cave_] + +SCENE II. The same + +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 framed 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. The 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 hanged! +For each true word, a blister, and each false +Be as a cantherizing 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. +[_Aside_.] 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 its own fall, 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, +Allowed 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 threatening 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-brained 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 tomorrow. 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 wrack, +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. +[_Aside_.] 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 III. Before the walls of Athens + +Enter two other Senators, with a Messenger. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Thou hast painfully discovered. 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 opposed, +Yet our old love made 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 moved. + +Enter the other Senators from Timon. + +THIRD SENATOR. +Here come our brothers. + +FIRST SENATOR. +No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. +The enemy’s drum is heard, and fearful scouring +Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare. +Ours is the fall, I fear, our foe’s the snare. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The woods. 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 outstretched his span. +Some beast read this; there 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 aged interpreter, though young in days. +Before proud Athens he’s set down by this, +Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE V. 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. + +[_A parley sounds._] + +The Senators appear upon the walls. + +Till now you have gone on and filled 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 wandered with our traversed arms, and breathed +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 promised 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 received your griefs; nor are they such +That these great towers, 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 destined 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 rampired gates and they shall ope, +So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before +To say thou’lt 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 sealed 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 remedied to your public laws +At heaviest answer. + +BOTH. +’Tis most nobly spoken. + +ALCIBIADES. +Descend, and keep your words. + +[_The Senators descend._] + +Enter a Soldier. + +SOLDIER. +My noble general, Timon is dead, +Entombed upon the very hem o’ th’ sea, +And on his gravestone 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 abhorred’st in us our human griefs, +Scorned’st our brains’ 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Rome. Before the Capitol + + ACT II + Scene I. Rome. Before the palace + Scene II. A Forest near Rome; a Lodge seen at a distance. Horns and cry of hounds heard + Scene III. A lonely part of the Forest + Scene IV. Another part of the Forest + + ACT III + Scene I. Rome. A street + Scene II. Rome. A Room in Titus’s House. A banquet set out + + ACT IV + Scene I. Rome. Before Titus’s House + Scene II. Rome. A Room in the Palace + Scene III. Rome. A public Place + Scene IV. Rome. Before the Palace + + ACT V + Scene I. Plains near Rome + Scene II. Rome. Before Titus’s House + Scene III. Rome. A Pavilion in Titus’s Gardens, with tables, &c. + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +SATURNINUS, elder son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor +BASSIANUS, brother to Saturninus + +TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman, General against the Goths +MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus + +LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus +LUCIUS, son to Titus Andronicus +QUINTUS, son to Titus Andronicus +MARTIUS, son to Titus Andronicus +MUTIUS, son to Titus Andronicus + +YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius +PUBLIUS, son to Marcus the Tribune + +SEMPRONIUS, kinsman to Titus +CAIUS, kinsman to Titus +VALENTINE, kinsman to Titus + +AEMILIUS, a noble Roman + +TAMORA, Queen of the Goths +AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora +ALARBUS, son to Tamora +DEMETRIUS, son to Tamora +CHIRON, son to Tamora + +A CAPTAIN +MESSENGER +A NURSE, and a black child +CLOWN +Goths and Romans + +Tribunes, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants + +SCENE: Rome, and the Country near it + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Rome. Before the Capitol + + +Enter the Tribunes and Senators aloft. And then enter 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 firstborn son that was the last +That wore the imperial diadem of Rome; +Then let my father’s honours live in me, +Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. + +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, holding 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 yoked a nation strong, trained 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 returned +Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons +In coffins from the field. +And now at last, laden with honour’s spoils, +Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, +Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. +Let us entreat, by honour of his name +Whom worthily you would have now succeed, +And in the Capitol and senate’s right, +Whom you pretend to honour and adore, +That you withdraw you and abate your strength, +Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, +Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. + +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 weighed. + +[_Exeunt the followers 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 followers 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 returned +From where he circumscribed with his sword +And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. + +Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter two of Titus’ sons, and then +two men bearing a coffin covered with black; then two other sons; then +Titus Andronicus; and then Tamora, the Queen of Goths and her sons +Alarbus, Chiron and Demetrius 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 discharged her fraught +Returns with precious lading to the bay +From whence at first she weighed her anchorage, +Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, +To resalute 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 unappeased, +Nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth. + +TITUS. +I give him you, the noblest that survives, +The eldest son of this distressed queen. + +TAMORA. +Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, +Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, +A mother’s tears in passion for her son. +And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, +O, think my son to be as dear to me. +Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, +To beautify thy triumphs and return +Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke; +But must my sons be 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 marked, 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 consumed. + +[_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 resolved, but hope withal +The self-same gods that armed 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. + +Enter the sons of Andronicus again with bloody swords. + +LUCIUS. +See, lord and father, how we have performed +Our Roman rites. Alarbus’ limbs are lopped, +And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, +Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky. +Remaineth naught but to inter our brethren, +And with loud ’larums welcome them to Rome. + +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 reserved +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 Marcus Andronicus and Tribunes; re-enter Saturninus, Bassianus +and others. + +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 aspired to Solon’s happiness +And triumphs over chance in honour’s bed. +Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, +Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, +Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, +This palliament of white and spotless hue, +And name thee in election for the empire +With these our late-deceased emperor’s sons. +Be _candidatus_ then, and put it on, +And help to set a head on headless Rome. + +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 today, +Tomorrow 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 shipped 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 you 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 your 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._] + +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 empress, +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. +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 displeased 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. Saturninus and his Guards exit, with Drums and Trumpets. +Tribunes and Senators exit aloft._] + +BASSIANUS. +Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. + +TITUS. +How, sir? Are you in earnest then, my lord? + +BASSIANUS. +Ay, noble Titus; and resolved 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? + +Enter Saturninus and his Guards. + +Treason, my lord, Lavinia is surprised. + +SATURNINUS. +Surprised? By whom? + +BASSIANUS. +By him that justly may +Bear his betrothed 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. + +[_Exeunt Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, Chiron, Aaron, and Guards._] + +MUTIUS. +My lord, you pass not here. + +TITUS. +What, villain boy, +Barr’st me my way in Rome? + +[_Stabbing Mutius._] + +MUTIUS. +Help, Lucius, help! + +[_Dies._] + +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. +Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor. + +LUCIUS. +Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, +That is another’s lawful promised love. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter aloft the Emperor Saturninus with Tamora and her two sons and +Aaron the Moor. + +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 none in Rome to make a stale +But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, +Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine +That said’st I begged 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 flourished 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 Phœbe ’mongst her nymphs +Dost overshine the gallant’st dames of Rome, +If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice, +Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, +And will create thee Empress of Rome. +Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? +And here I swear by all the Roman gods, +Sith priest and holy water are so near, +And tapers burn so bright, and everything +In readiness for Hymenæus stand, +I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, +Or climb my palace, till from forth this place +I lead espoused 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, 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 brethren. + +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 brethren. + +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. + +QUINTUS. +He is not with himself; let us withdraw. + +MARTIUS. +Not I, till Mutius’ bones be buried. + +[_Marcus and the sons of Titus 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 barred his entrance here. + +TITUS. +Rise, Marcus, rise. +The dismall’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 advanced 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? +Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. + +Flourish. Enter the Emperor Saturninus, Tamora and her two sons, with +Aaron the Moor. Drums and Trumpets, at one door. Enter at the other +door Bassianus and Lavinia with others. + +SATURNINUS. +So, Bassianus, you have played 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 possessed 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 wronged, +That, in the rescue of Lavinia, +With his own hand did slay his youngest son, +In zeal to you, and highly moved to wrath +To be controlled in that he frankly gave. +Receive him then to favour, Saturnine, +That hath expressed 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 loved 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_.] My lord, be ruled 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. +[_Aloud_.] 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 prevailed. + +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 reconciled your friends and you. +For you, Prince Bassianus, I have passed +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. +Tomorrow, an 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. + +[_Sound trumpets. Exeunt all but Aaron._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Rome. Before the palace + + +Aaron alone. + +AARON. +Now climbeth Tamora Olympus’ top, +Safe out of Fortune’s shot, and sits aloft, +Secure of thunder’s crack or lightning’s flash, +Advanced 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 empress. +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 shipwrack and his commonweal’s. +Holla! What storm is this? + +Enter Chiron and Demetrius braving. + +DEMETRIUS. +Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wit wants edge +And manners, to intrude where I am graced, +And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be. + +CHIRON. +Demetrius, thou dost overween 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, unadvised, +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. +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 sheathed +My rapier in his bosom, and withal +Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat +That he hath breathed in my dishonour here. + +CHIRON. +For that I am prepared and full resolved, +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 broached +Without controlment, justice, or revenge? +Young lords, beware! And 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 makes thou it so strange? +She is a woman, therefore may be wooed; +She is a woman, therefore may be won; +She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. +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 tired 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 Stygia, per manes vehor._ + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Forest near Rome; a Lodge seen at a distance. Horns and cry +of hounds heard + +Enter Titus Andronicus and his three sons, and Marcus, making a noise +with hounds and horns. + +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 inspired. + +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, carrying 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 +That have their alms out of the empress’ chest. + +[_He hides the bag._] + +Enter Tamora alone to the Moor. + +TAMORA. +My lovely Aaron, wherefore look’st thou sad +When everything doth 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 chequered shadow on the ground. +Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, +And whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, +Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, +As if a double hunt were heard at once, +Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; +And after conflict such as was supposed +The wand’ring prince and Dido once enjoyed, +When with a happy storm they were surprised, +And curtained 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 today, +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 empress, +Unfurnished 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 power 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 empress, +’Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning, +And to be doubted that your Moor and you +Are singled forth to try experiments. +Jove shield your husband from his hounds today! +’Tis pity they should take him for a stag. + +BASSIANUS. +Believe me, queen, your swarthy Cimmerian +Doth make your honour of his body’s hue, +Spotted, detested, and abominable. +Why are you sequestered from all your train, +Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, +And wandered 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 showed 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 called 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 called 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 Bassianus, who dies._] + +LAVINIA. +Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, +For no name fits thy nature but thy own! + +TAMORA. +Give me thy 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. +And 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 ye 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’st 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, moved with pity, did endure +To have his princely paws pared 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 poured 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 loved of me. + +LAVINIA. +O Tamora, be called a gentle queen, +And with thine own hands kill me in this place! +For ’tis not life that I have begged so long; +Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. + +TAMORA. +What begg’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 stayed 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. + +[_They put Bassianus’s body in the pit and exit, carrying 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._] + +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. + +[_He 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 distilled on flowers? +A very fatal place it seems to me. +Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? + +MARTIUS. +O brother, with the dismall’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 unhallowed 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 berayed 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 the hole, +Which, like a taper in some monument, +Doth shine upon the dead man’s earthy cheeks, +And shows the ragged entrails of the pit. +So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus +When he by night lay bathed 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 plucked 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 Saturninus 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. + +Enter Tamora, Titus Andronicus and Lucius. + +TAMORA. +Where is my lord the king? + +SATURNINUS. +Here, Tamora; though grieved 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. + +[_Showing it._] + +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 devised +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 proved in them— + +SATURNINUS. +If it be proved! 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 severally. Attendants bearing the body._] + +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 ravished. + +DEMETRIUS. +So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, +Who ’twas that cut thy tongue and ravished 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 Chiron and Demetrius._] + +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 lopped and hewed 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 stirred 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 encountered 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 stopped, +Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. +Fair Philomela, why she but lost her tongue, +And in a tedious sampler sewed 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 sewed 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 touched them for his life. +Or had he heard the heavenly harmony +Which that sweet tongue hath made, +He would have dropped his knife, and fell asleep, +As Cerberus at the Thracian poet’s feet. +Come, let us go, and make thy father blind, +For such a sight will blind a father’s eye. +One hour’s storm will drown the fragrant meads; +What will whole months of tears thy father’s eyes? +Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee. +O, could our mourning ease thy misery! + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Rome. A street + + +Enter the Judges and Senators, with Titus’ two sons Quintus and Martius +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 watched, +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._] + +[_Exeunt with the prisoners as Titus continues speaking._] + +For these, tribunes, in the dust I write +My heart’s deep languor and my soul’s sad tears. +Let my tears staunch 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 showers. +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. +But wherefore stand’st thou with thy weapon drawn? + +LUCIUS. +To rescue my two brothers from their death; +For which attempt the judges have pronounced +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 faggot 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 nursed this woe in feeding life; +In bootless prayer have they been held up, +And they have served 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 martyred thee? + +MARCUS. +O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, +That blabbed 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 received some unrecuring wound. + +TITUS. +It was my dear, and he that wounded her +Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead. +For now I stand as one upon a rock, +Environed 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 banished 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 martyred thee. +Thy husband he is dead, and for his death +Thy brothers are condemned, 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 gathered lily almost withered. + +MARCUS. +Perchance she weeps because they killed 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 stained, 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 wondered 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 drowned 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, alone. + +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 reared 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 withered 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 called 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’s hand._] + +Enter Lucius and Marcus again. + +TITUS. +Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatched. +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 purchased 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, wouldst 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, +Threatening 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 doth flow! +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, overflowed and drowned; +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 mocked; +That woe is me to think upon thy woes, +More than remembrance of my father’s death. + +[_Exit._] + +MARCUS. +Now let hot Etna 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, flattery; die, Andronicus; +Thou dost not slumber. See thy two sons’ heads, +Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; +Thy other banished 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 watery eyes, +And make them blind with tributary tears. +Then which way shall I find Revenge’s cave? +For these two heads do seem to speak to me, +And threat me I shall never come to bliss +Till all these mischiefs be returned 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 employed in these arms. +Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. +As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight; +Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay. +Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there. +And if you love me, as I think you do, +Let’s kiss and part, for we have much to do. + +[_Exeunt Titus, Marcus and Lavinia._] + +LUCIUS. +Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father, +The woefull’st man that ever lived in Rome. +Farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again; +He loves his pledges dearer than his life. +Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; +O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! +But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives +But in oblivion and hateful griefs. +If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs, +And make proud Saturnine and his empress +Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. +Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power +To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Rome. A Room in Titus’s House. A banquet set out + +Enter Titus Andronicus, 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. +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 Æneas tell the tale twice o’er +How Troy was burnt and he made miserable? +O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, +Lest we remember still that we have none. +Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk, +As if we should forget we had no hands, +If Marcus did not name the word of hands! +Come, let’s fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this. +Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; +I can interpret all her martyred signs. +She says she drinks no other drink but tears, +Brewed with her sorrow, meshed 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. + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments. +Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. + +MARCUS. +Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, +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 killed, my lord, a fly. + +TITUS. +Out on thee, murderer! Thou kill’st my heart; +Mine eyes are cloyed 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 killed 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 killed him. + +MARCUS. +Pardon me, sir; ’twas a black ill-favoured fly, +Like to the empress’ Moor; therefore I killed 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. Before Titus’s House + + +Enter Young Lucius and Lavinia running after him, and the boy flies +from her with his books under his arm. Enter Titus and Marcus. + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +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. + +YOUNG LUCIUS +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? + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +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 skilled. +Come and take choice of all my library, +And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens +Reveal the damned 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? + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +Grandsire, ’tis Ovid’s _Metamorphosis_. +My mother gave it me. + +MARCUS. +For love of her that’s gone, +Perhaps, she culled 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 surprised, sweet girl, +Ravished and wronged, as Philomela was, +Forced 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!— +Patterned 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. +This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, +This after me. I have writ my name + +[_He writes his name with his staff and guides it with feet and +mouth._] + +Without the help of any hand at all. +Cursed be that heart that forced 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 her 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 you once. +She’s with the lion deeply still in league, +And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, +And when he sleeps will she do what she list. +You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let 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? + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +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. + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +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? + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +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 battered shield, +But yet so just that he will not revenge. +Revenge ye heavens for old Andronicus! + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Rome. A Room in the Palace + +Enter Aaron, Chiron and Demetrius 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. + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +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? + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +[_Aside_.] That you are both deciphered, that’s the news, +For villains marked with rape. [_Aloud_.] May it please you, +My grandsire, well advised, 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 wrapped 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 in her arms. + +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, lords, she is delivered. + +AARON. +To whom? + +NURSE. +I mean, she’s 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-faced 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 damned her loathed choice! +Accursed 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. + +[_Taking the baby._] + +Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your brother? +Now, by the burning tapers of the sky +That shone so brightly when this boy was got, +He dies upon my scimitar’s sharp point +That touches this my first-born son and heir. +I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, +With all his threatening band of Typhon’s brood, +Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, +Shall seize this prey out of his father’s hands. +What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! +Ye white-limed 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 shamed. + +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 framed 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 empress, 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._] + +“Wheak, wheak!” 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-tongued babbling gossip? No, lords, no. +And now be it known to you my full intent. +Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman; +His wife but yesternight was brought to bed. +His child is like to her, fair as you are. +Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, +And tell them both the circumstance of all, +And how by this their child shall be advanced, +And be received for the emperor’s heir, +And substituted in the place of mine, +To calm this tempest whirling in the court; +And let the emperor dandle him for his own. +Hark ye, lords; ye see I have given her physic, + +[_Indicating 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, carrying the Nurse’s body._] + +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-lipped 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._] + +SCENE III. Rome. A public Place + +Enter Titus, old Marcus, his son Publius, Young Lucius, and other +gentlemen with bows, and Titus bears the arrows with letters on the +ends of them. + +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 Astraea reliquit._ +Be you remembered, 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 unsearched. +This wicked emperor may have shipped 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 to attend him carefully, +And feed his humour kindly as we may, +Till time beget some careful remedy. + +MARCUS. +Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy, +But . . . . +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 employed, +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-boned men framed 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, what 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 galled, 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 laughed, 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 hanged till the next week. + +TITUS. +But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? + +CLOWN. +Alas, sir, I know not Jubiter; 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. + +[_Exit._] + +TITUS. +Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. Before the Palace + +Enter Emperor Saturninus and Empress Tamora and her two sons Chiron and +Demetrius, with Attendants. 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 legal justice, used 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 naught hath passed +But even with law against the wilful sons +Of old Andronicus. And what an if +His sorrows have so overwhelmed 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 injustice everywhere? +A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? +As who would say, in Rome no justice were. +But if I live, his feigned ecstasies +Shall be no shelter to these outrages; +But he and his shall know that justice lives +In Saturninus’ health; whom, if she sleep, +He’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 pierced him deep and scarred 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 touched 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 mistresship be emperial. + +TAMORA. +Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. + +CLOWN. +’Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give you good e’en. 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 hanged. + +CLOWN. +Hanged! 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 Aemilius. + +What news with thee, Aemilius? + +AEMILIUS. +Arm, my lord! 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 overheard them say, +When I have walked like a private man, +That Lucius’ banishment was wrongfully, +And they have wished 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 dimmed, 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, +Whenas 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, 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 soldiers. + +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 flowered fields, +And be avenged on cursed Tamora. + +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 of Aaron with his Child in his arms. + +SECOND GOTH. +Renowned Lucius, from our troops I strayed +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 controlled with this discourse: +“Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dame! +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 rushed upon him, +Surprised 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 robbed Andronicus of his good hand; +This is the pearl that pleased your empress’ eye; +And here’s the base fruit of her burning lust. +Say, wall-eyed 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 is brought, which Aaron is made to ascend._] + +AARON. +Lucius, save the child; +And bear it from me to the empress. +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, and if it please me which thou speak’st, +Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourished. + +AARON. +And 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 performed. +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 believ’st 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 naught 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 ravished her, +And cut her hands, and trimmed her as thou sawest. + +LUCIUS. +O detestable villain, call’st thou that trimming? + +AARON. +Why, she was washed, and cut, and trimmed; 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 learned of me, +As true a dog as ever fought at head. +Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. +I trained 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 mentioned, +Confederate with the queen and her two sons. +And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, +Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in’t? +I played 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 laughed so heartily +That both mine eyes were rainy like to his. +And when I told the empress of this sport, +She sounded 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 haystalks in the night, +And bid the owners quench them with their tears. +Oft have I digged 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.” +But 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 delivered. + +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’s House + +Enter Tamora and her two sons, 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._] + +Titus above opens his study door. + +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 deceived; 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 action? +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 globe. +Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, +To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, +And find out murderers in their guilty caves. +And when thy car is loaden with their heads, +I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel +Trot like a servile footman all day long, +Even from Hyperion’s rising in the east +Until his very downfall in the sea. +And day by day I’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 called? + +TAMORA. +Rapine 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. + +[_He exits above._] + +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. + +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 revenged 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 lessoned 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 them_.] What say you, boys? Will you abide with him, +Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor +How I have governed our determined jest? +Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, +And tarry with him till I come again. + +TITUS. +[_Aside_.] I knew them all, though they suppose me mad, +And will o’erreach 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 employed? + +TITUS. +Tut, I have work enough for you to do. +Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine. + +Enter Publius and others. + +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 deceived. +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 Titus._] + +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. + +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 stained with mud, +This goodly summer with your winter mixed. +You killed her husband, and for that vile fault +Two of her brothers were condemned 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 constrained and forced. +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 used my daughter, +And worse than Procne I will be revenged. +And now prepare your throats.—Lavinia, come +Receive the blood. + +[_He cuts their throats._] + +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 baked. +Come, come, be everyone officious +To make this banquet, which I wish may prove +More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast. +So, now bring them in, for I’ll play the cook, +And see them ready against their mother comes. + +[_Exeunt, carrying the dead bodies._] + +SCENE III. Rome. A Pavilion in Titus’s Gardens, with tables, &c. + +Enter Lucius, Marcus and the Goths, with Aaron, prisoner. + +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. + +[_Sound trumpets._] + +The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. + +[_Exeunt Goths with Aaron._] + +Enter Emperor Saturninus and Empress Tamora with Aemilius, Tribunes and +others. + +SATURNINUS. +What, hath the firmament more suns than one? + +LUCIUS. +What boots it thee to call 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 ordained 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. + +Trumpets sounding, enter Titus like a cook, placing the dishes, with +Young Lucius and others, and Lavinia with a veil over her face. + +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 attired, Andronicus? + +TITUS. +Because I would be sure to have all well +To entertain your highness and your empress. + +TAMORA. +We are beholden 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 enforced, stained, and deflowered? + +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; +And with thy shame thy father’s sorrow die! + +[_He kills Lavinia._] + +SATURNINUS. +What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? + +TITUS. +Killed 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 ravished? 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 ravished 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 that pie, +Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, +Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. +’Tis true, ’tis true; witness my knife’s sharp point. + +[_He stabs the Empress._] + +SATURNINUS. +Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. + +[_He kills Titus._] + +LUCIUS. +Can the son’s eye behold his father bleed? + +[_He kills Saturninus._] + +There’s meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. + +[_A great tumult. Lucius, Marcus, and others go aloft to the upper +stage._] + +MARCUS. +You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome, +By uproar severed, as a flight of fowl +Scattered 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, +Speak, Rome’s dear friend, [_to Lucius_] as erst our ancestor, +When with his solemn tongue he did discourse +To love-sick Dido’s sad attending ear +The story of that baleful burning night +When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam’s Troy. +Tell us what Sinon hath bewitched 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 utterance, even in the time +When it should move you 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, noble auditory, be it known to you +That Chiron and the damned Demetrius +Were they that murdered our emperor’s brother; +And they it were that ravished our sister. +For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded, +Our father’s tears despised, and basely cozened +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 turned weeping out, +To beg relief among Rome’s enemies; +Who drowned their enmity in my true tears, +And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend. +I am the turned-forth, be it known to you, +That have preserved 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. +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, +And 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. + +ROMANS. +Lucius, all hail, Rome’s royal emperor! + +MARCUS. +Go, go into old Titus’ sorrowful house, +And hither hale that misbelieving Moor +To be adjudged some direful slaught’ring death, +As punishment for his most wicked life. + +[_Exeunt Attendants. Lucius and Marcus come down from the upper +stage._] + +ROMANS. +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. + +[_He kisses Titus._] + +O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. +These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stained 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, and learn of us +To melt in showers. Thy grandsire loved thee well. +Many a time he danced 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, warmed 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. + +YOUNG LUCIUS. +O grandsire, grandsire, e’en 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. + +AEMILIUS. +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 anyone relieves or pities him, +For the offence he dies. This is our doom. +Some stay to see him fastened 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 mournful weed, +No mournful bell shall ring her burial; +But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey. +Her life was beastly and devoid of pity; +And being dead, let birds on her take pity. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +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 shent 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 +huswife 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 ear. + +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 +Your 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Verona. An open place + Scene II. The same. The garden of Julia’s house + Scene III. The same. A room in Antonio’s house + + ACT II + Scene I. Milan. A room in the Duke’s palace + Scene II. Verona. A room in Julia’s house + Scene III. The same. A street + Scene IV. Milan. A room in the Duke’s palace + Scene V. The same. A street + Scene VI. The same. The Duke’s palace + Scene VII. Verona. A room in Julia’s house + + ACT III + Scene I. Milan. An anteroom in the Duke’s palace + Scene II. The same. A room in the Duke’s palace + + ACT IV + Scene I. A forest between Milan and Verona + Scene II. Milan. The court of the Duke’s palace + Scene III. The same + Scene IV. The same + + ACT V + Scene I. Milan. An abbey + Scene II. The same. A room in the Duke’s palace + Scene III. Frontiers of Mantua. The forest + Scene IV. Another part of the forest + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +DUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia +VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen +PROTEUS, one of the two gentlemen +ANTONIO, father to Proteus +THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine +EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape +SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine +LANCE, the like to Proteus +PANTINO, servant to Antonio +HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan +OUTLAWS, with Valentine + +JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus +SILVIA, 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 honoured love, +I rather would entreat thy company +To see the wonders of the world abroad +Than, living dully sluggardized 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 crossed the Hellespont. + +PROTEUS. +That’s a deep story of a deeper love, +For he was more than over shoes in love. + +VALENTINE. +’Tis true; for you are over boots in love, +And yet you never swam the Hellespont. + +PROTEUS. +Over the boots? Nay, give me not the boots. + +VALENTINE. +No, I will not, for it boots thee not. + +PROTEUS. +What? + +VALENTINE. +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 turned to folly, blasting in the bud, +Losing his verdure even in the prime, +And all the fair effects of future hopes. +But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee +That art a votary to fond desire? +Once more adieu. My father at the road +Expects my coming, there to see me shipped. + +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._] + +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 metamorphosed 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 shipped already, +And I have played the sheep in losing him. + +PROTEUS. +Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, +An if the shepherd be a while 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 laced mutton, and +she, a laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. + +PROTEUS. +Here’s too small a pasture for such store of muttons. + +SPEED. +If the ground be overcharged, 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. +[_Nods his head_.] 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. +[_Giving him a coin_.] 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 testerned me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry +your letters yourself. And so, sir, I’ll commend you to my master. + +PROTEUS. +Go, go, begone, to save your ship from wrack, +Which cannot perish having thee aboard, +Being destined 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. The same. 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 moved 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. + +[_Gives her a letter._] + +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 returned, +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’erlooked 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 enforced my heart to smile! +My penance is to call Lucetta back +And ask remission for my folly past. +What ho! Lucetta! + +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. + +[_Drops and picks up the letter._] + +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. [_Taking 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, it is too sharp. + +JULIA. +You, minion, are too saucy. + +LUCETTA. +Nay, now you are too flat +And mar the concord with too harsh a descant. +There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. + +JULIA. +The mean is drowned 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 fingering them to anger me. + +LUCETTA. +She makes it strange, but she would be best pleased +To be so angered with another letter. + +[_Exit._] + +JULIA. +Nay, would I were so angered 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 healed; +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. + +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. + +[_Picks up pieces of the letter._] + +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. The same. A room in Antonio’s house + +Enter Antonio and Pantino. + +ANTONIO. +Tell me, Pantino, what sad talk was that +Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? + +PANTINO. +’Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. + +ANTONIO. +Why, what of him? + +PANTINO. +He wondered 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 considered well his loss of time, +And how he cannot be a perfect man, +Not being tried and tutored in the world. +Experience is by industry achieved +And perfected by the swift course of time. +Then tell me whither were I best to send him? + +PANTINO. +I think your lordship is not ignorant +How his companion, youthful Valentine, +Attends the Emperor in his royal court. + +ANTONIO. +I know it well. + +PANTINO. +’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 advised, +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. + +PANTINO. +Tomorrow, 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 reading a letter. + +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, +Delivered 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 beloved +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 resolved 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. +Tomorrow 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. Tomorrow thou must go. +Come on, Pantino, you shall be employed +To hasten on his expedition. + +[_Exeunt Antonio and Pantino._] + +PROTEUS. +Thus have I shunned the fire for fear of burning +And drenched me in the sea, where I am drowned. +I feared 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. + +Enter Pantino. + +PANTINO. +Sir Proteus, your father calls for you. +He is in haste. Therefore, I pray you, go. + +PROTEUS. +Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto, +And yet a thousand times it answers “No”. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Milan. A room in the Duke’s palace + + +Enter Valentine and Speed. + +SPEED. +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 learned, like Sir +Proteus, to wreathe 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 schoolboy that had lost his ABC; 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 walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you +fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was +for want of money. And now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, +when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. + +VALENTINE. +Are all these things perceived in me? + +SPEED. +They are all perceived without ye. + +VALENTINE. +Without me? They cannot. + +SPEED. +Without you? Nay, that’s certain, for 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 observed that? Even she I mean. + +SPEED. +Why, sir, I know her not. + +VALENTINE. +Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know’st her not? + +SPEED. +Is she not hard-favoured, sir? + +VALENTINE. +Not so fair, boy, as well-favoured. + +SPEED. +Sir, I know that well enough. + +VALENTINE. +What dost thou know? + +SPEED. +That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favoured. + +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 deformed. + +VALENTINE. +How long hath she been deformed? + +SPEED. +Ever since you loved her. + +VALENTINE. +I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful. + +SPEED. +If you love her, you cannot see her. + +VALENTINE. +Why? + +SPEED. +Because Love is blind. O, that you had mine eyes, or your own eyes had +the lights they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for +going ungartered! + +VALENTINE. +What should I see then? + +SPEED. +Your own present folly and her passing 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 swinged 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 enjoined 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. +Peace, here she comes. + +Enter Silvia. + +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 e’en! 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 enjoined 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. + +[_Gives her a letter._] + +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. + +[_Offers him the letter._] + +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. + +[_Offers the letter again._] + +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._] + +SPEED. +[_Aside_.] 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 delivered, 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 dined. + +SPEED. +Ay, but hearken, sir, though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I +am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, +be not like your mistress! Be moved, be moved. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Verona. A room in 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. + +[_Gives him a ring._] + +PROTEUS. +Why, then we’ll make exchange. Here, take you this. + +[_Gives her a ring._] + +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 Pantino. + +PANTINO. +Sir Proteus, you are stayed for. + +PROTEUS. +Go, I come, I come. +Alas, this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A street + +Enter Lance with his dog Crab. + +LANCE. +Nay, ’twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the +Lances have this very fault. I have received 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 +pebblestone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have +wept to have seen our parting. Why, my grandam, having no eyes, look +you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I’ll show you the manner of +it. This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father; no, no, +this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be so neither. Yes, it is +so, it is so; it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is +my mother, 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 Pantino. + +PANTINO. +Lance, away, away! Aboard! Thy master is shipped, and thou art to post +after with oars. What’s the matter? Why weep’st thou, man? Away, ass. +You’ll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. + +LANCE. +It is no matter if the tied were lost, for it is the unkindest tied +that ever any man tied. + +PANTINO. +What’s the unkindest tide? + +LANCE. +Why, he that’s tied here, Crab, my dog. + +PANTINO. +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? + +LANCE. +For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue. + +PANTINO. +Where should I lose my tongue? + +LANCE. +In thy tale. + +PANTINO. +In thy tail! + +LANCE. +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. + +PANTINO. +Come, come away, man. I was sent to call thee. + +LANCE. +Sir, call me what thou dar’st. + +PANTINO. +Will thou go? + +LANCE. +Well, I will go. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Milan. A room in the Duke’s palace + +Enter Valentine, Silvia, 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 knocked him. + +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. + +SILVIA. +No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. + +Enter Duke. + +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 conversed 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 judgement 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 wished 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._] + +VALENTINE. +This is the gentleman I told your ladyship +Had come along with me but that his mistresss +Did hold his eyes locked in her crystal looks. + +SILVIA. +Belike that now she hath enfranchised 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. + +SILVIA. +Have done, have done. Here comes the gentleman. + +Enter Proteus. + +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 wished 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. + +Enter Servant. + +SERVANT. +Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. + +SILVIA. +I wait upon his pleasure. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +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 altered now. +I have done penance for contemning Love, +Whose high imperious thoughts have punished me +With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, +With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; +For in revenge of my contempt of love, +Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes +And made them watchers of mine own heart’s sorrow. +O gentle Proteus, Love’s a mighty lord, +And hath so humbled me as I confess +There is no woe to his correction, +Nor to his service no such joy on earth. +Now, no discourse, except it be of love; +Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep +Upon the very naked name of love. + +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 flower +And make rough winter everlastingly. + +PROTEUS. +Why, Valentine, what braggartism 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 betrothed; nay more, our marriage hour, +With all the cunning manner of our flight, +Determined of: how I must climb her window, +The ladder made of cords, and all the means +Plotted and ’greed on for my happiness. +Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, +In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. + +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 mine eye, or Valentine’s 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 thawed, +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. The same. A street + +Enter Speed and Lance with his dog Crab. + +SPEED. +Lance, by mine honesty, welcome to Milan! + +LANCE. +Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this +always, that a man is never undone till he be hanged, nor never welcome +to a place till some certain shot be paid and the hostess say +“Welcome”. + +SPEED. +Come on, you madcap. I’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? + +LANCE. +Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. + +SPEED. +But shall she marry him? + +LANCE. +No. + +SPEED. +How then? Shall he marry her? + +LANCE. +No, neither. + +SPEED. +What, are they broken? + +LANCE. +No, they are both as whole as a fish. + +SPEED. +Why then, how stands the matter with them? + +LANCE. +Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. + +SPEED. +What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. + +LANCE. +What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff understands me. + +SPEED. +What thou sayst? + +LANCE. +Ay, and what I do too. Look thee, I’ll but lean, and my staff +understands me. + +SPEED. +It stands under thee indeed. + +LANCE. +Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. + +SPEED. +But tell me true, will’t be a match? + +LANCE. +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. + +LANCE. +Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. + +SPEED. +’Tis well that I get it so. But, Lance, how sayst thou that my master +is become a notable lover? + +LANCE. +I never knew him otherwise. + +SPEED. +Than how? + +LANCE. +A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. + +SPEED. +Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak’st me. + +LANCE. +Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master. + +SPEED. +I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. + +LANCE. +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? + +LANCE. +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. The same. The Duke’s palace + +Enter Proteus alone. + +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 e’en that power 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 sinned, +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 preferred +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, +Remembering that my love to her is dead; +And Valentine I’ll hold an enemy, +Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. +I cannot now prove constant to myself +Without some treachery used to Valentine. +This night he meaneth with a corded ladder +To climb celestial Silvia’s chamber window, +Myself in counsel, his competitor. +Now presently I’ll give her father notice +Of their disguising and pretended flight, +Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine, +For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter. +But Valentine being gone, I’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. A room in 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 charactered and engraved, +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 damm’st it up, the more it burns. +The current that with gentle murmur glides, +Thou know’st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage; +But when his fair course is not hindered, +He makes sweet music with th’ enamelled 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 e’en what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta. + +LUCETTA. +You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. + +JULIA. +Out, out, Lucetta, that will be ill-favoured. + +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 scandalized. + +LUCETTA. +If you think so, then stay at home and go not. + +JULIA. +Nay, that I will not. + +LUCETTA. +Then never dream on infamy, but go. +If Proteus like your journey when you come, +No matter who’s displeased when you are gone. +I fear me he will scarce be pleased 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. An anteroom in the Duke’s palace + + +Enter Duke, Thurio and Proteus. + +DUKE. +Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; +We have some secrets to confer about. + +[_Exit Thurio._] + +Now tell me, Proteus, what’s your will with me? + +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 determined 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 judged me fast asleep, +And oftentimes have purposed to forbid +Sir Valentine her company and my court. +But fearing lest my jealous aim might err +And so, unworthily, disgrace the man— +A rashness that I ever yet have shunned— +I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find +That which thyself hast now disclosed 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 tower, +The key whereof myself have ever kept; +And thence she cannot be conveyed away. + +PROTEUS. +Know, noble lord, they have devised 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 tenor of them doth but signify +My health and happy being at your court. + +DUKE. +Nay then, no matter. Stay with me awhile; +I am to break with thee of some affairs +That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. +’Tis not unknown to thee that 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 cherished by her childlike duty, +I now am full resolved to take a wife +And turn her out to who will take her in. +Then let her beauty be her wedding dower, +For me and my possessions she esteems not. + +VALENTINE. +What would your Grace have me to do in this? + +DUKE. +There is a lady of 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 changed— +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, +Forwhy the fools are mad if left alone. +Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; +For “Get you gone” she doth not mean “Away!” +Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; +Though ne’er so black, say they have angels’ faces. +That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man +If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. + +DUKE. +But she I mean is promised by her friends +Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, +And kept severely from resort of men, +That no man hath access by day to her. + +VALENTINE. +Why then, I would resort to her by night. + +DUKE. +Ay, but the doors be locked 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 tower, +So bold Leander would adventure it. + +DUKE. +Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, +Advise me where I may have such a ladder. + +VALENTINE. +When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that. + +DUKE. +This very night; for Love is like a child +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. + +[_Takes Valentine’s cloak and finds a letter and a rope ladder +concealed under it._] + +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? +[_Reads_.] _Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee._ +’Tis so; and here’s the ladder for the purpose. +Why, Phaëthon—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, overweening 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 bestowed on thee. +But if thou linger in my territories +Longer than swiftest expedition +Will give thee time to leave our royal court, +By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love +I ever bore my daughter or thyself. +Begone, 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 banished from myself, +And Silvia is myself; banished 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 +Fostered, illumined, cherished, 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 Lance. + +PROTEUS. +Run, boy, run, run, seek him out. + +LANCE. +So-ho, so-ho! + +PROTEUS. +What seest thou? + +LANCE. +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. + +LANCE. +Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? + +PROTEUS. +Who wouldst thou strike? + +LANCE. +Nothing. + +PROTEUS. +Villain, forbear. + +LANCE. +Why, sir, I’ll strike nothing. I pray you— + +PROTEUS. +Sirrah, I say, forbear.—Friend Valentine, a word. + +VALENTINE. +My ears are stopped and cannot hear good news, +So much of bad already hath possessed 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? + +LANCE. +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 unreversed stands in effectual force— +A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears; +Those at her father’s churlish feet she tendered, +With them, upon her knees, her humble self, +Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them +As if but now they waxed pale for woe. +But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, +Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears +Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; +But Valentine, if he be ta’en, must die. +Besides, her intercession chafed him so, +When she for thy repeal was suppliant, +That to close prison he commanded her, +With many bitter threats of biding there. + +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 delivered +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, Lance, an if thou seest my boy, +Bid him make haste and meet me at the North Gate. + +PROTEUS. +Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. + +VALENTINE. +O, my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! + +[_Exeunt Valentine and Proteus._] + +LANCE. +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. [_Pulls out a +paper_.] Here is the cate-log of her condition. _Imprimis, She can +fetch and carry_. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot +fetch but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade. _Item, She +can milk_. Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. + +Enter Speed. + +SPEED. +How now, Signior Lance? What news with your mastership? + +LANCE. +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? + +LANCE. +The blackest news that ever thou heard’st. + +SPEED. +Why, man? How black? + +LANCE. +Why, as black as ink. + +SPEED. +Let me read them. + +LANCE. +Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read. + +SPEED. +Thou liest. I can. + +LANCE. +I will try thee. Tell me this, who begot thee? + +SPEED. +Marry, the son of my grandfather. + +LANCE. +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. + +LANCE. +[_Gives him the paper_.] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed. + +SPEED. +_Imprimis, She can milk._ + +LANCE. +Ay, that she can. + +SPEED. +_Item, She brews good ale._ + +LANCE. +And thereof comes the proverb, “Blessing of your heart, you brew good +ale.” + +SPEED. +_Item, She can sew._ + +LANCE. +That’s as much as to say, “Can she so?” + +SPEED. +_Item, She can knit._ + +LANCE. +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._ + +LANCE. +A special virtue, for then she need not be washed and scoured. + +SPEED. +_Item, She can spin._ + +LANCE. +Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living. + +SPEED. +_Item, She hath many nameless virtues._ + +LANCE. +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. + +LANCE. +Close at the heels of her virtues. + +SPEED. +_Item, She is not to be kissed fasting in respect of her breath._ + +LANCE. +Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. +Read on. + +SPEED. +_Item, She hath a sweet mouth._ + +LANCE. +That makes amends for her sour breath. + +SPEED. +_Item, She doth talk in her sleep._ + +LANCE. +It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. + +SPEED. +_Item, She is slow in words._ + +LANCE. +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._ + +LANCE. +Out with that too; it was Eve’s legacy and cannot be ta’en from her. + +SPEED. +_Item, She hath no teeth._ + +LANCE. +I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. + +SPEED. +_Item, She is curst._ + +LANCE. +Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. + +SPEED. +_Item, She will often praise her liquor._ + +LANCE. +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._ + +LANCE. +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._ + +LANCE. +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_— + +LANCE. +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._ + +LANCE. +That’s monstrous! O, that that were out! + +SPEED. +_And more wealth than faults._ + +LANCE. +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? + +LANCE. +Why, then will I tell thee that thy master stays for thee at the North +Gate. + +SPEED. +For me? + +LANCE. +For thee? Ay, who art thou? He hath stayed for a better man than thee. + +SPEED. +And must I go to him? + +LANCE. +Thou must run to him, for thou hast stayed so long that going will +scarce serve the turn. + +SPEED. +Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! + +[_Exit._] + +LANCE. +Now will he be swinged 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. The same. A room in the Duke’s palace + +Enter Duke and Thurio. + +DUKE. +Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you +Now Valentine is banished from her sight. + +THURIO. +Since his exile she hath despised me most, +Forsworn my company and railed 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 prevailed, 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 skilled in music. +I have a sonnet that will serve the turn +To give the onset to thy good advice. + +DUKE. +About it, gentlemen! + +PROTEUS. +We’ll wait upon your Grace till after supper, +And afterward determine our proceedings. + +DUKE. +Even now about it! I will pardon you. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. A forest between Milan and Verona + + +Enter certain Outlaws. + +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 crossed with adversity; +My riches are these poor habiliments, +Of which if you should here disfurnish me, +You take the sum and substance that I have. + +SECOND OUTLAW. +Whither travel you? + +VALENTINE. +To Verona. + +FIRST OUTLAW. +Whence came you? + +VALENTINE. +From Milan. + +THIRD OUTLAW. +Have you long sojourned there? + +VALENTINE. +Some sixteen months, and longer might have stayed +If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. + +FIRST OUTLAW. +What, were you banished thence? + +VALENTINE. +I was. + +SECOND OUTLAW. +For what offence? + +VALENTINE. +For that which now torments me to rehearse; +I killed 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 banished 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 ungoverned 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 stabbed unto the heart. + +FIRST OUTLAW. +And I for suchlike petty crimes as these. +But to the purpose, for we cite our faults, +That they may hold excused our lawless lives; +And partly, seeing you are beautified +With goodly shape, and by your own report +A linguist, and a man of such perfection +As we do in our quality much want— + +SECOND OUTLAW. +Indeed because you are a banished 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 sayst thou? Wilt thou be of our consort? +Say “Ay”, and be the captain of us all, +We’ll do thee homage and be ruled 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 offered. + +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. The court of the Duke’s palace + +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 loved; +And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, +The least whereof would quell a lover’s hope, +Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, +The more it grows and fawneth on her still. +But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window, +And give some evening music to her ear. + +Enter Thurio and Musicians. + +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 Host and Julia in boy’s clothes, as Sebastian. + +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 asked for. + +JULIA. +But shall I hear him speak? + +HOST. +Ay, that you shall. + +JULIA. +That will be music. + +[_Music plays._] + +HOST. +Hark, hark! + +JULIA. +Is he among these? + +HOST. +Ay; but peace, let’s hear ’em. + +SONG + +PROTEUS. + 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 helped, inhabits there. + + Then to Silvia let us sing, + That Silvia is excelling; + She excels each mortal thing + Upon the dull earth dwelling. + To her let us garlands bring. + +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 Lance, his man, told me: he loved her out of all nick. + +JULIA. +Where is Lance? + +HOST. +Gone to seek his dog, which tomorrow, 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. + +PROTEUS. +Madam, good even to your ladyship. + +SILVIA. +I thank you for your music, gentlemen. +Who is that that spake? + +PROTEUS. +One, lady, if you knew his pure heart’s truth, +You would quickly learn to know him by 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, perjured, false, disloyal man, +Think’st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, +To be seduced by thy flattery, +That hast deceived so many with thy vows? +Return, return, and make thy love amends. +For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, +I am so far from granting thy request +That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, +And by and by intend to chide myself +Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. + +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 betrothed. And art thou not ashamed +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. + +[_Exit._] + +PROTEUS. +As wretches have o’ernight +That wait for execution in the morn. + +[_Exit._] + +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 watched, and the most heaviest. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same + +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. + +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 accomplished. +Thou art not ignorant what dear good will +I bear unto the banished Valentine, +Nor how my father would enforce me marry +Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorred. +Thyself hast loved, and I have heard thee say +No grief did ever come so near thy heart +As when thy lady and thy true love died, +Upon whose grave thou vowed’st 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 placed, +I give consent to go along with you, +Recking as little what betideth me +As much I wish all good befortune you. +When will you go? + +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. The same + +Enter Lance with his dog Crab. + +LANCE. +When a man’s servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes +hard: one that I brought up of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning +when three 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 hanged for’t; sure as I +live, he had suffered 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 stolen, otherwise he had been executed. I +have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had +suffered for’t. [_To Crab_.] Thou think’st not of this now. Nay, I +remember the trick you served me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. +Did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do? When didst thou see +me heave up my leg and make water against a gentlewoman’s farthingale? +Didst thou ever see me do such a trick? + +Enter Proteus and Julia disguised as Sebastian. + +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 Lance_.] How now, you whoreson peasant, +Where have you been these two days loitering? + +LANCE. +Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. + +PROTEUS. +And what says she to my little jewel? + +LANCE. +Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish thanks is +good enough for such a present. + +PROTEUS. +But she received my dog? + +LANCE. +No, indeed, did she not. Here have I brought him back again. + +PROTEUS. +What, didst thou offer her this from me? + +LANCE. +Ay, sir, the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman’s boys in +the market-place, and then I offered her mine own, who is a dog as big +as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. + +PROTEUS. +Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, +Or ne’er return again into my sight. +Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? +A slave that still an end turns me to shame. + +[_Exit Lance with Crab._] + +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 loved me well delivered it to me. + +JULIA. +It seems you loved not her, to leave her token. +She’s dead belike? + +PROTEUS. +Not so; I think she lives. + +JULIA. +Alas! + +PROTEUS. +Why dost thou cry “Alas”? + +JULIA. +I cannot choose +But pity her. + +PROTEUS. +Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? + +JULIA. +Because methinks that she loved you as well +As you do love your lady Silvia. +She dreams on him that has forgot her love; +You dote on her that cares not for your love. +’Tis pity love should be so contrary; +And thinking on it makes me cry “Alas.” + +PROTEUS. +Well, give her that ring, and therewithal +This letter. That’s her chamber. Tell my lady +I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. +Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, +Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. + +[_Exit._] + +JULIA. +How many women would do such a message? +Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertained +A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. +Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him +That with his very heart despiseth me? +Because he loves her, he despiseth me; +Because I love him, I must pity him. +This ring I gave him when he parted from me, +To bind him to remember my good will; +And now am I, unhappy messenger, +To plead for that which I would not obtain, +To carry that which I would have refused, +To praise his faith, which I would have dispraised. +I am my master’s true confirmed love, +But cannot be true servant to my master +Unless I prove false traitor to myself. +Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly +As, heaven it knows, I 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. + +[_She is brought the picture._] + +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. + +[_Gives her a letter._] + +Pardon me, madam, I have unadvised +Delivered you a paper that I should not. +This is the letter to your ladyship. + +[_Takes back the letter and gives her another._] + +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 stuffed with protestations +And full of new-found oaths, which he will break +As easily as I do tear his paper. + +[_She tears the second letter._] + +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 profaned the ring, +Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. + +JULIA. +She thanks you. + +SILVIA. +What sayst 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 loved her well, +She, in my judgement, was as fair as you. +But since she did neglect her looking-glass +And threw her sun-expelling mask away, +The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks +And pinched 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 played, +Our youth got me to play the woman’s part, +And I was trimmed in Madam Julia’s gown, +Which served me as fit, by all men’s judgements, +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 agood, +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. + +JULIA. +And she shall thank you for’t, if e’er you know her. + +[_Exeunt Silvia and Attendants._] + +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 flattered 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 coloured 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 worshipped, kissed, loved, and adored; +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 used me so; or else, by Jove I vow, +I should have scratched 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. The same. A room in the Duke’s palace + +Enter Thurio, Proteus and Julia. + +THURIO. +Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? + +PROTEUS. +O, sir, I find her milder than she was, +And yet she takes exceptions at your person. + +THURIO. +What? That my leg is too long? + +PROTEUS. +No, that it is too little. + +THURIO. +I’ll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. + +JULIA. +[_Aside_.] But love will not be spurred 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 derived. + +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 wandered through the forest; +Him he knew well, and guessed that it was she, +But, being masked, 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 revenged 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. Frontiers of Mantua. The forest + +Enter Silvia and Outlaws. + +FIRST OUTLAW. +Come, come, be patient. We must bring you to our captain. + +SILVIA. +A thousand more mischances than this one +Have learned 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. + +[_Exeunt Second and Third Outlaws._] + +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. + +[_Shouts within._] + +What hallowing and what stir is this today? +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 forced 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 perjured 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 approved, +When women cannot love where they’re beloved. + +SILVIA. +When Proteus cannot love where he’s beloved. +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. + +[_He seizes her._] + +SILVIA. +O heaven! + +PROTEUS. +I’ll force thee yield to my desire. + +VALENTINE. +[_Comes forward_.] 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 beguiled 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 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 pleased; +By penitence th’ Eternal’s wrath’s appeased. +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 charged 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. + +[_Gives him a ring._] + +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. + +[_Shows another ring._] + +PROTEUS. +But how cam’st thou by this ring? At my depart +I gave this unto Julia. + +JULIA. +And Julia herself did give it me, +And Julia herself have brought it hither. + +[_She reveals herself._] + +PROTEUS. +How? Julia? + +JULIA. +Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths +And entertained ’em deeply in her heart. +How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root! +O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush. +Be thou ashamed 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. + +OUTLAWS. +A prize, a prize, a prize! + +VALENTINE. +Forbear, forbear, I say! It is my lord the Duke. +Your Grace is welcome to a man disgraced, +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 unrivalled merit, +To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine, +Thou art a gentleman, and well derived; +Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved 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 banished men, that I have kept withal, +Are men endued with worthy qualities. +Forgive them what they have committed here, +And let them be recalled from their exile. +They are reformed, civil, full of good, +And fit for great employment, worthy lord. + +DUKE. +Thou hast prevailed; 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 + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + PROLOGUE + Scene I. Athens. Before a temple + Scene II. Thebes. The Court of the Palace + Scene III. Before the gates of Athens + Scene IV. A field before Thebes. + Scene V. Another part of the same, more remote from Thebes + + ACT II + Scene I. Athens. A garden, with a castle in the background + Scene II. The prison + Scene III. The country near Athens + Scene IV. Athens. A room in the prison + Scene V. An open place in Athens + Scene VI. Athens. Before the prison + + ACT III + Scene I. A forest near Athens + Scene II. Another part of the forest + Scene III. The same part of the forest as in scene I. + Scene IV. Another part of the forest + Scene V. Another part of the forest + Scene VI. The same part of the forest as in scene III. + + ACT IV + Scene I. Athens. A room in the prison + Scene II. A Room in the Palace + Scene III. A room in the prison + + ACT V + Scene I. Athens. Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana + Scene II. Athens. A Room in the Prison + Scene III. A part of the Forest near Athens, and near the Place appointed for the Combat + Scene IV. The same; a Block prepared + EPILOGUE + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +PROLOGUE + +ARCITE, the two noble kinsmen, cousins, +PALAMON, nephews of Creon, King of Thebes + +THESEUS, Duke of Athens +HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, later Duchess of Athens +EMILIA, Sister of Hippolyta +PIRITHOUS, friend to Theseus + +Three QUEENS, widows of the kings killed in laying siege to Thebes + +The JAILER of Theseus’s prison +His DAUGHTER, in love with Palamon +His BROTHER, +The WOOER of the Jailer’s daughter +Two FRIENDS of the Jailer, +A DOCTOR + +ARTESIUS, an Athenian soldier +VALERIUS, a Theban +WOMAN, attending on Emilia +An Athenian GENTLEMAN +Six KNIGHTS, three accompanying Arcite, three Palamon + +Six COUNTRYMEN, one dressed as a Bavian or baboon +Gerald, a SCHOOLMASTER +NEL, a countrywoman +A TABORER + +A singing BOY +A HERALD +A MESSENGER +A SERVANT + +EPILOGUE + +Hymen (god of weddings), lords, soldiers, four countrywomen (Fritz, +Maudlin, Luce, and Barbary), nymphs, attendants, maids, executioner, +guard + +SCENE: Athens and the Neighbourhood, except in part of the first Act, +where it is Thebes and the Neighbourhood + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +Flourish. Enter Prologue. + +PROLOGUE. +New plays and maidenheads are near akin: +Much followed both, for both much money gi’en, +If they stand sound and well. And a good play, +Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage day +And shake to lose his honour, is like her +That after holy tie and first night’s stir +Yet still is Modesty, and still retains +More of the maid, to sight, than husband’s pains. +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 admired, the story gives; +There, constant to eternity, it lives. +If we let fall the nobleness of this, +And the first sound this child hear be a hiss, +How will it shake the bones of that good man +And make him cry from underground, “O, fan +From me the witless chaff of such a writer +That blasts my bays and my famed works makes lighter +Than Robin Hood!” This is the fear we bring; +For, to say truth, it were an endless thing +And too ambitious, to aspire to him, +Weak as we are, and, almost breathless, swim +In this deep water. Do but you hold out +Your helping hands, and we shall tack about +And something do to save us. You shall hear +Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear +Worth two hours’ travel. To his bones sweet sleep; +Content to you. If this play do not keep +A little dull time from us, we perceive +Our losses fall so thick, we must needs leave. + +[_Flourish. Exit._] + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Athens. Before a temple + + +Enter Hymen with a torch burning; a Boy, in a white robe before +singing, and strewing flowers. After Hymen, a Nymph encompassed in her +tresses, bearing a wheaten garland; then Theseus between two other +Nymphs with wheaten chaplets on their heads. Then Hippolyta, the bride, +led by Pirithous, and another holding a garland over her head, her +tresses likewise hanging. After her, Emilia, holding up her train. Then +Artesius and Attendants. + +[_Music._] + +The Song + +_Roses, their sharp spines being gone, +Not royal in their smells alone, + But in their hue; +Maiden pinks of odour faint, +Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, + And sweet thyme true;_ + +_Primrose, first-born child of Ver, +Merry springtime’s harbinger, + With harebells dim, +Oxlips in their cradles growing, +Marigolds on deathbeds blowing, + Lark’s-heels trim;_ + +[_Strews flowers._] + +_All dear Nature’s children sweet +Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet, + Blessing their sense. +Not an angel of the air, +Bird melodious or bird fair, + Is absent hence._ + +_The crow, the sland’rous cuckoo, nor +The boding raven, nor chough hoar, + Nor chatt’ring ’pie, +May on our bride-house perch or sing, +Or with them any discord bring, + But from it fly._ + +Enter three Queens in black, with veils stained, with imperial crowns. +The first Queen falls down at the foot of Theseus; the second falls +down at the foot of Hippolyta; the third before Emilia. + +FIRST QUEEN. +For pity’s sake and true gentility’s, +Hear and respect me. + +SECOND QUEEN. +For your mother’s sake, +And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones, +Hear and respect me. + +THIRD QUEEN. +Now, for the love of him whom Jove hath marked +The honour of your bed, and for the sake +Of clear virginity, be advocate +For us and our distresses. This good deed +Shall raze you out o’ th’ book of trespasses +All you are set down there. + +THESEUS. +Sad lady, rise. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Stand up. + +EMILIA. +No knees to me. +What woman I may stead that is distressed, +Does bind me to her. + +THESEUS. +What’s your request? Deliver you for all. + +FIRST QUEEN. +We are three queens whose sovereigns fell before +The wrath of cruel Creon, who endure +The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites, +And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes. +He will not suffer us to burn their bones, +To urn their ashes, nor to take th’ offence +Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye +Of holy Phœbus, but infects the winds +With stench of our slain lords. O, pity, Duke! +Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feared sword +That does good turns to th’ world; give us the bones +Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them; +And of thy boundless goodness take some note +That for our crowned heads we have no roof +Save this, which is the lion’s and the bear’s, +And vault to everything. + +THESEUS. +Pray you, kneel not. +I was transported with your speech and suffered +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 groom +By Mars’s altar. You were that time fair! +Not Juno’s mantle fairer than your tresses, +Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreath +Was then nor threshed nor blasted. Fortune at you +Dimpled her cheek with smiles. Hercules, our kinsman, +Then weaker than your eyes, laid by his club; +He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide +And swore his sinews thawed. O grief and time, +Fearful consumers, you will all devour! + +FIRST QUEEN. +O, I hope some god, +Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood, +Whereto he’ll infuse power, and press you forth +Our undertaker. + +THESEUS. +O, no knees, none, widow! +Unto the helmeted Bellona use them, +And pray for me, your soldier. +Troubled I am. + +[_Turns away._] + +SECOND QUEEN. +Honoured Hippolyta, +Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain +The scythe-tusked boar; that with thy arm, as strong +As it is white, wast near to make the male +To thy sex captive, but that this thy lord, +Born to uphold creation in that honour +First nature styled it in, shrunk thee into +The bound thou wast o’erflowing, at once subduing +Thy force and thy affection; soldieress +That equally canst poise sternness with pity, +Whom now I know hast much more power on him +Than ever he had on thee, who ow’st his strength +And his love too, who is a servant for +The tenor of thy speech, dear glass of ladies, +Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch, +Under the shadow of his sword may cool us; +Require him he advance it o’er our heads; +Speak ’t in a woman’s key, like such a woman +As any of us three; weep ere you fail. +Lend us a knee; +But touch the ground for us no longer time +Than a dove’s motion when the head’s plucked off. +Tell him if he i’ th’ blood-sized field lay swollen, +Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, +What you would do. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Poor lady, say no more. +I had as lief trace this good action with you +As that whereto I am going, and never yet +Went I so willing way. My lord is taken +Heart-deep with your distress. Let him consider; +I’ll speak anon. + +THIRD QUEEN. +O, my petition was +Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied +Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form, +Is pressed with deeper matter. + +EMILIA. +Pray, stand up; +Your grief is written in your cheek. + +THIRD QUEEN. +O, woe! +You cannot read it there. There through my tears, +Like wrinkled pebbles in a glassy stream, +You may behold ’em. Lady, lady, alack! +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 fool. + +EMILIA. +Pray you say nothing, pray you. +Who cannot feel nor see the rain, being in ’t, +Knows neither wet nor dry. If that you were +The ground-piece of some painter, I would buy you +T’ instruct me ’gainst a capital grief, indeed +Such heart-pierced demonstration. But, alas, +Being a natural sister of our sex, +Your sorrow beats so ardently upon me +That it shall make a counter-reflect ’gainst +My brother’s heart and warm it to some pity, +Though it were made of stone. Pray have good comfort. + +THESEUS. +Forward to th’ temple! Leave not out a jot +O’ th’ sacred ceremony. + +FIRST QUEEN. +O, this celebration +Will longer last and be more costly than +Your suppliants’ war! Remember that your fame +Knolls in the ear o’ th’ world; what you do quickly +Is not done rashly; your first thought is more +Than others’ laboured meditance, your premeditating +More than their actions. But, O Jove, your actions, +Soon as they move, as ospreys do the fish, +Subdue before they touch. Think, dear Duke, think +What beds our slain kings have! + +SECOND QUEEN. +What griefs our beds, +That our dear lords have none! + +THIRD QUEEN. +None fit for th’ dead. +Those that with cords, knives, drams, precipitance, +Weary of this world’s light, have to themselves +Been death’s most horrid agents, human grace +Affords them dust and shadow. + +FIRST QUEEN. +But our lords +Lie blist’ring ’fore the visitating sun, +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 do must make some work with Creon. + +FIRST QUEEN. +And that work presents itself to th’ doing. +Now ’twill take form; the heats are gone tomorrow. +Then, bootless toil must recompense itself +With its own sweat. Now he’s secure, +Not dreams we stand before your puissance, +Rinsing our holy begging in our eyes +To make petition clear. + +SECOND QUEEN. +Now you may take him, drunk with his victory. + +THIRD 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 business: forth and levy +Our worthiest instruments, whilst we dispatch +This grand act of our life, this daring deed +Of fate in wedlock. + +FIRST QUEEN. +Dowagers, take hands. +Let us be widows to our woes; delay +Commends us to a famishing hope. + +ALL THE QUEENS. +Farewell! + +SECOND QUEEN. +We come unseasonably; but when could grief +Cull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fitt’st time +For best solicitation? + +THESEUS. +Why, good ladies, +This is a service, whereto I am going, +Greater than any war; it more imports me +Than all the actions that I have foregone, +Or futurely can cope. + +FIRST QUEEN. +The more proclaiming +Our suit shall be neglected when her arms, +Able to lock Jove from a synod, shall +By warranting moonlight corselet thee. O, when +Her twinning cherries shall their sweetness fall +Upon thy tasteful lips, what wilt thou think +Of rotten kings or blubbered queens? What care +For what thou feel’st not, what thou feel’st being able +To make Mars spurn his drum? O, if thou couch +But one night with her, every hour in ’t will +Take hostage of thee for a hundred, and +Thou shalt remember nothing more than what +That banquet bids thee to. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Though much unlike +You should be so transported, as much sorry +I should be such a suitor, yet I think, +Did I not, by th’ abstaining of my joy, +Which breeds a deeper longing, cure their surfeit +That craves a present med’cine, I should pluck +All ladies’ scandal on me. Therefore, sir, + +[_She kneels._] + +As I shall here make trial of my prayers, +Either presuming them to have some force, +Or sentencing for aye their vigor dumb, +Prorogue this business we are going about, and hang +Your shield afore your heart, about that neck +Which is my fee, and which I freely lend +To do these poor queens service. + +ALL QUEENS. +[_To Emilia_.] O, help now! +Our cause cries for your knee. + +EMILIA. +[_To Theseus, kneeling_.] If you grant not +My sister her petition in that force, +With that celerity and nature, which +She makes it in, from henceforth I’ll not dare +To ask you anything, nor be so hardy +Ever to take a husband. + +THESEUS. +Pray stand up. +I am entreating of myself to do + +[_They rise._] + +That which you kneel to have me.—Pirithous, +Lead on the bride; get you and pray the gods +For success and return; omit not anything +In the pretended celebration.—Queens, +Follow your soldier. [_To Artesius._] As before, hence you, +And at the banks of Aulis meet us with +The forces you can raise, where we shall find +The moiety of a number for a business +More bigger looked. + +[_Exit Artesius._] + +[_To Hippolyta._] Since that our theme is haste, +I stamp this kiss upon thy currant lip; +Sweet, keep it as my token. Set you forward, +For I will see you gone. + +[_The wedding procession moves towards the temple._] + +Farewell, my beauteous sister.—Pirithous, +Keep the feast full; bate not an hour on ’t. + +PIRITHOUS. +Sir, +I’ll follow you at heels. The feast’s solemnity +Shall want till your return. + +THESEUS. +Cousin, I charge you, +Budge 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. + +[_Exeunt all but Theseus and the Queens._] + +FIRST QUEEN. +Thus dost thou still make good the tongue o’ th’ world. + +SECOND QUEEN. +And earn’st a deity equal with Mars. + +THIRD QUEEN. +If not above him, for +Thou, being but mortal, mak’st affections bend +To godlike honours; they themselves, some say, +Groan under such a mast’ry. + +THESEUS. +As we are men, +Thus should we do; being sensually subdued, +We lose our human title. Good cheer, ladies. +Now turn we towards your comforts. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Thebes. The Court of the Palace + +Enter Palamon and Arcite. + +ARCITE. +Dear Palamon, dearer in love than blood +And our prime cousin, yet unhardened in +The crimes of nature, let us leave the city +Thebes, and the temptings in ’t, before we further +Sully our gloss of youth +And here to keep in abstinence we shame +As in incontinence; for not to swim +I’ th’ aid o’ th’ current, were almost to sink, +At least to frustrate striving; and to follow +The common stream, ’twould bring us to an eddy +Where we should turn or drown; if labour through, +Our gain but life and weakness. + +PALAMON. +Your advice +Is cried up with example. What strange ruins, +Since first we went to school, may we perceive +Walking in Thebes! Scars and bare weeds +The gain o’ th’ martialist, who did propound +To his bold ends honour and golden ingots, +Which, though he won, he had not, and now flirted +By peace for whom he fought! Who then shall offer +To Mars’s so-scorned altar? I do bleed +When such I meet, and wish great Juno would +Resume her ancient fit of jealousy +To get the soldier work, that peace might purge +For her repletion, and retain anew +Her charitable heart, now hard and harsher +Than strife or war could be. + +ARCITE. +Are you not out? +Meet you no ruin but the soldier in +The cranks and turns of Thebes? You did begin +As if you met decays of many kinds. +Perceive you none that do arouse your pity +But th’ unconsidered soldier? + +PALAMON. +Yes, I pity +Decays where’er I find them, but such most +That, sweating in an honourable toil, +Are paid with ice to cool ’em. + +ARCITE. +’Tis not this +I did begin to speak of. This is virtue +Of no respect in Thebes. I spake of Thebes, +How dangerous, if we will keep our honours, +It is for our residing, where every evil +Hath a good colour; where every seeming good’s +A certain evil; where not to be e’en jump +As they are here were to be strangers, and, +Such things to be, mere monsters. + +PALAMON. +’Tis in our power— +Unless we fear that apes can tutor ’s—to +Be masters of our manners. What need I +Affect another’s gait, which is not catching +Where there is faith? Or to be fond upon +Another’s way of speech, when by mine own +I may be reasonably conceived, saved too, +Speaking it truly? Why am I bound +By any generous bond to follow him +Follows his tailor, haply so long until +The followed make pursuit? Or let me know +Why mine own barber is unblessed, with him +My poor chin too, for ’tis not scissored just +To such a favourite’s glass? What canon is there +That does command my rapier from my hip +To dangle ’t in my hand, or to go tiptoe +Before the street be foul? Either I am +The fore-horse in the team, or I am none +That draw i’ th’ sequent trace. These poor slight sores +Need not a plantain; that which rips my bosom +Almost to th’ heart’s— + +ARCITE. +Our uncle Creon. + +PALAMON. +He. +A most unbounded tyrant, whose successes +Makes heaven unfeared and villainy assured +Beyond its power there’s nothing; almost puts +Faith in a fever, and deifies alone +Voluble chance; who only attributes +The faculties of other instruments +To his own nerves and act; commands men service, +And what they win in ’t, boot and glory; one +That fears not to do harm; good, dares not. Let +The blood of mine that’s sib to him be sucked +From me with leeches; let them break and fall +Off me with that corruption. + +ARCITE. +Clear-spirited cousin, +Let’s leave his court, that we may nothing share +Of his loud infamy; for our milk +Will relish of the pasture, and we must +Be vile or disobedient; not his kinsmen +In blood unless in quality. + +PALAMON. +Nothing truer. +I think the echoes of his shames have deafed +The ears of heavenly justice. Widows’ cries +Descend again into their throats and have not +Due audience of the gods. + +Enter Valerius. + +Valerius! + +VALERIUS. +The King calls for you; yet be leaden-footed +Till his great rage be off him. Phœbus, when +He broke his whipstock and exclaimed against +The horses of the sun, but whispered to +The loudness of his fury. + +PALAMON. +Small winds shake him. +But what’s the matter? + +VALERIUS. +Theseus, who where he threats appalls, hath sent +Deadly defiance to him and pronounces +Ruin to Thebes, who is at hand to seal +The promise of his wrath. + +ARCITE. +Let him approach. +But that we fear the gods in him, he brings not +A jot of terror to us. Yet what man +Thirds his own worth—the case is each of ours— +When that his action’s dregged with mind assured +’Tis bad he goes about? + +PALAMON. +Leave that unreasoned. +Our services stand now for Thebes, not Creon. +Yet to be neutral 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. +[_To Valerius._] Is ’t said this war’s afoot? Or, it shall be, +On fail of some condition? + +VALERIUS. +’Tis in motion; +The intelligence of state came in the instant +With the defier. + +PALAMON. +Let’s 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 laid out for purchase. But alas, +Our hands advanced before our hearts, what will +The fall o’ th’ stroke do damage? + +ARCITE. +Let th’ event, +That never-erring arbitrator, tell us +When we know all ourselves; and let us follow +The becking of our chance. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Before the gates of Athens + +Enter Pirithous, Hippolyta and Emilia. + +PIRITHOUS. +No further. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Sir, farewell. Repeat my wishes +To our great lord, of whose success I dare not +Make any timorous question; yet I wish him +Excess and overflow of power, an ’t might be, +To dure ill-dealing fortune. Speed to him! +Store never hurts good governors. + +PIRITHOUS. +Though I know +His ocean needs not my poor drops, yet they +Must yield their tribute there. My precious maid, +Those best affections that the heavens infuse +In their best-tempered pieces keep enthroned +In your dear heart! + +EMILIA. +Thanks, sir. Remember me +To our all-royal brother, for whose speed +The great Bellona I’ll solicit; and +Since in our terrene state petitions are not +Without gifts understood, I’ll offer to her +What I shall be advised she likes. Our hearts +Are in his army, in his tent. + +HIPPOLYTA. +In ’s bosom. +We have been soldiers, and we cannot weep +When our friends don their helms, or put to sea, +Or tell of babes broached on the lance, or women +That have sod their infants in—and after eat them— +The brine they wept at killing ’em. Then if +You stay to see of us such spinsters, we +Should hold you here for ever. + +PIRITHOUS. +Peace be to you +As I pursue this war, which shall be then + Beyond further requiring. + +[_Exit Pirithous._] + +EMILIA. +How his longing +Follows his friend! Since his depart, his sports, +Though craving seriousness and skill, passed slightly +His careless execution, where nor gain +Made him regard, or loss consider, but +Playing one business in his hand, another +Directing in his head, his mind nurse equal +To these so differing twins. Have you observed him +Since our great lord departed? + +HIPPOLYTA. +With much labour, +And I did love him for ’t. They two have cabined +In many as dangerous as poor a corner, +Peril and want contending; they have skiffed +Torrents whose roaring tyranny and power +I’ th’ least of these was dreadful; and they have +Fought out together where Death’s self was lodged; +Yet fate hath brought them off. Their knot of love, +Tied, weaved, entangled, with so true, so long, +And with a finger of so deep a cunning, +May be outworn, never undone. I think +Theseus cannot be umpire to himself, +Cleaving his conscience into twain and doing +Each side like justice, which he loves best. + +EMILIA. +Doubtless +There is a best, and reason has no manners +To say it is not you. I was acquainted +Once with a time when I enjoyed a playfellow; +You were at wars when she the grave enriched, +Who made too proud the bed, took leave o’ th’ moon +Which then looked pale at parting, when our count +Was each eleven. + +HIPPOLYTA. +’Twas Flavina. + +EMILIA. +Yes. +You talk of Pirithous’ and Theseus’ love. +Theirs has more ground, is more maturely seasoned, +More buckled with strong judgement, and their needs +The one of th’ other may be said to water +Their intertangled roots of love; but I, +And she I sigh and spoke of, were things innocent, +Loved for we did, and like the elements +That know not what nor why, yet do effect +Rare issues by their operance, our souls +Did so to one another. What she liked +Was then of me approved, what not, condemned, +No more arraignment. The flower that I would pluck +And put between my breasts, O, then but beginning +To swell about the blossom—she would long +Till she had such another, and commit it +To the like innocent cradle, where, phœnix-like, +They died in perfume. On my head no toy +But was her pattern; her affections—pretty, +Though haply her careless wear—I followed +For my most serious decking; had mine ear +Stol’n some new air, or at adventure hummed one +From musical coinage, why, it was a note +Whereon her spirits would sojourn—rather, dwell on, +And sing it in her slumbers. This rehearsal, +Which fury-innocent wots well, comes in +Like old importment’s bastard—has this end, +That the true love ’tween maid and maid may be +More than in sex individual. + +HIPPOLYTA. +You’re out of breath; +And this high-speeded pace is but to say +That you shall never, like the maid Flavina, +Love any that’s called man. + +EMILIA. +I am sure I shall not. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Now, alack, weak sister, +I must no more believe thee in this point— +Though in ’t I know thou dost believe thyself— +Than I will trust a sickly appetite, +That loathes even as it longs. But sure, my sister, +If I were ripe for your persuasion, you +Have said enough to shake me from the arm +Of the all-noble Theseus; for whose fortunes +I will now in and kneel, with great assurance +That we, more than his Pirithous, possess +The high throne in his heart. + +EMILIA. +I am not +Against your faith, yet I continue mine. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. A field before Thebes. + +Cornets. A battle struck within; then a retreat. Flourish. Then enter, +Theseus, as victor, with a Herald, other Lords, and Soldiers. The three +Queens meet him and fall on their faces before him. + +FIRST QUEEN. +To thee no star be dark! + +SECOND QUEEN. +Both heaven and earth +Friend thee for ever! + +THIRD QUEEN. +All the good that may +Be wished upon thy head, I cry “Amen” to ’t! + +THESEUS. +Th’ impartial gods, who from the mounted heavens +View us their mortal herd, behold who err +And, in their time, chastise. Go and find out +The bones of your dead lords and honour them +With treble ceremony, rather than a gap +Should be in their dear rites, we would supply ’t, +But those we will depute which shall invest +You in your dignities and even each thing +Our haste does leave imperfect. So, adieu, +And heaven’s good eyes look on you. + +[_Exeunt Queens._] + +Enter a Herald and Soldiers bearing Palamon and Arcite on hearses. + +What are those? + +HERALD. +Men of great quality, as may be judged +By their appointment. Some of Thebes have told ’s +They are sisters’ children, nephews to the King. + +THESEUS. +By th’ helm of Mars, I saw them in the war, +Like to a pair of lions, smeared with prey, +Make lanes in troops aghast. I fixed my note +Constantly on them, for they were a mark +Worth a god’s view. What prisoner was ’t that told me +When I enquired their names? + +HERALD. +Wi’ leave, they’re called Arcite and Palamon. + +THESEUS. +’Tis right; those, those. They are not dead? + +HERALD. +Nor in a state of life. Had they been taken +When their last hurts were given, ’twas possible +They might have been recovered; yet they breathe +And have the name of men. + +THESEUS. +Then like men use ’em. +The very lees of such, millions of rates, +Exceed the wine of others. All our surgeons +Convent in their behoof; our richest balms, +Rather than niggard, waste. Their lives concern us +Much more than Thebes is worth. Rather than have ’em +Freed of this plight, and in their morning state, +Sound and at liberty, I would ’em dead; +But forty-thousandfold we had rather have ’em +Prisoners to us than death. Bear ’em speedily +From our kind air, to them unkind, and minister +What man to man may do, for our sake, more, +Since I have known frights, fury, friends’ behests, +Love’s provocations, zeal, a mistress’ task, +Desire of liberty, a fever, madness, +Hath set a mark which nature could not reach to +Without some imposition, sickness in will +O’er-wrestling strength in reason. For our love +And great Apollo’s mercy, all our best +Their best skill tender. Lead into the city, +Where, having bound things scattered, we will post +To Athens ’fore our army. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the same, more remote from Thebes + +Music. Enter the Queens with the hearses of their knights, in a funeral +solemnity, &c. + +SONG. + + +_Urns and odours bring away; +Vapours, sighs, darken the day; +Our dole more deadly looks than dying; +Balms and gums and heavy cheers, +Sacred vials filled with tears, +And clamours through the wild air flying._ + +_Come, all sad and solemn shows +That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes; +We convent naught else but woes. +We convent naught else but woes._ + +THIRD QUEEN. +This funeral path brings to your household’s grave. +Joy seize on you again; peace sleep with him. + +SECOND QUEEN. +And this to yours. + +FIRST QUEEN. +Yours this way. Heavens lend +A thousand differing ways to one sure end. + +THIRD QUEEN. +This world’s a city full of straying streets, +And death’s the market-place where each one meets. + +[_Exeunt severally._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Athens. A garden, with a castle in the background + + +Enter Jailer and Wooer. + +JAILER. +I may depart with little while I live; something I may cast to you, not +much. Alas, the prison I keep, though it be for great ones, yet they +seldom come; before one salmon, you shall take a number of minnows. I +am given out to be better lined than it can appear to me report is a +true speaker. I would I were really that I am delivered 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 demand no more than your own offer, and I will estate your +daughter in what I have promised. + +JAILER. +Well, we will talk more of this when the solemnity is past. But have +you a full promise of her? When that shall be seen, I tender my +consent. + +Enter the Jailer’s Daughter, carrying rushes. + +WOOER. +I have sir. Here she comes. + +JAILER. +Your friend and I have chanced to name you here, upon the old business. +But no more of that now; so soon as the court hurry is over, we will +have an end of it. I’ th’ meantime, look tenderly to the two prisoners. +I can tell you they are princes. + +DAUGHTER. +These strewings are for their chamber. ’Tis pity they are in prison, +and ’twere pity they should be out. I do think they have patience to +make any adversity ashamed. The prison itself is proud of ’em, and they +have all the world in their chamber. + +JAILER. +They are famed to be a pair of absolute men. + +DAUGHTER. +By my troth, I think fame but stammers ’em; they stand a grise above +the reach of report. + +JAILER. +I heard them reported in the battle to be the only doers. + +DAUGHTER. +Nay, most likely, for they are noble sufferers. I marvel how they would +have looked had they been victors, that with such a constant nobility +enforce a freedom out of bondage, making misery their mirth and +affliction a toy to jest at. + +JAILER. +Do they so? + +DAUGHTER. +It seems to me they have no more sense of their captivity than I of +ruling Athens. They eat well, look merrily, discourse of many things, +but nothing of their own restraint and disasters. Yet sometime a +divided sigh, martyred as ’twere i’ th’ deliverance, will break from +one of them—when the other presently gives it so sweet a rebuke that I +could wish myself a sigh to be so chid, or at least a sigher to be +comforted. + +WOOER. +I never saw ’em. + +JAILER. +The Duke himself came privately in the night, and so did they. + +Enter Palamon and Arcite, above. + +What the reason of it is, I know not. Look, yonder they are; that’s +Arcite looks out. + +DAUGHTER. +No, sir, no, that’s Palamon. Arcite is the lower of the twain; you may +perceive a part of him. + +JAILER. +Go to, leave your pointing; they would not make us their object. Out of +their sight. + +DAUGHTER. +It is a holiday to look on them. Lord, the difference of men! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The prison + +Enter Palamon and Arcite in prison. + +PALAMON. +How do you, noble cousin? + +ARCITE. +How do you, sir? + +PALAMON. +Why, strong enough to laugh at misery +And bear the chance of war; yet we are prisoners +I fear for ever, cousin. + +ARCITE. +I believe it, +And to that destiny have patiently +Laid up my hour to come. + +PALAMON. +O, cousin Arcite, +Where is Thebes now? Where is our noble country? +Where are our friends and kindreds? Never more +Must we behold those comforts, never see +The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, +Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, +Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst ’em, +And as an east wind leave ’em all behind us, +Like lazy clouds, whilst Palamon and Arcite, +Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, +Outstripped the people’s praises, won the garlands, +Ere they have time to wish ’em ours. O, never +Shall we two exercise, like twins of honour, +Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses +Like proud seas under us! Our good swords now— +Better the red-eyed god of war ne’er wore— +Ravished our sides, like age must run to rust +And deck 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 youths must wither +Like a too-timely spring; here age must find us +And, which is heaviest, Palamon, unmarried. +The sweet embraces of a loving wife, +Loaden with kisses, armed with thousand Cupids, +Shall never clasp our necks; no issue know us, +No figures of ourselves shall we e’er see, +To glad our age, and like young eagles teach ’em +Boldly to gaze against bright arms and say +“Remember what your fathers were, and conquer!” +The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments +And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune +Till she 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, +Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes. +The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it; +Summer shall come, and with her all delights, +But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still. + +PALAMON. +’Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds +That shook the aged forest with their echoes +No more now must we hallow, no more shake +Our pointed javelins whilst the angry swine +Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, +Struck with our well-steeled darts. All valiant uses, +The food and nourishment of noble minds, +In us two here shall perish; we shall die, +Which is the curse of honour, lastly, +Children of grief and ignorance. + +ARCITE. +Yet, cousin, +Even from the bottom of these miseries, +From all that fortune can inflict upon us, +I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings, +If the gods please: to hold here a brave patience, +And the enjoying of our griefs together. +Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish +If I think this our prison! + +PALAMON. +Certainly +’Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes +Were twined together; ’tis most true, two souls +Put in two noble bodies, let ’em suffer +The gall of hazard, so they grow together, +Will never sink; 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 cousin? + +ARCITE. +Let’s think this prison holy sanctuary, +To keep us from corruption of worse men. +We are young and yet desire the ways of honour; +That liberty and common conversation, +The poison of pure spirits, might like women, +Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing +Can be but our imaginations +May make it ours? And here being thus together, +We are an endless mine to one another; +We are one another’s wife, ever begetting +New births of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance; +We are, in one another, families; +I am your heir, and you are mine. This place +Is our inheritance; no hard oppressor +Dare take this from us; here with a little patience +We shall live long and loving. No surfeits seek 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 business; +Quarrels consume us; envy of ill men +Crave our acquaintance. I might sicken, cousin, +Where you should never know it, and so perish +Without your noble hand to close mine eyes, +Or prayers to the gods. A thousand chances, +Were we from hence, would sever us. + +PALAMON. +You have made me— +I thank you, cousin Arcite—almost wanton +With my captivity. What a misery +It is to live abroad and everywhere! +’Tis like a beast, methinks. I find the court here, +I am sure, a more content; and all those pleasures +That woo the wills of men to vanity +I see through now, and am sufficient +To tell the world ’tis but a gaudy shadow +That old Time as he passes by takes with him. +What had we been, old in the court of Creon, +Where sin is justice, lust and ignorance +The virtues of the great ones? Cousin Arcite, +Had not the loving gods found this place for us, +We had died as they do, ill old men, unwept, +And had their epitaphs, the people’s curses. +Shall I say more? + +ARCITE. +I would hear you still. + +PALAMON. +Ye shall. +Is there record of any two that loved +Better than we do, Arcite? + +ARCITE. +Sure, there cannot. + +PALAMON. +I do not think it possible our friendship +Should ever leave us. + +ARCITE. +Till our deaths it cannot; + +Enter Emilia and her Woman, below. + +And after death our spirits shall be led +To those that love eternally. Speak on, sir. + +EMILIA. +This garden has a world of pleasures in’t. +What flower is this? + +WOMAN. +’Tis called narcissus, madam. + +EMILIA. +That was a fair boy, certain, but a fool, +To love himself. Were there not maids enough? + +ARCITE. +Pray, forward. + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +EMILIA. +Or were they all hard-hearted? + +WOMAN. +They could not be to one so fair. + +EMILIA. +Thou wouldst not. + +WOMAN. +I think I should not, madam. + +EMILIA. +That’s a good wench. +But take heed to your kindness, though. + +WOMAN. +Why, madam? + +EMILIA. +Men are mad things. + +ARCITE. +Will ye go forward, cousin? + +EMILIA. +Canst not thou work such flowers in silk, wench? + +WOMAN. +Yes. + +EMILIA. +I’ll have a gown full of ’em, and of these. +This is a pretty colour; will ’t not do +Rarely upon a skirt, wench? + +WOMAN. +Dainty, madam. + +ARCITE. +Cousin, cousin! How do you, sir? Why, Palamon! + +PALAMON. +Never till now I was in prison, Arcite. + +ARCITE. +Why, what’s the matter, man? + +PALAMON. +Behold, and wonder! +By heaven, she is a goddess. + +ARCITE. +Ha! + +PALAMON. +Do reverence. She is a goddess, Arcite. + +EMILIA. +Of all flowers, +Methinks a rose is best. + +WOMAN. +Why, gentle madam? + +EMILIA. +It is the very emblem of a maid. +For when the west wind courts her gently, +How modestly she blows and paints the sun +With her chaste blushes! When the north comes near her, +Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, +She locks her beauties in her bud again, +And leaves him to base briers. + +WOMAN. +Yet, good madam, +Sometimes her modesty will blow so far +She falls for ’t. A maid, +If she have any honour, would be loath +To take example by her. + +EMILIA. +Thou art wanton. + +ARCITE. +She is wondrous fair. + +PALAMON. +She is all the beauty extant. + +EMILIA. +The sun grows high; let’s walk in. Keep these flowers. +We’ll see how near art can come near their colours. +I am wondrous merry-hearted. I could laugh now. + +WOMAN. +I could lie down, I am sure. + +EMILIA. +And take one with you? + +WOMAN. +That’s as we bargain, madam. + +EMILIA. +Well, agree then. + +[_Exeunt Emilia and Woman._] + +PALAMON. +What think you of this beauty? + +ARCITE. +’Tis a rare one. + +PALAMON. +Is’t but a rare one? + +ARCITE. +Yes, a matchless beauty. + +PALAMON. +Might not a man well lose himself, and love her? + +ARCITE. +I cannot tell what you have done; I have, +Beshrew mine eyes for’t! Now I feel 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 do, to worship her +As she is heavenly and a blessed goddess. +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 took possession +First with mine eye of all those beauties in her +Revealed to mankind. If thou lovest her, +Or entertain’st a hope to blast my wishes, +Thou art a traitor, Arcite, and a fellow +False as thy title to her. Friendship, blood, +And all the ties between us, I disclaim +If thou once think upon her. + +ARCITE. +Yes, I love her; +And, if the lives of all my name lay on it, +I must do so; I love her with my soul. +If that will lose ye, farewell, Palamon. +I say again, I love, and in loving her maintain +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 man’s son. + +PALAMON. +Have I called thee friend? + +ARCITE. +Yes, and have found me so. Why are you moved thus? +Let me deal coldly with you: am not I +Part of your blood, part of your soul? You have told me +That I was Palamon and you were Arcite. + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +ARCITE. +Am not I liable to those affections, +Those joys, griefs, angers, fears, my friend shall suffer? + +PALAMON. +Ye may be. + +ARCITE. +Why then would you deal so cunningly, +So strangely, so unlike a noble kinsman, +To love alone? Speak truly; do you think me +Unworthy of her sight? + +PALAMON. +No; but unjust, +If thou pursue that sight. + +ARCITE. +Because another +First sees the enemy, shall I stand still +And let mine honour down, 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 freedom. Else, if thou pursuest her, +Be as that cursed man that hates his country, +A branded villain. + +ARCITE. +You are mad. + +PALAMON. +I must be, +Till thou art worthy, Arcite; it concerns me; +And in this madness, if I hazard thee +And take thy life, I deal but truely. + +ARCITE. +Fie, sir! +You play the child extremely. I will love her; +I must, I ought to do so, and I dare, +And all this justly. + +PALAMON. +O, that now, that now, +Thy false self and thy friend had but this fortune, +To be one hour at liberty, and grasp +Our good swords in our hands! I would quickly teach thee +What ’twere to filch affection from another! +Thou art baser in it than a cutpurse. +Put but thy head out of this window more +And, as I have a soul, I’ll nail thy life to ’t. + +ARCITE. +Thou dar’st not, fool, thou canst not, thou art feeble. +Put my head out? I’ll throw my body out +And leap the garden, when I see her next +And pitch between her arms, to anger thee. + +Enter Jailer. + +PALAMON. +No more; the keeper’s coming. I shall live +To knock thy brains out with my shackles. + +ARCITE. +Do! + +JAILER. +By your leave, gentlemen. + +PALAMON. +Now, honest keeper? + +JAILER. +Lord Arcite, you must presently to th’ Duke; +The cause I know not yet. + +ARCITE. +I am ready, keeper. + +JAILER. +Prince Palamon, I must awhile bereave you +Of your fair cousin’s company. + +[_Exeunt Arcite and Jailer._] + +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 fair, +Let honest men ne’er love again. Once more +I would but see this fair one. Blessed garden +And fruit and flowers more blessed that still blossom +As her bright eyes shine on ye! Would I were, +For all the fortune of my life hereafter, +Yon little tree, yon blooming apricock! +How I would spread and fling my wanton arms +In at her window! I would bring her fruit +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 near the gods in nature, they should fear her. + +Enter Jailer. + +And then I am sure she would love me. How now, keeper? +Where’s Arcite? + +JAILER. +Banished. Prince Pirithous +Obtained his liberty, but never more +Upon his oath and life must he set foot +Upon this kingdom. + +PALAMON. +He’s a blessed man. +He shall see Thebes again, and call to arms +The bold young men that, when he bids ’em charge, +Fall on like fire. Arcite shall have a fortune, +If he dare make himself a worthy lover, +Yet in the field to strike a battle for her; +And, if he lose her then, he’s a cold coward. +How bravely may he bear himself to win her +If he be noble Arcite, thousand ways! +Were I at liberty, I would do things +Of such a virtuous greatness that this lady, +This blushing virgin, should take manhood to her +And seek to ravish me. + +JAILER. +My lord for you +I have this charge to— + +PALAMON. +To discharge my life? + +JAILER. +No, but from this place to remove your lordship; +The windows are too open. + +PALAMON. +Devils take ’em, +That are so envious to me! Prithee, kill me. + +JAILER. +And hang for’t afterward! + +PALAMON. +By this good light, +Had I a sword I would kill thee. + +JAILER. +Why, my Lord? + +PALAMON. +Thou bringst such pelting, scurvy news continually, +Thou art not worthy life. I will not go. + +JAILER. +Indeed, you must, my lord. + +PALAMON. +May I see the garden? + +JAILER. +No. + +PALAMON. +Then I am resolved, I will not go. + +JAILER. +I must constrain you then; and, for you are dangerous, +I’ll clap more irons on you. + +PALAMON. +Do, good keeper. +I’ll shake ’em so, ye shall not sleep; +I’ll make you a new morris. Must I go? + +JAILER. +There is no remedy. + +PALAMON. +Farewell, kind window. +May rude wind never hurt thee!—O, my lady, +If ever thou hast felt what sorrow was, +Dream how I suffer.—Come, now bury me. + +[_Exeunt Palamon and Jailer._] + +SCENE III. The country near Athens + +Enter Arcite. + +ARCITE. +Banished the kingdom? ’Tis a benefit, +A mercy I must thank ’em for; but banished +The free enjoying of that face I die for, +O, ’twas a studied punishment, a death +Beyond imagination, such a vengeance +That, were I old and wicked, all my sins +Could never pluck upon me. Palamon, +Thou hast the start now; thou shalt stay and see +Her bright eyes break each morning ’gainst thy window +And let in life into thee; thou shalt feed +Upon the sweetness of a noble beauty +That nature ne’er exceeded nor ne’er shall. +Good gods, what happiness has Palamon! +Twenty to one, he’ll come to speak to her; +And if she be as gentle as she’s fair, +I know she’s his; he has a tongue will tame +Tempests and make the wild rocks wanton. +Come what can come, +The worst is death; I will not leave the kingdom. +I know mine own is but a heap of ruins, +And no redress there. If I go, he has her. +I am resolved another shape shall make me +Or end my fortunes. Either way I am happy. +I’ll see her and be near her, or no more. + +Enter four Countrymen, and one with a garland before them. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +My masters, I’ll be there, that’s certain. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +And I’ll be there. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +And I. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Why, then, have with you, boys. ’Tis but a chiding. +Let the plough play today; I’ll tickle ’t out +Of the jades’ tails tomorrow. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +I am sure +To have my wife as jealous as a turkey, +But that’s all one. I’ll go through; let her mumble. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +Clap her aboard tomorrow night, and stow her, +And all’s made up again. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +Ay, do but put +A fescue in her fist and you shall see her +Take a new lesson out and be a good wench. +Do we all hold against the Maying? + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Hold? +What should ail us? + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +Arcas will be there. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +And Sennois. +And Rycas; and three better lads ne’er danced +Under green tree. And ye know what wenches, ha? +But will the dainty domine, the schoolmaster, +Keep touch, do you think? For he does all, ye know. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +He’ll eat a hornbook ere he fail. Go to; +The matter’s too far driven between him +And the tanner’s daughter to let slip now; +And she must see the Duke, and she must dance too. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Shall we be lusty? + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +All the boys in Athens +Blow wind i’ th’ breech on ’s. And here I’ll be, +And there I’ll be, for our town, and here again, +And there again. Ha, boys, hey for the weavers! + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +This must be done i’ th’ woods. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +O, pardon me. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +By any means; our thing of learning says so— +Where he himself will edify the Duke +Most parlously in our behalfs. He’s excellent i’ th’ woods; +Bring him to th’ plains, his learning makes no cry. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +We’ll see the sports, then every man to ’s tackle; +And, sweet companions, let’s rehearse, by any means, +Before the ladies see us, and do sweetly, +And God knows what may come on ’t. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Content; the sports once ended, we’ll perform. +Away, boys, and hold. + +ARCITE. +By your leaves, honest friends: pray you, whither go you? + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Whither? Why, what a question’s that? + +ARCITE. +Yes, ’tis a question +To me that know not. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +To the games, my friend. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +Where were you bred, you know it not? + +ARCITE. +Not far, sir; +Are there such games today? + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +Yes, marry, are there, +And such as you never saw; the Duke himself +Will be in person there. + +ARCITE. +What pastimes are they? + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +Wrestling, and running.—’Tis a pretty fellow. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +Thou wilt not go along? + +ARCITE. +Not yet, sir. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Well, sir, +Take your own time. Come, boys. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +My mind misgives me, +This fellow has a vengeance trick o’ th’ hip; +Mark how his body’s made for ’t. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +I’ll be hanged, though, +If he dare venture. Hang him, plum porridge! +He wrestle? He roast eggs! Come, let’s be gone, lads. + +[_Exeunt Countrymen._] + +ARCITE. +This is an offered opportunity +I durst not wish for. Well I could have wrestled— +The best men called it excellent—and run +Swifter than wind upon a field of corn, +Curling the wealthy ears, never flew. I’ll venture, +And in some poor disguise be there. Who knows +Whether my brows may not be girt with garlands, +And happiness prefer me to a place +Where I may ever dwell in sight of her? + +[_Exit Arcite._] + +SCENE IV. Athens. A room in the prison + +Enter Jailer’s Daughter alone. + +DAUGHTER. +Why should I love this gentleman? ’Tis odds +He never will affect me. I am base, +My father the mean keeper of his prison, +And he a prince. To marry him is hopeless; +To be his whore is witless. Out upon ’t! +What pushes are we wenches driven to +When fifteen 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 looked on. Next, I pitied him, +And so would any young wench, o’ my conscience, +That ever dreamed, or vowed her maidenhead +To a young handsome man. Then I loved him, +Extremely loved him, infinitely loved him! +And yet he had a cousin, fair as he too, +But in my heart was Palamon, and there, +Lord, what a coil he keeps! To hear 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 bows his noble body, then salutes me thus: +“Fair, gentle maid, good morrow. May thy goodness +Get thee a happy husband.” Once he kissed me; +I loved my lips the better ten days after. +Would he would do so ev’ry day! He grieves much— +And me as much to see his misery. +What should I do to make him know I love him? +For I would fain enjoy him. Say I ventured +To set him free? What says the law then? +Thus much for law or kindred! I will do it; +And this night, or tomorrow, he shall love me. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE V. An open place in Athens + +A short flourish of cornets and shouts within. Enter Theseus, +Hippolyta, Pirithous, Emilia; Arcite in disguise as a countryman, with +a garland, Attendants, and others. + +THESEUS. +You have done worthily. I have not seen, +Since Hercules, a man of tougher sinews. +Whate’er you are, you run the best and wrestle, +That these times can allow. + +ARCITE. +I am proud to please you. + +THESEUS. +What country 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 heir? + +ARCITE. +His youngest, sir. + +THESEUS. +Your father +Sure is a happy sire then. What profess you? + +ARCITE. +A little of all noble qualities. +I could have kept a hawk and well have hallowed +To a deep cry of dogs. I dare not praise +My feat in horsemanship, yet they that knew me +Would say it was my best piece; last, and greatest, +I would be thought a soldier. + +THESEUS. +You are perfect. + +PIRITHOUS. +Upon my soul, a proper man. + +EMILIA. +He is so. + +PIRITHOUS. +How do you like him, lady? + +HIPPOLYTA. +I admire him. +I have not seen so young a man so noble, +If he say true, of his sort. + +EMILIA. +Believe, +His mother was a wondrous handsome woman; +His face, methinks, goes that way. + +HIPPOLYTA. +But his body +And fiery mind illustrate a brave father. + +PIRITHOUS. +Mark how his virtue, like a hidden sun, +Breaks through his baser garments. + +HIPPOLYTA. +He’s well got, sure. + +THESEUS. +What made you seek this place, sir? + +ARCITE. +Noble Theseus, +To purchase name and do my ablest service +To such a well-found wonder as thy worth; +For only in thy court, of all the world, +Dwells fair-eyed Honour. + +PIRITHOUS. +All his words are worthy. + +THESEUS. +Sir, we are much indebted to your travel, +Nor shall you lose your wish.—Pirithous, +Dispose of this fair gentleman. + +PIRITHOUS. +Thanks, Theseus. +Whate’er you are, you’re mine, and I shall give you +To a most noble service: to this lady, +This bright young virgin; pray, observe her goodness. +You have honoured her fair birthday with your virtues, +And, as your due, you’re hers; kiss her fair hand, sir. + +ARCITE. +Sir, you’re a noble giver.—Dearest beauty, +Thus let me seal my vowed faith. + +[_He kisses her hand._] + +When your servant, +Your most unworthy creature, but offends you, +Command him die, he shall. + +EMILIA. +That were too cruel. +If you deserve well, sir, I shall soon see ’t. +You’re mine, and somewhat better than your rank +I’ll use you. + +PIRITHOUS. +I’ll see you furnished, and because you say +You are a horseman, I must needs entreat you +This afternoon 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 ready,— +And you, Emilia,—and you, friend,—and all, +Tomorrow by the sun, to do observance +To flowery May, in Dian’s wood.—Wait well, sir, +Upon your mistress.—Emily, I hope +He shall not go afoot. + +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’ll find a loving mistress. + +ARCITE. +If I do not, +Let me find that my father ever hated, +Disgrace and blows. + +THESEUS. +Go lead the way; you have won it. +It shall be so; you shall receive all dues +Fit for the honour you have won; ’twere wrong else. +Sister, beshrew my heart, you have a servant, +That, if I were a woman, would be master. +But you are wise. + +EMILIA. +I hope too wise for that, sir. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Athens. Before the prison + +Enter Jailer’s Daughter alone. + +DAUGHTER. +Let all the dukes and all the devils roar, +He is at liberty! I have ventured 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 brook, and there he shall keep close +Till I provide him files and food, for yet +His iron bracelets are not off. O Love, +What a stout-hearted child thou art! My father +Durst better have endured cold iron than done it. +I love him beyond love and beyond reason, +Or wit, or safety. I have made him know it; +I care not, I am desperate. If the law +Find me and then condemn me for ’t, some wenches, +Some honest-hearted maids, 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 do, maids will not so easily +Trust men again. And yet he has not thanked me +For what I have done; no, not so much as kissed me, +And that, methinks, is not so well; nor scarcely +Could I persuade him to become a free man, +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 do +What he will with me, so he use me kindly; +For use me so he shall, or I’ll proclaim him, +And to his face, no man. I’ll presently +Provide him necessaries and pack my clothes up, +And where there is a path of ground I’ll venture, +So he be with me. By him, like a shadow +I’ll ever dwell. Within this hour the hubbub +Will be all o’er the prison. I am then +Kissing the man they look for. Farewell, father! +Get many more such prisoners and such daughters, +And shortly you may keep yourself. Now to him. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A forest near Athens + + +Cornets in sundry places. Noise and hallowing as people a-Maying. Enter +Arcite alone. + +ARCITE. +The Duke has lost Hippolyta; each took +A several land. This is a solemn rite +They owe bloomed May, and the Athenians pay it +To th’ heart of ceremony. O Queen Emilia, +Fresher than May, sweeter +Than her gold buttons on the boughs, or all +Th’ enameled knacks o’ th’ mead or garden—yea, +We challenge too the bank of any nymph +That makes the stream seem flowers; thou, O jewel +O’ th’ wood, o’ th’ world, hast likewise blessed a pace +With thy sole presence. In thy rumination +That I, poor man, might eftsoons come between +And chop on some cold thought! Thrice blessed chance +To drop on such a mistress, expectation +Most guiltless on ’t. Tell me, O Lady Fortune, +Next after Emily my sovereign, how far +I may be proud. She takes strong note of me, +Hath made me near her, and this beauteous morn, +The prim’st of all the year, presents me with +A brace of horses; two such steeds might well +Be by a pair of kings backed, in a field +That their crowns’ titles tried. Alas, alas, +Poor cousin Palamon, poor prisoner, thou +So little dream’st upon my fortune that +Thou think’st thyself the happier thing, to be +So near Emilia; me thou deem’st at Thebes, +And therein wretched, although free. But if +Thou knew’st my mistress breathed on me, and that +I eared her language, lived in her eye, O coz, +What passion would enclose thee! + +Enter Palamon as out of a bush, with his shackles; he bends his fist at +Arcite. + +PALAMON. +Traitor kinsman, +Thou shouldst perceive my passion, if these signs +Of prisonment were off me, and this hand +But owner of a sword. By all oaths in one, +I and the justice of my love would make thee +A confessed traitor! O thou most perfidious +That ever gently looked, the void’st of honour +That e’er bore gentle token, falsest cousin +That ever blood made kin! Call’st thou her thine? +I’ll prove it in my shackles, with these hands, +Void of appointment, that thou liest, and art +A very thief in love, a chaffy lord, +Nor worth the name of villain. Had I a sword, +And these house-clogs away— + +ARCITE. +Dear cousin Palamon— + +PALAMON. +Cozener Arcite, give me language such +As thou hast showed me feat. + +ARCITE. +Not finding in +The circuit of my breast any gross stuff +To form me like your blazon holds me to +This gentleness of answer. ’Tis your passion +That thus mistakes, the which, to you being enemy, +Cannot to me be kind. Honour and honesty +I cherish and depend on, howsoe’er +You skip them in me, and with them, fair coz, +I’ll maintain my proceedings. Pray be pleased +To show in generous terms your griefs, since that +Your question’s with your equal, who professes +To clear his own way with the mind and sword +Of a true gentleman. + +PALAMON. +That thou durst, Arcite! + +ARCITE. +My coz, my coz, you have been well advertised +How much I dare; you’ve seen me use my sword +Against th’ advice of fear. Sure, of another +You would not hear me doubted, but your silence +Should break out, though i’ th’ sanctuary. + +PALAMON. +Sir, +I have seen you move in such a place, which well +Might justify your manhood; you were called +A good knight and a bold. But the whole week’s not fair +If any day it rain. Their valiant temper +Men lose when they incline to treachery; +And then they fight like compelled bears, would fly +Were they not tied. + +ARCITE. +Kinsman, you might as well +Speak this and act it in your glass as to +His ear which now disdains you. + +PALAMON. +Come up to me; +Quit me of these cold gyves, give me a sword +Though it be rusty, and the charity +Of one meal lend me. Come before me then, +A good sword in thy hand, and do but say +That Emily is thine, I will forgive +The trespass thou hast done me, yea, my life, +If then thou carry ’t; and brave souls in shades +That have died manly, which will seek of me +Some news from earth, they shall get none but this: +That thou art brave and noble. + +ARCITE. +Be content. +Again betake you to your hawthorn house. +With counsel 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 yourself and say but “Arcite, +I am in plight,” there shall be at your choice +Both sword and armour. + +PALAMON. +Oh you heavens, dares any +So noble bear a guilty business? None +But only Arcite, therefore none but Arcite +In this kind is so bold. + +ARCITE. +Sweet Palamon. + +PALAMON. +I do embrace you and your offer; for +Your offer do ’t I only, sir; your person, +Without hypocrisy I may not wish +More than my sword’s edge on ’t. + +[_Wind horns of cornets._] + +ARCITE. +You hear the horns. +Enter your musit, lest this match between ’s +Be crossed ere met. Give me your hand; farewell. +I’ll bring you every needful thing. I pray you, +Take comfort and be strong. + +PALAMON. +Pray hold your promise, +And do the deed with a bent brow. Most certain +You love me not; be rough with me, and pour +This oil out of your language. By this air, +I could for each word give a cuff, my stomach +Not reconciled by reason. + +ARCITE. +Plainly spoken. +Yet pardon me hard language. When I spur +My horse, I chide him not; content and anger +In me have but one face. + +[_Wind horns._] + +Hark, sir, they call +The scattered to the banquet. You must guess +I have an office there. + +PALAMON. +Sir, your attendance +Cannot please heaven, and I know your office +Unjustly is achieved. + +ARCITE. +’Tis a good title. +I am persuaded, this question, sick between ’s, +By bleeding must be cured. I am a suitor +That to your sword you will bequeath this plea, +And talk of it no more. + +PALAMON. +But this one word: +You are going now to gaze upon my mistress, +For, note you, mine she is— + +ARCITE. +Nay, then— + +PALAMON. +Nay, pray you, +You talk of feeding me to breed me strength. +You are going now to look upon a sun +That strengthens what it looks on; there +You have a vantage o’er me. But enjoy ’t till +I may enforce my remedy. Farewell. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another Part of the forest + +Enter Jailer’s Daughter alone. + +DAUGHTER. +He has mistook the brake I meant, is gone +After his fancy. ’Tis now well-nigh morning. +No matter; would it were perpetual night, +And darkness lord o’ th’ world. Hark, ’tis a wolf! +In me hath grief slain fear, and but for one thing, +I care for nothing, and that’s Palamon. +I reck not if the wolves would jaw me, so +He had this file. What if I hallowed for him? +I cannot hallow. If I whooped, what then? +If he not answered, I should call a wolf, +And do him but that service. I have heard +Strange howls this livelong night; why may ’t not be +They have made prey of him? He has no weapons; +He cannot run; the jingling of his gyves +Might call fell things to listen, who have in them +A sense to know a man unarmed and can +Smell where resistance is. I’ll set it down +He’s torn to pieces; they howled many together, +And then they fed on him. So much for that. +Be bold to ring the bell. How stand I then? +All’s chared when he is gone. No, no, I lie. +My father’s to be hanged for his escape; +Myself to beg, if I prized life so much +As to deny my act; but that I would not, +Should I try death by dozens. I am moped. +Food took I none these two days; +Sipped some water. I have not closed mine eyes +Save when my lids scoured off their brine. Alas, +Dissolve, my life! Let not my sense unsettle, +Lest I should drown, or stab, or hang myself. +O state of nature, fail together in me, +Since thy best props are warped! So, which way now? +The best way is the next way to a grave; +Each errant step beside is torment. Lo, +The moon is down, the crickets chirp, the screech owl +Calls in the dawn. All offices are done +Save what I fail in. But the point is this: +An end, and that is all. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. The same part of the forest as in scene I. + +Enter Arcite with meat, wine and files. + +ARCITE. +I should be near the place.—Ho! Cousin Palamon! + +PALAMON. +[_From the bush._] Arcite? + +ARCITE. +The same. I have brought you food and files. +Come forth and fear not; here’s no Theseus. + +Enter Palamon. + +PALAMON. +Nor none so honest, Arcite. + +ARCITE. +That’s no matter. +We’ll argue that hereafter. Come, take courage; +You shall not die thus beastly. Here, sir, drink— +I know you are faint—then I’ll talk further with you. + +PALAMON. +Arcite, thou mightst now poison me. + +ARCITE. +I might; +But I must fear you first. Sit down and, good now, +No more of these vain parleys; let us not, +Having our ancient reputation with us, +Make talk for fools and cowards. To your health. + +[_Drinks._] + +PALAMON. +Do. + +ARCITE. +Pray sit down, then, and let me entreat you, +By all the honesty and honour in you, +No mention of this woman; ’twill disturb us. +We shall have time enough. + +PALAMON. +Well, sir, I’ll pledge you. + +[_Drinks._] + +ARCITE. +Drink a good hearty draught; it breeds good blood, man. +Do not you feel it thaw you? + +PALAMON. +Stay, I’ll tell you +After a draught or two more. + +ARCITE. +Spare it not; the Duke has more, coz. Eat now. + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +[_Eats._] + +ARCITE. +I am glad you have so good a stomach. + +PALAMON. +I am gladder I have so good meat to ’t. + +ARCITE. +Is’t not mad lodging, +Here in the wild woods, cousin? + +PALAMON. +Yes, for them +That have wild consciences. + +ARCITE. +How tastes your victuals? +Your hunger needs no sauce, I see. + +PALAMON. +Not much. +But if it did, yours is too tart, sweet cousin. +What is this? + +ARCITE. +Venison. + +PALAMON. +’Tis a lusty meat. +Give me more wine. Here, Arcite, to the wenches +We have known in our days! The Lord Steward’s daughter, +Do you remember her? + +ARCITE. +After you, coz. + +PALAMON. +She loved a black-haired 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, coz? Play o’ th’ virginals? + +ARCITE. +Something she did, sir. + +PALAMON. +Made her groan a month for ’t, +Or two, or three, or ten. + +ARCITE. +The Marshal’s sister +Had her share too, as I remember, cousin, +Else there be tales abroad. You’ll pledge her? + +PALAMON. +Yes. + +ARCITE. +A pretty brown wench ’tis. There was a time +When young men went a-hunting, and a wood, +And a broad beech; and thereby hangs a tale. +Heigh ho! + +PALAMON. +For Emily, upon my life! Fool, +Away with this strained mirth! I say again +That sigh was breathed for Emily. Base cousin, +Dar’st thou break first? + +ARCITE. +You are wide. + +PALAMON. +By heaven and earth, +There’s nothing in thee honest. + +ARCITE. +Then I’ll leave you. +You are a beast now. + +PALAMON. +As thou mak’st me, traitor. + +ARCITE. +There’s all things needful: files and shirts and perfumes. +I’ll come again some two hours hence, and bring +That that shall quiet all. + +PALAMON. +A sword and armour? + +ARCITE. +Fear me not. You are now too foul. Farewell. +Get off your trinkets; you shall want naught. + +PALAMON. +Sirrah— + +ARCITE. +I’ll hear no more. + +[_Exit._] + +PALAMON. +If he keep touch, he dies for ’t. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of the forest + +Enter Jailer’s Daughter. + +DAUGHTER. +I am very cold, and all the stars are out too, +The little stars and all, that look like aglets. +The sun has seen my folly. Palamon! +Alas, no; he’s in heaven. Where am I now? +Yonder’s the sea, and there’s a ship; how ’t tumbles! +And there’s a rock lies watching under water; +Now, now, it beats upon it; now, now, now, +There’s a leak sprung, a sound one! How they cry! +Run her before the wind, you’ll lose all else. +Up with a course or two, and tack about, boys! +Good night, good night; you’re gone. I am very hungry. +Would I could find a fine frog; he would tell me +News from all parts o’ th’ world; then would I make +A carrack of a cockle shell, and sail +By east and north-east to the king of pygmies, +For he tells fortunes rarely. Now my father, +Twenty to one, is trussed up in a trice +Tomorrow morning. I’ll say never a word. + +[_Sings._] + +_For I’ll cut my green coat a foot above my knee, +And I’ll clip my yellow locks an inch below mine eye. +Hey nonny, nonny, nonny. +He’s buy me a white cut, forth for to ride, +And I’ll go seek him through the world that is so wide. +Hey nonny, nonny, nonny._ +O, for a prick now, like a nightingale, +To put my breast against. I shall sleep like a top else. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the forest + +Enter a Schoolmaster and five Countrymen, one dressed as a Bavian. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Fie, fie, +What tediosity and disinsanity +Is here among ye! Have my rudiments +Been laboured so long with ye, milked unto ye, +And, by a figure, even the very plum-broth +And marrow of my understanding laid upon ye, +And do you still cry “Where?” and “How?” and “Wherefore?” +You most coarse-frieze capacities, ye jean judgements, +Have I said “Thus let be” and “There let be” +And “Then let be” and no man understand me? +_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 appears; I meet him +And unto him I utter learned things +And many figures; he hears, and nods, and hums, +And then cries “Rare!” and I go forward. At length +I fling my cap up—mark there! Then do you +As once did Meleager and the boar, +Break comely out before him; like true lovers, +Cast yourselves in a body decently, +And sweetly, by a figure, trace and turn, boys. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +And sweetly we will do it, Master Gerald. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +Draw up the company. Where’s the taborer? + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +Why, Timothy! + +TABORER. +Here, my mad boys, have at ye. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +But I say, where’s their women? + +Enter five Countrywomen. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Here’s Friz and Maudlin. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +And little Luce with the white legs, and bouncing Barbary. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +And freckled Nel, that never failed her master. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Where be your ribbons, maids? Swim with your bodies, +And carry it sweetly and deliverly, +And now and then a favour and a frisk. + +NEL. +Let us alone, sir. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Where’s the rest o’ th’ music? + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +Dispersed, as you commanded. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Couple, then, +And see what’s wanting. Where’s the Bavian? +My friend, carry your tail without offence +Or scandal to the ladies; and be sure +You tumble with audacity and manhood; +And when you bark, do it with judgement. + +BAVIAN. +Yes, sir. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +_Quo usque tandem?_ Here is a woman wanting. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +We may go whistle; all the fat’s i’ th’ fire. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +We have, +as learned authors utter, washed a tile. +we have been _fatuus_ and laboured vainly. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +This is that scornful piece, that scurvy hilding, +That gave her promise faithfully, she would be here, +Cicely, the sempster’s daughter. +The next gloves that I give her shall be dogskin! +Nay an she fail me once—You can tell, Arcas, +She swore by wine and bread, she would not break. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +An eel and woman, +A learned poet says, unless by th’ tail +And with thy teeth thou hold, will either fail. +In manners this was false position. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +A fire ill take her; does she flinch now? + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +What +Shall we determine, sir? + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Nothing. +Our business is become a nullity, +Yea, and a woeful and a piteous nullity. + +FOURTH COUNTRYMAN. +Now, when the credit of our town lay on it, +Now to be frampul, now to piss o’ th’ nettle! +Go thy ways; I’ll remember thee. I’ll fit thee. + +Enter Jailer’s 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 hailed, well hailed, you jolly gallants, +And whither now are you bound-a? +O let me have your company +Till I come to the sound-a._ + +_There was three fools fell out about an howlet: +The one said it was an owl, +The other he said nay, +The third he said it was a hawk, +And her bells were cut away._ + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +There’s a dainty mad woman, Master, +Comes i’ th’ nick, as mad as a March hare. +If we can get her dance, we are made again; +I warrant her, she’ll do the rarest gambols. + +FIRST COUNTRYMAN. +A madwoman? We are made, boys. + +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 fool. Tell ten. I have posed him. Buzz! +Friend, you must eat no white bread; if you do, +Your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we dance, ho? +I know you, you’re a tinker; sirrah tinker, +Stop no more holes but what you should. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +_Dii boni!_ A tinker, damsel? + +DAUGHTER. +Or a conjurer. +Raise me a devil now, and let him play +_Qui passa_ o’ th’ bells and bones. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Go, take her, +And fluently persuade her to a peace. +_Et opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis—_ +Strike up, and lead her in. + +SECOND COUNTRYMAN. +Come, lass, let’s trip it. + +DAUGHTER. +I’ll lead. + +THIRD COUNTRYMAN. +Do, do! + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Persuasively, and cunningly. +Away, boys; I hear the horns. Give me some meditation, +And mark your cue. + +[_Exeunt all but Schoolmaster._] + +Pallas inspire me. + +Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, and train. + +THESEUS. +This way the stag took. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Stay, and edify! + +THESEUS. +What have we here? + +PIRITHOUS. +Some country sport, upon my life, sir. + +THESEUS. +Well, sir, go forward; we will “edify.” +Ladies, sit down. We’ll stay it. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +Thou doughty Duke, all hail! All hail, 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 verity, and not to fable, +We are a merry rout, or else a _rabble_, +Or company, or by a figure, _chorus_, +That ’fore thy dignity will dance a morris. +And I that am the rectifier of all, +By title _pædagogus_, that let fall +The birch upon the breeches of the small ones, +And humble with a ferula the tall ones, +Do here present this machine, or this frame. +And, dainty Duke, whose doughty dismal fame +From Dis to Dædalus, from post to pillar, +Is blown abroad, help me, thy poor well-willer, +And with thy twinkling eyes look right and straight +Upon this mighty _Morr_, of mickle weight. +_Is_ now comes in, which being glued together +Makes _Morris_, and the cause that we came hither. +The body of our sport, of no small study. +I first appear, though rude and raw and muddy, +To speak before thy noble grace this tenner, +At whose great feet I offer up my penner. +The next, the Lord of May and Lady bright, +The Chambermaid and Servingman, by night +That seek out silent hanging; then mine Host +And his fat Spouse, that welcomes to their cost +The galled traveller, and with a beck’ning +Informs the tapster to inflame the reck’ning. +Then the beest-eating Clown and next the Fool, +The Bavian with long tail and eke long tool, +_Cum multis aliis_ that make a dance. +Say “Ay,” and all shall presently advance. + +THESEUS. +Ay, ay, by any means, dear _Domine_. + +PIRITHOUS. +Produce. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +_Intrate, filii!_ Come forth and foot it. + +Music. Enter the Countrymen, Countrywomen and Jailer’s Daughter; they +perform a morris dance. + +Ladies, if we have been merry +And have pleased ye with a derry, +And a derry, and a down, +Say the schoolmaster’s no clown. +Duke, if we have pleased thee too +And have done as good boys should do, +Give us but a tree or twain +For a Maypole, and again, +Ere another year run out, +We’ll make thee laugh, and all this rout. + +THESEUS. +Take twenty, _Domine_.—How does my sweetheart? + +HIPPOLYTA. +Never so pleased, sir. + +EMILIA. +’Twas an excellent dance, +And, for a preface, I never heard a better. + +THESEUS. +Schoolmaster, I thank you.—One see’em all rewarded. + +PIRITHOUS. +And here’s something to paint your pole withal. + +[_He gives money._] + +THESEUS. +Now to our sports again. + +SCHOOLMASTER. +May the stag thou hunt’st stand long, +And thy dogs be swift and strong; +May they kill him without lets, +And the ladies eat his dowsets. + +[_Exeunt Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite and Train. Horns +winded as they go out._] + +Come, we are all made. _Dii deæque omnes_, +You have danced rarely, wenches. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. The same part of the forest as in scene III. + +Enter Palamon from the bush. + +PALAMON. +About this hour my cousin gave his faith +To visit me again, and with him bring +Two swords and two good armours. If he fail, +He’s neither man nor soldier. When he left me, +I did not think a week could have restored +My lost strength to me, I was grown so low +And crestfall’n with my wants. I thank thee, Arcite, +Thou art yet a fair foe, and I feel myself, +With this refreshing, able once again +To outdure 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 soldier. Therefore, this blest morning +Shall be the last; and that sword he refuses, +If it but hold, I kill him with. ’Tis justice. +So, love and fortune for me! + +Enter Arcite with armours and swords. + +O, good morrow. + +ARCITE. +Good morrow, noble kinsman. + +PALAMON. +I have put you +To too much pains, sir. + +ARCITE. +That too much, fair cousin, +Is but a debt to honour, and my duty. + +PALAMON. +Would you were so in all, sir; I could wish ye +As kind a kinsman as you force me find +A beneficial foe, that my embraces +Might thank ye, not my blows. + +ARCITE. +I shall think either, +Well done, a noble recompence. + +PALAMON. +Then I shall quit you. + +ARCITE. +Defy me in these fair terms, and you show +More than a mistress to me. No more anger, +As you love anything that’s honourable! +We were not bred to talk, man; when we are armed +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 +Truly pertains—without upbraidings, scorns, +Despisings of our persons, and such poutings, +Fitter for girls and schoolboys—will be seen, +And quickly, yours or mine. Will ’t please you arm, sir? +Or, if you feel yourself not fitting yet +And furnished with your old strength, I’ll stay, cousin, +And every day discourse you into health, +As I am spared. Your person I am friends with, +And I could wish I had not said I loved her, +Though I had died; 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 cousin’s fit to kill thee. +I am well and lusty; choose your arms. + +ARCITE. +Choose you, sir. + +PALAMON. +Wilt thou exceed in all, or dost thou do it +To make me spare thee? + +ARCITE. +If you think so, cousin, +You are deceived, for as I am a soldier, +I will not spare you. + +PALAMON. +That’s well said. + +ARCITE. +You’ll find it. + +PALAMON. +Then, as I am an honest man and love +With all the justice of affection, +I’ll pay thee soundly. + +[_He chooses armour._] + +This I’ll take. + +ARCITE. +That’s mine, then. +I’ll arm you first. + +PALAMON. +Do. + +[_Arcite begins arming him._] + +Pray thee, tell me, cousin, +Where got’st thou this good armour? + +ARCITE. +’Tis the Duke’s, +And, to say true, I stole it. Do I pinch you? + +PALAMON. +No. + +ARCITE. +Is’t not too heavy? + +PALAMON. +I have worn a lighter, +But I shall make it serve. + +ARCITE. +I’ll buckle ’t close. + +PALAMON. +By any means. + +ARCITE. +You care not for a grand guard? + +PALAMON. +No, no; we’ll use no horses: I perceive +You would fain be at that fight. + +ARCITE. +I am indifferent. + +PALAMON. +Faith, so am I. Good cousin, thrust the buckle +Through far enough. + +ARCITE. +I warrant you. + +PALAMON. +My casque now. + +ARCITE. +Will you fight bare-armed? + +PALAMON. +We shall be the nimbler. + +ARCITE. +But use your gauntlets though. Those are o’ th’ least; +Prithee take mine, good cousin. + +PALAMON. +Thank you, Arcite. +How do I look? Am I fall’n much away? + +ARCITE. +Faith, very little; love has used you kindly. + +PALAMON. +I’ll warrant thee, I’ll strike home. + +ARCITE. +Do, and spare not. +I’ll give you cause, sweet cousin. + +PALAMON. +Now to you, sir. + +[_He begins to arm Arcite._] + +Methinks this armour’s very like that, Arcite, +Thou wor’st that day the three kings fell, but lighter. + +ARCITE. +That was a very good one; and that day, +I well remember, you outdid me, cousin; +I never saw such valour. When you charged +Upon the left wing of the enemy, +I spurred hard to come up, and under me +I had a right good horse. + +PALAMON. +You had indeed; +A bright bay, I remember. + +ARCITE. +Yes, but all +Was vainly laboured in me; you outwent me, +Nor could my wishes reach you. Yet a little +I did by imitation. + +PALAMON. +More by virtue; +You are modest, cousin. + +ARCITE. +When I saw you charge first, +Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of thunder +Break from the troop. + +PALAMON. +But still before that flew +The lightning of your valour. Stay a little; +Is not this piece too strait? + +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 thank ye, no; keep it; your life lies on it. +Here’s one; if it but hold, I ask no more +For all my hopes. My cause and honour guard me! + +ARCITE. +And me my love! + +[_They bow several ways, then advance and stand._] + +Is there aught else to say? + +PALAMON. +This only, and no more. Thou art mine aunt’s son. +And that blood we desire to shed is mutual, +In me thine, and in thee mine. My sword +Is in my hand, and if thou killest me, +The gods and I forgive thee. If there be +A place prepared for those that sleep in honour, +I wish his weary soul that falls may win it. +Fight bravely, cousin; give me thy noble hand. + +ARCITE. +Here, Palamon. This hand shall never more +Come near 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 trials. +Once more farewell, my cousin. + +PALAMON. +Farewell, Arcite. + +[_They fight. Horns within. They stand_.] + +ARCITE. +Lo, cousin, lo, our folly has undone us. + +PALAMON. +Why? + +ARCITE. +This is the Duke, a-hunting, as I told you. +If we be found, we are wretched. O, retire, +For honour’s sake and safety, presently +Into your bush again. Sir, we shall find +Too many hours to die in. Gentle cousin, +If you be seen, you perish instantly +For breaking prison and I, if you reveal me, +For my contempt. Then all the world will scorn us, +And say we had a noble difference, +But base disposers of it. + +PALAMON. +No, no, cousin, +I will no more be hidden, nor put off +This great adventure to a second trial; +I know your cunning and I know your cause. +He that faints now, shame take him! Put thyself +Upon thy present guard— + +ARCITE. +You are not mad? + +PALAMON. +Or I will make th’advantage of this hour +Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me +I fear less than my fortune. Know, weak cousin, +I love Emilia, and in that I’ll bury +Thee, and all crosses else. + +ARCITE. +Then, come what can come, +Thou shalt know, Palamon, I dare as well +Die, as discourse, or sleep. Only this fears me, +The law will have the honour of our ends. +Have at thy life! + +PALAMON. +Look to thine own well, Arcite. + +[_They fight. Horns within. They stand._] + +Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous and train. + +THESEUS. +What ignorant and mad malicious traitors +Are you, that ’gainst the tenor of my laws +Are making battle, thus like knights appointed, +Without my leave, and officers of arms? +By Castor, both shall die. + +PALAMON. +Hold thy word, Theseus. +We are certainly both traitors, both despisers +Of thee and of thy goodness. I am Palamon, +That cannot love thee, he that broke thy prison. +Think well what that deserves. And this is Arcite. +A bolder traitor never trod thy ground, +A falser ne’er seemed friend. This is the man +Was begged and banished; this is he contemns thee +And what thou dar’st do; and in this disguise, +Against thine own edict, follows thy sister, +That fortunate bright star, the fair Emilia, +Whose servant—if there be a right in seeing +And first bequeathing of the soul to—justly +I am; and, which is more, dares think her his. +This treachery, like a most trusty lover, +I called him now to answer. If thou be’st +As thou art spoken, great and virtuous, +The true decider of all injuries, +Say “Fight again,” and thou shalt see me, Theseus, +Do such a justice thou thyself wilt envy. +Then take my life; I’ll woo thee to ’t. + +PIRITHOUS. +O heaven, +What more than man is this! + +THESEUS. +I have sworn. + +ARCITE. +We seek not +Thy breath of mercy, Theseus. ’Tis to me +A thing as soon to die as thee to say it, +And no more moved. Where this man calls me traitor, +Let me say thus much: if in love be treason, +In service of so excellent a beauty, +As I love most, and in that faith will perish, +As I have brought my life here to confirm it, +As I have served her truest, worthiest, +As I dare kill this cousin that denies it, +So let me be most traitor, and you please me. +For scorning thy edict, Duke, ask that lady +Why she is fair, and why her eyes command me +Stay here to love her; and if she say “traitor,” +I am a villain fit to lie unburied. + +PALAMON. +Thou shalt have pity of us both, O Theseus, +If unto neither thou show mercy. Stop, +As thou art just, thy noble ear against us; +As thou art valiant, for thy cousin’s soul, +Whose twelve strong labours crown his memory, +Let’s die together at one instant, Duke; +Only a little let him fall before me, +That I may tell my soul he shall not have her. + +THESEUS. +I grant your wish, for, to say true, your cousin +Has ten times more offended, for I gave him +More mercy than you found, sir, your offences +Being no more than his. None here speak for ’em, +For, ere the sun set, both shall sleep for ever. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Alas the pity! Now or never, sister, +Speak, not to be denied. That face of yours +Will bear the curses else of after ages +For these lost cousins. + +EMILIA. +In my face, dear sister, +I find no anger to ’em, nor no ruin; +The misadventure of their own eyes kill ’em. +Yet that I will be woman and have pity, +My knees shall grow to’ th’ ground but I’ll get mercy. + +[_She kneels._] + +Help me, dear sister; in a deed so virtuous +The powers of all women will be with us. +Most royal brother— + +HIPPOLYTA. +[_Kneels._] Sir, by our tie of marriage— + +EMILIA. +By your own spotless honour— + +HIPPOLYTA. +By that faith, +That fair hand, and that honest heart you gave me— + +EMILIA. +By that you would have pity in another, +By your own virtues infinite— + +HIPPOLYTA. +By valour, +By all the chaste nights I have ever pleased you— + +THESEUS. +These are strange conjurings. + +PIRITHOUS. +Nay, then, I’ll in too. + +[_Kneels._] + +By all our friendship, sir, by all our dangers, +By all you love most: wars and this sweet lady— + +EMILIA. +By that you would have trembled to deny +A blushing maid— + +HIPPOLYTA. +By your own eyes, by strength, +In which you swore I went beyond all women, +Almost all men, and yet I yielded, Theseus— + +PIRITHOUS. +To crown all this, by your most noble soul, +Which cannot want due mercy, I beg first. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Next, hear my prayers. + +EMILIA. +Last, let me entreat, sir. + +PIRITHOUS. +For mercy. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Mercy. + +EMILIA. +Mercy on these princes. + +THESEUS. +Ye make my faith reel. Say I felt +Compassion to’em both, how would you place it? + +[_Emilia, Hippolyta and Pirithous rise._] + +EMILIA. +Upon their lives. But with their banishments. + +THESEUS. +You are a right woman, sister: you have pity, +But want the understanding where to use it. +If you desire their lives, invent a way +Safer than banishment. Can these two live, +And have the agony of love about ’em, +And not kill one another? Every day +They’d fight about you, hourly bring your honour +In public question with their swords. Be wise, then, +And here forget ’em; it concerns your credit +And my oath equally. I have said they die. +Better they fall by th’ law than one another. +Bow not my honour. + +EMILIA. +O, my noble brother, +That oath was rashly made, and in your anger; +Your reason will not hold it; if such vows +Stand for express will, all the world must perish. +Besides, I have another oath ’gainst yours, +Of more authority, I am sure more love, +Not made in passion neither, but good heed. + +THESEUS. +What is it, sister? + +PIRITHOUS. +Urge it home, brave lady. + +EMILIA. +That you would ne’er deny me anything +Fit for my modest suit and your free granting. +I tie you to your word now; if ye fail in ’t, +Think how you maim your honour— +For now I am set a-begging, sir, I am deaf +To all but your compassion—how their lives +Might breed the ruin of my name. Opinion! +Shall anything that loves me perish for me? +That were a cruel wisdom. Do men prune +The straight young boughs that blush with thousand blossoms +Because they may be rotten? O, Duke Theseus, +The goodly mothers that have groaned for these, +And all the longing maids that ever loved, +If your vow stand, shall curse me and my beauty, +And in their funeral songs for these two cousins +Despise my cruelty, and cry woe worth me, +Till I am nothing but the scorn of women. +For heaven’s sake, save their lives, and banish ’em. + +THESEUS. +On what conditions? + +EMILIA. +Swear ’em never more +To make me their contention, or to know me, +To tread upon thy dukedom, and to be, +Wherever they shall travel, ever strangers +To one another. + +PALAMON. +I’ll be cut a-pieces +Before I take this oath! Forget I love her? +O, all ye gods, despise me then! Thy banishment +I not mislike, so we may fairly 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 cousin +On any piece the earth has. + +THESEUS. +Will you, Arcite, +Take these conditions? + +PALAMON. +He’s a villain, then. + +PIRITHOUS. +These are men! + +ARCITE. +No, never, Duke. ’Tis worse to me than begging +To take my life so basely. Though I think +I never shall enjoy her, yet I’ll preserve +The honour of affection, and die for her, +Make death a devil. + +THESEUS. +What may be done? For now I feel compassion. + +PIRITHOUS. +Let it not fall again, 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 own eyes, and as noble +As ever fame yet spoke of. Look upon ’em, +And, if you can love, end this difference; +I give consent.—Are you content too, princes? + +BOTH. +With all our souls. + +THESEUS. +He that she refuses +Must die, then. + +BOTH. +Any death thou canst invent, Duke. + +PALAMON. +If I fall from that mouth, I fall with favour, +And lovers yet unborn shall bless my ashes. + +ARCITE. +If she refuse me, yet my grave will wed me, +And soldiers sing my epitaph. + +THESEUS. +Make choice, then. + +EMILIA. +I cannot, sir, they are both too excellent; +For me, a hair shall never fall of these men. + +HIPPOLYTA. +What will become of ’em? + +THESEUS. +Thus I ordain it +And, by mine honour, once again, it stands, +Or both shall die. You shall both to your country, +And each within this month, accompanied +With three fair knights, appear again in this place, +In which I’ll plant a pyramid; and whether, +Before us that are here, can force his cousin +By fair and knightly strength to touch the pillar, +He shall enjoy her; th’ other lose his head, +And all his friends; nor shall he grudge to fall, +Nor think he dies with interest in this lady. +Will this content ye? + +PALAMON. +Yes. Here, cousin Arcite, +I am friends again, till that hour. + +[_He offers his hand._] + +ARCITE. +I embrace ye. + +THESEUS. +Are you content, sister? + +EMILIA. +Yes, I must, sir, +Else both miscarry. + +THESEUS. +Come, shake hands again, then; +And take heed, as you are gentlemen, this quarrel +Sleep till the hour prefixed, and hold your course. + +PALAMON. +We dare not fail thee, Theseus. + +[_They shake hands._] + +THESEUS. +Come, I’ll give ye +Now usage like to princes, and to friends. +When ye return, who wins, I’ll settle here; +Who loses, yet I’ll weep upon his bier. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Athens. A room in the prison + + +Enter Jailer and his Friend. + +JAILER. +Hear you no more? Was nothing said of me +Concerning the escape of Palamon? +Good sir, remember. + +FIRST FRIEND. +Nothing that I heard, +For I came home before the business +Was fully ended. Yet I might perceive, +Ere I departed, a great likelihood +Of both their pardons; for Hippolyta +And fair-eyed Emily, upon their knees, +Begged with such handsome pity that the Duke +Methought stood staggering whether he should follow +His rash oath or the sweet compassion +Of those two ladies. And, to second them, +That truly noble prince, Pirithous, +Half his own heart, set in too, that I hope +All shall be well. Neither heard I one question +Of your name or his ’scape. + +JAILER. +Pray heaven it hold so. + +Enter Second Friend. + +SECOND FRIEND. +Be of good comfort, man; I bring you news, +Good news. + +JAILER. +They are welcome. + +SECOND FRIEND. +Palamon has cleared you, +And got your pardon, and discovered how +And by whose means he escaped, which was your daughter’s, +Whose pardon is procured too; and the prisoner, +Not to be held ungrateful to her goodness, +Has given a sum of money to her marriage, +A large one, I’ll assure you. + +JAILER. +You are a good man +And ever bring good news. + +FIRST FRIEND. +How was it ended? + +SECOND FRIEND. +Why, as it should be; they that never begged +But they prevailed had their suits fairly granted; +The prisoners have their lives. + +FIRST FRIEND. +I knew ’twould be so. + +SECOND FRIEND. +But there be new conditions, which you’ll hear of +At better time. + +JAILER. +I hope they are good. + +SECOND FRIEND. +They are honourable; +How good they’ll prove, I know not. + +FIRST FRIEND. +’Twill be known. + +Enter Wooer. + +WOOER. +Alas, sir, where’s your daughter? + +JAILER. +Why do you ask? + +WOOER. +O, sir, when did you see her? + +SECOND FRIEND. +How he looks? + +JAILER. +This morning. + +WOOER. +Was she well? Was she in health, sir? +When did she sleep? + +FIRST FRIEND. +These are strange questions. + +JAILER. +I do not think she was very well, for now +You make me mind her, but this very day +I asked her questions, and she answered me +So far from what she was, so childishly, +So sillily, as if she were a fool, +An innocent, and I was very angry. +But what of her, sir? + +WOOER. +Nothing but my pity. +But you must know it, and as good by me +As by another that less loves her. + +JAILER. +Well, sir? + +FIRST FRIEND. +Not right? + +SECOND FRIEND. +Not well? + +WOOER. +No, sir, not well: +’Tis too true, she is mad. + +FIRST FRIEND. +It cannot be. + +WOOER. +Believe, you’ll find it so. + +JAILER. +I half suspected +What you have told me. The gods comfort her! +Either this was her love to Palamon, +Or fear of my miscarrying on his ’scape, +Or both. + +WOOER. +’Tis likely. + +JAILER. +But why all this haste, sir? + +WOOER. +I’ll tell you quickly. As I late was angling +In the great lake that lies behind the palace, +From the far shore, thick set with reeds and sedges, +As patiently I was attending sport, +I heard a voice, a shrill one; and, attentive, +I gave my ear, when I might well perceive +’Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it +A boy or woman. I then left my angle +To his own skill, came near, but yet perceived not +Who made the sound, the rushes and the reeds +Had so encompassed it. I laid me down +And listened to the words she sung, for then, +Through a small glade cut by the fishermen, +I saw it was your daughter. + +JAILER. +Pray, go on, sir. + +WOOER. +She sung much, but no sense; only I heard her +Repeat this often: “Palamon is gone, +Is gone to th’ wood to gather mulberries; +I’ll find him out tomorrow.” + +FIRST FRIEND. +Pretty soul! + +WOOER. +“His shackles will betray him; he’ll be taken, +And what shall I do then? I’ll bring a bevy, +A hundred black-eyed maids that love as I do, +With chaplets on their heads of daffadillies, +With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses, +And all we’ll dance an antic ’fore the Duke, +And beg his pardon.” Then she talked of you, sir; +That you must lose your head tomorrow morning, +And she must gather flowers to bury you, +And see the house made handsome. Then she sung +Nothing but “Willow, willow, willow,” and between +Ever was “Palamon, fair Palamon,” +And “Palamon was a tall young man.” The place +Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses, +A wreath of bulrush rounded; about her stuck +Thousand fresh water-flowers of several colours, +That methought she appeared like the fair nymph +That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris +Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made +Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke +The prettiest posies: “Thus our true love’s tied,” +“This you may loose, not me,” and many a one; +And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed, +And with the same breath smiled and kissed her hand. + +SECOND FRIEND. +Alas, what pity it is! + +WOOER. +I made in to her. +She saw me, and straight sought the flood. I saved her +And set her safe to land, when presently +She slipped away, and to the city made +With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me, +She left me far behind her. Three or four +I saw from far off cross her—one of ’em +I knew to be your brother—where she stayed +And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her +And hither came to tell you. + +Enter Jailer’s Brother, Jailer’s Daughter and others. + +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 think you can. + +DAUGHTER. +Yes, truly can I. I can sing “The Broom” +and “Bonny Robin.” Are not you a tailor? + +BROTHER. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +Where’s my wedding gown? + +BROTHER. +I’ll bring it tomorrow. + +DAUGHTER. +Do, very rarely, I must be abroad else +To call the maids and pay the minstrels, +For I must lose my maidenhead by cocklight. +’Twill never thrive else. +[_Sings_.] _O fair, O sweet, &c._ + +BROTHER. +[_To Jailer._] You must e’en take it patiently. + +JAILER. +’Tis true. + +DAUGHTER. +Good ev’n, good men; pray, did you ever hear +Of one young Palamon? + +JAILER. +Yes, wench, we know him. + +DAUGHTER. +Is’t not a fine young gentleman? + +JAILER. +’Tis, love. + +BROTHER. +By no means cross her; she is then distempered +Far worse than now she shows. + +FIRST FRIEND. +Yes, he’s a fine man. + +DAUGHTER. +O, is he so? You have a sister? + +FIRST FRIEND. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +But she shall never have him, tell her so, +For a trick that I know; you’d best look to her, +For if she see him once, she’s gone, she’s done, +And undone in an hour. All the young maids +Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em +And let ’em all alone. Is ’t not a wise course? + +FIRST FRIEND. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +There is at least two hundred now with child by him— +There must be four; yet I keep close for all this, +Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys +He has the trick on ’t; and at ten years old +They must be all gelt for musicians +And sing the wars of Theseus. + +SECOND FRIEND. +This is strange. + +DAUGHTER. +As ever you heard, but say nothing. + +FIRST FRIEND. +No. + +DAUGHTER. +They come from all parts of the dukedom to him. +I’ll warrant ye, he had not so few last night +As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle ’t up +In two hours, if his hand be in. + +JAILER. +She’s lost +Past all cure. + +BROTHER. +Heaven forbid, man! + +DAUGHTER. +Come hither, you are a wise man. + +FIRST FRIEND. +[_Aside._] Does she know him? + +SECOND FRIEND. +[_Aside._] No, would she did. + +DAUGHTER. +You are master of a ship? + +JAILER. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +Where’s your compass? + +JAILER. +Here. + +DAUGHTER. +Set it to th’ north. +And now direct your course to th’ wood, where Palamon +Lies longing for me. For the tackling, +Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly. + +ALL. +Owgh, owgh, owgh! ’Tis up, the wind’s fair! +Top the bowline; out with the mainsail; +Where’s your whistle, master? + +BROTHER. +Let’s get her in. + +JAILER. +Up to the top, boy. + +BROTHER. +Where’s the pilot? + +FIRST FRIEND. +Here. + +DAUGHTER. +What kenn’st thou? + +SECOND FRIEND. +A fair wood. + +DAUGHTER. +Bear for it, master. Tack about! +[_Sings_.] + _When Cinthia with her borrowed light, &c._ + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Room in the Palace + +Enter Emilia alone, with two pictures. + +EMILIA. +Yet I may bind those wounds up, that must open +And bleed to death for my sake else. I’ll choose, +And end their strife. Two such young handsome men +Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers, +Following the dead cold ashes of their sons, +Shall never curse my cruelty. + +[_Looks at one of the pictures._] + +Good heaven, +What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise Nature, +With all her best endowments, all those beauties +She sows into the births of noble bodies, +Were here a mortal woman, and had in her +The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless +She would run mad for this man. What an eye, +Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness, +Has this young prince! Here Love himself sits smiling; +Just such another wanton Ganymede +Set Jove afire with, and enforced 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, +Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter, +Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and Honour, +Methinks, 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 near ’em. + +[_Looks at the other picture._] + +Palamon +Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow; +He’s swart 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 sharpness, not a smile. +Yet these that we count errors may become him; +Narcissus was a sad boy but a heavenly. +O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy? +I am a fool; my reason is lost in me; +I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly +That women ought to beat me. On my knees +I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone +And only beautiful, and these the eyes, +These the bright lamps of beauty, that command +And threaten love, and what young maid dare cross ’em? +What a bold gravity, and yet inviting, +Has this brown manly face! O Love, this only +From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite. + +[_She puts aside his picture._] + +Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy, +And this the noble body. I am sotted, +Utterly lost. My virgin’s faith has fled me. +For if my brother but even now had asked me +Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite; +Now, if my sister, more for Palamon. +Stand both together. Now, come ask me, brother. +Alas, I know not! Ask me now, sweet sister. +I may go look! What a mere child is Fancy, +That, having two fair gauds of equal sweetness, +Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both. + +Enter a Gentleman. + +EMILIA. +How now, sir? + +GENTLEMAN. +From the noble Duke your brother, +Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come. + +EMILIA. +To end the quarrel? + +GENTLEMAN. +Yes. + +EMILIA. +Would I might end first! +What sins have I committed, chaste Diana, +That my unspotted youth must now be soiled +With blood of princes, and my chastity +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 beauty? + +Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous and Attendants. + +THESEUS. +Bring ’em in +Quickly, by any means; I long to see ’em. +Your two contending lovers are returned, +And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister, +You must love one of them. + +EMILIA. +I had rather both, +So neither for my sake should fall untimely. + +THESEUS. +Who saw ’em? + +PIRITHOUS. +I a while. + +GENTLEMAN. +And I. + +Enter Messenger. + +THESEUS. +From whence come you, sir? + +MESSENGER. +From the knights. + +THESEUS. +Pray, speak, +You that have seen them, what they are. + +MESSENGER. +I will, sir, +And truly what I think. Six braver spirits +Than 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 looks so say him; his complexion +Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble, +Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers; +The circles of his eyes show fire within him, +And as a heated lion so he looks. +His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining +Like ravens’ wings; his shoulders broad and strong; +Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword +Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns +To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience, +Was never soldier’s friend. + +THESEUS. +Thou hast well described him. + +PIRITHOUS. +Yet a great deal short, +Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon. + +THESEUS. +Pray, speak him, friend. + +PIRITHOUS. +I guess he is a prince too, +And, if it may be, greater; for his show +Has all the ornament of honour in ’t: +He’s somewhat bigger than 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 own. In ’s face appears +All the fair hopes of what he undertakes +And when he’s angry, then a settled valour, +Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body +And guides his arm to brave things. Fear he cannot; +He shows no such soft temper. His head’s yellow, +Hard-haired and curled, thick-twined like ivy tods, +Not to undo with thunder. In his face +The livery of the warlike maid appears, +Pure red and white, for yet no beard has blessed him; +And in his rolling eyes sits Victory, +As if she ever meant to crown 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? + +PIRITHOUS. +When he speaks, his tongue +Sounds like a trumpet. All his lineaments +Are as a man would wish ’em, strong and clean. +He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold; +His age some five-and-twenty. + +MESSENGER. +There’s another, +A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming +As great as any; fairer promises +In such a body yet I never looked on. + +PIRITHOUS. +O, he that’s freckle-faced? + +MESSENGER. +The same, my lord; +Are they not sweet ones? + +PIRITHOUS. +Yes, they are well. + +MESSENGER. +Methinks, +Being so few and well disposed, they show +Great and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired, +Not wanton white, but such a manly colour +Next to an auburn; tough and nimble-set, +Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny, +Lined with strong sinews. To the shoulder-piece +Gently they swell, like women new-conceived, +Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting +Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted still, +But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed, +Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp +To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em, +He’s swift to make ’em his. He does no wrongs, +Nor takes none. He’s round-faced, and when he smiles +He shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier. +About his head he wears the winner’s oak, +And in it stuck the favour of his lady. +His age some six-and-thirty. In his hand +He bears a charging-staff embossed with silver. + +THESEUS. +Are they all thus? + +PIRITHOUS. +They are all the sons of honour. + +THESEUS. +Now, as I have a soul, I long to see’em. +Lady, you shall see men fight now. + +HIPPOLYTA. +I wish it, +But not the cause, my lord. They would show +Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms. +’Tis pity love should be so tyrannous.— +O, my soft-hearted sister, what think you? +Weep not till they weep blood. Wench, it must be. + +THESEUS. +You have steeled ’em with your beauty. +Honoured friend, +To you I give the field; pray order it +Fitting the persons that must use it. + +PIRITHOUS. +Yes, sir. + +THESEUS. +Come, I’ll go visit ’em. I cannot stay, +Their fame has fired me so; till they appear. +Good friend, be royal. + +PIRITHOUS. +There shall want no bravery. + +[_Exeunt all but Emilia._] + +EMILIA. +Poor wench, go weep, for whosoever wins, +Loses a noble cousin for thy sins. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A room in the prison + +Enter Jailer, Wooer and Doctor. + +DOCTOR. +Her distraction is more at some time of the moon, than at other some, +is it not? + +JAILER. +She is continually in a harmless distemper, sleeps little, altogether +without appetite, save often drinking, dreaming of another world, and a +better; and what broken piece of matter soe’er she’s about, the name +Palamon lards it, that she farces every business withal, fits it to +every question. + +Enter Jailer’s Daughter. + +Look where she comes; you shall perceive her behaviour. + +DAUGHTER. +I have forgot it quite. The burden on ’t was “Down-a, down-a,” and +penned by no worse man than Geraldo, Emilia’s schoolmaster. He’s as +fantastical, too, as ever he may go upon’s legs, for in the next world +will Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Æneas. + +DOCTOR. +What stuff’s here? Poor soul! + +JAILER. +Even thus all day long. + +DAUGHTER. +Now for this charm that I told you of: you must bring a piece of silver +on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry. Then if it be your chance to +come where the blessed spirits are, there’s a sight now! We maids that +have our livers perished, cracked to pieces with love, we shall come +there, and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with Proserpine. +Then will I make Palamon a nosegay; then let him mark me—then. + +DOCTOR. +How prettily she’s amiss! Note her a little further. + +DAUGHTER. +Faith, I’ll tell you, sometime we go to barley-break, we of the +blessed. Alas, ’tis a sore life they have i’ th’ other place—such +burning, frying, boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing—O, they +have shrewd measure; take heed! If one be mad, or hang or drown +themselves, thither they go; Jupiter bless us! And there shall we be +put in a cauldron of lead and usurers’ grease, amongst a whole million +of cutpurses, and there boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be +enough. + +DOCTOR. +How her brain coins! + +DAUGHTER. +Lords and courtiers that have got maids with child, they are in this +place. They shall stand in fire up to the navel and in ice up to the +heart, and there th’ offending part burns and the deceiving part +freezes. In troth, a very grievous punishment, as one would think, for +such a trifle. Believe me, one would marry a leprous witch to be rid on +’t, I’ll assure you. + +DOCTOR. +How she continues this fancy! ’Tis not an engraffed madness, but a most +thick, and profound melancholy. + +DAUGHTER. +To hear there a proud lady and a proud city wife howl together! I were +a beast an I’d call it good sport. One cries “O this smoke!” th’ other, +“This fire!”; one cries, “O, that ever I did it behind the arras!” and +then howls; th’ other curses a suing fellow and her garden house. + +[_Sings._] + _I will be true, my stars, my fate, &c._ + +[_Exit Jailer’s Daughter._] + +JAILER. +What think you of her, sir? + +DOCTOR. +I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot minister to. + +JAILER. +Alas, what then? + +DOCTOR. +Understand you she ever affected any man ere she beheld Palamon? + +JAILER. +I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her liking on this +gentleman, my friend. + +WOOER. +I did think so too, and would account I had a great penn’orth on’t, to +give half my state, that both she and I at this present stood +unfeignedly on the same terms. + +DOCTOR. +That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath distempered the other senses. +They may return and settle again to execute their preordained +faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must +do: confine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in +than be permitted. Take upon you, young sir, her friend, the name of +Palamon; say you come to eat with her, and to commune of love. This +will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon; other objects +that are inserted ’tween her mind and eye become the pranks and +friskins of her madness. Sing to her such green songs of love as she +says Palamon hath sung in prison. Come to her stuck in as sweet flowers +as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some +other compounded odours which are grateful to the sense. All this shall +become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet and every +good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still +among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her +favour. Learn what maids have been her companions and play-feres, and +let them repair to her with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with +tokens, as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, +which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to +sleep, and reduce what’s now out of square in her into their former law +and regiment. I have seen it approved, how many times I know not, but +to make the number more I have great hope in this. I will, between the +passages of this project, come in with my appliance. Let us put it in +execution and hasten the success, which, doubt not, will bring forth +comfort. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Athens. Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana + + +Flourish. Enter Theseus, Pirithous, Hippolyta and Attendants. + +THESEUS. +Now let ’em enter and before the gods +Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples +Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars +In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense +To those above us. Let no due be wanting. +They have a noble work in hand, will honour +The very powers that love ’em. + +PIRITHOUS. +Sir, they enter. + +Enter Palamon and Arcite and their Knights. + +THESEUS. +You valiant and strong-hearted enemies, +You royal german foes, that this day come +To blow that nearness out that flames between ye, +Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like, +Before the holy altars of your helpers, +The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies. +Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be; +And, as the gods regard ye, fight with justice. +I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye +I part my wishes. + +PIRITHOUS. +Honour crown the worthiest. + +[_Exeunt Theseus and his Train._] + +PALAMON. +The glass is running now that cannot finish +Till one of us expire. Think you but thus, +That were there aught in me which strove to show +Mine enemy in this business, were ’t one eye +Against another, arm oppressed by arm, +I would destroy th’ offender, coz, I would +Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather +How I should tender you. + +ARCITE. +I am in labour +To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred +Out of my memory, and i’ th’ selfsame place +To seat something I would confound. So hoist we +The sails that must these vessels port even where +The heavenly limiter pleases. + +PALAMON. +You speak well. +Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin. +This I shall never do again. + +ARCITE. +One farewell. + +PALAMON. +Why, let it be so. Farewell, coz. + +ARCITE. +Farewell, sir. + +[_Exeunt Palamon and his Knights._] + +Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices, +True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you +Expels the seeds of fear and th’ apprehension +Which still is father of it, go with me +Before the god of our profession. There +Require of him the hearts of lions and +The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too, +Yea, the speed also—to go on, I mean; +Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize +Must be dragged out of blood; force and great feat +Must put my garland on, where she sticks, +The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then, +Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern +Brimmed with the blood of men. Give me your aid, +And bend your spirits towards him. + +[_They advance to the altar of Mars, fall on their faces before it, and +then kneel._] + +Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turned +Green Neptune into purple; whose approach +Comets prewarn, whose havoc in vast field +Unearthed skulls proclaim; whose breath blows down +The teeming Ceres’ foison, who dost pluck +With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds +The masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’st +The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil, +Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day +With military skill, that to thy laud +I may advance my streamer, and by thee +Be styled 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 armour, with a short thunder, as the burst of a battle, +whereupon they all rise and bow to the altar._] + +O, great corrector of enormous times, +Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider +Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood +The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world +O’ th’ pleurisy of people; I do take +Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name +To my design march boldly.—Let us go. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Enter Palamon and his Knights, with the former observance. + +PALAMON. +Our stars must glister with new fire, or be +Today extinct. Our argument is love, +Which, if the goddess of it grant, she gives +Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine, +You whose free nobleness do make my cause +Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus +Commend we our proceeding, and implore +Her power unto our party. + +[_Here they kneel as formerly._] + +Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power +To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage +And weep unto a girl; that hast the might +Even with an eye-glance to choke Mars’s drum +And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make +A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him +Before Apollo; that mayst force the king +To be his subject’s vassal, and induce +Stale gravity to dance. The polled bachelor, +Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires, +Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch, +And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat, +Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power +Hast thou not power upon? To Phœbus thou +Add’st flames hotter than his; the heavenly fires +Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress, +All moist and cold, some say, began to throw +Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace +Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke +As ’twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier +Than lead itself, stings more than nettles. +I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law, +Ne’er revealed secret, for I knew none—would not, +Had I kenned all that were. I never practised +Upon man’s wife, nor would the libels read +Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts +Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed +At simpering sirs that did. I have been harsh +To large confessors, and have hotly asked them +If they had mothers—I had one, a woman, +And women ’twere they wronged. I knew a man +Of eighty winters, this I told them, who +A lass of fourteen brided; ’twas thy power +To put life into dust. The aged cramp +Had screwed his square foot round; +The gout had knit his fingers into knots, +Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes +Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life +In him seemed torture. This anatomy +Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I +Believed it was his, for she swore it was, +And who would not believe her? Brief, I am +To those that prate and have done, no companion; +To those that boast and have not, a defier; +To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer. +Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices +The foulest way, nor names concealments in +The boldest language. Such a one I am, +And vow that lover never yet made sigh +Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess, +Give me the victory of this question, which +Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign +Of thy great pleasure. + +[_Here music is heard; doves are seen to flutter. They fall again upon +their faces, then on their knees._] + +O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st +In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world +And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks +For this fair token, which being laid unto +Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance +My body to this business.—Let us rise +And bow before the goddess. + +[_They rise and bow._] + +Time comes on. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Still music of recorders. Enter Emilia in white, her hair about her +shoulders, wearing a wheaten wreath. One in white holding up her train, +her hair stuck with flowers. One before her carrying a silver hind, in +which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the +altar of Diana, her maids standing aloof, she sets fire to it; then +they curtsy and kneel. + +EMILIA. +O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen, +Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative, +Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure +As wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knights +Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush, +Which is their order’s robe, I here, thy priest, +Am humbled ’fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe +With that thy rare green eye, which never yet +Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin; +And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear, +Which ne’er heard scurrile term, into whose port +Ne’er entered wanton sound, to my petition, +Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last +Of vestal office. I am bride-habited +But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed, +But do not know him. Out of two I should +Choose one, and pray for his success, but I +Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes, +Were I to lose one, they are equal precious; +I could doom neither; that which perished should +Go to ’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen, +He of the two pretenders that best loves me +And has the truest title in ’t, let him +Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant +The file and quality I hold I may +Continue in thy band. + +[_Here the hind vanishes under the altar, and in the place ascends a +rose tree, having one rose upon it._] + + See what our general of ebbs and flows +Out from the bowels of her holy altar +With sacred act advances: but one rose! +If well inspired, this battle shall confound +Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flower, +Must grow alone, unplucked. + +[_Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from +the tree._] + +The flower is fall’n, the tree descends. O mistress, +Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gathered; +I think so, but I know not thine own will. +Unclasp thy mystery!—I hope she’s pleased; +Her signs were gracious. + +[_They curtsy and exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Athens. A Room in the Prison + +Enter Doctor, Jailer and Wooer in the habit 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 half persuaded her that I am Palamon; +Within this half-hour she came smiling to me, +And asked me what I would eat, and when I would kiss her. +I told her “Presently,” and kissed her twice. + +DOCTOR. +’Twas well done. Twenty times had been far better, +For there the cure lies mainly. + +WOOER. +Then she told me +She would watch with me tonight, for well she knew +What hour my fit would take me. + +DOCTOR. +Let her do 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 every way. + +WOOER. +Alas, +I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way. + +DOCTOR. +That’s all one, if ye make a noise. +If she entreat again, do anything. +Lie with her, if she ask you. + +JAILER. +Hoa, there, doctor! + +DOCTOR. +Yes, in the way of cure. + +JAILER. +But first, by your leave, +I’ th’ way of honesty. + +DOCTOR. +That’s but a niceness, +Ne’er cast your child away for honesty. +Cure her first this way; then if she will be honest, +She has the path before her. + +JAILER. +Thank ye, Doctor. + +DOCTOR. +Pray, bring her in, +And let’s see how she is. + +JAILER. +I will, and tell her +Her Palamon stays for her. But, Doctor, +Methinks you are i’ th’ wrong still. + +[_Exit Jailer._] + +DOCTOR. +Go, go; +You fathers are fine fools. Her honesty? +An we should give her physic till we find that! + +WOOER. +Why, do you think she is not honest, sir? + +DOCTOR. +How old is she? + +WOOER. +She’s eighteen. + +DOCTOR. +She may be, +But that’s all one; ’tis nothing to our purpose. +Whate’er her father says, if you perceive +Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of, +_Videlicet_, the way of flesh—you have me? + +WOOER. +Yes, very well, sir. + +DOCTOR. +Please her appetite, +And do it home; it cures her, _ipso facto_, +The melancholy humour that infects her. + +WOOER. +I am of your mind, Doctor. + +Enter Jailer, Jailer’s Daughter and Maid. + +DOCTOR. +You’ll find it so. She comes, pray, humour her. + +JAILER. +Come, your love Palamon stays for you, child, +And has done this long hour, to visit you. + +DAUGHTER. +I thank him for his gentle patience; +He’s a kind gentleman, and I am much bound to him. +Did you ne’er see the horse he gave me? + +JAILER. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +How do you like him? + +JAILER. +He’s a very fair one. + +DAUGHTER. +You never saw him dance? + +JAILER. +No. + +DAUGHTER. +I have often. +He dances very finely, very comely, +And for a jig, come cut and long tail to him, +He turns ye like a top. + +JAILER. +That’s fine, indeed. + +DAUGHTER. +He’ll dance the morris twenty mile an hour, +And that will founder the best hobby-horse +If I have any skill in all the parish, +And gallops to the tune of “Light o’ love.” +What think you of this horse? + +JAILER. +Having these virtues, +I think he might be brought to play at tennis. + +DAUGHTER. +Alas, that’s nothing. + +JAILER. +Can he write and read too? + +DAUGHTER. +A very fair hand, and casts himself th’ accounts +Of all his hay and provender. That hostler +Must rise betime that cozens him. You know +The chestnut mare the Duke has? + +JAILER. +Very well. + +DAUGHTER. +She is horribly in love with him, poor beast; +But he is like his master, coy and scornful. + +JAILER. +What dowry has she? + +DAUGHTER. +Some two hundred bottles, +And twenty strike of oates; but he’ll ne’er have her. +He lisps in’s neighing, able to entice +A miller’s mare. He’ll be the death of her. + +DOCTOR. +What stuff she utters! + +JAILER. +Make curtsy; here your love comes. + +Enter Wooer and Doctor come forward. + +WOOER. +Pretty soul, +How do ye? That’s a fine maid; there’s a curtsy! + +DAUGHTER. +Yours to command i’ th’ way of honesty. +How far is’t now to’ th’ end o’ th’ world, my masters? + +DOCTOR. +Why, a day’s journey, wench. + +DAUGHTER. +Will you go with me? + +WOOER. +What shall we do there, wench? + +DAUGHTER. +Why, play at stool-ball; +What is there else to do? + +WOOER. +I am content, +If we shall keep our wedding there. + +DAUGHTER. +’Tis true, +For there, I will assure you, we shall find +Some blind priest for the purpose, that will venture +To marry us, for here they are nice and foolish. +Besides, my father must be hanged tomorrow, +And that would be a blot i’ th’ business. +Are not you Palamon? + +WOOER. +Do not you know me? + +DAUGHTER. +Yes, but you care not for me. I have nothing +But this poor petticoat, and two coarse smocks. + +WOOER. +That’s all one; I will have you. + +DAUGHTER. +Will you surely? + +WOOER. +[_Taking her hand._] Yes, by this fair hand, will I. + +DAUGHTER. +We’ll to bed, then. + +WOOER. +E’en when you will. + +[_Kisses her._] + +DAUGHTER. +[_Rubs off the kiss._] O sir, you would fain be nibbling. + +WOOER. +Why do you rub my kiss off? + +DAUGHTER. +’Tis a sweet one, +And will perfume me finely against the wedding. +Is not this your cousin Arcite? + +[_She indicates the Doctor._] + +DOCTOR. +Yes, sweetheart, +And I am glad my cousin Palamon +Has made so fair a choice. + +DAUGHTER. +Do you think he’ll have me? + +DOCTOR. +Yes, without doubt. + +DAUGHTER. +Do you think so too? + +JAILER. +Yes. + +DAUGHTER. +We shall have many children. [_To Doctor._] Lord, how you’re grown! +My Palamon, I hope, will grow too, finely, +Now he’s at liberty. Alas, poor chicken, +He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging, +But I’ll kiss him up again. + +Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +What do you here? You’ll lose the noblest sight +That e’er was seen. + +JAILER. +Are they i’ th’ field? + +MESSENGER. +They are. +You bear a charge there too. + +JAILER. +I’ll away straight. +I must e’en leave you here. + +DOCTOR. +Nay, we’ll go with you; +I will not lose the sight. + +JAILER. +How did you like her? + +DOCTOR. +I’ll warrant you, within these three or four days +I’ll make her right again. You must not from her, +But still preserve her in this way. + +WOOER. +I will. + +DOCTOR. +Let’s get her in. + +WOOER. +Come, sweet, we’ll go to dinner; +And then we’ll play at cards. + +DAUGHTER. +And shall we kiss too? + +WOOER. +A hundred times. + +DAUGHTER. +And twenty. + +WOOER. +Ay, and twenty. + +DAUGHTER. +And then we’ll sleep together. + +DOCTOR. +Take her offer. + +WOOER. +Yes, marry, will we. + +DAUGHTER. +But you shall not hurt me. + +WOOER. +I will not, sweet. + +DAUGHTER. +If you do, love, I’ll cry. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. A part of the Forest near Athens, and near the Place +appointed for the Combat + +Flourish. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Pirithous and some +Attendants. + +EMILIA. +I’ll no step further. + +PIRITHOUS. +Will you lose this sight? + +EMILIA. +I had rather see a wren hawk at a fly +Than this decision. Every blow that falls +Threats a brave life; each stroke laments +The place whereon it falls, and sounds more like +A bell than blade. I will stay here. +It is enough my hearing shall be punished +With what shall happen, ’gainst the which there is +No deafing, but to hear; not taint mine eye +With dread sights it may shun. + +PIRITHOUS. +Sir, my good lord, +Your sister will no further. + +THESEUS. +O, she must. +She shall see deeds of honour in their kind, +Which sometime show well, penciled. Nature now +Shall make and act the story, the belief +Both sealed with eye and ear. You must be present; +You are the victor’s meed, the price and garland +To crown the question’s title. + +EMILIA. +Pardon me; +If I were there, I’d wink. + +THESEUS. +You must be there; +This trial is as ’twere i’ th’ night, and you +The only star to shine. + +EMILIA. +I am extinct. +There is but envy in that light which shows +The one the other. Darkness, which ever was +The dam of horror, who does stand accursed +Of many mortal millions, may even now, +By casting her black mantle over both, +That neither could find other, get herself +Some part of a good name, and many a murder +Set off whereto she’s guilty. + +HIPPOLYTA. +You must go. + +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 needs be by +To give the service pay. + +EMILIA. +Sir, pardon me; +The title of a kingdom may be tried +Out of itself. + +THESEUS. +Well, well, then, at your pleasure. +Those that remain with you could wish their office +To any of their enemies. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Farewell, sister. +I am like to know your husband ’fore yourself +By some small start of time. He whom the gods +Do of the two know best, I pray them he +Be made your lot. + +[_Exeunt all but Emilia._] + +EMILIA. +Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye +Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon +In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage +Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon +Has a most menacing aspect; his brow +Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on; +Yet sometimes ’tis not so, but alters to +The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye +Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy +Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite’s mirth; +But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth, +So mingled as if mirth did make him sad +And sadness merry. Those darker humours that +Stick misbecomingly on others, on them +Live in fair dwelling. + +[_Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge._] + +Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite +The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me +And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to +The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity +Enough for such a chance? If I were by, +I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes +Towards my seat, and in that motion might +Omit a ward or forfeit an offence +Which craved that very time. It is much better +I am not there. + +[_Cornets. A great cry and noise within crying “À Palamon!”_] + +Oh better never born +Than minister to such harm. + +Enter Servant. + +What is the chance? + +SERVANT. +The cry’s “À Palamon.” + +EMILIA. +Then he has won. ’Twas ever likely. +He looked all grace and success, and he is +Doubtless the prim’st of men. I prithee run +And tell me how it goes. + +[_Shout and cornets, crying “À Palamon!”_] + +SERVANT. +Still “Palamon.” + +EMILIA. +Run and enquire. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +Poor servant, thou hast lost. +Upon my right side still I wore thy picture, +Palamon’s 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 lies; Palamon +Had the best-boding chance. + +[_Another cry and shout within, and cornets._] + +This burst of clamour +Is sure th’ end o’ th’ combat. + +Enter Servant. + +SERVANT. +They said that Palamon had Arcite’s body +Within an inch o’ th’ pyramid, that the cry +Was general “À Palamon.” But anon, +Th’ assistants made a brave redemption, and +The two bold titlers at this instant are +Hand to hand at it. + +EMILIA. +Were they metamorphosed +Both into one—O, why? There were no woman +Worth so composed a man! Their single share, +Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives +The prejudice of disparity, value’s shortness, +To any lady breathing. + +[_Cornets. Cry within, “Arcite, Arcite.”_] + +More exulting? +“Palamon” still? + +SERVANT. +Nay, now the sound is “Arcite.” + +EMILIA. +I prithee, lay attention to the cry; +Set both thine ears to th’ business. + +[_Cornets. A great shout and cry “Arcite, victory!”_] + + +SERVANT. +The cry is +“Arcite”, and “Victory!” Hark, “Arcite, victory!” +The combat’s consummation is proclaimed +By the wind instruments. + +EMILIA. +Half-sights saw +That Arcite was no babe. God’s lid, his richness +And costliness of spirit looked through him; it could +No more be hid in him than fire in flax, +Than humble banks can go to law with waters +That drift-winds force to raging. I did think +Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not +Why I did think so. Our reasons are not prophets +When oft our fancies are. They are coming off. +Alas, poor Palamon! + +Cornets. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and +Attendants. + +THESEUS. +Lo, where our sister is in expectation, +Yet quaking and unsettled.—Fairest Emily, +The gods by their divine arbitrament +Have given you this knight; he is a good one +As ever struck at head. Give me your hands. +Receive you her, you him; be plighted with +A love that grows as you decay. + +ARCITE. +Emily, +To buy you, I have lost what’s dearest to me, +Save what is bought; and yet I purchase cheaply, +As I do rate your value. + +THESEUS. +O loved sister, +He speaks now of as brave a knight as e’er +Did spur a noble steed. Surely the gods +Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race +Should show i’ th’ world too godlike. His behaviour +So charmed me that methought 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 lose by ’t, for he that was thus good +Encountered yet his better. I have heard +Two emulous Philomels beat the ear o’ th’ night +With their contentious throats, now one the higher, +Anon the other, then again the first, +And by-and-by out-breasted, that the sense +Could not be judge between ’em. So it fared +Good space between these kinsmen, till heavens did +Make hardly one the winner.—Wear the garland +With joy that you have won.—For the subdued, +Give them our present justice, since I know +Their lives but pinch ’em. Let it here be done. +The scene’s not for our seeing. Go we hence +Right joyful, with some sorrow.—Arm your prize; +I know you will not lose her.—Hippolyta, +I see one eye of yours conceives a tear, +The which it will deliver. + +[_Flourish._] + +EMILIA. +Is this winning? +O all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy? +But that your wills have said it must be so, +And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, +This miserable prince, that cuts away +A life more worthy from him than all women, +I should and would die too. + +HIPPOLYTA. +Infinite pity +That four such eyes should be so fixed on one +That two must needs be blind for ’t. + +THESEUS. +So it is. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The same; a Block prepared + +Enter Palamon and his Knights pinioned; Jailer, Executioner and Guard. + +PALAMON. +There’s many a man alive that hath outlived +The love o’ th’ people; yea, i’ th’ selfsame state +Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort +We have by so considering. We expire, +And not without men’s pity; to live still, +Have their good wishes; we prevent +The loathsome misery of age, beguile +The gout and rheum that in lag hours attend +For gray approachers; we come towards the gods +Young and unwappered, not halting under crimes +Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods +Sooner than such, to give us nectar with ’em, +For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen, +Whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down, +You have sold ’em too too cheap. + +FIRST KNIGHT. +What ending could be +Of more content? O’er us the victors have +Fortune, whose title is as momentary, +As to us death is certain. A grain of honour +They not o’erweigh us. + +SECOND KNIGHT. +Let us bid farewell; +And with our patience anger tottering Fortune, +Who at her certain’st reels. + +THIRD KNIGHT. +Come; who begins? + +PALAMON. +E’en he that led you to this banquet shall +Taste to you all.—Ah ha, my friend, my friend, +Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once; +You’ll see ’t done now for ever. Pray, how does she? +I heard she was not well; her kind of ill +Gave me some sorrow. + +JAILER. +Sir, she’s well restored, +And to be married shortly. + +PALAMON. +By my short life, +I am most glad on’t. ’Tis the latest thing +I shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so. +Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion, +Tender her this. + +[_Gives him his purse._] + +FIRST KNIGHT. +Nay let’s be offerers all. + +SECOND KNIGHT. +Is it a maid? + +PALAMON. +Verily, I think so. +A right good creature, more to me deserving +Then I can ’quite or speak of. + +ALL KNIGHTS. +Commend us to her. + +[_They give their purses._] + +JAILER. +The gods requite you all, and make her thankful. + +PALAMON. +Adieu; and let my life be now as short +As my leave-taking. + +[_Lays his head on the block._] + +FIRST KNIGHT. +Lead, courageous cousin. + +SECOND AND THIRD KNIGHT. +We’ll follow cheerfully. + +[_A great noise within crying “Run!” “Save!” “Hold!”_] + +Enter in haste a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold! + +Enter Pirithous in haste. + +PIRITHOUS. +Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you made +If you have done so quickly!—Noble Palamon, +The gods will show their glory in a life +That thou art yet to lead. + +PALAMON. +Can that be, +When Venus, I have said, is false? How do things fare? + +PIRITHOUS. +Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear +That are most dearly sweet and bitter. + +PALAMON. +What +Hath waked us from our dream? + +PIRITHOUS. +List, then. Your cousin, +Mounted upon a steed that Emily +Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing +Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say +Weakens his price, and many will not buy +His goodness with this note, which superstition +Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite +Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins +Did rather tell than trample; for the horse +Would make his length a mile, if ’t pleased his rider +To put pride in him. As he thus went counting +The flinty pavement, dancing, as ’twere, to th’ music +His own hooves made—for, as they say, from iron +Came music’s origin—what envious flint, +Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed +With fire malevolent, darted a spark, +Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made, +I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire, +Took toy at this and fell to what disorder +His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end, +Forgets school-doing, being therein trained +And of kind manage. Pig-like he whines +At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather +Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means +Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseat +His lord that kept it bravely. When naught served, +When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plunges +Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that +He kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofs +On end he stands +That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head, +Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath +Even then fell off his head and presently +Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise +Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living, +But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for +The surge that next approaches. He much desires +To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears. + +Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite in a chair. + +PALAMON. +O miserable end of our alliance! +The gods are mighty. Arcite, if thy heart, +Thy worthy, 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 world’s joy. Reach thy hand; +Farewell. I have told my last hour. I was false, +Yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin. +One kiss from fair Emilia. + +[_Emilia kisses Arcite._] + +’Tis done. +Take her. I die. + +PALAMON. +Thy brave soul seek Elysium! + +[_Arcite dies._] + +EMILIA. +I’ll close thine eyes, Prince; blessed souls be with thee! +Thou art a right good man, and, while I live, +This day I give to tears. + +PALAMON. +And I to honour. + +THESEUS. +In this place first you fought; e’en very here +I sundered you. Acknowledge to the gods +Our thanks that you are living. +His part is played, and, though it were too short, +He did it well; your day is lengthened, and +The blissful dew of heaven does arrose you. +The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar, +And given you your love. Our master Mars, +Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave +The grace of the contention. So the deities +Have showed due justice.—Bear this hence. + +PALAMON. +O cousin, +That we should things desire, which do cost us +The loss of our desire! That naught could buy +Dear love, but loss of dear love! + +[_Arcite’s body is carried out._] + +THESEUS. +Never Fortune +Did play a subtler game. The conquered triumphs; +The victor has the loss; yet in the passage +The gods have been most equal. Palamon, +Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’ th’ lady +Did lie in you, for you first saw her and +Even then proclaimed your fancy. He restored her +As your stol’n jewel and desired your spirit +To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice +Take from my hand and they themselves become +The executioners. Lead your lady off +And call your lovers from the stage of death, +Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two +Let us look sadly, and give grace unto +The funeral of Arcite, in whose end +The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on +And smile with Palamon; for whom an hour, +But one hour since, I was as dearly 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 lack +We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still +Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful +For that which is, and with you leave dispute +That are above our question. Let’s go off +And bear us like the time. + +[_Flourish. Exeunt._] + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +Enter Epilogue. + +EPILOGUE + I would now ask ye how you like the play, +But, as it is with schoolboys, cannot say. +I am cruel fearful! Pray yet, stay a while, +And let me look upon ye. No man smile? +Then it goes hard, I see. He that has +Loved a young handsome wench, then, show his face— +’Tis strange if none be here—and, if he will, +Against his conscience let him hiss, and kill +Our market. ’Tis in vain, I see, to stay ye. +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 meant ye— +We have our end; and you 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. + +[_Flourish. Exit._] + +FINIS + + + + +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 attentiveness wounded his +daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an +“Alas,” I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept +blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all +sorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been +universal. + +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 + + +When my love swears that she is made of truth, +I do believe her, though I know she lies, +That she might think me some untutor’d youth, +Unskilful in the world’s false forgeries. +Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, +Although I know my years be past the best, +I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue, +Outfacing faults in love with love’s ill rest. +But wherefore says my love that she is young? +And wherefore say not I that I am old? +O, love’s best habit is a soothing tongue, +And age, in love, loves not to have years told. + Therefore, I’ll lie with love, and love with me, + Since that our faults in love thus smother’d be. + + + + +II + + +Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, +That like two spirits do suggest me still; +My better angel is a man right fair, +My worser spirit a woman colour’d ill. +To win me soon to hell, my female evil +Tempteth my better angel from my side, +And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, +Wooing his purity with her fair pride. +And whether that my angel be turn’d fiend, +Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; +For being both to me, both to each friend, +I guess one angel in another’s hell: + The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt, + Till my bad angel fire my good one out. + + + + +III + + +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? + + + + +IV + + +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! + + + + +V + + +If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? +O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed. +Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll constant prove; +Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. +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. +Thine 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 heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue. + + + + +VI + + +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?” + + + + +VII + + +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 dye to grace her, + None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. + +Her lips to mine how often hath she joined, +Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! +How many tales to please me hath she coined, +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 burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth; +She burnt out love, as soon as straw out-burneth; +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. + + + + +VIII + + +If music and sweet poetry agree, +As they must needs, the sister and the brother, +Then must the love be great ’twixt thee and me, +Because thou lov’st the one and I the other. +Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch +Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; +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 Phœbus’ 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. + + + + +IX + + +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. + + + + +X + + +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. + + + + +XI + + +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, she fell to him. +“Even thus,” quoth she, “the warlike god embrac’d me,” +And then she clipp’d Adonis in her arms; +“Even thus,” quoth she, “the warlike god 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! + + + + +XII + + +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. + + + + +XIII + + +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. + + + + +XIV + + +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 conster 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. + +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 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, tonight, and length thyself tomorrow. + + + + +XV + + +It was a lording’s daughter, the fairest one of three, +That liked of her master as well as well might be, +Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see, + Her fancy fell a-turning. +Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did fight, +To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight; +To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite + Unto the silly damsel! +But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain, +That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain, +For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: + Alas she could not help it! +Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, +Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away: +Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay; + For now my song is ended. + + + + +XVI + + +On a day, alack the day! +Love, whose month was ever May, +Spied a blossom passing fair, +Playing in the wanton air. +Through the velvet leaves the wind +All unseen ’gan passage find, +That the lover, sick to death, +Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath: +“Air,” quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow; +Air, would I might triumph so! +But, alas, my hand hath sworn +Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn: +Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, +Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet! +Thou for whom Jove would swear +Juno but an Ethiope were, +And deny himself for Jove, +Turning mortal for thy love.” + + + + +XVII + + +My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not, +My rams speed not, all is amis: +Love is dying, faith’s defying, +Heart’s denying, causer of this. +All my merry jigs are quite forgot, +All my lady’s love is lost, God wot: +Where her faith was firmely fix’d in love, +There a nay is plac’d without remove. +One silly cross wrought all my loss; +O frowning fortune, cursed fickle dame! +For now I see inconstancy +More in women than in men remain. + +In black mourn I, all fears scorn I, +Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall. +Heart is bleeding, all help needing, +O cruel speeding, fraughted with gall. +My shepherd’s pipe can sound no deal. +My weather’s bell rings doleful knell; +My curtal dog that wont to have play’d, +Plays not at all, but seems afraid. +With sighs so deep procures to weep, +In howling wise, to see my doleful plight. +How sighs resound through heartless ground, +Like a thousand vanquish’d men in bloody fight! + +Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not, +Green plants bring not forth their dye; +Herds stands weeping, flocks all sleeping, +Nymphs black peeping fearfully. +All our pleasure known to us poor swains, +All our merry meetings on the plains, +All our evening sport from us is fled, +All our love is lost, for love is dead. +Farewel, sweet love, thy like ne’er was +For a sweet content, the cause of all my woe! +Poor Corydon must live alone; +Other help for him I see that there is none. + + + + +XVIII + + +Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame, +And stall’d the deer that thou shouldst strike, +Let reason rule things worthy blame, +As well as fancy, partial might; + Take counsel of some wiser head, + Neither too young nor yet unwed. + +And when thou com’st thy tale to tell, +Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, +Least she some subtle practice smell,— +A cripple soon can find a halt,— + But plainly say thou lov’st her well, + And set her person forth to sale. + +What though her frowning brows be bent, +Her cloudy looks will calm ere night, +And then too late she will repent, +That thus dissembled her delight; + And twice desire, ere it be day, + That which with scorn she put away. + +What though she strive to try her strength, +And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, +Her feeble force will yield at length, +When craft hath taught her thus to say: + “Had women been so strong as men, + In faith, you had not had it then.” + +And to her will frame all thy ways; +Spare not to spend, and chiefly there +Where thy desert may merit praise, +By ringing in thy lady’s ear: + The strongest castle, tower and town, + The golden bullet beats it down. + +Serve always with assured trust, +And in thy suit be humble true; +Unless thy lady prove unjust, +Press never thou to choose a new: + When time shall serve, be thou not slack, + To proffer, though she put thee back. + +The wiles and guiles that women work, +Dissembled with an outward show, +The tricks and toys that in them lurk, +The cock that treads them shall not know, + Have you not heard it said full oft, + A woman’s nay doth stand for nought. + +Think women still to strive with men, +To sin and never for to saint: +There is no heaven, by holy then, +When time with age shall them attaint, + Were kisses all the joys in bed, + One woman would another wed. + +But soft, enough,—too much,—I fear +Lest that my mistress hear my song: +She will not stick to round me on th’ ear, +To teach my tongue to be so long. + Yet will she blush, here be it said, + To hear her secrets so bewray’d. + + + + +XIX + + +Live with me and be my love, +And we will all the pleasures prove +That hills and valleys, dales and fields, +And all the craggy mountains yield. + +There will we sit upon the rocks, +And see the shepherds feed their flocks, +By shallow rivers, by whose falls +Melodious birds sing madrigals. + +There will I make thee a bed of roses, +With a thousand fragrant posies, +A cap of flowers, and a kirtle +Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. + +A belt of straw and ivy buds, +With coral clasps and amber studs; +And if these pleasures may thee move, +Then live with me and be my love. + +Love’s Answer. + +If that the world and love were young, +And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, +These pretty pleasures might me move +To live with thee and be thy love. + + + + +XX + + +As it fell upon a day +In the merry month of May, +Sitting in a pleasant shade +Which a grove of myrtles made, +Beasts did leap and birds did sing, +Trees did grow and plants did spring; +Everything did banish moan, +Save the nightingale alone: +She, poor bird, as all forlorn, +Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn, +And there sung the dolefull’st ditty, +That to hear it was great pitty. +“Fie, fie, fie,” now would she cry, +“Tereu, Tereu,” by and by; + +That to hear her so complain, +Scarce I could from tears refrain, +For her griefs so lively shown +Made me think upon mine own. +Ah, thought I, thou mourn’st in vain! +None takes pitty on thy pain. +Senseless trees they cannot hear thee, +Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee; +King Pandion he is dead, +All thy friends are lapp’d in lead, +All thy fellow birds do sing, +Careless of thy sorrowing. + +Whilst as fickle fortune smiled, +Thou and I were both beguiled. +Every one that flatters thee +Is no friend in misery. +Words are easy, like the wind; +Faithful friends are hard to find. +Every man will be thy friend +Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; +But if store of crowns be scant, +No man will supply thy want. +If that one be prodigal, +Bountiful they will him call, +And with such-like flattering, +“Pity but he were a king.” + +If he be addict to vice, +Quickly him they will entice; +If to women he be bent, +They have at commandement. +But if Fortune once do frown, +Then farewell his great renown. +They that fawn’d on him before, +Use his company no more. +He that is thy friend indeed, +He will help thee in thy need: +If thou sorrow, he will weep; +If thou wake, he cannot sleep. +Thus of every grief in heart +He with thee doth bear a part. +These are certain signs to know +Faithful friend from flatt’ring foe. + + + + +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 WRIOTHESLEY, 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, everyone 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 everyone 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 triumphed 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 +Unlocked the treasure of his happy state, +What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent +In the possession of his beauteous mate; +Reck’ning 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 enjoyed but of a few, +And, if possessed, as soon decayed and done +As is the morning’s silver melting dew +Against the golden splendour of the sun! +An expired date, cancelled ere well begun. + Honour and beauty in the owner’s arms, + Are weakly fortressed 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’ sov’reignty +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-pitched 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, wrapped in repentant cold, + Thy hasty spring still blasts and ne’er grows old! + +When at Collatium this false lord arrived, +Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame, +Within whose face beauty and virtue strived +Which of them both should underprop her fame. +When virtue bragged, beauty would blush for shame; + When beauty boasted blushes, in despite + Virtue would stain that o’er 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 called it then their shield; + Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, + When shame assailed, 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 viewed in her fair face’s field, +In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; +Where, lest between them both it should be killed, +The coward captive vanquished doth yield + To those two armies that would let him go + Rather than triumph in so false a foe. + +Now thinks he that her husband’s shallow tongue, +The niggard prodigal that praised 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 unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil; +Birds never limed no secret bushes fear. +So guiltless she securely gives good cheer + And reverend welcome to her princely guest, + Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed. + +For that he coloured with his high estate, +Hiding base sin in pleats of majesty, +That nothing in him seemed 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, cloyed with much, he pineth still for more. + +But she, that never coped 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 touched no unknown baits, nor feared no hooks, + Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, + More than his eyes were opened 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 heaved-up hand she doth express, + And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. + +Far from the purpose of his coming thither, +He makes excuses for his being there. +No cloudy show of stormy blust’ring 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 sprite; +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 proposed, + Though death be adjunct, there’s no death supposed. + +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 bankrout 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 battle’s 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 sland’rous 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 leaped from his bed, +Throwing his mantle rudely o’er his arm; +Is madly tossed between desire and dread; +Th’ one sweetly flatters, th’ other feareth harm. +But honest fear, bewitched 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 lodestar 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-slaughtered 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, unhallowed 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, shamed 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 desp’rate 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 forgo 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 killed 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 gazed 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 locked, +Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear, +Which struck her sad, and then it faster rocked, +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 drowned 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 displayed, + The coward fights and will not be dismayed. + +“Then, childish fear, avaunt! Debating, die! +Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age! +My heart shall never countermand mine eye. +Sad pause and deep regard beseems 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 choked by unresisted lust. +Away he steals with opening, list’ning 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, flattered 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 enforced, 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 needle his finger pricks, +As who should say, “This glove to wanton tricks + Is not inured. Return again in haste; + Thou seest our mistress’ ornaments are chaste.” + +But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him; +He in the worst sense construes their denial. +The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, +He takes for accidental things of trial; +Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, + Who with a ling’ring 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 barred 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 th’ 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 deflower. + 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 backed with resolution. +Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried; +The blackest sin is cleared 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 plucked 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, +Coz’ning 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 admired of lewd unhallowed eyes. + +Without the bed her other fair hand was, +On the green coverlet; whose perfect white +Showed like an April daisy on the grass, +With pearly sweat resembling dew of night. +Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light, + And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, + Till they might open to adorn the day. + +Her hair, like golden threads, played 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 lived 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 desired? +What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, +And in his will his wilful eye he tired. +With more than admiration he admired + 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— +Slaked, not suppressed; 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, marched 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, must’ring 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 amazed, breaks ope her locked-up eyes, + Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, + Are by his flaming torch dimmed and controlled. + +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. + +Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears, +Like to a new-killed 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, distressed, +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-conquered 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 tow’ring 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 blurred 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 gripe’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-faced cloud the world doth threat, +In his dim mist th’ aspiring mountains hiding, +From earth’s dark womb some gentle gust doth get, +Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, +Hind’ring their present fall by this dividing; + So his unhallowed haste her words delays, + And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. + +Yet, foul night-waking 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 fixed +In the remorseless wrinkles of his face. +Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed, +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 borrowed 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 moved 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 wrack-threat’ning heart, +To soften it with their continual motion; +For stones dissolved 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 everything. + +“How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, +When thus thy vices bud before thy spring? +If in thy hope thou dar’st do such outrage, +What dar’st thou not when once thou art a king? +O, be remembered, no outrageous thing + From vassal actors can be wiped away; + Then kings’ misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. + +“This deed will make thee only loved for fear, +But happy monarchs still are feared 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, patterned by thy fault, foul Sin may say + He learned 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 wrapped in with infamies + That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes! + +“To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal, +Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier. +I sue for exiled majesty’s repeal; +Let him return, and flatt’ring 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 hearsed, + And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. + +“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 wither at the cedar’s root. + +“So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state”— +“No more,” quoth he, “by heaven, I will not hear thee. +Yield to my love. If not, enforced hate, +Instead of love’s coy touch, shall rudely tear thee. +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 seized his prey, the poor lamb cries, + Till with her own white fleece her voice controlled + 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 lived 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 discoloured cheek, +With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, +Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, +Like to a bankrout 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 chased; +For now against himself he sounds this doom, +That through the length of times he stands disgraced. +Besides, his soul’s fair temple is defaced, + To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, + To ask the spotted princess how she fares. + +She says her subjects with foul insurrection +Have battered 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. + +E’en 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 perplexed in greater pain. + She bears the load of lust he left behind, + And he the burden 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 vanished, loathed 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 practised 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, whisp’ring conspirator + With close-tongued treason and the ravisher! + +“O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night, +Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, +Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, +Make war against proportioned course of time; +Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb + His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, + Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. + +“With rotten damps ravish the morning air; +Let their exhaled 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 smothered 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 defiled, +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 martyred 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 charactered 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 stamped 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 robbed and ransacked by injurious theft. + In thy weak hive a wand’ring wasp hath crept, + And sucked 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 talked of virtue. O unlooked-for evil, + When virtue is profaned 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 mastered by his young, +Who in their pride do presently abuse it. +Their father was too weak, and they too strong, +To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. + The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours + Even in the moment that we call them ours. + +“Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; +Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; +The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; +What virtue breeds iniquity devours. +We have no good that we can say is ours, + But ill-annexed Opportunity + Or kills his life or else his quality. + +“O Opportunity, thy guilt is great! +’Tis thou that execut’st the traitor’s treason; +Thou sets 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 thawed; +Thou smother’st honesty, thou murder’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 sugared 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 obtained? +When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end, +Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained? +Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained? + 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 appaid +As well to hear as grant what he hath said. + My Collatine would else have come to me + When Tarquin did, but he was stayed 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. + +“Misshapen 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 murd’rest all that are. + O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time! + Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. + +“Why hath thy servant, Opportunity +Betrayed the hours thou gav’st me to repose, +Cancelled 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 glitt’ring 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 hammered steel, + And turn the giddy round of Fortune’s wheel; + +“To show the beldam 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 beguiled, + 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 ceaseless lackey to eternity, +With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight. +Devise extremes beyond extremity, +To make him curse this cursed crimeful night. +Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright, + And the dire thought of his committed evil + Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. + +“Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, +Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans; +Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, +To make him moan, but pity not his moans. +Stone him with hard’ned 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 th’ 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 sland’rous 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 honoured or begets him hate; +For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. + The moon being clouded presently is missed, + 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 confirmed despite. +This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. + The remedy indeed to do me good + Is to let forth my foul defiled blood. + +“Poor hand, why quiver’st thou at this decree? +Honour thyself to rid me of this shame, +For if I die, my honour lives in thee, +But if I live, thou liv’st in my defame. +Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, + And wast afeared to scratch her wicked foe, + Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.” + +This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth, +To find some desp’rate instrument of death; +But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth +To make more vent for passage of her breath, +Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth + As smoke from Ætna, 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 feared by Tarquin’s falchion to be slain, +Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife. +But when I feared 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 stol’n 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 int’rest was not bought +Basely with gold, but stol’n 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-coined 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-tuned 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 cloistered 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 pry’st 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 naught to do what’s done by night.” + +Thus cavils she with everything she sees. +True grief is fond and testy as a child, +Who wayward once, his mood with naught agrees. +Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild. +Continuance tames the one; the other wild, + Like an unpractised 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 pleased with grief’s society; + True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed + When with like semblance it is sympathized. + +’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 stopped, 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 feathered 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 disheveled 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 burden-wise I’ll hum on Tarquin still, + While thou on Tereus descants 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 encompassed 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 shamed 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 swallowed 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? +Ay me, the bark pilled from the lofty pine, + His leaves will wither and his sap decay; + So must my soul, her bark being pilled away. + +“Her house is sacked, her quiet interrupted, +Her mansion battered by the enemy, +Her sacred temple spotted, spoiled, corrupted, +Grossly engirt with daring infamy. +Then let it not be called impiety, + If in this blemished 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 dishonoured life; +The one will live, the other being dead. +So of shame’s ashes shall my fame be bred, + For in my death I murder 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 revenged 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 disbursed be + To those that live and think no shame of me. + +“Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will; +How was I overseen that thou shalt see it! +My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill; +My life’s foul deed my life’s fair end shall free it. +Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, ‘So be it.’ + 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 wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, +With untuned tongue she hoarsely called her maid, +Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies; +For fleet-winged 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-washed with woe. + +But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, +Each flower moistened like a melting eye, +Even so the maid with swelling drops ’gan wet +Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy +Of those fair suns set in her mistress’ sky, + Who in a salt-waved 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 formed as marble will; +The weak oppressed, th’ impression of strange kinds +Is formed 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 stamped the semblance of a devil. + +Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, +Lays open all the little worms that creep; +In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain +Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep. +Through crystal walls each little mote will peep. + Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks, + Poor women’s faces are their own faults’ books. + +No man inveigh against the withered flower, +But chide rough winter that the flower hath killed; +Not that devoured, but that which doth devour, +Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild +Poor women’s faults, that they are so fulfilled + With men’s abuses! Those proud lords, to blame, + Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. + +The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, +Assailed 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 stayed +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 called 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 t’ 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 stained her stained 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 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 sealed, and on it writ +“At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.” +The post attends, and she delivers it, +Charging the sour-faced 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 curtsies 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 blushed 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 + Pawned honest looks, but laid no words to gage. + +His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, +That two red fires in both their faces blazed; +She thought he blushed, as knowing Tarquin’s lust, +And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed. +Her earnest eye did make him more amazed. + The more she 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 seemed, to kiss the turrets bowed. + +A thousand lamentable objects there, +In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life. +Many a dry drop seemed a weeping tear, +Shed for the slaughtered husband by the wife. +The red blood reeked to show the painter’s strife, + The dying eyes gleamed forth their ashy lights, + Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. + +There might you see the labouring pioneer +Begrimed with sweat and smeared all with dust; +And from the towers of Troy there would appear +The very eyes of men through loop-holes 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 ciphered either’s heart; +Their face their manners most expressly told. +In Ajax’ eyes blunt rage and rigour rolled, + But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent + Showed deep regard and smiling government. + +There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, +As ’twere encouraging the Greeks to fight, +Making such sober action with his hand +That it beguiled attention, charmed the sight. +In speech, it seemed, his beard, all silver white, + Wagged up and down, and from his lips did fly + Thin winding breath, which purled up to the sky. + +About him were a press of gaping faces, +Which seemed to swallow up his sound advice, +All jointly list’ning, 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 seemed to mock the mind. + +Here one man’s hand leaned on another’s head, +His nose being shadowed by his neighbour’s ear; +Here one being thronged bears back, all boll’n and red; +Another smothered 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 seemed 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 +Griped 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, marched 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 stained, a kind of heavy fear. + +And from the strand 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 then + 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 stelled. +Many she sees where cares have carved some, +But none where all distress and dolour dwelled, +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 anatomized +Time’s ruin, beauty’s wrack, and grim care’s reign. +Her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were disguised; +Of what she was no semblance did remain. +Her blue blood, changed to black in every vein, + Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, + Showed life imprisoned in a body dead. + +On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, +And shapes her sorrow to the beldam’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 moe? +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 checked 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 pencilled pensiveness and coloured sorrow; + She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow. + +She throws her eyes about the painting round, +And who 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 showed content; + Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, + So mild, that patience seemed to scorn his woes. + +In him the painter laboured with his skill +To hide deceit and give the harmless show +An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, +A brow unbent that seemed 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 entertained a show so seeming just, +And therein so ensconced his secret evil, +That jealousy itself could not mistrust +False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust + Into so bright a day such black-faced storms, + Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. + +The well-skilled workman this mild image drew +For perjured 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 viewed their faces. + +This picture she advisedly perused, +And chid the painter for his wondrous skill, +Saying some shape in Sinon’s was abused; +So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill. +And still on him she gazed, 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 turned 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 too, beguiled +With outward honesty, but yet defiled + 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 borrowed 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 enraged, 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 overslipped 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 cured, + To think their dolour others have endured. + +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 streamed, 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, looked red and raw, +Her lively colour killed 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, wond’ring 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 attired 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 addressed 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 wat’ry 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-favoured 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 purloined his eyes; + And when the judge is robbed, 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 stained with this abuse, +Immaculate and spotless is my mind; +That was not forced; that never was inclined + To accessary yieldings, but still pure + Doth in her poisoned closet yet endure.” + +Lo, here the hopeless merchant of this loss, +With head declined and voice dammed 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 forced him on so fast, +In rage sent out, recalled 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 bewrayed. +But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, + The protestation stops. “O, speak,” quoth she, + “How may this forced stain be wiped from me? + +“What is the quality of my offence, +Being constrained 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 poisoned 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, carved 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 unsheathed. +That blow did bail it from the deep unrest +Of that polluted prison where it breathed. +Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed + Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly + Life’s lasting date from cancelled destiny. + +Stone-still, astonished with this deadly deed, +Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew, +Till Lucrece’ father that beholds her bleed, +Himself on her self-slaughtered body threw, +And from the purple fountain Brutus drew + The murd’rous 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-sacked island, vastly stood +Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood. + Some of her blood still pure and red remained, + And some looked black, and that false Tarquin stained. + +About the mourning and congealed face +Of that black blood a wat’ry 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 deprived. +If in the child the father’s image lies, +Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived? +Thou wast not to this end from me derived. + If children predecease progenitors, + We are their offspring, and they none of ours. + +“Poor broken glass, I often did behold +In thy sweet semblance my old age new born; +But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, +Shows me a bare-boned death by time outworn. +O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn, + And shivered 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 falt’ring 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 served 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 wailed by Collatine.” + +“O,” quoth Lucretius, “I did give that life +Which she too early and too late hath spilled.” +“Woe, woe,” quoth Collatine, “she was my wife, +I owed her, and ’tis mine that she hath killed.” +“My daughter” and “my wife” with clamours filled + The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece’ life, + Answered their cries, “my daughter” and “my wife”. + +Brutus, who plucked 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 utt’ring foolish things. + +But now he throws that shallow habit by, +Wherein deep policy did him disguise, +And armed his long-hid wits advisedly, +To check the tears in Collatinus’ eyes. +“Thou wronged lord of Rome,” quoth he, “arise! + Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool, + Now set thy long-experienced 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 disgraced,— + By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. + +“Now, by the Capitol that we adore, +And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained, +By heaven’s fair sun that breeds the fat earth’s store, +By all our country rights in Rome maintained, +And by chaste Lucrece’ soul that late complained + 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 kissed the fatal knife, to end his vow; +And to his protestation urged the rest, +Who, wond’ring 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 + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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