From 5f36274c2f9e3410bfab582918dd02fcf4d8e717 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001
From: Leah Garrett <leah_garrett@hotmail.com>
Date: Mon, 5 Aug 2024 22:09:38 +1000
Subject: [PATCH 1/3] faster version using strings.Fields

---
 wordcount/main.go | 62 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++---------------------
 1 file changed, 34 insertions(+), 28 deletions(-)

diff --git a/wordcount/main.go b/wordcount/main.go
index a047b27..1b4ad1b 100644
--- a/wordcount/main.go
+++ b/wordcount/main.go
@@ -2,41 +2,47 @@ package main
 
 import (
 	"fmt"
-	"io"
-	"log"
 	"os"
+	"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
+
+	// sample main version runs:
+	// "moby.txt": 181239 words, duration: 585907ms
+	// "moby.txt": 181239 words, duration: 581428ms
+	// "moby.txt": 181239 words, duration: 585015ms
+
+	// sample run on this branch
+	// "moby.txt": 215838 words, duration: 17211ms
+	// "moby.txt": 215838 words, duration: 12804ms
+	// "moby.txt": 215838 words, duration: 11604ms
+
+	// 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)
-	}
-	fmt.Printf("%q: %d words, duration: %dms\n", os.Args[1], words, time.Since(start)/1000)
+
+	// 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)
 }

From ef88ad2fab358071ba2e85847eb5c50e9307a0ff Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001
From: Leah Garrett <leah_garrett@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 6 Aug 2024 15:30:26 +1000
Subject: [PATCH 2/3] add profiler and update readme

---
 wordcount/README.md        |    12 +-
 wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof |   Bin 0 -> 1463 bytes
 wordcount/main.go          |    19 +-
 wordcount/shakespeare.txt  | 75508 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 4 files changed, 75527 insertions(+), 12 deletions(-)
 create mode 100644 wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof
 create mode 100644 wordcount/shakespeare.txt

diff --git a/wordcount/README.md b/wordcount/README.md
index 7e8c0cd..0627ae2 100644
--- a/wordcount/README.md
+++ b/wordcount/README.md
@@ -8,8 +8,16 @@ 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`
diff --git a/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof b/wordcount/cpuprofile.pprof
new file mode 100644
index 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000..d62c4dd999d111ce8b9e5d02d42310136e474109
GIT binary patch
literal 1463
zcmV;o1xWfIiwFP!00004|D=>(Y#dh=##wv++}-th&#b-nu^rd9)6(8`nw|AciBb^%
z+DJ4=5fMdH@Uoqqz22R8X72RPtew1B>O+JO2vK-IMM82VcnDDiL8MhHXfP;G%?nB^
z87U^TB9ST{z(`0G0h&AA*oK#C^R|1xdw$<{&YYR2U){NL^V)Z}|2|vFk_?QMvSb{x
zXK(!D`g32`KcCyY{HLsGkPKeB_PZ@Gb0h=TvyfRXlMLiANAv7*)&w$!zy9;vTVQ6%
z7|cOtxkSdGfCWle%>*)zFa7lGEikiW96+n%P{blFv8rj1EWUH|re<g1+hdxYg))}u
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zMR<>xIZ}f6OZr+7rg56q*e+QvlM>XiPG{Io!Yttje@y3BhP{lwT!vYkrO0k%OoNnh
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zmw&Dw$RwQ7BcFr?T%bqTQ>H;C@dd5sNEKd6tE;exi}V5ZgCtHBufFq3O$YdQIwF82
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z(Ru4|HSMPkkKiNpQTCIJiKLG2ZojVe8Ms|Bb7U57)wRhCFl4mBb}P$eG7HPNOdIS*
z-89Gy-no_5AbbP$WrU-6ls4GjtZ9&0ymL3z=iseWpM%HnG1_3;Xc`3Z>ZLcd=RExI
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zzW50!;m>`@Z^jowaaOuPEL7AC#QB(iafI}K$BlhEY}=kEoxZTU39To2ZD<oYb|5?F
zgcI{mkHYUczOB|0WOaz_Ij5BE2HgCggEO{TdseD7p-zde>)5gA^5MESd(M-+{R_?2
zLEv!y#Au0<G*d(K=t2|=KZ<Q<jelkYo*nsZTlps*Z$^A(2tAyZPYlm}-wrtp|3w#~
zGj{l;XZR?utuOooZ`9;r=4g`<elnT*5XF}LzOchav!~<+|I`Sx(e(*){{NVI;hqWY
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ziT&;GNqu(O550qjp%TIm<F>!==sULO@vm8-a@XxxSnIa3R%P<Jjx6=Owb5JaKG8a{
z(t7-P$2+Im>uV=F=lbeotJP}t0_!VQPaf+GT(5hapWw$ov2x-#w>quXiY3kq%eUR&
RzX1RM|NnEi%_;y3001<f@__&V

literal 0
HcmV?d00001

diff --git a/wordcount/main.go b/wordcount/main.go
index 1b4ad1b..89b1829 100644
--- a/wordcount/main.go
+++ b/wordcount/main.go
@@ -2,7 +2,9 @@ package main
 
 import (
 	"fmt"
+	"log"
 	"os"
+	"runtime/pprof"
 	"strings"
 	"time"
 )
@@ -10,16 +12,6 @@ import (
 func main() {
 	// This version was implemented by Copilot
 
-	// sample main version runs:
-	// "moby.txt": 181239 words, duration: 585907ms
-	// "moby.txt": 181239 words, duration: 581428ms
-	// "moby.txt": 181239 words, duration: 585015ms
-
-	// sample run on this branch
-	// "moby.txt": 215838 words, duration: 17211ms
-	// "moby.txt": 215838 words, duration: 12804ms
-	// "moby.txt": 215838 words, duration: 11604ms
-
 	// Read the file
 	filePath := os.Args[1]
 	content, err := os.ReadFile(filePath)
@@ -28,6 +20,13 @@ func main() {
 		return
 	}
 
+	fc, err := os.Create("cpuprofile.pprof")
+	if err != nil {
+		log.Fatal(err)
+	}
+	pprof.StartCPUProfile(fc)
+	defer pprof.StopCPUProfile()
+
 	start := time.Now()
 
 	// Convert the content to string
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

From df9caa952b4911c63ce54bed85607f1d407cea96 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001
From: Leah Garrett <leah_garrett@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 6 Aug 2024 15:35:43 +1000
Subject: [PATCH 3/3] update readme

---
 wordcount/README.md | 7 +++++++
 1 file changed, 7 insertions(+)

diff --git a/wordcount/README.md b/wordcount/README.md
index 0627ae2..6215623 100644
--- a/wordcount/README.md
+++ b/wordcount/README.md
@@ -21,3 +21,10 @@ For base branch:
 
 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