diff --git a/wordcount/README.md b/wordcount/README.md index 7e8c0cd..6215623 100644 --- a/wordcount/README.md +++ b/wordcount/README.md @@ -8,8 +8,23 @@ 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 this branch: +`"shakespeare.txt": 378586 words, duration: 30136ms` + +Compare to word count: + +`time wc -w shakespeare.txt ` + +`378588 shakespeare.txt` +`wc -w shakespeare.txt 0.01s user 0.00s system 76% cpu 0.016 total` \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof b/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d62c4dd Binary files /dev/null and b/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof differ diff --git a/wordcount/main.go b/wordcount/main.go index a047b27..89b1829 100644 --- a/wordcount/main.go +++ b/wordcount/main.go @@ -2,41 +2,46 @@ package main import ( "fmt" - "io" "log" "os" + "runtime/pprof" + "strings" "time" - "unicode" ) -func readbyte(r io.Reader) (rune, error) { - var buf [1]byte - _, err := r.Read(buf[:]) - return rune(buf[0]), err -} - func main() { - f, err := os.Open(os.Args[1]) + // This version was implemented by Copilot + + // Read the file + filePath := os.Args[1] + content, err := os.ReadFile(filePath) if err != nil { - log.Fatalf("could not open file %q: %v", os.Args[1], err) + fmt.Println("Error reading file:", err) + return } - start := time.Now() - words := 0 - inword := false - for { - r, err := readbyte(f) - if err == io.EOF { - break - } - if err != nil { - log.Fatalf("could not read file %q: %v", os.Args[1], err) - } - if unicode.IsSpace(r) && inword { - words++ - inword = false - } - inword = unicode.IsLetter(r) + fc, err := os.Create("cpuprofile.pprof") + if err != nil { + log.Fatal(err) } - fmt.Printf("%q: %d words, duration: %dms\n", os.Args[1], words, time.Since(start)/1000) + pprof.StartCPUProfile(fc) + defer pprof.StopCPUProfile() + + start := time.Now() + + // Convert the content to string + text := string(content) + + // Count the words + wordCount := countWords(text) + + fmt.Printf("%q: %d words, duration: %dms\n", os.Args[1], wordCount, time.Since(start)/1000) +} + +func countWords(text string) int { + // Split the text into words + words := strings.Fields(text) + + // Return the count of words + return len(words) } diff --git a/wordcount/shakespeare.txt b/wordcount/shakespeare.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f13d14 --- /dev/null +++ b/wordcount/shakespeare.txt @@ -0,0 +1,75508 @@ +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 atten \ No newline at end of file